The reaver’s song ended abruptly, and he thrust his feet up on the ragged table. His one good eye glared at me with a menacing intent I seldom experience, nor do I wish to. Although he was clearly a reticent man, the grog had filled him an energy ill-suited to one so clearly worn. Sensing my moment, I repeated my wish for a tale to while away the storm raging outside.
"Aye,” he spat through broken teeth. “Fine then boy, I have a yarn for ye. Tis true for my part, although these things have a way of belonging to the teller.” He ran his hand over his shock of bone-white hair: “Ye can take what you will from it, I know I did."
Resigned, his expression softened dramatically, and it seemed to me that in that moment his memory was filling him up like an abandoned well, suddenly rediscovered. So began his tale:
"Twere as fine a day as one can get, I suppose, when you frequent the Wilds. Not unlike a day like this, when the roar of thunder fills your fool head with sentiment. I were otherwise preoccupied at the Broken Tusk, when one of those craven hoarders thrust upon me a voyage.
Aye, I know boy, a pox on all of the cursed trading factions - I call no man master - but, well, even a lone mariner needs a bearing, and this blade has space for a few more notches, yet.
So with a head for a distraction, and mayhap some profit, I agreed that this one time I would be the company’s blasted errand boy, and set away. I did not provision The Dread Needle as much as I would normally recommend, but twere, after all, nought but a voyage of passing fancy.
The poxy map sent me south, to the grave of the beast, and I set sail with a fine wind, leaving the storm behind me. My spirits lifted as the salt air filled my nose, and I smiled for the day ahead.
Now for the most it started fair uneventful; this was ‘fore the shroud let loose the wandering fleet mind you, and the megs had not yet begun their season of spawning.
But even then, fate is fickle as the wind on this Sea of Thieves.
Sure enough, when I finally had Kraken’s Fall in sight, I spied a galleon on the horizon, adorned in a brutal, dark red. Twere moving up north-east from Shark Tooth Key on a line of intercept. No chance to outrun; I had few cannonshot and even less timber for a sea battle, especially against a galleon. But Wanda Warsmith take me before I roll over for any buccaneer or mercenary cut-throat.
I spied that they were flying an alliance flag, and warily accepted their offer with a flag raising o’ me own. To little surprise, this was met with those dogs dropping full sail, leaping forward with a lurch and closing the gap - all while blaring out over the water, ‘Please mate, we plead assistance!’
Hear ye boy - although I am oft cursed for a fool, I am not so stupid to turn my back on a galleon, allied or no. I be no newcomer to the wheel. I laughed at their offer and maneuvered eastwards as it became quite clear that these hellhounds on my tail had bloody intent.
The gap was closing, but the norns smiled upon me. I spotted a sail of a lone legend sloop moored at Liar’s Backbone, a place of ill portent if e’er there was. I turned toward this legend, raising my own alliance-offer flag and leading the red galleon behind me like a game of cat and mouse.
Sure enough, when in range, the Unknown Legend - for I could not recognise her ship nor her name - joined this peculiar alliance, now numbered three.
The galleon were now on a direct course for the legend, and, had I chosen, I could easily have left her to them and gone about my business.
But as I turned for one last look to search for recognition of this unknown legend, a thunderous "Boooom!" filled the air, as the galleon let forth one, then two, three, and four! cannonshot across the Unknown Legend’s bow.
Craven, boy. Craven be them on the seas who betray an alliance with no warning. I looked forward then, gripping the wheel til my knuckles whitened, and steeled my resolution. Quickly spinning the wheel I raised sail and made a sharp turn, moving back toward them and whatever fate the dice had rolled for me.
It was to arms; and to battle. I came upon the galleon on its port side, leaping to my starboard cannon in a bound and swivelling it to make my shot, then letting forth across its bow, while the Unknown Legend skillfully attacked the starboard stern. Twere a full gally crew, and they repaired and returned fire, but the Unknown Legend and I easily out-maneuvered them with silent understanding and the bond of those unjustly betrayed.
I cannot say for how long we three kept this up, circling slowly east for what felt like hours. The thunder of cannon fire roared around us all, decks splintered and were quickly repaired, the ferryman came, and left again.
Likely, twere only scant minutes, and then it was over as it had started - with the boom of cannonfire. The galleon sank beneath the waves, and I looked over at the Unknown Legend with a triumphant smile.”
