"Isabela, we cannot tolerate your debt anymore! I don't care a whit if you're part of the Armada yourself. We're pirates, not a charitable organization!" A man with the long, pointy whiskers argued with Isabela.
Just yesterday, as they sailed on the open sea a vessel even bigger than Siren's call intercepted them, connecting to their deck with long grappling hooks. Some loan shark who commanded the ship called "Shark of the Waking Sea" intercepted debtors, demanding their payment or their life.
"Oh, are you serious?! Look, I told Castillon, I'll pay him every single sovereign! I just need a little bit more time!"
"Time is what you don't have, my dear Isabela. Pay up now, or my men and I will have to take your ship by force!"
"Wait!" Isabela panicked, noticing she's both out-manned and underpowered.
"I'd rather not throw you to the sea. We've been good friends for years now. But Armada demands payment, one way or another." captain said, letting out a sigh.
"It seems we are at an impasse, then." Isabela said, playing with her golden earring.
"Look, Isabela. I've been working at this job for twenty years. I've never returned with an uncollected debt. I'm not going to slander my good name by letting you go."
"Of course not. But I'm sure Castillon has some extraordinary job I can do."
Man looked at her, rolling a tip of the whisker around his finger. He was in deep thoughts for a moment and then a flash of idea glimmered in his eyes.
"As it turns out, there's one job offer he has and so far, nobody accepted it. Something about the nature of the cargo or something. My guess is that the big boss hauls lyrium, or something else. Drives a good man crazy, that thing."
"Raw lyrium, huh? Sounds illegal." Isabela smiled.
"Don't act all knight-like now! You're a pirate, same as I."
"Oh, don't take this as a sign of rejection. Price of the cargo might just be high enough to secure my debt."
Shark of the Waking Sea accompanied Siren's call, constantly aiming at its hull with powerful triple cannons. It was a mighty, stout frigate, throwing a shadow upon Isabela's swift carrack. The look on her face was worried, as she stared down the foaming sea, sitting on a bowsprit. Travel to Armada's headquarters in Llomeryn was tense, but without a hitch. However, as they docked Sayo's eyes darkened.
Isabela and Damien both noticed half-elf's reaction.
"This is the town where you were born, right?" he asked. Isabela listened.
"Indeed. I can't believe I became a pirate." he said, with a deep anger in his voice.
"We don't have to dock if you don't want. We can stay on the ship." Damien offered a consolation.
Isabela interrupted their speech. Both Damien and Sayo turned to her, with a curious look in their eyes.
"Do my ears deceive me, or did a pair of pussies just start talking?" she said, placing hands on their shoulders.
"Now listen here..." Damien's eyes darkened.
"I know what this is about. Your pretty elf-friend is terrified of this town. Most be terrible, returning to the place you hate. Listen, I have a perfect story for occasion. It might help you put things into perspective."
"Sayo won't go into town anyway. We might as well stay and listen."
"Do you know what happened to my late husband?" she asked.
"I guess you ate his heart." Damien cracked a joke.
"I wish I did. My late husband bought me from my mother, because he desired me. A foolish man thought he could buy my love with gifts. It would probably remain the same, if I didn't meet Zevran. My husband intended to keep me caged there, serving him as I did. Not so long afterwards, he was assassinated in his sleep. I would kill him anyway, but this time it wasn't me. Lucky for me, isn't it? I was free."
"Is there a point in this story?" Sayo asked.
"Hold your horses. I'm almost there. Mmmhm, where was I? Oh yes, Armada offered me a freedom, a chance to wreak havoc, plunder and fuck. I didn't have to care about my past any more. Neither should you. I know we pirates can be fucking assholes. But not all of us are idiots like those who murdered your mom, sweetie. If I was there, I would slit their throats and adopt you. Alright, maybe I wouldn't adopt you. Now, you have two options."
"I hate pirates. Nothing you say can change that." Sayo brooded.
"Right, you hate pirates. I get it. But you can either stay here in this fucking hole of town, or you can stay with me and get over that past. I can't promise we won't pillage and murder and fuck, but I can promise we would never harm anyone who doesn't deserve it."
"How is that any different?" Sayo asked.
"We are not Crows. I would never force you to kill people. Hell, I would help you save those elves in Alienage."
"Alright, Isabela. I'll trust you, for now." Sayo said.
"Good. Now let's go drown our sorrows in kegs full of rum. I'm better at drinking than talking."
