“Need another hand over here!” a heavily tanned sailor shouted over the stiff afternoon breeze.

Mar jogged across the creaking wood of the dock. When he reached the massive iron cleat anchored into the wooden boards adjacent to the ship he held his hands up in the air, gesturing towards the sailor to toss him the rope. The boat itself was slightly undersized for this docking station, but none of the other stations could handle the length of the hull.

The seaman tossed down the bundle of rope, which Mar caught with only a bit of fumbling. He had to take a moment to straighten out the tangled bundle before wrapping it around the cleat. He mentally rehearsed the directions for tying a proper cleat hitch. Mar had a good mind for learning, but the seemingly endless list of knots that sailors used was difficult to sort through even for him. Around the cleat, up and over one end, make a loop, twist and pull it tight. The knot looked right to him and so he moved on to the next one.

Mar wiped the sweat off his brow, pouring down his face from the hot afternoon sun. Yvast had surprised him with how much manual labor there was to be done. Back in Orlem golems and magic handled most of the brute labor, and there were only a few tasks that required living eyes and hands. Here, everything was done the old fashioned way. Mar knew in his head that Orlem was more the exception than the rule, but it served as a constant reminder that he was no longer in one of the most magical cities in the world.

He glanced at the boat in front of him and was finally given a chance to examine it. Even an amature dockhand like him could appreciate the beauty of this vessel before him.

It was as long as a barge, which is what this docking station was meant for, though it was only half the width. It wasn’t as bulky as the other ships at harbor, though what it lacked in mass it made up for in elegance. It was streamlined, unlike most of the merchant vessels here that were designed with capacity in mind. Clearly this one was built for speed. It had three masts, with the biggest in front and two smaller ones behind, though oddly they seemed to be triangular instead of square.

The boat was painted jet black, with only a set of crimson letters that denoted its name to break up the monochrome appearance. The words spelled out a name. The Winking Maiden.

Mar had little doubt that this ship could outrun any other vessel in the harbor, even floating as low in the water as it was. Orlem’s water skimmers would probably still beat it, but those ships were powered by magic. This was nothing more than an elaborate construction of wood and cloth. He’d heard some of the dockhands call it a caravel. The dockmaster and the ship’s captain were arguing about the price of docking for the ship. The captain was a stout looking woman with an eye patch and arms beefy enough to put most men to shame. She likely had some dwarvish blood in her. He noticed her canines seemed to jut out slightly from her lips, and under the right light her tanned skin had a slightly greenish hue. Perhaps she had a bit of orc in her as well?

Eventually the ship captain and the dock master came to an agreement and the ship’s crew disembarked with a cheer. As the poured down the gangplank Mar noticed the unusual mix of sailors. Most ships that came to port here were crewed entirely by humans, often all humans of the same nationality. They’d had an gnomish and dwarven ship dock once as well, though Mar hadn’t gotten to help pull those two in. He did get to help dock an elvish vessel, though they only stopped for a an hour to resupply before heading back out to sea and didn’t bother disembarking.

The Winking Maiden however featured an extremely wide assortment of individuals among their crew. While human-ish individuals still dominated the crew, nearly all of them had a visible tell-tale feature of partial inhuman heritage. One of them had small vestigial horns, another had a purplish hue to his skin. That caught Mar’s attention, at least until the hulking gray figure with stone gray skin stepped off the boat. The dock swayed slightly under the increased weight. Mar blinked in amazement. That man must of been part giant or mountain troll.

“Hey new boy! Stop your gawking and start unloading the ship! We have a schedule to keep!” Mar glanced at the person yelling at him. The dockmaster had noticed his staring.

“Sincerest apologies dockmaster!” Mar yelled in reply.

The dockmaster rolled his eyes. “Keep your fancy words and get to work lad.”

Mar followed the other dockhands up the gangplank where they were lead down into a store room under the watchful eyes of the captain. Well, watchful eye.

In the dark confines of the storeroom he nearly ran headfirst into a hulking green skin figure.

“Excuse me.” Mar muttered, expecting to be at eye level. The flickering of the torchlight however revealed a mass of green pectoral muscles, rather than a human face. Mar gulped as he looked up at the face of a full-blooded orc. If it wasn’t for that half-giant Mar had just seen walk by this orc would have been the biggest humanoid he’d ever seen. Certainly the most muscular.

