The night in crooked lantern tavern continued with lively hums of music, the murmur of voices, chants, laughter, and the occasional clang of mugs against wood.
In the corner of the tavern near the hearth, a woman with curly black hair that blazed like wild shadows behind her lean figure sat alone sipping a mug of dark-bluish drink. Her sharp face seemed distant and withdrawn from the jolly around, just as her dark green eyes that glowed with a dangerous glint. Clad in a plain long-sleeved blouse, and tight dark pants, she gave off a daring and rebelling vibe.
Her name was Erika Francks, but most knew her as 'The red-lipped piranha', a moniker of her vivid blood red lips that most would mistake for [lipstick].
She had the look of someone who'd spent every day in danger. Her sea-weathered skin was dry, and her dark-greenish eyes were like stormglass. A faint jagged scar that began just below her ear disappeared into the collar of her blouse. She wasn't beautiful in the soft way the mainlanders admired; hers was a rough, dangerous beauty, like a blade that had seen too much use but refused to rust.
Years ago, she'd commanded a The Ebon Lark, a lean, black-sailed ghost that haunted the routes between the northern straits and the eastern Caneias sea, as its captain. She'd raided merchants, broken blockades, and once, by rumor alone, sailed into a storm said to eat ships whole, only to emerge on the other side laughing. The red-lipped piranha was feared wide and around as one of the notorious ten pirate captains on the seas.
But those days were gone. The crown had tightened its grip on the seas, and most of the pirate captains were either in hiding, or dead. Members of their crew who hadn't died were either caught or bought. Erika was neither.
She'd just arrived here in Brimholt on a mission and thought to gather some information here at the crooked lantern tavern. As she sipped her sanmoi spirit, her tear-shaped, pearly-bluish earring glinted at every move she made, as though whispering in her ears everything that was being said around.
Just then, Erika looked up from her half-drained mug with a frown. At a table near the center of the room, a gang of gamblers sat hunched over pouches of coins and a game of Nine men's Morris. Their knuckles were scarred, their voices rough with drink. And leaning casually on the edge of their table in front of them was a man she hadn't seen before.
He was young, probably in his mid-twenties. He had brown hair that looked as though he'd cut it himself, a servant's coat that didn't quite fit, and a face too composed for the kind of place this was. His eyes, though sharp, seemed amused as if he were performing for an invisible audience.
"Gentlemen," he began, Erika's earring glinted as she watched him speak from across where she sat. "Forgive me for intruding, but I couldn't help noticing the enthusiasm you all have for losing your money."
The table went silent. One of the men, a burly smith by the looks of him, frowned. "You mocking us, boy?"
"Mocking?" The strange man raised both brows in mock offense. "No, no. Educating, perhaps. All I want is to enhance this experience."
Another snorted. "And what would you know about gambling, servant?" a thunder of laughter erupted.
The strange man's lips curved into a grin. "Enough to know when a game's grown stale. Allow me to introduce a foreign sport that's far more… exciting."
Erika leaned back, a smile tugging at her lips. Foreign sport, she mouthed.
'Quite cocky. Hehe.' Erika mused internally at the sort of swaggering arrogance that only got people stabbed in the end that this man had. However, after having spent weeks, if not months, travelling all the way to Brimholt, this was the first thing she'd witnessed that really caught her interest.
Erika had travelled far and wide around the world, and nothing intrigued her more than seeing others brag to local townsfolk about their discovery in travels. Like a homeroom teacher examining students' essays, Erika had a knack for assessing traveler's recounts of their encounters and discoveries.
And from the way this strange man spoke with measured and precise wording, she believed he must be quite experienced himself. It reminded her of the silver-tongued bards of her crew- men who could sell seawater to a sailor dying of thirst with poetic excellence.
Erika was intrigued to see how this man intended to dupe these gambling drunks.
She watched as the man picked up an empty wooden goblet from the next table, grabbed a drink from one of the drunks and poured a measured amount, and set it on the gamblers' table.
"It's a simple game," he said. "You flip the bottle. If it lands upright, you win double your bet. If it lands sideways, you lose. You see, it's just about your luck." He flipped the wooden goblet. " And your skill." He said as the goblet landed sideways with a smack on the table.
Everyone in the tavern watched with keen interest, Erika included.
