Chapter 3! Okay, by mistake, In the reviews, I accidentally called Clipjaw, Clipfang, so sorry about the confusion. His name is Clipjaw. I just got mixed up. It's actually really confusing trying to remember everyone's name, so please bear with me.
To Tiller's great surprise, he thoroughly enjoyed the boisterous company of his fellow shipmates. They told him stories of their sea adventures, coastal raids and battles with other pirates. Tiller was so absorbed, he forgot about the newly christened "devil wind" that occasionally gusted through the dock.
He always assumed pirates were cruel and savage beasts bent on blood and booty, but this was not all true. Yes, they fought, looted, murdered, and drank, but Tiller figured there was more to it than that. There was a certain unusual bond between a seabeast and his crew and captain, and even his ship. A pirate always kept to the pirate's code, and loved their ships as if they were family. It seemed a harsh life, no doubt, but Tiller actually found himself looking forward to a life, who was loudly voicing his opinion about the best thing about being a corsair.
"I'd say the best thing 'bout bein' o' pirate would be...the ladies. Ye' know, all the pretty liddle females. They like strong and 'andsome beasts, such as me' self," he boasted loudly.
He paused and thought awhile before continuing.
"That an' the loot, the grog, and the killin'."
Clipjaw laughed.
Skivclaw snorted.
"That's got t' be th' most ye 'ave thought 'bout something, Slitfang, me ol' time mate."
Slitfang gave Skivclaw a murderous glare and touched the blade of his scimitar.
"I'll just pretend I didn't 'ear that, Skivclaw, me favourite messmate."
"Pretend all ye' want, it still be true."
Slitfang hissed and made to stand and draw his weapon, but Clipjaw pulled him down, sighing.
"Easy mate. Ye' remember what I said 'bout the cap'n. 'Sides, there ain't no point."
"Damn the cap'n! She's treatin' us like a bunch o' whinin' whelps!"
Tiller, who had not been listening, finally spoke up.
"Who captains the Tempest?"
A much angered Slitfang stopped and peered impassively at Tiller. He looked to Skivclaw, who in turn looked down. Clipjaw cast a sideways glance at the great dark ship and checked to see if no other creatures were around. He replied in an anxious tone.
"Don't ya' know mate?"
Tiller shook his head.
Clipjaw lowered his voice and leaned in.
"The Tempest. Aye. 'Tis an evil vessel. A bad omen. A great pirate who's seen more battles than any o' us pirates care t' know is the lord o' his floatin' fortress. He be a massive searat, black and scarred. Great lust for shiny things, that 'un. They say he 'as a 'oard o' treasure layin' in bilge. Supposedly it's what keeps the Tempest from tippin' over.
The cap'n, she loathes the Tempest an' it's crew beasts."
Tiller, still admiring the evil beauty of the dark wood ship, spoke.
"It's a masterpiece. Why would she hate it?"
Clipjaw looked taken aback.
"WHY? Why would she 'ate it? The bloody thing is a curse! A curse that rides the currents! Oh, no beast knows exactly why the cap'n 'ates the lord an' his great fortress. But I wouldn't blame 'er. I would not dare step within o' foot o' the that hellship!"
Tiller shook his head.
"Then why are we anchored at the same dock as this "hellship"? If it's as bad as you say, then why aren't we elsewhere?"
"Ye' can ask the cap'n when ye' see 'er."
A lanky weasel garbed in a faded green tunic stalked up to the trio.
"Cap'n wants ye," he said, motioning to the tavern.
Slitfang inhaled sharply and shook his head, his earrings jangling.
Skivclaw raised his eyebrows.
"Good luck mate," he said gravely.
Glancing nervously at the weasel, Tiller rose and walked towards the tavern, his heart beating.
Alrighty! Here's a hint. The conversation about the Tempest is a key one, so remember that. You'll find out more about Tiller soon! Please R&R!