3. The journal of Sabre Seesaw

The journal of Sabre Seesaw


  • The third degree and other side-effects of tea consumtion

    Fark.

    Dammit.

    Sod.

    Crap.

    Farkfarkfarkfarkfarkfarkfark, bleeding hells and sodding feck!

    Drelan pulled me aside earlier today for a private talk, concerning my "tea" with a certain Senator, who apparantly belongs to a family and an organization considered as our competition, and as old enemies of Deacon himself in particular….fark.

    How Drelan found out I don't know, I can only assume the crew onboard Aarron's ship gossiped like bloody fish-mongerers. Word is they only -just- returned to Peltarch, I guess like most sailors they hit the inns the first thing they did and talked their stinking little gutter-mouths off. How matters little though, the fact remains that I had to explain my own, very -private- affairs to the Lieutenant, trying to assure him that they are just that, private.

    Oh, I've been interrogated before, scolded and shouted at, even beaten up on more than one occasion, but this...this was worse. There's just something about Drelan, something about that piercing blue gaze and that seemingly infinite calmness that is very unnerving and made me feel about five years old again, caught with my hand in the cookie jar. The fact that I was telling the actual truth didn't matter, I still felt like a guilty child, and I'm not entirely sure I convinced him of my sincerity. He finished the talk with the rather omnious words "the captain knows"... fark, just fark.

    Afterwards I sat on a bench outside the Inn, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of my sails, when Drelan, damn that man, comes and sits down next to me and tries to cheer me up! He was so nice that I couldn't even be angry at him anymore, so nice that I abandoned the treacherous thoughts I'd been consoling myself with, so nice that I seriously considered skipping out on future tea times...but we'll see about that last part. He asked me why I was so upset, and I told him it's because I treasure what little privacy I have. That's true enough in its own way, but the real truth is that I hate how small I felt and how easily my confidence crumbled. I hate how someone can still have that effect on me, hate that I'm not stronger than that, hate... no, I don't hate him, not Aarron either (who undoubtedly knew -exactly- what he was doing), just hate myself and my disgustingly weak nature.

    The captain knows...the words still ring in my ears, though I've padded my senses with enough alcohol to stun an oxe. Perhaps it won't be so bad - it's not like I've been crew long enough to know any secrets worth telling, and I rather doubt that Deacon is the type of man who is possessive of his bedmates. But then again, he's unpredictable and often hard to read. He told me this about the bard fellow Elor, who tends to cling to me like a household cat at times, mistaking me for someone who would actually feed and care for him: "Either you kill him or I will." There might be a story behind that statement that I'm unfamiliar with, or he was just yanking my chain again, but still...can't say I'm not dreading having that talk with Deacon.

    One might think that after all this, I'd have some serious regrets about that tea, but I don't. Even if I'd known all the facts beforehand, I'd still have done the same thing, just a bit more discreetly. I'm itching to see Aarron again but perhaps it might be wise to wait until I hear what the captain has to say...but meh, since when have I been wise? I'm bloody dying for a cup of tea.


  • Tea time

    Another night, another ship, another lover. This one was no other than a Peltarchian senator and nobleman by the name of Aarron Ashald. I met him yesterday in the commons, and being bored, I struck up a conversation. He looked handsome, very neat and well-groomed, his armour so immaculate and shining that I just had to ask him if he was a paladin (shiny armour being a key to proper paladining according to Caling). That seemed to amuse him endlessly, and from there we started chatting about Peltarch, about shipping and sailors, about the art of blushing and about many different things, but really it was all about ending up where we are now. He stressed his family's wealth and riches, his fondness for the ocean and for the seafaring folks on it, and finally he invited me over to his ship for tea, as he called it. He is an incredibly arrogant man, but I reckon he's both good-looking, clever and rich enough to get away with it more often than not.

    As my crewmates arrived, he invited himself along shamelessly on our journey south to Norwick, first gifting me with a rather mean-looking bow. Throughout our trip, I could feel his eyes on me, watching, lusting, wanting…and upon our return to the city he repeated his invitation for tea, adding (somewhat superfluously) that there was no -actual- tea involved in the offer. I accepted for a number of reasons - he's rich and influential, which might come in handy in the future, and his wit and arrogance amuses me. Also there was the sheer curiosity of sleeping with a nobleman, and yes, there was quite simply an attraction between us that was hard to resist.