Town of Llomeryn, as it turned out, looked completely different from how he remembered it. It could be compared to the feeling of leaving home, returning after a long time and realizing everything looks somehow different than you remember. Dirty docks had the stench of fish and sweat, and ironically, it's all Sayo remembered. Even more strange is that this smell actually made him remember his childhood.
At the end of the docks, nearing the down-town entrance, sat a pair of statues shaking each other's hand, making an archway. One depicted a large Qunari Arishok, and another a human ambassador. The names of the respective people were weathered, but the letters on the plaque still said: "Commemoration of peace between Rivain and Par Vollen."
Sayo remembered he once took a piss under the statue, being chased by the city guard afterwards. He jumped at the cold, smelly sea in the middle of the night, almost drowning. Luckily, he was saved by a sailor who came out of the tavern to get some fresh air. Mayhap that was the reason Sayo feared the sea, as much as he respected it. The feeling of deep ocean grabbing him with the gluttonous fangs, eternity of the water threatening to wipe his very memory…
"Sayo, are you alright?" Damien asked, shaking his arm.
"Oh, yes. I've just remembered something."
Small group headed beneath the statues, towards a crowded bazaar filled with exotic smells combined with stench of sweat and dead fish, almost stepping on beggars that filled the city street. It seemed as if the beggary became a profession of its own in Llomerryn. Damien counted beggars on the street, stopping at one hundred and fifteen before he finally got bored. They've passed through the bazaar appropriately named Beggar's street, taking a turn right before they finally reached a small tavern squeezed between two larger buildings.
A smell of smoke and cooked food came through the doors opened just a crack, and Damien pushed them ecstatically, being hungry for some proper, cooked food. As Sayo, Isabela and Casavir entered the building, Damien already sat there, eyeing a red-headed tavern wench that served beer to some pirate who groped her, making the woman giggle.
"That lousy faggot." Isabela muttered.
"What, Captain? Need somebody to pinch your butt as well?" Casavir joked.
"Oh I do have those who pinch my butt. They at least have some teeth left. Well, some of them."
"Fair enough."
Sayo sat with Damien, ordering a meal and Isabela soon joined them, buying drinks for the whole table. When the tavern wench finally brought a tray full of ale, Isabela gave her a wink and she slipped a paper out of her pocket, balancing beer on one hand. Isabela straightened the rolled paper out, demanding attention of Damien whose eyes naturally ended up on redhead's butt cheeks.
The paper, written carefully by an educated hand, got a seal of Armada as well as a handwritten sign by the top ranking representatives, including Castillon.
"The cargo... bay forty zero two. Nature of the cargo revealed privately… one thousand sovereigns.. ONE THOUSAND SOVEREIGNS?!" Isabela screamed when she realized how much money is involved with this task. Many pirates in the tavern turned her eyes towards her.
"I've lost one thousand sovereigns! How will I ever get it back, oh Maker!" she screamed, skilfully avoiding more questions.
"What's the cargo like?" Casavir asked.
"Oh, sometimes I forget you don't know how to read. Cargo will be revealed privately.. but the price... we can live rich for decades with this money!" she whispered into his ear. His eyes squinted.
"Don't you think this is suspicious, Captain?" he asked.
"To hell with being careful. Life's a risk anyway, isn't it?" she asked. Sayo and Damien nodded, not really knowing what this all is about.
"Our debt to Castillon is five hundred sovereigns anyway. Five hundred is ours, but we can't take all thousand and leave." Casavir reminded her.
"Oh balls. You're right, of course. The debt. Well, if I don't pay the debt Armada will destroy my ship. My Siren is more important to me than any money. Right then. Let's put our gloves on and dig in the shit." she smirked.
"That's what I like to hear. What about those two? They've been with us for a short time. You think they're up to the task?"
"As long as they don't eat the lyrium or insert it down their ass, it's fine. Anyway, Castillon lives on the far end of the street, and owns a warehouse by the docks. Let's go."
Armada pirates brought Siren's call to the warehouse, bringing the ladders down for the easier cargo transport. Isabela didn't like it – Siren was like her lover, and the touch of a stranger made her jealous. However, to save her, she was willing to take a risk. Castillon appeared soon after – a tall, strong built human. His azure eyes had a ruthless glint to them, along with his tight lips and neatly trimmed, short hair. He gave out an aura of arrogance and confidence, giving the feeling of somebody who's so powerful that a lesser man can't even dare to hope laying a finger on him. He took a graceful step towards the big, closed crate, inspecting it with his fingers adorned with crude rings bearing Kirkwall insignia.
