632 Midnight Departure

"Oh, my bad," Krysaos bared his teeth in a not-so-apologetic grin, "Should I have knocked?"

Tycon furrowed his brows... "That would have been polite, yes."

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Krysaos grimaced as he looked around the room. 

Tycon gestured at the ordered stacks of rations and the few articles of clothing and weaponry, "I like being prepared."

"So this is how you spend your nights..." Krysaos muttered. "I was hoping to run into... you-know-who. I might've offered to join in."

"I'd much rather do inventory, thank you." 

"AaAAanyroad," The human proudly puffed his chest out, "*I* got a ship! It's leavin' at midnight, though."

Tycon peeled his attention away from his inventory check to look at his Captain. 

The gentleman had eschewed his ragged trousers for new ones and was wearing a loose, sleeved linen shirt. It seemed he'd purchased a scabbard for his sword, strapped to a new belt... and he had even had his face shaved and his hair trimmed, short and neat. 

Krysaos had requisitioned a ship... and attained a professional look... for a practically insulting amount of silver. 

Tycon was nothing short of impressed. 

"Well... done, Captain," He nodded... "To be quite honest, I can scarcely believe it."

"Ahaha! Yeah!" Krysaos grinned, "Wasn't easy. You won't believe how much they tried to charge me for this. Then I told 'em--"

Tycon tuned out what his Captain was saying, nodding occasionally. He successfully completed his gear check, then began to orderly return everything to his spatial ring. 

"--but anyroad! The guy couldn't stop tryin' to give me stuff! I had to tell 'em that I couldn't take ALL of it. He's got a family to feed, am I right?"

"Magnanimous of you, Brother-Captain," Tycon nodded. "Shall we check out of the inn and head to the ship, then?"

It seemed somewhat dangerous to sail away from port so late at night... and under the cover of heavy fog. At the same time, he reasoned that if Krysaos was able to afford passage, the ship might belong to pirates or smugglers... with a captain and crew that would prefer a clandestine departure. 

That was more than acceptable. 

"Aha! Yeah," Krysaos bared his teeth-- "But before that, I'm thinkin' to use the coin left over to get stupid-drunk!!"

Tycon mulled over the thought. 

It wouldn't hurt. 

He had already considered the coin he'd given Krysaos to be used and the man deserved a reward for a job well done. 

"With your permission, Brother-Captain, I would love to join you."

...

Captain Krysaos could drink... and the amount of which was nigh unfathomable. 

Krysaos was near a fulm taller than he was... but it seemed his gullet was bottomless when it came to alcohol intake. 

Tycon was called a coward... for refusing to drink past his fill? He chose to take no offense from a drunkard's ramblings. 

The Captain also admitted to him that he loved him-- then backtracked as he went off into a slightly homophobic rant. The point was made that Krysaos greatly appreciated Tycon's faith... 

At a later date, Tycon would gently counsel his companion about political correctness, to avoid any future problems amongst a larger variety of crew members. 

Everything said and done, Captain Krysaos was certain to regret most of the night's events upon morning... as a hangover was inevitable. 

...And it was not impossible for him to have contracted a debilitating affliction after bedding a particular whore. 

With Krysaos' direction, Tycon helped him drunkenly stumble towards the ship... they boarded and entered their private quarters

And thus, their quest would continue... 

To recover the Swords of the Forgotten King. 

To restore the great name of Captain Krysaos. 

And to get a ship and gather a crew worthy of his name. 

...

⁆ Captain's Log, Date XXXX ⁅

⁆ So there i was, surrounded by gorgeous women of all shapes and sizes. Warm. Safe. In the comfort of my ship. ⁅

⁆ There was this orc girl with criminally huge thighs and her rear was... firm, yet pliable. Had a frog-girl... didn't need lubrication, even for the hardest-to-fit places. And oh... man, this dwarf chick-- the best way I could describe her is... creative. ⁅

⁆ All in all, best dream I ever had. ⁅

Krysaos woke up atop a moldy sheet, stuck by bits of old straw poking through. 

The morning sun shone grey through the fog of the porthole... attached to dingy, water damaged walls. 

He was on a ship, that was for sure... and in a small cabin. From the gentle motion affecting the room, and the lack of gull noises, they were out on the ocean blue. 

Krysaos shut his eyes and stretched his arms, yawning heartily. He had a dull headache from the previous night, but it wasn't too bad. Nothing a sip from the ship's grog wouldn't cure. 

Then, something moved. 

There was... a shadow standing over his bed, looking down at him. 

He narrowed his eyes... and held his breath.

The thing kept still... unnaturally still. 

The room was pretty dark... but according to where the porthole was, the shadow should... not have been where it was. And it shouldn't have been standing next to him!

It... was definitely there.

Krysaos couldn't pretend it wasn't, even for a second. 

He swiped his hand at it, "Get away!!!" 

It swayed its head back to dodge the strike. 

Krysaos didn't know how, but he'd leapt to his feet from the lying position. Then he knelt down to pick up his cutlass, pointing the sheathed sword forward, "Bring it on!" 

The shadow... stared at him... with a strange, slightly yellowish glow appearing where its eyes should have been. 

...It was a whole lot creepier than if it started attacking him. 

"Hey... hey, guy," Krysaos whispered loudly, hoping Tycon would hear. "Wake up."