In Huck's Hands

Bonus Chapter: Clewis and Lark Part 2; Black Water Bay

The first sight of Izmar's expansive desert coastline brought a wave of relief washing over both Clewis and Lark. 

The journey had been atrocious, claiming the lives of two crew members and leaving the rest battered and exhausted from the constant storms. As they approached Black Water Bay, however, that relief quickly soured into dread.

Ebony smoke rose from several points in the ramshackle port town, and the sounds of erratic gunfire reverberated across the water. Captain Horne, a grizzled veteran of perilous routes, spat over the side of the ship.

"This is as far as we go, lads," 

 "Black Water Bay's been a right mess lately. Pirates to the west, tribal rebels to the east, and that lunatic 'god-king' stirring up trouble from the inland. You're on your own from here." He growled.

Clewis opened his mouth to protest, but Lark clamped a hand on his shoulder. "We appreciate the ride, Captain," he said gruffly. "We'll make our own way from here."

As they rowed to shore in a small dinghy, the true scale of the chaos became apparent. Bodies floated in the murky waters of the bay, some fresh, others bloated and reeking. 

The docks were a hive of activity, with rough-looking men and women loading crates onto ships while keeping wary eyes on the horizon.

"Well, my friend," Clewis said, trying to keep his voice light, "it seems Izmar is determined to give us a proper welcome."

Lark grunted, his eyes scanning the docks for any immediate threats. "Just keep your head down and your mouth shut for once."

As they stepped onto the creaking wooden planks, a commotion erupted nearby. A group of short, dark-skinned locals--standing barely five feet tall, were engaged in a heated argument with a band of Gurano pirates. 

Clewis and Lark exchanged glances, surprised to see people who shared their skin tone, albeit in more diminutive stature.

Before they could process this, the argument exploded into violence.

 A pirate drew a wicked-looking blade, only to have his arm nearly severed by the lightning-fast strike of a native warrior wielding a macuahuitl -– a wooden club lined with obsidian blades.

"Shit!" Lark hissed, pulling Clewis behind a stack of crates as chaos erupted around them.

The air filled with the clash of steel, the crack of primitive firearms, and the screams of the wounded and dying. Blood slicked the docks, making footing treacherous as pirates and natives alike fell into the churning waters below.

"We need to get off these docks," Clewis shouted over the clangor. "Find somewhere defensible!"

Lark nodded, his eyes wild with a mix of anxiety and euphoria. This was the kind of visceral, raw experience he'd always tried to capture in his art. Now, surrounded by the stench of blood and gunpowder, he felt a perverse ecstasy.

They made a break for it, weaving through the melee. Clewis snatched up a fallen cutlass, while Lark armed himself with a heavy belaying pin. 

They'd barely made it halfway down the dock when a massive explosion rocked the bay.

Turning, they saw a pirate ship erupting into an inferno, its mast toppling as secondary detonations tore through its hull. The shock wave knocked them off their feet, sending them sprawling onto the blood-slicked planks.

As Clewis struggled to his feet, a shadow fell over him. 

He looked up to see a towering pirate, his face a mess of scars and poorly healed wounds. The man raised a rusted axe, a crooked grin splitting his face.