The smith grumbled something about nonsense, but by then, his curiosity was evident. He stood, snatched the goblet and flicked it. However, it fell sideways.
The strange brown-haired man smirked and added, "It's a fair game. If any of you possess talent and luck that you dare boast of that is…"
The smith barked with a slam of his hands on the table. "You can't even do it right either, what's the stake if no one can win?"
The stranger smile broadened, and then he poured another measurable amount of the goblet and flicked the wooden goblet once again. It spun through once, and landed upright, as if the air itself bent to his will.
The table fell silent.
He flipped again. But it fell sideways.
At this point, the crowd had gathered around. Drunks leaned over shoulders. Someone started cheering. Shortly after, coins began to clink on the wood.
" I-I'll give it a try."
" Hell! I can't get it to sit upright!"
" I-I got it, I won!"
Erika who had been watching everything all along frowned. She'd played games in ports that didn't exist on maps, and she knew skill when she saw it. This wasn't luck. His hand moved with a rhythm too deliberate, a balance too perfect.
' Besides, what is this game? And where is it from?" Erika had never heard of it.
Shortly after, the strange man bowed low with a sweep of coins into his palm, and turned to leave with a farewell as though an inventor who'd done his job. He dropped two bronze marks onto the counter for the barkeep, smiled, and walked out into the streets as if he hadn't just robbed half the room.
Erika contemplated for a moment before she stood.
Something about him itched at the back of her mind. That balance, that stillness, and that experience. No common footman moved like that. And no con artist she'd met had ever not been too greedy and not get caught.
She paid the barkeeps eight bronze marks and followed behind him. Sanmoi spirit was costly as it was imported from foreign town far down south.
The town was quieter now as the tavern's noise faded into the whisper of wind through narrow streets. As Erika followed the road in trail of the strange man, a stray cat darted past her boots. But she didn't stop on her march behind him. She kept her distance, eyes sharp.
When she saw him turn down a narrow alley, Erika picked up her pace. It was the only place she could catch up to him and question him without standing out.
However, when she turned the corner--
He was gone!
The only soul there was a hulking figure in a hood, standing under the flicker of a lantern. The man's hand rested near his blade. His eyes met hers briefly. Both paused, measuring each other in that unspoken way only dangerous people could.
If they spoke to one another, there conversation would go like this:
"Following ghosts?" the man rumbled.
"Seems so," Elira replied, voice calm. "You too, by the look of it."
In the end, the burly man moved, brushing past Erika as they walked past one another, leaving only the faint smell of leather and steel lingering in the air.
Erika reached to fondle the small pearly-blue earring that dangled from her lobe. It was a magical relic that she'd found in one of her treasure hunts in a dungeon island across the Caneias sea known as 'The whispering tears of the sirens'.
Normally it hummed faintly when there were any magic used near. However, it was still.
Erika frowned. 'How the hell did he vanish without a trace?'
…
Not far from them, pressed against the dark brick of a narrow lane, stood Kieran. Or rather, an invisible shadow that figured him that looked like him.
'God bless Voyeur,' he whispered, staring at his translucent hands. The skill had worked like a charm. Literally!
He peeked around the corner, grinning faintly at the sight of his two unintentional stalkers walking away. "Didn't even realize anyone was following me," he muttered in silence. "One dangerous lady, and the other grumpy merc. What's this world turning into? A crossover episode?"
" Have I overplayed my role by rebranding and introducing the bottle flip game to those idiots, or is this what the karma point is about?" Kieran reflected, wondering how he came about these consequences of him being trailed and followed by both the mercenary he'd sat by at the tavern and that fearsome lady.
He exhaled through his nose, amused. "Still, I have to say… the look on those drunks' faces when I flipped that wooden goblet? Worth every second. Haha!"
Just then, from the street behind him came the distant, drunken roars of some of the gamblers he'd fleeced.
"WHERE'S THAT DAMN CHEATER?!"
"HE TOOK MY COINS!"
"I'LL BREAK HIS LEGS!"
Kieran chuckled, shaking his head. "How dare you insult an innovator like me," he whispered to himself, adjusting his stolen servant's coat. "It's not fraud if it's brilliant. You only have yourselves to blame for your inadequacy and talentless nature."
With that, he turned and slipped away, leaving no sound.
' The fire should have died down now, it would be suspicious if I do not return. Now what loser act should I play…?' He pondered as he returned to the manor.