The Adventures of the HMS Harlot

Part 2: Seymour Kipps, Sniper

We docked in port today. It's always a strange feeling after being in the sky for so long. At first you can't wait to get off the boat. Get to have some decent food, spend some money, and talk to someone other than your crew. After a few days it begins to wear on you. It's too loud, there are too many people, you spent all your money, and the whole port has this stink. By that point it's a relief to get back on the boat and watch the whole thing fade into the smog. I don't really know how many port cities I have been to. Honestly I really don't know how many port cities there are anymore. It's hard to keep track of them; they are either slowly shifting in location or falling out of the sky for some reason or the other. I have been to Armada cities, old Monarchy towns, massive trading hubs, and ports where there is not a single person alive on the thing. About ten years ago I winded up on this place that was actually two ports that crashed together. The land masses slammed into each other in such away that instead of dropping out the sky they continued to stay aloft. I have no idea how this damn thing was still floating. The official reasoning was that the town was stupidly lucky, that none of the important bits were damaged in the collision. One crazed man (who happen to have a had a bounty on his head) swore that the city was levitating by some strange phenomena. I don't exactly remember what he said, something to do with physics or magic but do know that I proceeded to laugh into this man's face and shot him (also in the face) shortly after.

The one constant about port cities is that every one has their docks and markets. Those markets are probably the strangest and most wonderful places I have ever encountered. Vendors' yelling about what raw meat they have hanging from their hooks, (swearing that it's pork, but you are pretty sure you can see a beak) merchant's trying to sell you a new cure from a disease or trinkets to protect you from sky spirits. You can find sailors, rich folks, con men, and traders all in the same place for some reason or the other. You can get all kinds of things. One time I was walking through a market and found honest to God chocolate. They say that chocolate can't be made anymore but there it was. The Old Lady would always tell me if you want to learn about a town you just need to walk through the markets. Even if you were blind and didn't speak the language you could find out everything you needed to know. If you paid enough attention you could find out if there was a new ship in, a plague, and how to find the right people. There were times where I was with the Old Lady and she didn't say a word. She would just walk through town, and by all appearances look like a grandmother shopping, and by end of the street would have all the information she needed.

Without stepping off the Harlot it was clear that this place has seen better days. The last time this port had a good day was years ago. There was barely any food being unloaded from the nearby ships, besides a few canned goods, and every shop I passed was either closed or had bars around the window. And of course was the unique port fragrance that smelled a lot like shit. The smell didn't bother me, it was the sound. There were no dogs barking, or people shouting at each other from across the street. Just the sounds of speaking in hush voices.

Due to these observations, I decided that instead of wandering through port I would head to my hammock for the evening. I was walking across the deck I heard a familiar voice call out.

"Eh Seymour!"

Ok. It's just Witherford. Just say Aye then you can go to the cabin and sleep.

"You're with me tonight."

Oh dear God.

I was about to climb for the crow's nest until he said that he had a job. A job was not what I was expecting him to offer. A job would be a good use of our time, help out the crew, and might be a bit more exciting than laying in my hammock. The old engineer said no rifles which was like asking me to chop off my hand; but I followed Witherford anyway.

It wasn't until I was seated at the bar with Witherford, with him smiling like a wolf, that I realized I had been duped. I promptly decided that I hated his man.

Before I could get up and leave Witherford passes me a pint of a dark brown ale. I don't think I could remember the last time I had a ale they didn't taste like goat piss.

"Live a little," he said.

I took the mug and drank it greedily. Good God it was good. And cold too. Then I drank another. Then maybe another. I didn't want to look frail in front of Witherford and tried to match him pint for my pint.

Soon after I can no longer remember what happened.

After talking to several crew member here is what may have occurred.

Apparently Witherford and I got into a bar fight with everyone.

According to Witherford I held my own during this encounter, but I am missing several teeth and I think my noise is broken again.

Apparently we met Otto for some reason and fought even more people. I don't know why we were fighting people.

I do vaguely remember Witherford laughing and yelling a great deal.

According to Ethel, I threw up a large amount of ale onto the deck and on Odessa's boots. Apparently, they were her good boots.

The next day I woke up in my hammock with blood on the side of my face and some dark crust on the front of my shirt. Through the slits of my eyes, I saw Connor press a water skin into my hands. God bless that large man. I drained the skin in seconds and slipped into unconsciousness. I will never drink again and I think I will kill Witherford Chesterfield later today. Maybe tomorrow. Depends when my head stops throbbing.

S. Kipps