"I take it you're Isabela. We haven't had a chance to talk much. Still sailing on your late husband's ship?" he asked.
"My name is Isabela. That's a large crate. Making a fortune for yourself, I reckon?" she asked, ignoring his question.
"Of course. Man has to make a living somehow. Listen, the job is very simple. The Ferelden got its ass bit by the Blight, as much as you already guessed. The refugee leader paid me to transport him and his buddies to Free Marches. A rather simple task, don't you agree?"
"Refugees, huh?" she asked, opening a hatch on one of the crates. One man looked at her, but she didn't catch a good look before Castillon slammed the hatch shut.
"Some of them might have a disease. They say it's not spreading through the air, but why taking a chance?" he asked.
"Right. Now, onto the bureaucratic part."
"Deal is simple – you will take those refugees to Free Marches. That will secure one part of your debt. My men will pay you five hundred more as a reward for bringing them safe. Also, here…" he said, walking briskly towards the warehouse, taking a scroll of paper, giving Isabela a pencil dipped in ink.
"Sign… here." He said, pointing at the blank space.
Isabela read it carefully, memorizing every word. The look upon her face seemed mistrustful for a moment, but then she looked at the heavy coffer of gold his men carried to their ship and soon forgot the reason for mistrust. She swiftly signed the paper, handing the pencil back to Castillon who put it on his sleeve and crossed hands behind his back. Standing firm and upright, he looked down the water and said:"The sea is really calm, and it will be for several days. Take these refugees to Kirkwall, dyke. That's where you will meet with the rest of my men."
"Dyke, you say. Like that's an insult to me." She laughed.
They sailed out onto the sea just an hour later, after Castillon's men carried a large closed box with refugees in the storage area. As much as Sayo and Damien wanted to stay in the Llomeryn, the clock was ticking and Isabela really wanted to sail out as soon as possible. Luckily, the sea wasn't a harsh mistress. Slight breeze gently touched Siren's sails, pushing the carrack down the water, as Isabela gently held a steering wheel.
That night, they had a banquet to celebrate their future wealth. Isabela brought out a barrel of rum, serving drinks to their crew.
"Hey, Isabela... can I grope YOUR butt?" Casavir asked, completely drunk.
"Do it, and you'll lose your fingers." she said, completely serious.
"Awwwh, you're no fun, Captain! We should aire.. hair... hire a wench to keep us boys happy here."
Large 'Yeah' was heard as a response to his words. Isabela just laughed, drinking a bit of rum and brushing it from her lips.
"I might do that, for private reasons." she smiled.
At the same time, Sayo and Damien played cards with a boy who cleaned the decks and the ship. He was relieved from his cleaning duty tonight, and he joined two former assassins in the party of Wicked Grace.
"Do you always play Wicked Grace?" he asked. Damien placed a card on the table, but when Sayo answered he folded and cussed into his beard. Only then he noticed a boy asked something.
"What did you say?"
"I asked, do you always play Wicked Grace?"
"Yes, why do you ask?" Damien asked, as Sayo pulled three gold towards the safety of his bosom.
"Where I come from, we play Lucky 21. The goal of the game is to pile the numbers, and the person who reaches 21 or closest to 21 takes the money. Each player starts with eight cards, from 1 to 8. There are two decks of cards on the table. One is marked with 4-6, and another with 5-9. The cards in those decks are randomly numbered, with numbers from 4-6 in one deck, and 5-9 in another. Following me?" he asked.
Both men nodded.
"Each player has cards in his hand, and he pulls the cards from the stack. The outcome of the game is pure luck, but there's tactics involved. If you pass 21 when you pull the card, you lose all the money you're betting on. So you have to know when to stop drawing cards."
"I like Wicked Grace more." Damien pouted his lips.
"Yeah, I guessed so. I bet only aliens still play Lucky 21."
Damien felt his stomach churning because of the rocking ship and the alcohol. Suddenly, he felt an acidic taste in his mouth and rushed towards the deck to throw up.
He stayed on the deck, leaned over the rail, trying to pull himself together. After he found some strength to walk again he went down the stairs, but his drunk mind forgot how to get back to the room where he was. He went another way, going down the stairs, in the storage area. First, he noticed the room looked completely different and darker.
"Sayo? You there?" he asked, still oblivious to the fact that he picked the wrong door.
"Oh shit. I must have taken the wrong door." he finally realized. As he turned to go back to the deck, suddenly he heard something which made his blood freeze.