“Excuse me, good sir.” Mar repeated again, more politely.

The orc chortled a deep rumbling laugh. “I ain’t a sir. Especially not a good sir.” The orc then hefted a large square chest without apparent effort. He shoved the chest into Mar’s open hands.

Mar wasn’t prepared for the weight the wooden container. When it was dropped in his hands he doubled over and the chest clattered to the deck.

The orc glanced around, looking for something. “My fault. I forget you humans are sometimes just as wea-” The orc coughed and cut himself off “Weak human arms. I carry.”

That was more than a little strange. The orc had been speaking flawless Remian for a moment there, before cutting himself off and reverting to a terse, grunting voice. Combined with the orcs physical stature it only served to reinforce the myth that orcs were nothing but dumb muscle.

Mar accepted the massive orc’s offer and stepped away from the container. He’d grown stronger over the last two weeks, but not nearly strong enough to carry whatever was in that chest. A lifetime in the library hadn’t exactly built muscles, but hauling in boats and unloading them was a physically demanding job. Still, Mar expected he could lift boxes for a lifetime and never become half as muscular as the orc who stood beside him.

Even ignoring the orcs imposing physique and stature, he was clearly an intimidating presence. Green skin lined with hundreds of scars big and small covered his body, interspersed with small bits of hardened leather and metal protecting the mostly likely places to get injured such as the stomach and shoulders. A massive steel axe hung from a bandolier casually tossed diagonally over the orc’s torso. Sharp canines jutted out of his mouth from his lower jab, and his coarse black hair on the back of his head was tied back with a string.

Mar had met plenty of eighth-orcs and quarter-orcs, even a half-orc once, but he’d never had the opportunity to meet a real full-blooded orc. His curiosity began to get the better of him as he walked over and picked up two empty jugs that had once been filled with alcohol.

“What’s in that chest?” Mar asked as they walked.

“Bars of lead.”

“Bars of lead?” Mar repeated. “Well, that would certainly explain the weight. Which merchant company do you sail for?”

The orc snorted. “The Winking Maiden ain’t a merchant ship.”

Mar glanced at the orc curiously. “A transport company?

The orc snorted again.

Mar glanced back up at the sleek design of the black ship, streamline and as dark as midnight. On the ocean it would be fast enough to catch almost any non-magical vessel, and it’s dark paint would make it very difficult to see at night.

“You’re… privateers?”

The corner of the orc’s mouth twitched upward in a surprisingly human smirk.

In most circles, privateers were virtually indistinguishable from pirates, except that some merchant prince or noble lord had given them a writ that said they could loot and pillage as they pleased. A few such ships had pulled into harbor at Yvast. Local law enforcement had to look the other way. Trying to put a stop to piracy would take far more resources than the port town possessed. It wasn’t as bad as it was though before the League of Free Cities had staked its claim over the small port town. Back when the town first got it’s name nearly every ship in harbor would have been a pirate vessel.

Eventually Mar had to ask the question he’d been so curious about. “What brought you here, so far from home?”

“A boat.”

Mar began to wonder if he was being a nuisance. The orc had seemed talkative enough when they bumped into each other, but now he was being oddly terse. The practical survivalist in him told Mar that it would be a bad idea to annoy the hulking orc who outweighed him five times over, but the eager scholar in him was too curious to let this opportunity pass up.

“I mean to ask, where’s home? I’ve read a lot of books about your people, and it seems like you appear in small groups just about everywhere, mostly in small tribes or villages. But nobody has ever seen an orc city or permanent settlement or any sort of national structure beyond a horde.”

The orc grunted. “You won’t find any orc cities or orc kingdoms. That’s because there aren’t any.”

Mar looked at him “But you form groups and cooperate with others. You have language and trade, just like humans. Why—.”

“Elves.” The orc stated tersely. There was a mountain of meaning behind that one word.

“Sorry.” Mar apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

The orc let out a deep breath. “The sorrow is mine. I’m not accustomed to a human stranger being so open to converse with me. Most of your kind tend to shy away when I approach.”

That came as a surprise. It seemed the orc was willing to speak after all.

