The Crew

Darius and Elara didn’t have time to waste. They needed a crew, and fast.

Elara sighed, adjusting the strap of her belt. “Where do we even start?”

Darius smirked. “Same place you find every good sailor; at the bottom of a tankard.”

They headed back toward the Shamrock Tavern, weaving through the bustling streets. A large brass bell outside the tavern clanged as they stepped inside, signaling the last call for drinks. The tavern was still lively, the scent of rum and roasted meat filling the air. A group of musicians played a raucous tune in the corner, the music nearly drowned out by boisterous laughter and drunken arguments.

Darius leaned against the bar, scanning the room. “Alright, we need fighters, navigators, and at least one person who can cook.”

Elara scoffed. “After what our last cook made us eat? I’d settle for someone who knows how to not burn hardtack.”

Darius’s gaze landed on a burly woman at the back of the room, arm wrestling a man twice her size; and winning. “There’s our muscle.”

Elara pointed to a thin, sharp eyed man rolling dice at a table, winning far too often to be lucky. “And there’s our navigator.”

A sudden crash caught their attention as a man tumbled backward, flipping a tray of what looked like sweet bread onto himself. He sat up, groaning, covered in bits of cake.

Darius grinned. “If he’s got half as much luck in the kitchen as he does in clumsiness, I say we take the risk.”

They approached their potential recruits, making their pitch. Some were eager for coin, others for adventure, and a few simply had nowhere else to go.


Elara stretched, satisfied. “Alright, let’s get them aboard.”

Darius grinned, tossing a coin to the barkeep. “Next stop; the open sea.”