"Help..." somebody muttered from the darkness. He stopped in his tracks, taking a lantern barely visible in the darkness, firing it up to light the space. It was a storage area, indeed, and Damien noticed a closed crate sitting by the far end of the wall.
"Is somebody there?" he asked.
"Please, help us..." the voice answered. Damien rushed towards the crate. The hatch on the crate was locked, but he used the small knife from his boot to unlock the padlock. When he opened the hatch, he lit the faces of the refugees inside. Every single one of them had chains around their arms and one around their neck, with a long chain that held them all together.
"You're that pirate! Blight take you all!" an old man yelled.
"Calm down, old codger. We're taking you all to Kirkwall. You'll be safe there."
"Safe?! You think you're funny, boy?! Kirkwall, a city of chains! So fitting!"
"What are you talking about?!" Damien got annoyed by his raspy, old voice.
"You don't know? Get out of here, you stupid pirate! Leave us to our misery!"
Damien took a firm step forward and looked the man right in the eyes.
"Look, old fool. I may be young, but I'm definitively not stupid! If you tell me what's wrong, I can help you. But judging by your demeanour, sitting in that crate might do you good."
Old man let out a sigh, and his eyes watered.
"That damned fool Castillon! He offered us a transport to Free Marches. My family is here, oh Maker! My dearest granddaughter is sick with the flu, and he put a chain on her neck and on her arms! We're sold to the slavery, boy! There's no safety for us!"
Damien felt the creeps going down his spine. Slavery? Nobody ever talked about slavery!
"Slavery? What are you talking about?" he asked, as his stomach started churning, twice in a short period of time. He was still drunk, and even like this, he felt the gravity of the situation.
"We're not going to be free! Castillon's men will take us to the port and hand us over to Tevinter slavers! I'm not the only one with the family here. Some elves fleeing the Denerim Alienage are also here, as well as a small group of surface dwarves. If you don't help us, we'll never have our freedom again!"
Damien felt as if his back hit the wall. This was Isabela's affair, and she didn't know anything about it. He felt obliged to tell her everything.
"Listen, old codger. I'll inform my captain about this. If she knew you were slaves, she would never accept the deal!"
"Do whatever you can. Just don't give us to Castillon's men!"
He ran up to the deck again, tripping couple of times on the blighted stairs that looked much higher than usual. Before he got to the captain's cabin, his stomach started to scream again and he threw up once more.
Damien entered Captain's cabin, still drunk, barely finding the way towards the far end of the ship. He didn't pay attention to sounds coming from in there. As he opened the door, pressing on handle with all of his drunken weight, he practically fell on the floor. First, he didn't hear Isabela's surprised sigh. As he raised his eyes, he saw Isabela standing up, wearing nothing but a thin blanket. The man on the bed was tied with straps, blindfolded. It almost looked as if she blushed, but Damien knew she isn't shy, so it was probably just a rum judging by several bottles around the bed.
"What the fuck, Damie?! Can't you knock?! Blight take me, you're drunk!" she exclaimed, surprised as much as he.
"I threw up most of it." He muttered, giggling, before he turned to his captain with dead serious expression." Listen, captain! There are people below the deck!"
Isabela looked at him with a mocking grin on her face.
"You don't say." She said. Look in her eyes practically begged him to leave. Damien lost footing and grabbed the door handle to raise himself up.
"Those refugees are slaves, Bela! Castillon plans to sell them into slavery!"
Isabela regarded his face for a while, trying to discern whether he lies or not. When she couldn't find a trace of lie, the grin from her face completely disappeared.
"What?!" she said.
"Castillon won't let those refugees free. He plans to sell them into slavery."
Isabela looked at the man lying on her bed. She let out a sigh.
"Ugh, look… can we talk about this later?"
"It's important!"
"Maker's hairy arse, Damie! Let me fuck in peace! I'll come as soon as I'm done!"
Damien indeed left the room, but he couldn't shake the uneasiness from his gut. Casavir was on the deck, peering into distance, probably to clear his drunken mind. He noticed Damien, and looked at him with a mocking grin.
"What's wrong, dog lord?" he asked.
"Piss off, Cas." Damien muttered.
"If there's something wrong on the ship, I need to know." Casavir stepped in front of him.
"You have a keen eye, for a pirate." Damien spat.
"Look, we don't have to be friends. I don't like you as well. But this will be easier if you just tell me."
Damien let out a sigh, leaning on the rail, looking down the sea.
"Those people you carry. They're all slaves. Castillon will sell them to Tevinter."
