Jacelyn Moonwhisper stood on the pier, gaping at the view. Taking a moment to reorient herself to land, she could still feel the constant motion of the ocean swells despite the unmoving surface beneath her feet. Port Freehaven, called Freehaven by its residents, was like nothing she had ever seen before. So very different from Saram, the city at the edge of the desert from which she and her best friend, Darli Quickfoot, had escaped, and Abad’Noir, the desert port city whose scrupulously organized docks transported trade goods from all around the Adaran continent.
The scene before her resembled barely controlled chaos. Jacelyn stared at the panorama before her. A wide avenue, choked with donkeys, mules, and oxen hitched to crate-laden carts and masses of people dodging the traffic, lay at the foot of a tall, broad cliff face with a series of expansive ramps carved into the stone. Bridges, walkways, and ladders clung to the side of the cliff in a practically vertical maze of ramps, stairs, and buildings all clinging for dear life along the face.
The Purple Gryphon, the ship on which they had sailed to the Dragon’s Claw Islands and Freehaven, had docked near the passenger piers. She and Darli finished their duties as cabin crew, and finally paid and released by the quartermaster, heading toward their next adventure.
“Dammit, man!” the captain barked at the harbormaster, Jacelyn heard as she disembarked. “That’s piracy, I say.”
The harbormaster, a medium-height, fat man with graying red hair and wearing a black and yellow tabard showing his status, laughed.
“Oh, aye!” he chortled. “Tha’s a good one. I’ll have ta remember ta tell the mayor that one, I will.”
A hundred years ago, Port Freehaven had been a pirate haven. Founded by escaped prisoners, freed slaves, and pirates, the entrance to the deep-water port of Freehaven was about 75 leagues north and east of the Adaran continent inside a barrier of coral reefs and three small volcanic islands. Just outside the main shipping lanes between Abad’Noir, on the north coast, and Thayur, on the east coast, Freehaven evolved into a replenishing port for ships bound to Thayur and beyond to Breakwater in the south.
Paying little heed to the bumping and jostling of so many people in one place, Jacelyn gawked at the crowds. The cacophony of a thousand conversations, the squeak of salt-dry axles, and the braying of hundreds of draft animals assaulted her ears, and she winced at the sound. Her nose wrinkled at the odor of too many unwashed bodies, along with the deposits of draft animals, cats, dogs, and nameless other creatures all crammed together in one place. Add to that the typical aroma of any seaport, and her stomach was reliving her first few days at sea. Covering her nose with her hand, she took a somewhat filtered breath.
Jostled from behind by another of the passengers from the Gryphon’s Head—an older woman with graying hair, wearing a rough-woven skirt and blouse, and carrying a worn leather bag over her stooped shoulder—Jacelyn shook herself and stumbled ahead to catch up with Darli before she lost the diminutive halfling in the mob. The two young women maneuvered through the crowded docks toward the first inn they saw, the Broken Rudder, and inquired after a meal.
The inside of the inn was easily as magnificent as the Father Abbot’s quarters back at the monastery. And not to her surprise, the cost for a single meal was more than the handful of silvers and coppers they could scrape together.
“Ha!” laughed the big man behind the bar. “That won’t get ye a table scrap here.”
Their faces fell, and they turned away, dejected.
“Ye look like honest lasses,” he said, looking at how Jacelyn had wrapped her sword belt three times around her waist instead of the customary two. “So, I’ll tell ye what. A retired member of the guard, Garam Brewer by name, runs a tavern down on the west side called the Dragon’s Claw Inn. You tell him that Owen Rivers sent ya his way fer a meal and a room. What you have should take care of a couple o’ nights at Garam’s place.”
“M..my thanks, Master Rivers,” Jacelyn and Darli stuttered together.
As they trudged west along the Waterfront District, the streets became grubbier, the storefronts shabbier, and the clothing more tattered. By the time they reached the Dragon’s Claw Inn, the streets had grown narrow, and the pedestrians turned rough. Jacelyn’s heart sank again, and they kept one hand on the hilt of their weapons and the other on their coin purses.
At the far end of the Waterfront District, just on the edge of the district the locals called Providence, they found the Dragon’s Claw Inn. Their eyes took a few moments to adjust from the bright sunlight when the two stepped through the rough-hewn door into the darkened tavern. The low buzz of conversation stopped when they entered the common room and the silence followed them all the way to the bar where the proprietor—a broad-shouldered man with the look of an ex-soldier—stood watching them, polishing a tankard with a dirty rag.
Jacelyn eyed the patrons as they crossed the room. She saw about a dozen people scattered about the tavern. Most appeared to be sailors either just arriving from sea or waiting for their respective ships to depart. She noticed two elves at a corner table, out of place in the seedy surroundings—their well-oiled leather armor a stark contrast to the loose shirts and trousers worn by the sailors.
When they reached the bar, and the barkeep set down the rag, Jacelyn saw he was missing the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand. He introduced himself as Garam Brewer. Master Brewer was a tall, good-looking fellow in his early thirties with an erect posture, broad shoulders, and a bit of a paunch that showed he didn’t exercise regularly.
The clientele of the Dragon’s Claw Inn was a step (or five) down from the Rudder, but Darli thought they could pay for a couple of nights, and maybe one meal a day, with what coin they had—at least according to Master Owen, the innkeeper at the Broken Rudder. Keeping her voice low in the still-silent tavern, she haggled with the innkeeper of the Dragon’s Claw Inn for a room and inquired about employment. He pointed them to the two elves sitting at the corner table on the other side of the common room.
Darli’s stomach growled aloud as the women joined the elves. One elf motioned to the serving girl as the two approached the table.
Darli maintained a polite demeanor despite her discomfort with her back to the room as conversations around them began again. She introduced herself and Jacelyn and said the innkeeper had directed them to the elves’ table. The silver-haired elf introduced himself as Marharyn and his golden-haired companion as Phynneous as he invited them to sit.
“I couldn’t help but overhear that you are looking for work.” Marharyn said. “We have a small commission, and if you’re interested, we’ll share the reward. Besides,” Marharyn continued, “you haggled with the innkeep pretty good.” He gave Darli a conspiratorial wink. “And me and Phynn here, well, we could use someone that knows their way around tough people and,” he nodded appreciatively at the many pouches and hilts arrayed around the halfling, “er, such,” the elf finished with a knowing wink.
Darli sat back in her chair just as the serving girl arrived and set hot bowls of stew, small loaves of bread, and foaming mugs of ale in front of her and Jacelyn. She stared at the elves.
“Eat!” said Phynneous. “You look famished.”
“Not to mention a little thin,” said Marharyn. “I know how a couple tendays at sea can affect a landlubber’s appetite,” he said with a knowing grin.
Darli tapped a code on Jacelyn’s foot—a code they had devised while held captive together in Saram, both having the same master.
What do you think?
They seem okay, and we could use the coin.
After a few bites, Darli looked up at the elves. “Sure, why not? We need the coin and you need the help. It sounds like a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Excellent!” said Marharyn, flicking a glance at Phynneous. “We’ll meet you near the entrance to the Barmaren Family Crypt at dawn. We’ve been commissioned to clear out a giant rats’ nest—and not disturb the family ancestors. So leave your bow behind, half-elf,” he said pointedly to Jacelyn as he and Phynneous rose to leave the inn.
Jacelyn and Darli finished their meal and moved their meager gear into their new—and they hoped temporary—home.
