The Minstrel

Flotsam Town

 "In the land of ocean's endless might,

Where winds and tides and men do fight,

Stands a town unlike any other known

Borne of Flotsam, driftwood and foam."

Flotsam town was a shithole. Killian had always thought so, but had always seemed to forget the muck of the streets and stench of sargassum before he wound up in her port once more. He smirked under the brim of his hat ,his sun-dried charcoal boots kicked up on one of the rickety tables as he balanced on the hind legs of a chair that groaned under his weight. He lazily strummed out the chords on his lute with ease.

"Heave ho, lads and lasses, where the ocean currents roam,

In the town of Flotsam, we've found our floating home,

With driftwood walls and netting floors, we weather every storm,

In this seafaring haven, where hope is yet reborn."

There were a handful of sailors nodding along to the popular tune, mostly driftless men who stumbled in just as soon as the doors were unlocked, and tossed out once more at the end of each night if they hadn't enough coin for a bed. Killian lightly tuned the instrument between each verse and squinted to gaze out the window towards the harbor. He had been keeping his eye on the cargo vessel which had settled in to dock that morning. It was an Animaerisian steam cog - rare to find in any port this far North - and could easily maneuver the treacherous waters that surrounded the entry and exit to Flotsam. Now bathed in the dying light, he watched the mariners load up the supplies in need of restock as they prepared to weigh anchor come dawn. No captain with a vessel still to their name settled in Flotsam Town more than a noct.

No captain of any repute, anyhow.

"Each building tells a story, as it sails upon the tide,

Once lost and then forgotten, now a place where we reside

A shipwreck's wooden fragments form this cozy little inn

Where weary sailors gather to share tales of where they've been"

Slowly, more men and women alike began to stride into Raimond's Rest - the tavern in which Killian now played and considered many things other than cozy. Once a Regganorian voyager, the vessel known as Raimond's Pride became beached and stranded in Flotsam Town's current like so many others before; the vessel itself becoming the tavern, and its former Quartermaster the barkeep. Many shipwrecked sailors attempt to pay for voyage out of Flotsam with anything they have to their name. Some choose to stay, of course, typically if their age, and thoughts of returning to sea have made them weary. And yet still a good many simply could never afford to pay for passage out, and become as driftless as the debris of which the city was born. After another bout of chorus now joined in by a number of patrons, Killian flung into the next verse:

"In the heart of town square, an anchor stands with pride,

A symbol of resilience, no matter what betide,

For we're a band of misfits, drawn in by the ocean's call,

United by the sea, we'll never fear a squall"

The crowd had grown large and dulled well enough by drink, Killian figured, as he plunged into the bridge, picking up speed with a flourish. The front two legs of his chair clattered back to the ground with relief as its occupant shot to his feet, flicking the brim of his bycocket back as the gathering cheered him on. With each strum came a stamp or a spin around the room as Killian whirled about, gathering groups of seamen into a cacophonous chorus that echoed throughout the city streets from the tavern windows. Now with a rosy-cheeked band of brothers trying and failing to keep their rum from the floor; then with an older couple that spun a merry round at his approach; and then still onto the handsome young lass whose eyeing of him had not gone unnoticed by Killian, nor by her suitor, who grew red in the face from more than just drink as he noticed the way his partner blushed at the performer's smile.