“Well if you want company I know a tavern not far from here. Perhaps I could buy you a drink and ask you a few questions? I’ve been trying to get a spot aboard a ship myself you see, but I’ve never sailed before. I could use some pointers.”

The orc considered the proposition, before nodding his head. “Very well, young human. I can probably teach you a thing or two. In exchange, you can tell me what you know of my people from these books you’ve read.”

Mar nodded. “I’ve never made a study of your kin, but used to work in a library.”

“I have always wondered what secrets long dead humans might have recorded on the history of my people. Many times I’ve wanted to get inside one of your libraries but never have I managed it. Not that the books would do me any good in my hands. Deciphering scratches on paper is beyond me.”

“I would think our accounts would be a poor substitute for your own histories.”

The orc shook his head. “A tribe rarely lasts long enough to record more than their own deeds.”

“My name is Mar, by the way.”

“I was named Krellak by the eldest mother of my birth tribe. I have gone by others, but that name will do.”

Mar and Krellak unloaded various boxes and containers over the course of the next hour. The captain had retired to her cabin by the time they were halfway through leaving just Mar, Krellak, and a few other dockhands on deck. Eventually they unloaded everything and the captain went out to meet various merchants lined up along the shore, eager to lap up the pirated goods at low prices. Mar stopped by the dockmaster’s office to collect the day’s pay, and then he lead Krellak to the tavern he had mentioned.

“I’ve been staying in a room upstairs for the past two weeks. I had really hoped to be out of this town by now, but no ship will take me.” Mar said as the entered the establishment.

The odd looking pair received a few glances, but one look from the massive green-skinned orc and the massive double-headed axe he was carrying made onlookers go right back to staring at their beverages. Krellak lead the way to a secluded table as far from the other patrons as possible.

Krellak glanced Mar up and down. “You’re a bit scrawny, and too pale to have spent more than a few weeks working outside. But you’re human, and that counts a lot around these parts. You must not be asking in the right places if you can’t find a spot on a ship.”

Mar shook his head. “Well, the thing is, I’ve found plenty of places that will take me aboard. It’s just I’ve got a… friend with me. I can’t leave him alone here, but none of the ships will allow me to take a goblin aboard with them.”

Krellak’s eyebrows rose. “A goblin you say? Hmm. Yes, that would make things more difficult.”

A waitress came by with their drinks. Mar had ordered a watered down ale. He’d gotten used to the flavor over the past two weeks. He didn’t trust the water here, so he was forced to drink from the tavern. If he’d known he was going to be staying around for two weeks he would have invested in a kettle to boil water, but there was little sense in buying things when he had to be ready to leave at the slightest opportunity.

Krellak on the other hand had ordered something inky black in color. The scent of the drink wafted through the air and reached Mar’s nose. It smelt like acid. He could only imagine how it tasted. Despite the foul smell Krellak lifted the mug to his lips with a smile and took a deep sip.

“Ahhh. That’s the stuff. Them damn dwarves certainly know how to make a good brew. I was afraid they wouldn’t have anything strong enough for me.”

“There have been a few dwarven vessels in port. Mostly trading in tools and iron.”

Krellak nodded. “They prefer land trade routes, but they’ll sail if the price is high enough. Volfsdown to the east is buying weapons. Don’t know why.”

Mar only nodded silently.

“But about finding a ship I could put a good word in with my captain..”

Mar nodded. “Thanks, though I’m not really sure the privateers’s life's for me. I’m really just looking to travel for a bit and find a good place to settle down.”

“Mhm. Once a pirate, always a pirate. I have a friend aboard who knows a smuggler in town. Smugglers and pirates aren’t picky about their crew.”

“Yes… That sounds like a good deal. If you could have your friend put in a good word for me that would be wonderful.”

Mar and Krellak chatted for a while more while the sun dipped lower in the sky. By the time a new wave of people were beginning to wander into the tavern for an early dinner both Mar had drunk three tankards, and Krellak had drunk six. If that inky black drink was as potent as it smelled Mar was certain that it would have put even chronic alcoholics on the ground by now, but Krellak didn’t even seem tipsy. On the other hand Mar was beginning to feel the effects of the ale, even watered down as it was. He’d never really been drunk before, since he’d never had the money or the reason for it, but Mar had heard enough embarrassing horror stories from young mages trying hard liquor for the first time and waking up naked and hanging from a tree branch without a clue how they got there.

