Thread: Relentless (Reno x Lila Lupin)

Is this some sort of witchery? Peter asked with a smirk, then paused to take another healthy swig from his ale. The terrible Blackhand, playing coy like some blushing milkmaid? Damn me eyes, but the world is gone mad! He laughed and slapped the table sharply, drawing all eyes to them for a moment at the noise. Long enough that the gathered ruffians and scum were still watching when Peter rested his elbow across the table and leaned forward. we both know what ye been doing in the hayloft, milkmaid, so why don't ye stop pullin' me leg? he said, his voice low and impatient. Anders' eyebrows rose, his face flushed, and he glared murderously . Simon shifted back onto the hard wooden bench, into a lazy and unconcerned posture, and he rested his thumb on the hilt of his saber, bracing himself but never flinching or taking his eyes from the pirate's. If he'd pushed too far, and this turned into a fight, he would be ready, even if it did mean having to hunt down another source of information. Havenguarde was not going to slip him again. The room had gone deadly quiet, and tension hung in the air thicker than the tobacco pipe smoke as all watched, wondering what was going to happen to the stranger. Every heartbeat had Peter's muscles tightening, coiling under his skin as his body readied himself for a brutal fight. Hrmph, Blackhand grunted at the end of that eternal moment, and the mingling of relief and disappointment from the onlookers was nearly palpable. Either ye got iron in yer bollocks, he muttered, or yer none too bright. Either way, ye don't scare easy. Peter shrugged with a lazy smile. Six of one... he said, waving his left hand airily. So how about it, Blackhand? Blackhand's single good eye surveyed the younger man keenly, taking in the sun's kiss on his skin, the scars and callouses on his arms and hands, the dried salt stiffening his cuffs... Ye have the look of a sailor, he said, but I don't know ye. What ship do ye serve? Peter's face darkened into a near scowl. I don't, not anymore, he said. My partner double-crossed me when ye told him your riddle, left me marooned in this here pit, and shoved off already. Then what will ye do with the clue if ye have it? Solve it, Peter said simply, then trade it with a captain settin' sail for a spot on the crew. We'll beat that bilge rat to the treasure, and I'll be there to give 'im 'is rightful reward... he said, cracking his fingers. Blackhand laughed and shrugged. Ye'd best hurry, lad. There's already others ahead of ye. But here's yer clue What ye seek can only be found in the Salt Lord's cellar. He drained his cup then. Now be off with ye. Peter grinned as he stood. Aye, and thanks fer the treasure, he said. Ye only have a clue to it, boy, Blackhand said, mildly puzzled. Peter grinned and waved the comment away. Details, matey. Details. The Salt Lord was the archaic name for what sailors today called Ol' Grandad, an ancient seabeast described as part tiger shark, part kraken, and all bad disposition. Ol' Grandad was only one of the terrifying tales told of the Ager Seas, and for the first time in years, Newcastle was hesitant. Chasing the Domina to Taftan was one matter - bringing his ship and crew into the Ager Sea was another entirely. Could he justify putting his entire crew at risk, when the beasts and storms of the Ager Sea would just as likely do the hangman's job for him? That thought gave him pause, and he surprised even himself when he realized that it was the thought of Avery's ship wrecked and broken in a nest of sea monsters that had taken hold of her body and.... The decision was made. Newcastle rushed back to the Wraith intent on setting sail immediately.