Beyond the Pale

What Frieds Are For

The boat trip back went in silence. The whole time Castorius stared at the back of Roggie's head, thinking how stupid it looked to him right now, how he would just like to pick up one of those oars and give it a good clout.

Exercising utmost force of will, he kept his hands on his lap, and focused instead on not retching over the side. The wind was picking up still, and even this close to the shore the waves were making him feel queasy. Especially after such a big meal.

Two men from Malaney's crew accompanied them. The one rowing was the same one that had picked them up. Not a talker, him. Castorius hadn't heard the fellow utter a single word the whole time, and found it refreshing. It was possible the Captain had cut the man's tongue out on account of some more or less imagined offense. Or could be he was one of those rare types of men Castorius had heard of, who loved other things over the sound of their own voices.

Or, possible still, this was one of those men—even rarer in fact—who were wise enough to know that more often then not running one's yap served little but to get one in as deep a shit as imaginable.

The other man said nothing either, but wore the suggestion of a self-satisfied smile that made it obvious he was less likely to possess the sufficient self-restraint to keep his mouth shut indefinitely. Castorius had not see the man aboard the Brinerunner, and supposed he must have been a less important member of the gang. This was also perhaps hinted at by the fact that, unlike the other pirates, he was actually dressed in a proper shirt. Otherwise the man, with his long and flowing blond hair, was pretty much the picture of a Nord. In truth, Castorius thought that if there was an illustrated book of different races, this man would probably have his picture under the entry for that dominant race of Skyrim.

Castorius found he did not particularly care for this one either.

He stifled a sigh boiling within him; there was already plenty of moving air blowing about.

When the boat's bottom scraped at the sand, it was not a moment too soon. Castorius was anxious to get on shore, but had to wait for Roggie and the smug northern fool to exit before him. When his feet finally touched solid ground, he made a solemn vow to never again leave it, only to have his heart subsequently fall out at the realization he was more than likely to return to that floating house of misery real soon.

The rower, as soon as he'd managed to dispatch his cargo, made no needless courtesies, and just detached his boat from the shore as Castorius had barely gotten his feet out. He watched the man gain distance for a few seconds, unable to keep himself from admiring the man's efficient mode of conduct. He wished he could shake off this whole disaster as nonchalantly but, alas, was stuck with his present company. Which, apparently, now also included this shirted pirate oddity. Did the other fellow forget him?

Not likely. The Nord was smiling at the wind-ravished, murky beach as if he'd never seen a prettier piece of land in his entire life. On the other hand, he was from around here, so that probably didn't land too far off the mark. And even though the man had to squint his eyes to keep the wind from blowing sand in them, his face was beaming as if warmed by the loving caress of the early afternoon sun.

Who is this moron, and why is he here?

Roggie apparently had no pickle with the man's presence. He looked at the fellow and then Castorius, like they were all part of the same happy pack, exhaled in satisfaction, and said, "Well, this started well, don't you think?"

The shirted Blood Horker opened his gap to reply, but Castorius cut in before the man had a chance to make his insipid contribution.

He pointed his finger sharply at Roggie. "You and me, we need to talk."