Prologue

The dingy streets of Bloodstone became even more rambunctious and chaotic (if that was even possible) as the news spread about the town and soaked on the tongues of the locals hungrily. Just as drunks would inhale the latest import of knothole's ale as a career at the tavern, witless townsfolk gossiped as the latest insight harbored along with the ship and its sailors, bringing booze and other goods from various ports; a great deal of it stolen, no doubt.

It started as a whisper, maybe one of pure wishful thinking that escalated to something indisputably impossible to stop, but a simple whisper none the less from one grimy and miserable crate carrier to another equally dismal one as they unloaded the shabby and neglected looking ship at the harbor.

"A pal ol' mine from Knothole said e' seen a ship that looked a mighty lot like ol' Reaver's while e' was docked at the harbor for e' couple e' days. Though he was drunk…" the lowly sailor abruptly stopped as a piece of wood smacked him square in the back of his head.

"Oi, we not be having any of that nonsense" The ship's Captain dealt another swift blow to the jabbering man, "now back to work with the two of ye."

But by the time the captain had noticed the two slackers and silenced them, the damage had been done. The rumor spread like an STD on a tart's good night (considering that's the only comparison a local from Bloodstone would comprehend). It crept slowly to the tavern where the ship men enlaced the rumor with their other various tales and encounters while out at sea.

The disheveled drunks later grumbled something about it to a preoccupied whore; the drunk unable to muster much of anything to make sense with. But when that name slipped off their slippery tongues, the whore always perked up, whether due to memories or another, and pressed for more details.

After piecing together the jumble of blabber the tart could fathom, they quickly gathered in a suffocating haze of potential disease at their corners to swoon over the prospect of seeing their mayor again, growing dizzy with anticipation. The shop owners overheard the excitement of coos and giggles from the tarts and investigated their sudden giddy behavior who in turn gossiped about what information they had gathered between the squeals and giggles to their customers.

All in all, the place had become a riot and by evening everybody had at least heard the news if not already tripping over themselves and each other in a drunken sort of joy (Or maybe just drunk). And granted, a great deal of the town had exploded with this sort of craze enthusiasm, but there were those who carried out their somewhat dismal excuse of a life without a fleeting heart beat for the long lost Reaver, the Pirate king.

"As bad ass as the title may be, he doesn't seem to be all that of a pleasant person when you get around to it," a barmaid inquired to no one in particular in the crowded tavern. The place was dingy but it was also understood that it was probably as clean as the place could get considering. And be that as it may, it still had an old charm about it that made the tavern a uniquely pleasant place to be. Mickey, the owner of the tavern, probably had a large part for her opinion of the place.

"Aye, you weren't around these parts when Reaver was here," the middle aged barman said while handing off fresh pints from the keg.

"Nope" She almost sounded gleeful towards that fact and Mickey silently brooded over why. "I was just a small thing back in Samarkand."

The barmaid giggled and flashed a surprisingly brilliant smile to a staggering thug that had stumbled behind the bar. "No, no, Mister Riley," the girl rushed over to him before his flailing limbs could knock over any mugs. She waged her delicate finger at him and gave him a soft pat on the back while guiding him back to his rickety looking stool, knowing through experience that it was indeed rickety and dangerous, "Only personnel behind the counter." Riley merely remarked with a hiccup before his head slumped over and hit the table with a low thud.

"Salene, you really shouldn't play with the people like that" Mickey motioned her back over behind the bar where it was safe. Salene rolled her eyes but went to stand beside him and looked up into his tanned face as his features morphed into something she could guess was concern. "The people here are scum; you can never let your guard down."

"And what does that make you?" she retorted. Mickey opened his mouth at her remark but Salene didn't give him a chance to speak. "You're not scum, nothing of the sort" she smiled up at him as she spoke, making his tough heart crack with such innocence that she seemed to just glow with it.

"Besides Mickey, I can take care of myself. How do you think I carried on before you?" Salene fetched a couple of empty mugs and went to the back to deposit them in a bucket to be washed later, leaving the barman to stare blankly after her.

He had often wondered about such things from time to time and in the end Mickey had no idea how she could have faced the world as young as she was and still smile. He watched her as she turned back to her work. She had only been here in Bloodstone for a little over five months and he felt a possessive grip over her like a father would for his helpless child. Something he never experienced.

"Salene, may nothing in this world strip you of your innocence." Oddly enough, as he whispered this plea to whatever higher being that would listen he couldn't help but think of the pirate king.