    Aarron was sleeping soundly when I snuck out of his quarters, looking significantly less tidy than when we first met. His hair was in a state of disarray, his lower lip swollen where I'd bit it and there were quite a few lovemarks scattered over his naked body. It would seem tea-drinking is a far less civilized past-time than you'd think, but I for one enjoyed it immensly. Whether or not we decide to brew a second pot remains to be seen, but I would have no objections to a refill. For now though, he's off on a trip on the Ice Lake and I'll revert back to my familiar pirate rum.


  • Eight-legged freaks

    I need more rum. I've finished a whole bottle by myself, and still my nerves are twitching all over the place. Today's training revealed something about myself that I didn't know, something I'd just as soon not know actually: I really, -really- don't like spiders…

    I made my way down to a place called the Gypsy Camp with Mark, hearing rumours of a possibly profitable mission of sorts for a woman living there. The camp itself wasn't a bad place, lively and pleasantly chaotic, if a bit too rural for my taste. Of course, the rumours of drow attacks and that sudden inpenetrable darkness that fell over us had me a little shaken, but still that was nothing compared to what was to follow...

    The woman, Tala I think her name was, told us to go out into the forest and collect some spider parts for a concoction she was brewing. Kinda gross, I thought, but hey, she said there would be a reward and I foolishly thought it couldn't be that bad. Sure, spiders give me the creeps with those long, far too many legs, but they're only small critters, quite easily squished...I was so wrong...damn, I need more rum.

    We headed out, spirits high, into a seemingly quiet part of the woods. I was strolling along on Mark's heel, when I suddenly heard a rustling in the canopy above and then...then...then this farking -huge- spider -leaps- down from the tree and chitters menacingly, all them hairy legs twitching, giant, poison-dripping jaw snapping at me! I swear that thing was big enough for a grown man to ride on, and I totally panicked when it hit the ground. Mark made short work of it though, and then....guts the disgusting thing, acting all cool and calm about it. I'd have legged it out of there in no time if it hadn't been for him and his confident attitude, and the sure knowledge that he would tease me endlessly if I chickened out. As things stood, I trailed along with my heart pounding in my ears, firing my bow at anything that moved as the woods got thicker and the spiders bigger and badder. Only some stubborn, slim sliver of dignity kept me from latching onto Mark's back and just closing my eyes until it was all over.

    Somehow I made it out without soiling me britches, and with hardly a scratch on me from standing as far from the fighting as possible. Tala then brewed this nasty looking, thick stuff that reeked like poison, but is supposedly a strengthening tonic. We each got a sample of the stuff, though I can't say I'm eager to try it. Better than that, I was given a bottle of some -very- strong booze...I probably looked like I needed it. That stuff's strong enough to put hairs on your chest, someone said, and of course I had to try it.

    It did have a real punch, but careful study of my chest revealed no hairs afterwards. Mark helped look, kind, considerate man that he is. The findings seemed quite to his liking too, and I couldn't help but feeling that small thud of desire again. I think my no-nice guy policy is safe though, he seems far too loyal to his girlfriend to ever actually get in the sack with me. So we flirt and tease each other, and I pretend to be all hurt when he (predictably) rejects me. He is nice though, in fact so nice that if he didn't have a girl already I'd have to avoid his company to maintain my sensible new policy concerning bedmates.

    I'll stop rambling now and get back to drinking myself into a stupor, so that I can finally get some sleep.


  • Peltarch by night. I'm sitting on the deck of Deacon's ship, a small lantern giving me just enough light to write by. The night is cool but not cold, the breeze pleasant against my skin. Around me in the distance are all the typical ingredients of a dock-side soundscape: loud, drunken singing, glass breaking, seagulls screeching and the occasional muffled scream of of someone who walked into the wrong alley. Nearby it is largely quiet, there is hardly a soul onboard apart from the captain and myself. He's in his quarters, probably still sleeping or plotting another way to take over the world.

    I had counted on him being impatient and demanding, and I was right. Rusty as I am, I had to struggle just to keep up. He's not a bad lover though, experienced, resourceful and quite intense. I think I've just rediscovered muscles I forgot ever existed, as if I wasn't sore enough from running up and down the nars pass…but I feel good, calm as I've not felt for a long time now.

