The Minstrel

The Korvinsfald

As the pair passed the rows of crude fishing vessels tiredly bobbing in their moorings, a general clamor could be heard toward the far end of the pier. A large masthead came into view, along with several moving bodies that scrambled along in response to a single booming voice that beat down the chatter of all the rest. Thorian seemed to hustle even faster as the bulk of the longship came into full view, his arms shaking in the strain to hold his freight.

To whom the voice belonged was a grizzled and stout Dwarf that Killian spotted only as he took notice of their approach. Immediately, the stranger fixed Thorian with a glare as the boy tried his hardest not to stumble over his own feet.

"Jacktrade you laggard! I ask you for the barest means to make tack, an' you can't even go the hour without sightseein'...and managin' to douse yourself with half the damned lot! That flour'll be out of your wages, boy!" The Dwarf roughly shoved Thorian over the handrail as he attempted to clamber over, nearly sending him sprawling upon the deck, before setting his sights on Killian. "This ain't some light-forsaken cruise ship, we ain't takin' tourists." He sneered.

However, Killian's focus was upon the vessel itself. Before him was tethered a Dwarven longship, clearly crafted by one not unskilled at the trade, though simple by Mid-Islander standards. Its pine exterior had been hard worn by the merciless batterings of the sea, and had become a stormy gray color as a result. Dwarven sailors, along with only a handful of humans such as Thorian, busied themselves like a colony of ants aboard the topdeck and around the wide trunk of the mast that towered high into the air. A carved raven, painted a faded, chipping black served as a figurehead. Its wings and talons outstretched, the bird's mouth was frozen agape in a silent scream as it closed in on its imaginary kill. Killian studied it intently.

"Apologies, Durgan." Thorian gasped as he exerted himself passing bags of cargo in a chain of men to the hold. "I ran into him on my return - he's my Uncle Killian of Cantelcross. He's looking to head northwest, the same as us."

Durgan squinted up and down as Killian stopped just before him. "As it were said, I ain't takin' no tourists." He reaffirmed.

"I'm seeking passage to a small island not a nock's journey from here, to a small port - Grimstone Outpost." Killian said with his eyes still scrutinizing the ship, ignoring the remark.

Durgan barked a harsh sort of laugh. "Aye I know Grimstone, lad. But what makes ye think I'll take on another body an' mouth twice the size a my crewmen?"

Killian shifted impatiently, once again weighing his options and only now turning to match the Dwarf's gaze. "My father commanded a trading company and captained the leading vessel of its fleet."

Killian met the Dwarf's eyes just in time to catch him sneering. "What yer father did ain't worth a knocker's knickers far as I'm concerned - what is it you can do fer me? Your nephew there has proven 'bout as useful as a glass hammer." He said, as the pair watched Thorian straining to carry a sack of grain belowdecks.

"I can regale you and your crew with harmonious melodies, and the epic tale of the Dwarf who so kindly allowed such a noble entertainer aboard his raft." Though smiling, Killian lathered his words in icy sarcasm that seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Durgan hawked and spat off the pier.

"Skalds, lazy louts the lot of em." He said, shaking his head. "More likely to don a bib 'fore an apron in my experience. I'm thinkin' I'll pass, lest ya got any coin?" He eyed Killian up and down with a charlatan's smile.

Killian gritted his teeth but said nothing. It was not like he had not expected to pay for passage anyhow. Reaching behind to the case of his lute, he groped for the coinpurse he had fastened to it the night before.