The old reaver stopped his tale suddenly, looking at me square in the eye with his next words:
“Which was precisely when her cannon shot hit me directly on my starboard side.
I was pure fury then, boy, pure fury!
I roared and spun the wheel to move the Needle out of the firing line, before leaping below to repair what I could. Heading back above deck I realised I was out of shot for the cannon; so still seething, I grabbed my rifle instead and readied aim toward the unknown legend - now named betrayer.
But then - curse me for a fool - I caught a glint of flashing blade on her deck, and it became clear what had transpired!
We were further betrayed, boy - two of those galleon curs had boarded her and fired upon me in an effort to turn friend to foe. Clever, mind ye, it almost worked, and would have were this eye of mine not worth three!
She was locked blade to blade, and I could not assist without friendly fire. But before I could swim across to assist, it turned out I had problems of my own - I heard a splash, and I too was boarded.
I turned and drew my pistol - sizing up the assailant. He was shirtless, black of beard but bald, and with a glowing auburn sword. But most memorable - his body was marked from head to toe in burnt scarring. I smiled, tossing aside my pistol and drawing my own blade, the fire rising within me.
Shaking with joyous anticipation for the melee, I screamed at him with glee, ‘This be The Dread Needle - I am he who is called the many-titled; I be Bilge Rat and Reaper-bearer; I be Mercenary of the Ancient Order and Sailor of the Whispering Bones; I be John the Reaver, Jack Man-killer, and there be nought below these decks but your doom!’
My blade spoke then and its words came swift. Sparks flew as steel met steel, notes filling the air with increasing speed.
We danced - a parry, riposte, a twirl, a jump - a lunge! I spun, crowing with joy. My blade argued most eloquently, but twas an even match.
I risked a look over at the legend, who had dispatched one assailant but was now struggling against the other.
The scarred man took this moment to lunge, but I dodged easily. Then with a wide arc of my blade - a flash of crimson sprayed through the air - and the burnt man fell backward into the sea. Wounded, assuredly, but dead? I could not take the time to check, for, at that moment, I had more pressing concerns.
It seemed in the chaos we had drifted too far east - as the changing hue of the sky made clear; we were now in the Devil’s Roar. A momentous rock spewed forth, shattering the front of the deck, as across from the right, I could see the Unknown Legend, still locked in battle, in much the same predicament.
While I repaired my stern below deck, I could hear the burnt man come aboard again, and I grabbed my blunderbuss from the arms locker, using it to clear a space between us as I exited the cabin, sending him back to the bow, while I remained at the cabin door.
As fiery doom reigned down upon us, I stared across the black deck of The Dread Needle, and drew my blade again. The burnt man’s eyes were locked on me, looking for an opening. Red death fell from the heavens and struck behind me, shattering wood and sending planks flying.
But I could only hear laughter. I turned and looked across the black sea and saw the unknown legend, dancing with her partner, her battle-glee louder than the Roar.
I could not stop myself as my own laughter rose to join her. In that moment, perhaps, completely mad.
The shadow of Devil’s Thirst loomed over us, seconds from impact. I shifted my back foot, and drew my blade back, turning to face the oath breaker, with one last greeting:
‘Aye, come then. We shall meet Mr Bones together!’”
The reaver's telling, if not his tale, was ended, and he fell silent. I, on the other hand, was agasp. “What of the unknown legend, and the scorched man? Did the galleon return? Did the Needle survive? And what of the hoarder’s voyage?” I pleaded with him for more information.
He turned to face me, emotionless, and asked:
“Is that what you take from this, boy? ‘Tis no story meant to show glory or gleaming profits. In part, a cautionary tale, to be sure - as even the basest of villain knows that ‘tis the deepest rungs of hell that is reserved for the oath-breaker.
But whatever else you get from this tale, mark ye well:
‘tis the fickle fates that hand the greatest of adventures, and the unknown that builds the greatest of legends.”
I sat back, disappointed, but knowing better than to press him further. Gathering my effects, I thanked him, and took my leave. As I exited the tavern, behind me I could hear him start to softly sing a tune dark and sweet.
“Roaring comes the falling stone,
playing a timely tune of sorrow.
The melody of a grinning siren’s groan,
followed by a promise hollow.
You lead this dance and I,
One day I shall follow”
