Live to Venture (#0)

01 | The Beginning of Adventure

PART I: THE AVOURIENNE

The story begins with and is decided by a seemingly peripheral navigator. More specifically, a blonde, tall, popular-looking navigator. One might even call him an artist on a ship of killers.

"Sir?" Alexander asked, rubbing his clammy palms on his breeches. "I've some odd news for you."

No response. The man just turned a page in his book, not bothering to look up. He was waiting for his navigator to get the point, probably.

"There is," Alexander began again, "well, there appears to be...an...island? Coming up on the starboard side. Sir."

Still, Captain Vallin Bardarian—self-proclaimed or perhaps lovingly nicknamed King of the Sea—did not look up. He spoke mindlessly as he turned another page, "I fear it would be far more peculiar if there were not an island somewhere in the near vicinity, Rusher."

Alexander did not laugh. "Well, yes, sir, but I've charted them all. This one is new."

Bardarian glanced up now, navy eyes sparkling. "Perhaps it was simply not fully grown the last time we came around?"

Alexander knew he was being mocked. He hadn't been here long, but he knew better than anyone that pirates preyed on the weak. "Sir," he said, as confident as possible. "That island was not there last time we came 'round."

With a mighty sigh, Bardarian marked his page and got to his feet. Perhaps he was tall, perhaps he wasn't. Reality didn't matter; everyone would feel shorter than him for as long as they felt threatened by him.

Rusher followed him out onto the balcony, where the midday sun slid back down to the horizon and the salty sea spray misted his face. The Captain was a man who didn't like to speak unless he had something to say, so he did not acknowledge the flurry of quiet pleasantries that ensued when he took the stairs to the main deck. He moved without urgency, without curiosity. It was his ship, so it ran on his time.

"Jackson, lad!" Bardarian took the four steps to the topdeck and called to the helmsman, "We've got a rogue piece of land?"

The old scout gave him a smirk, glancing at Alexander. "Perhaps, sir. Rusher swears it, but what'd I know? I got the memory of a fish."

Vallin lifted a hand to shield the sun as it glazed off the navy water. "Some fish have incredible memories," he noted. "Blue-tailed eydens, for one."

Jackson gave a shrug, sunbaked face nonchalant as he handed Bardarian a spyglass. "Well, sir, then I don't even have the memory of a fish."

Alexander wiped his sweaty palms on his pants again. He better not be wrong about this. He watched Bardarian scan the water, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he adjusted the spyglass.

In one sharp movement, he snapped the spyglass down once more and turned to Alexander. "That is, in fact, a rogue island," he confirmed, heading back down to the main deck.

Alexander did not show his relief as he struggled to keep up. "How'd we miss it the last time, sir?" he asked.

Bardarian pushed open the door to the navigation room, crossed the room and took the stairs at the back. "Let's find out," he said. He reached the top of the narrow hallway and kicked open the door at the top.

Rusher pushed through the dust that swirled in the doorway as he came in behind Bardarian. He peered inside carefully; the strategy room was a sinister space with an aura of something cunning.

"Britter!" the Captain shouted, causing the strategist on the couch to scramble to his feet.

"Sir!" Britter snapped back, but it wasn't uptight or nervous. "What can I do for you?"