The Hallowed Vessel

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Lita pondered to herself, they disappeared millennia ago. At least according to the old textbooks she’d read back home. But why? She didn’t have time to ponder long before a wave came crashing down upon her, flooding the deck for the moment, before running out of the gullies at the sides of the ship. The weather was certainly worsening.

“Alright Lita! No point in swabbing as the weather turns!” A harsh bellow came from the Second Mate, Jofra. “Stash the gear, get in the galleys, dry out, and serve the captain’s table! Then you can enjoy the evening!” Jofra let out a loud guffaw and grinned from ear to ear. At least, he would, if he still had both.

The captain insisted Jofra enjoyed Lita’s presence on deck almost a little too much, but he still did his job steering, and keeping the deckhands in good spirits, so he turned a blind eye. The Second Mate, and day helmsman, was a tall, dark skinned, young man, probably in his early twenties – young for a mate on a privateer’s ship – he wore several gold rings and chains, all prizes from skirmishes, lovers’ partners, and the occasional land raid. An expert duellist with both pistol and rapier, the only thing he lacked for a life on the sea was a taste for grog.

Lita was short, dark haired, and fiercely intelligent. She’d agreed to work in exchange for safe passage across the Versali Ocean. Some argued she couldn’t be that smart, exchanging work amongst privateers, pirates, and brigands for safe passage; after all the two sets of criteria didn’t often go hand in hand. However, she had a taste for excitement, which she wouldn’t get on a normal passenger boat.

Dragons are legendarily, at least, huge – how could they just ‘disappear’?

“GIRL! FROCK OFF, PINNY ON! WORK TO DO!” Roared Levant, the chef on board the vessel. A large, barrel chested man, with tree trunks for arms and shovels for hands. The pan handle looked like it hand come from a dolls house when he held it in his massive mitts. He had a big, bushy monobrow that seemed to cover his whole head and his arms, as well his back.

Lita scurried to change into the kitchen gear. She had to roll the pinny up six times just so it wouldn’t drag on the floor. More than that, she feared Levant. He had a fearsome reputation for throwing knives with extreme precision at anyone who angered him in his domain. An anger that could stem from his own miscalculation of ingredients, or his scullery maid not keeping the second fires up to an adequate stoke. Stories amongst the crew included that he’d dispatched an entire invading ships corps by throwing knives at them as they attempted to capture him whilst the rest were ashore raiding.

“YOUR’E LATE GIRL!” Levant spewed as he frantically whisked a mixture of God-knows-what, “HEARD JOFRA SHOUT 83 SECONDS AGO.” Ears like a bat. Lita silently mused, but she could only muster a meek start of an apology before Levant yelled again, cutting her off before she could verbalise even a syllable, “CARVE THE DAMNED MEAT, GIRL! IT’S DONE RESTING, AND CAP DON’T LIKE WAITING!” A slender, footlong carving knife whistled passed her ear and into the support pillar behind her.

Lita yanked the knife out, and started slicing thin cuts for the table. The Captain got thicker cuts, naturally, he didn’t get the ends, either. She didn’t live in fear of being keelhauled, per se, but she knew which side her bread was buttered. At least, when they had butter on board. She daren’t ask what meat it was. She was just glad to eat well when she got her plate.