    I'm fitting in nicely with the crew too, even made a little progress with my training. Corana, the high priestess of Umberlee took a few of us all out into the kobold-infested caves nearby to kill and plunder to our hearts delight. She's an imposing woman, cool to the point of icy, but nontheless quite concerned about the well-being of the crew. Her fellow priestesses are K'yaria, Mercy and Taria, all in all some of the meanest and loveliest Umberleans around.

    K'y may come across as being cold like Corana, but has a wicked sense of humour and is a joy to watch around men. The way she toys with their minds and manipulates them makes me feel positively harmless in comparison. She's a real gem, hopefully a friend in the making as she's new just like myself. Taria is as yet an enigma, enthusiastic, bubbly and sweet, but will happily slaughter any unfortunate wildlife that crosses her path.

    Mercy....ah, where to start regarding Mercy? She's a dwarven sailor, and that's about the least unusual fact about her. I've been around sailors all my life, but I don't think I've ever come across anyone ruder, lewder, cruder, more unintelligable or with a more questionable attitude to personal hygien. Yet somehow, inexplicably, I can't help but love such a character. Life is never dull with Mercy around. Painful yes, when she gets it into her head to jab my arse with her trident for reasons unknown, but never dull.

    The breeze is picking up, I think it's time to call it a night and go warm my hands on the nearest part of my captain's anatomy.


  • The Black Sails

    My life is getting busy, I haven't touched this journal in quite a while now. At long last I have a moment to myself, sitting in this hovel of a so-called town known as Jiyyd. Just me, my bottle of rum and this journal…and that doughy farmer in the corner can just forget about eye-balling me with such hope, it aint gonna happen.

    I've met most of the crew by now, been given some starting equipment and travelled pretty much all over the region...by foot. My feet are sore, my legs, my back...damn, and Deacon would have me running everywhere too, the mean bastard. Builds stamina he claims, but really he's just too impatient to ever wait for anyone. I can't help but wonder if he's impatient in bed too, though I suspect I'll soon find out. We flirted outrageously enough to make a hardened, scar-faced warrior blush like a school-girl just the other day, and I am now invited to spend my nights at Deacon's ship, to enjoy the "rocking and rolling motions" as it were.

    My role in the crew will be smuggling, Deacon's suggested. This suits me fine, although it means I need to learn a lot more of the local trade-market first. To aid me is a fellow new recruit called Caling, a pretty elven lass with a wit as sharp as her rapier. She's quite a character, weaving tales wherever she goes and even creating a persona for herself as a paladin of Sune. I've been teaching her whatever skill I have at swordsplay, though which one of us is worse at it I can't tell.

    Next in line from Deacon is Drelan, his right hand man and the classic type for a first mate. Calm, practical and reliable, whereas Deacon is more the visionary type. Drelan strikes me as hard, but fair, and has these eyes that seem to see right through people. Not the sort of man you'd ever want to mess with, for sure...but he's more than passably attractive. Damn my weakness for red hair...

    Luckily there is another redhead that seems a safer target to persue, namely a burly type called Mavado. He's head of the Church Guard, and is quite an excellent man to hide behind in a scuffle, unless his fine rear distracts me from the fight that is. Mavado is a good sport, a mean fighter and surprisingly also a rather excellent cook. Gurt, a big and bald half-orc is another great chef, and is quite the sweet-heart. He has these shockingly pink, tight pant that he calls Hot Pant, apparantly a real danger to other orcs as it makes them hot to the point of bursting into flames.

    Another sweet one is Mark, an annoyingly cute crossbowman and strangely also a Defender up in the city. How he ended up with us seedier types is anyone's guess, he seems an actually decent man though he has a fair bit of sass at times. He's engaged to another Sail, a pretty and slightly unbalanced blonde called Celina. I'd better keep my hands to myself, or I might lose them...but Mark has that boyish charm that is hard to resist at times.

    I've made a promise to myself though, to steer clear of the nice and decent men around me and stick to the ones as corrupted emotionally as me. It seems safer all around, no feelings hurt and no need for guilt to seep into the fun of it. Besides, I can't take the risk of actually liking a man I'm about to sleep with too much - I can't be sure that my heart is dead and buried altogether. The last thing I need is another mess like the one I left behind me a year ago.

