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The spray of salty foam from the sea crashed against the rocky coast of the Iron isle's wicked and twisting coast, splashing high into the sky before carefully trickling down in a soothing mist as it got swept back into the sea by the gentle autumn breeze. here on the harsh banks in the winding coast was where one of the many port towns lay: baskveil. Wooden docks reaching out into the teal water and stood on willowy legs that kept them the walkways from the crashing waters. Not a single port was open, as tonight was the return of a great lot of warriors from the nearby raid of a small town off the coast of the mainland. The heroes had returned home with meats from the fat cows and goats they slaughtered, and had managed to obtain an assortment of spiced wines and nordic meads that they happily shared among the on-goers in the tavern, knowing that the trade of fine indigo dyes and beautiful textiles they had traded for their rooms and whores was more than enough to pay for any drinks that would have come their way.

Within the tavern the booming voices of mirthful men and giggling women filled the room. Inside the blaring fire sat firmly in the center of an open area, a whole pig spitroasting over top, being spun by a small young man too young for the more risque actions of the older raiders. Though they had removed their heavy cuirass' and shirts of mail and discarded them in their rooms, the metal helmets they wore sat beside the folks and their blades and boots where still strapped to them. The group had just begun to sing when another man stepped in, wearing a green cloak over his body and a dark-eyed glare on his face as he made his way to a seat.

Always ragged and bruised was old Bojak brave
scrapped his whole life since he were a knave
one day his father died and a sword he were gave
so Bojak went fighting a got crowned the brave

As they finished their song a loud roar of amusement burst through the air and everyone in the room, even the dark-eyed man rose a tankard to the air and drank. A large man in the crowd, one with a long, greying beard that was braided and covered with froth from his mead, rose as he noticed the new man in the tavern. A sneering smile came to his face as he sat his barrel-chested body down by the smaller boy. The smell of alchohol on his breath and the dizzy movements of the man came with his slurred words.

"My boy, you missed the chance of a lifetime. The town was defenseless, easy pickings, and look here" he blurted out, and everyone in the room turned to him as he unsheathed a blade from it's scabbard and revealed a long and slender blade that arched in it's back the way all sabres do. It's grip was covered in a soft black leather and the gaurd was linked to the smooth pummel by a long sheet of steel that gaurded the hand. The large man, even in his drunken stupor, held the blade with care.

"It's the burgomaster's very own blade. Even has a name: 'hearteater'. Or so said the burgomaster when he threatened to use it against me. He had a lousy arm for swords, too slow" he proclaimed with pride and bravado as the others looked on and gawked.

"I'd offer to let you touch it, but you look like a theif more than you do a warrior" He continued, causing chuckles in the crowd.

The smaller man didn't look his way, but moved to the side of his cloak and lifted in to reveal his own sheathed weapon -something particularly common in these parts- and gently lifted it to show it's shinning metal. Steel. His blade was not as long as the other mans. It was an arming sword, broad and sturdy but no more than two daggers tall.

"I don't name pieces of metal" he responded with a short sigh.

The other man seemed a bit surprised as he saw the weapon. He hadn't expected anyone else to have one with them, Steel blades were a rare sight in the Iron isle. What few they got between farm raids and small skirmishes often got lost at sea, in another conflict or were held up in someone's home to be properly tempered until the time came to fight. To see a young man with one almost made him mad. His voice was much less snarky now, instead curious. He poured the boy another glass of wine as he asked his question.

"When did you get that?"

"Long time ago. Won it from an old man in a tavern who tried his luck in a duel" Came a reply with a chuckle following.

To even the drunken men struggling to keep upright in their seats it was obvious this was a farce. The older man came closer to his face with a scowl now and spoke in a harsher tone.

"Is that a threat little, Milk drinker? Want to see how good your steel is against mine?" He let out in a spiteful hiss.

A pause filled the room as the smaller man downed his drink and stood, drawing his blade. The tavern girls took the cue and left the room and so did many of the men too drunk and marry to see a man die. The older man glared with a sneer, gauging the look on the boy. Suddenly he burst into a laugh, sitting back down.

"Boy! I take it back, you're not a milk drinker at all! By the huntress you've got more stones than half the men under my banner. I tell you what, you come with me on my next raid, we'll get you a sword twice the size of your little dagger there. What do you say?" He shouted aloud in a jolly tone under his wheezing chortle.

The other boy smiled and sheathed his blade and he nodded his head to the man's idea as he calmly sipped on his drink. He cleared his throat before he spoke, making sure his voice was loud enough for the whole room to clear.

"perhaps another time, sir. I'm currently looking to stay here, making wages off of odd jobs if you're in need of something of the sort, however" He responded with a clearity to his low and honeyed voice that came out in a very proud way.

