PAGES

Front Page - Message from the Editor
Page 2 - Portside Perusal: Global Event Gossip
Page 3 - Meliva vs Clockwork
Page 4 - Navigational Aids
Page 5 - Meet The Crew & Ship Stealing
Page 6 - Historical Lookback
Page 7 - Special Feature: Tall Tales of William One Eye

It was late in the afternoon, the air was warm, the wind was calm and it smelled of algea baking in the sun on the rocks in the inlet. The wooden sign was weatherbeaten and worn. Small remnants of black and gold paint hinted at its former glory. Despite its condition the carving, figurehead pub est day 79 was still legible. The oak door that showed signed of multiple repairs and rehingings made it feel like home, so i went in for a drink. The stale musty smell was faintly overewhelmed by the scent of the somewhat stale ale that coated the floor. The maiden at the corner of the bar said she could show me a good time for 100 gc but her five o clock shadow told me my coin be better spent on the rum.

I grabbed a bottle of rum and a tin mug from the barkeep.

I tossed a couple of gc to the old man playing the lute and i found a table where i could sit with my back to the corner...

I was half finished with my bottle of rum when an man appeared at the door. The pub went dead silent as patrons feared the man entering might be looking for them. As it happened, no one was killed in the first 30 seconds and it was evident he was not on the hunt. He wore a leather brigantine, un uncommon sight in these parts due to the warm climate. He was fair skinned and slender, but never to be underestimated. He walked with grace and manner.

As he passed the bar a drink was handed to him automatically and the barkeep quickly stepped back.

The imposing armored man approached patron who was wearing a hooded cloak. The cloak made it impossible to discern the patrons gender or identity. The man with the brigantine armor produced a large bag and inverted it above the cloaked patrons table. About 25 boatswains calls fell out of the bag and formed a slightly scattered pile. They were still dripping with blood and bits of flesh adorned their chains. Most were fashioned with silver and a few were fashioned from gold. They were engraved with the names of the Captains who they previously belonged to. Proof the job was done and those Captains would never pipe another call to any crew.

The cloaked patron produced a warehouse key and passed it across the table to the man in the brigantine armor. One would draw assumption that said warehouse contained payment for a successful deal.

The man in the brigantine armor returned to the barkeep and gestured the motion of drinking from a mug. An empty mug was placed upon the bar in front of him. The man in brigantine armor picked up the mug and headed towards my table. The patrons of the bar parted like the sea, giving him a wide berth as he moved in my direction. The pub was so silent you could hear the floor boards bending as he approached. I never knew the armored mans true name, i knew him only by the words that were his customary greeting. Should you be lucky enough hear him speak these words, it meant you were still alive.

He placed the cup upon the table and I filled it with Rum.

I said to him, "Hello old friend looks like you had a busy night."

He sat down and responded "Valar Morghulis".

When he pulled a couple of knives and a wet stone and laid them on the table I made an assumption and I knew our visit would be short.

" I guess you are headed back to sea when you leave",

"Aye" he responded "much work awaits the assassin" .....

to be continued...