Casavir looked at him for a moment.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"You've heard me. Your refugees are actually slaves."
His face looked troubled, as if he remembered something bad.
"Does Isabela know?" he asked.
"Yeah… but she's tending to some business right now, so she shooed me out of the room."
Just as they finished a brief conversation, a man left the room wearing nothing but his underwear.
"And don't you dare coming back here again! Do you hear me?!" Isabela yelled behind him.
"Piss off!" he yelled back. Still in his underwear, he started undoing ropes on one of the boats tied to the hull of the ship, ready to leave.
"Oh Captain, you're in a bad mood!" Casavir yelled.
"That blighted idiot. I'm not a fucking whore! I mean I am, but even whores have some honour." She spat an answer from her broken lip. Damien couldn't help himself not to chuckle.
"What I have to say won't make you feel any better." Casavir said. Isabela rubbed a bit of blood coming from her broken lip and spat the rest on the floor.
"I know. Damie filled me in on the slave situation." she sighed.
Damien laughed. "I filled nothing. That guy however…" He nodded towards the man who just left the ship.
Isabela chuckled, while Casavir rolled his eyes.
"So what's the plan, Captain?" he asked.
"Well, we can't kill them, but we can't hand them to Tevinter on a silver plate. There's a sea entrance to the rocky ravine in the Free Marches. Our ship is small enough to enter there undetected. Armada doesn't know about this place – I found it out when I wanted to stash loot that I stole under their noses. I can dock my ship there."
"But it's a ravine. What will they do, act like spiders and climb the cliffs?"
"Of course not, idiot. The cave where I stashed my loot has a series of tunnels leading up to the mountains. They can escape there, and none will be the wiser."
Isabela went below the deck to meet those slaves herself. She took the lantern, opening a hatch just like Damien did. Large group of slaves inside rested in a weary sleep, mostly crouching, leaning on each other. They smelled like shit, stale food and piss. Isabela made a disgusted face, realizing just how bad their situation was.
"Casavir, these guys shit all over themselves!" Isabela yelled.
"Well what do you expect, Captain? They're packed up in there, tied by the chains."
"When I see Castillon again, I will kill him, I swear!"
"That's what I like to hear." Casavir said.
Sail towards Free Marches wasn't problematic. They've reached the rocky cliffs after a second day of sailing. Waking Sea thrashed against the rock, producing large waves, and Isabela carefully navigated around rocky spikes which would emerge out of the sea from time to time. All this time, the crew was nervous – navigating around the coast of Free Marches often ended up in tragedy, hazardous as the shore was.
The Wounded Coast stretched from the Kirkwall, all the way to the west. Later that day, as the sun slowly set down, Isabela turned the sails around, slowing the movement of the ship. As she turned wheel rudder around, it approached the entrance to the ravine, gently sailing between two steep, rugged cliffs.
Cliffside threw the deep, dark shadow across the ship, with a sun as just a thin trace of light far above their heads. Some skinny trees popped here and there, but none of them low enough to actually touch the ship. Very sailing through this narrow ravine took all of Isabela's concentration, and then they've finally reached a wider part with the entrance to the cave. Also, this is where she planned to turn her ship, since the rest of the canal wasn't wide enough.
"Boys, come! Help me unload the box out of the ship!"
Isabela ordered a command. Group of her sailors ganged to take a box outside, heaving as they did. It wasn't a large box, and they've all wondered how did those slaves even fit in there. Damien and Sayo helped put the ladder down, and Isabela used her lock picking skills to open the sliding door. Seeing the sun, some of the younger slaves started crying. An old man who talked with Damien approached him, with a badly smelling stain on his leg.
"Thank you, boy. You've given us our freedom. Maker be with you."
"Yeah yeah, sure. Go on."
Isabela and Sayo picked the locks on manacles, finally managing to unlock it after a tedious task which took her whole fifteen minutes. Men took the chain and threw it down to the sea.
"Maybe you all should just jump to the sea and swim to the cave. It might clean you up a bit." Damien added. Nobody heard him, though. Slaves celebrated their freedom, hugging each other, happy to finally be free. They've slowly left the ship, entering the cave one by one. It was a sad scene to look at – none of them actually wore anything other than some dirty rags. Most of them were, indeed, covered in faeces and dirt.
"We're doing the right thing, Isabela." Casavir said.
"Even if we don't, I've made a choice. Screw Castillon."
"Where are we supposed to go, however?"
"We set sail to anywhere. Who knows? Kirkwall is, for now, out of reach."