The old man shook his head and the drinking went on as usual. This new man introduced himself as Henryk and they chatted idolly as they drank.

Ada’s head broke through the black surface of the water, and she took in fresh air for the first time in two and a half days. She let out that breath into a crystalizing puff, steam radiating from her warm skin. She looked up at Baskveil, the city lights flickering in a threatening manner. It wasn’t the most welcoming of towns. Ada weaved her fingers through the water and flicked her gray tail to get closer.

She had found a perfect hiding place for when she reemerged from the depths. Circling around the port, she found familiar landmarks until getting her bearings for where she was and the location of her nook, being sure to duck her head beneath the surface whenever a stranger passed on the streets above. Eventually she found it, a small cave-like depression beside a slanted loading dock that went from the water up into the streets. She slithered quietly up to it, making sure not to create too many ripples. Mermaids were somewhat trophies to the citizens of Baskveil, and though she didn’t technically qualify, she doubted they would listen if they captured her, and that would just be a headache to get out of.

Ada thrusted her tail to give her a boost out of the water as she climbed into the hovel. Her first order of business was to drag herself over to the stack of clothes sitting behind a rock and grab the oversized cloth sitting on top. It wasn’t to dry off. She stuffed it into her mouth, already feeling the scales beginning to peel off her legs like burnt skin. She screamed in agony, the cloth muffling her torment. Pain shot through her bones and joints, the same as when frigid fingers are treated to warm water. The gills on her back grossly started retreating into themselves, sealing up into scars. Ada beat her hand against the rocks in protest, scraping up her skin in the process. Tears stung her eyes as she dared to look at her legs. Slowly, they were beginning to take their natural form again. The initial pain had subsided enough that she began to pick the lingering scales off to speed the process. It stung like mad to rip them off, but the faster the better.

Finally, Ada felt relieved enough to take the cloth from her teeth. She sat in her little cave, totally naked, save for a pendant around her neck, and caught her breath from the ordeal. She took the cloth to wipe down her torso, the cool air already starting to bother her. Her skin was still sensitive, perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed her luck in staying down there the extra half day. And it was all for nothing. She threw the now wet cloth in defeat. Her tail still formed each time she was submerged in the ocean’s waters, gills protruding from her back, and she was no closer to finding the sea witch who made her that way.

She was starting to shiver, and decided to give her legs a try. They were weak, but they’d get her to where she needed after a good stretch. She put on her undergarments, the feeling of strapping down her breasts was always an adjustment after two days without. The first few times she went searching, she did wear something to cover up, but she quickly learned to regret that decision as her skin had chafed mercilessly under the water. In the underwater community it was perfect natural to be exposed, so she had learned to embrace that culture. Still, she felt safe when redressing in the clothes of the earth-walkers, as mermaids called them.

Fully dressed in a tunic under a corset, boots, a belt, and her bow and arrow at her side, she stretched her legs out before carefully scaling the rock wall between her hovel and the dock. It wasn’t too tricky of a climb, but she had fallen before, starting the painful process all over again. Her feet safely on the dock, she took a quick look around for any prying eyes before beginning her trek into the streets. A shiver went down her spine, her wet hair not helping the fact that she was no longer immune to the chilly night. Winter was approaching, and she assumed it was time to invest in a cape of some sort. She looked down at the satchel of coins tucked in her boot. It was smaller than she would have liked, and she thought of a few pubs she could visit in order to place a few winning wagers. It shouldn’t take long to raise enough money for a decent cape before the snow started to fall. Snow would make getting in and out of the water even harder.

Her stomach churned at the thought of continuing her search. She had been there for three months, every two days resurfacing to living through a tormenting transformation before playing the same old card games with the same old drunks. She sighed, leaning against what looked like a rundown pottery shop. She looked in at the urns and part of her envied the owner. She wondered if one day she’d be human enough to have that life and not worry about her impending death. She knew it was a long shot, but one day she wanted her own pottery shop, or inn, or farm with husband who would kiss her when he came home, and a few children to raise. In this hideous world, no one really lived like that, but one can’t really change their dreams.

Ada pushed away from the wall and continued to walk toward a popular pub. She seemed to recall that there was going to be a raid. If there had, that meant drunken and cocky pillagers would be all too willing to challenger her, thinking they’re gods among men who can’t be touched; especially not by a scrawny looking woman such as she. Good. She liked beating them when their confidence was high. Part of her like humiliating them further when they tried to “teach her a lesson” and they ended up bruised and unconscious in a gutter. Looks can be deceiving. And it’s not like she didn’t give them fair warning! She would always tell them to walk away or they’d regret it. They never listened.