    Hm, more crew...there is Fedar, a shifty-eyed hin who leads the more sneaky part of the crew, there is Grano, a sharp-tongued sarcastic mage, then there is Paci, a daring and sort of dashing militia man of Norwick. Grak is a fat half-orc who seems especially gifted at pissing off every single woman in the Nars region, including our own crew. I guess being called female doesn't strike me as much of an insult really, but I sense we're about to clash sooner or later. Hawk is a quiet type, observing and saying little, but seems to have a good eye for me.

    The priestesses of Umberlee are a chapter in themselves, and will have to wait for another day, as my bottle is empty and my eyes weary.

    //bound to have forgotten some crewmembers, it's a little hard to keep track of who Sabre met in the beginning and who turned up later on, but bear with me, you will all get a mention eventually 😉


  • //::demands more, with certain dwarf sailors featuring!::


  • I'm in. The captain's last words to me were "ye'd look good in black and gold". I'm to meet the rest of the crew the day after tomorrow, in a little village further south called Jiyyd. Deacon Sterr…he looked so smug as we parted, thinking he was the one to recruit me, just as he'll no doubt think he's the one who seduced me when I sleep with him...and I'm going to, I'm sure of it already.

    He's no fool though, and his questions had me rattled more than once during our verbal jousting this evening. He was testing me, challenging me, and yes, flirting with me also. At first I was nervous, intent only on keeping my charade up, but then...something about that pirate grin, the flash of interest in his eyes and possibly the very strong rum we had egged me on. I felt a sudden lurch in the pit of my stomach, like a frozen lump melting, unfurling, a small beast waking up and arching its back. I flirted right back and watched that grin spread all across his face. I decided there and then, one year of celibacy will be more than enough for this sailor. The little beast inside will have her fill after being starved for so long. I feel fit for fight again, finally.


  • Found myself in idle flirtation with a nobleman down on his luck today, sitting in the Peltarch Commons. I'm admittedly rusty at seduction, but it seems I haven't lost my touch altogether - I had the man's moustasche curling decidely upwards without much effort on my part. That small affirmation aside, the days are dreary and uneventful. I seem to spend most daylight hours running menial errands for the Seafarers Guild and have even dared the kobold-infested foothills once or twice to try to scrape two coins together. My nights are spent here at the Ferret, drinking and scouting out the local riffraff for possible job opportunities. I need something suitable to my particular talents…and I think I've found just the thing.

    Captain Deacon Sterr - the name is frequently mentioned at the Ferret and indeed all around the docks. Pirate, smuggler, ruthless killer, ladies man - these are just a few of the things I've heard about the man who is undoubtedly -the- man to talk to regarding any kind of profitable career in shipping. I've seen him at the Ferret a few times now, always surrounded by his black and golden-clad crew known as the Black Sails. He is an attractive man in his own way, older but with a rogueish charm and a certain sense of flair befitting a pirate captain. If my self-confidence wasn't still less than solid, I'd have walked over and charmed my way into his good graces days ago, but as it is I've concocted a different strategy. He has a son, one that I've even met briefly once or twice in port. I'll spin a tale about working for said offspring - hopefully this'll be enough to get me some kind of employment.

    Aha, time to put my journal to rest, here he comes now. Wonder of wonders, he is alone...and he's heading my way.


  • Chaos…smoke covers the Docks district, warehouses are burning, people screaming, crying, dying...

    The ghouls have laid waste to the harbour and my ship is nothing but ashes and smoking debris. Most of the crew are dead. Not that I'm all that heartbroken over that rabble of drunkards and knuckleheads, but I had pay to collect that I aint never gonna see hide nor hair of.

    I stay away from the Docks for now, the stench and the misery are hard to bear, even more so the sad sight of burning ships. Instead I've rented the cheapest room I could find in the Commerce district. Here I'll try to start my life anew. I've just dressed up in my brand new suit. There's a small, cracked mirror on the nightstand, perhaps it's time to give Sabre Seesaw a once over before I head out.

    I stare into that damned mirror for what seems like an eternity.

    I used to consider myself attractive enough at one point, before what little heart I ever had was stomped on, before....no, that is in the past, another's past, those are not Sabre's memorys and hurts. Suddenly I catch a glimpse of my mother in my reflection - beautiful, dazzling, ruthless and manipulative. I'll never be half the woman she was, truthfully I don't even want to be, but the image gives me strenght somehow.

    Ready or not, here I go.