Week 07: Corsairs of the North

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The wind turned Hek's own hair into a whip against his eyes. The silvery hairs that grew out front were kept short specifically to deal with this problem, but when the wind howled, his braid answered and lashed out at his eyes - a punishment for the years he avoided the frigid depths below. His number had been called once. He had spent a full hour beneath the waves being moved along by the current. When he had finally been hauled up by a passing ship and brought back to the warmth, it had been a miracle. Every day since then the winds and seas conspired to bring him back, to claim their lost treasure.
Despite the winds cries and the endless black's silent call, today was a good day. The spires of the church could be seen in the distance, their brightly colored walls standing out against the blue gray background of mountains that surrounded, enveloped, and birthed the fjord. Spires promised hot food, beds warmed by the silky thighs and scented hair, and chance to rest without the constant calling of the bitch. Remembering the last time his bed was warmed by Retta brought a smile to Hek's face, and for a moment he forgot his cargo. The moment passed as one of the Templar pushed past him, eager to catch sight of their destination and complete whatever inane mission they had.
Religious fanatics were some of the more unpleasant passengers he'd picked up, but in dark days, reliable money is hard to turn down, and at least they didn't wreck his ship. The trip was long and those damned fanatics hadn't spoken a single word to him since they got on board at Draksteen with that box of theirs. Many times during the trip Hek had wondered what was in the chest. Who was he lying to, that's all he thought about during the voyage. For a time he had tried talking to the Templar, he even spent two days having a one way conversation hoping they’d crack, but their lips were as tight as their death trap of armor they never took off. A sailor's worst nightmare would be to fall overboard in plate mail - a nightmare that was all too real for Hek.
A close second of a nightmare would have to be the constant fear that his ship, The Nimble Wind, would be searched at any of the ports they resupplied in. You never knew with these Voraci folks, one port would be run by lazy goblins who wouldn't take the energy to come down to the docks if they didn't have to, and the next port would search each and every ship that made landfall. Certainly if their ship had been searched, the chest bearing the seal of Velmontarious would have brought questions. Questions bring trouble. Trouble brings jail, and jail brings death - usually. How the Templar operated free of molestation by the occupying armies, Hek didn't know, and didn't ask.
The wind whipped up again, turning his beloved braid against him once more. The spires of the church were much taller now, and the other buildings in town could be seen, although compared to the gaily colored spires of the church, they were rather drab. Scores of people went about their days, garbed to protect against the wind and chill. Children pointed at ships coming in, played Knights and Goblins with sticks and rocks, and squealed with the unmistakable glee of children at play. This isn't home, he thought to himself. Stop getting attached.
As Hek was tying up The Nimble Wind, the Templars started their unloading process. Ever silent, ever vigilant, they moved with an ease and precision. There was no look of relief on their faces as they left the ship, no longing in their eyes, no quickened step to be rid of the endless black. The whole lot of them disembarked, carrying their precious cargo, whatever it may be, with them. It wasn't until the last one stepped off and turned around that any sign of their humanity was shown.
“You have served us true. We will call upon you again some day.”
“Frankly, sir templar, you have been the most boring passengers of my life, and I do not look forward to sailing with you again. I’d rather ship a bucket of babies.”
The templar smiled and dropped a bag of coins into his hand. “Our will is immortal. We will meet again,” and with that, he departed.
Hek stood and watched the knights walk into the little town. He wondered what they carried and why they were so interested in him. It wasn't until hours later when he was at the bar ordering a drink that Hek realised the templar hadn't paid him the 200 gold he had asked - they had paid 200 platinum.
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