She chuckled to herself as she walked through the door of the Green Pig Pub. It was loud with the enjoyment of victory, and no one paid attention to her as she walked to an empty stool by the bar. She slammed down a coin, asking for a tankard of mead over the din. She looked at her purse, wondering if she had enough to purchase a plate of the roasting pig and buy into a hand of cards, when a cry of hopelessness rose above the noises of the crowd.

It was quickly drown out by laughter, but Ada looked to its source. A young redhead dressed in a white frock, her face bruised and bloodied, her hands bound. The spoils of a raid. Fire burned in Ada’s chest as the girl fought against her captor as his hand slid up her leg. Ada left her drink and walked toward the corner. She could fight the man directly, but she decided cunning might get the job done faster.

“A fair prize.” She yelled at the gentleman, eyeing the girl in false lust. He turned to look at the owner of the voice, his eyes swimming with alcohol. “Perhaps you’d be willing to wager her?” Ada continued, more assured of her winning the girl’s freedom.

“Piss off.” The raider said, turning back to the girl.

“I’d make it worth your while.” Ada tried again. The man looked back up at her, clearly about to tell her off a second time, but before he could Ada reached down her chest and pulled out the most valuable thing she owned. The pendant that held her life. She wouldn’t have even shown it to him if she wasn’t absolutely sure she could win. The dark medallion glinted in the low light of the tavern, promising riches.


“Winner keeps all?” She asked. The man sauntered up to examine the offering. His grubby fingers took hold of the pendant and an oily smile curled on his lips. He yanked at the necklace, obviously hoping to steal it, but the enchanted cord pulsed in an eerie turquoise at the tug, holding it fast to her neck. He tried again with the same results, his eyes getting confused, then frustrated as he looked up at Ada. She snatched his fingers off the charm, holding them tightly enough that they could have snapped. He wailed in pain and she shoved him back toward the wall.

“Now, would you like to reconsider my offer, or should we just skip to fighting part?” The shove, or rather the glorious crash it had caused, drew some attention to the corner, some of the raider’s cronies standing up, ready to defend him. The raider waved them off, wanting to fight her himself, rage stirring in his glossy eyes.

She sighed as he got up and charged at her. She maneuvered him in a twist, working his own momentum against him, and sending him charging toward the wall behind her. He crashed again, some of his buddies coming to his aid. One threw a punch at Ada, which she quickly blocked, but just in the right position for another to backhand her. The blow made her dizzy, but she recovered to grab his hand and twist it around until she heard something pop then pulled him down toward the second attacker. By then the original raider was back behind Ada, kicking her toward the girl in white. His lack of coordination was enough that the kick was ineffective, allowing Ada to promptly turn around, grab his leg, and pull it up so he too fell to the floor.
This went on for awhile. Ada taking a few hits that didn’t really do them any good before she found a way to shove them to the floor again. Eventually, she figured they’d had enough before Ada walked up to the fallen raider and put her boot on his neck.

“I’d say, I’ve won the wager. I’ll be taking my reward now.” She walked over to the girl, and jerked her head toward the door. The girl, broke into a new round of sobs, but she obeyed. Ada felt bad for deceiving her, but it would be over for her soon enough. Ada followed her out, but not before catching the stare of a younger man, his eyes calculating as he watched Ada leave. She tore her eyes from him as she walked out the door.

“Come with me.” She said grabbing the girl’s arm and walking her up the street. There was a certain pirate who, on a good day, Ada would call a friend. If he was feeling generous, he might escort the girl back to her home.

“Stop.” Commanded a voice behind her. Ada turned slowly to see the calculating man had followed her out from the tavern. He had a sword in hand, poised for a duel. “I’m going to have to ask you to give the girl to me.” Ada contemplated his words, any number of meanings could have been behind them.

“And why is that? I seem to recall I won her fair and square.” Ada challenged. He seemed sure of himself, and if this confrontation turned ugly, Ada was sure this would be a much more difficult fight. She was still weak from her transformation, not to mention starving, and this man was sober, fit, and determined.

“You challenged someone for her, seems only right that someone else can challenge you.” He took a step toward her. In one fell swoop, Ada had her bow over her head, draw, and an arrow ready to fire.

“That may be so, but I think I have better intentions for her than you do.” The words came out more mischievous than Ada intended, but she kept her eyes trained on her target.

“I doubt that.” The man said, again his words having unclear motives. Before Ada could respond, the door of the tavern burst open, the three raiders fuming, looking around for their target. While her confronter turned to see the comotion, Ada grabbed the girl’s arm again and began running down the streets.