“Thank you Krellak. I’d love to ask you more about your homeland but I’m afraid at the rate we’re going I wouldn’t remember the answers tomorrow.”

“Ha! If only I could get drunk on water. My pockets would be brimming with coin.”

Mar held out his hand. Krellak shook it, making Mar’s hand look like a child's next to the orcs massive bulk.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Krellak.”

“You’d best hope we meet in port, and not on the high seas.” Krellak.

Mar collected the half loaf of day old bread and cheese he and Krellak had been eating from and headed upstairs to the room he’d been renting. When he opened the door Grob was sitting on the bed, inspecting the contents of the burlap sack he’d brought from Orlem.

“I brought some food for you, Grob. Save some of the cheese. We might need it if depending on where we journey next.” Mar tossed the loaf of bread and cheese the goblin’s way.

Grob dropped the sack to catch the cheese. Mar picked it up while the goblin ate and peered through it. He’d had high hopes for Grob’s bag of treasures when they’d first left Orlem, but he should have known the things a goblin thought valuable were different from what a human might find important.

Most of the bag was filled with paper making supplies. Thin wire mesh and a shredder to grind down plant fibers into pulp. There were more than a few shiny things as well, mostly spent mana crystals or cheap bits of glass dyed to look like gemstones. Mar had talked to a few shopkeepers and had already sold anything that was worth selling.

He passed by the portal to Orlem every day, each time making sure it was inactive. Nobody had come through except for him and that portal mage for the last two weeks, and the locals were beginning to suspect that something big was going down in Orlem. The portal mage had skipped town the day they arrived, likely running to the nearest major city to pawn that shard of the Realmstone Mar had given him. Mar would dearly like to be out of Yvast by the time that shard of crystal changed hands. He’d either need to earn enough coin to pay for passage or sign on with a ship’s crew. He had hoped that Jinn would wake up, and be able to magic away their current dilemma, but the stone had been silent for the past two weeks.

“Hey… what’s this?” Mar muttered as he rummaged through the bag. There were things in it that weren’t there before. Mar pulled out a silver-lined jewelry box, complete with a handful of rings and earrings. There was also a sliver bracelet and intricately carved ivory brooch.

Grob looked up from his meal. “Shinys.” The goblin shrugged.

“Yes, but where did you get them?”

The goblin shrugged. “Here. There. Humans leave them by open windows, so Grob take. Always the shinies that look valuable. You say before that I take the wrong shinies, so this time Grob try to take the right ones.”

“You stole them?” Mar accused.

“No, no, no. Grob takes them when the humans leave them lying around.”

Mar looked over the new contents of the bag again. “Well… we do need coin… But still, what you did was very risky. We can’t afford to get in trouble with the local constable. From now on you’re not to leave this room without my say so.”

Grob hung his head sheepishly. Mar realized the goblin was only trying to help.

“Look Grob, these things are valuable, and we’re going to need money. I’m not going to ask you to put them back. It’s just they’re going to be useless for a while, since we can’t exactly sell them in the same town they were stolen from.”

With that lesson learned Mar and Grob went to sleep early. Grob was snoring loudly within the hour, but Mar was still rolling around restlessly as his thoughts and worries kept him awake. He fumbled around in the light of the single candle they’d kept burning and Mar eventually found the Grob’s bag. He reached inside and found the silver-lined jewelry box. It was small and square, like the mana concentrators Master Warrik had.

Ever since the Trials, ever since that vision he’d had in the spirit realm, he’d started remembering things about magic that he’d forgotten. He was certain of it now, at one point he had been able to cast magic, though it had been unlike any he’d ever read about.

Mar took the silver-lined box in his hands and closed his eyes in concentration. Weaving magic took much more concentration than simply casting a spell, but casting a spell relied on preparation that required full knowledge of what you were doing.

Mar took deep breaths, calming himself as he tried to access his mana pool. Using his mind he tried to pluck out a few strands, but they were too slippery and they fell from his grasp. He tried again, but failed again.

Mar tossed the jewelry box away in disgust and rolled back into bed, trying to go to sleep.