The doors of the tavern swung wide and rain sprayed across the old wooden floor. A young woman followed, head held high and her veil dry, despite the raging storm. The typhoon stayed even the most daring captains from leaving port and forced sailors to take refuge in taverns along the harbor, gorging themselves on food and drink in a gluttonous celebration of respite. Sarelin let the doors shut behind her as she left a trail of watermarked bootprints in her wake. She stood for a moment, eyes scanning the patrons before her.

Their eyes latched onto her and murmurs spread through the groups of sailors and dockhands; though, most returned to their games, food, and drinks. A man stood from a table sat in a dark corner of the tavern and made his way to Sarelin. He was covered in ragged clothes, pants ripped above the ankles, boots with holes, and a sweat-encrusted shirt with its sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. He stopped before her, bottle of rum in hand, and swayed side-to-side as he drank.

“Miss, you’re standing before Dungan, known as Blackburn, The Prince of Pirates,” he said with another swig of his bottle and a stifled laugh. He swung around to face gawking patrons, hands held high in an expectation of praise and applause, but when none was received he turned his attention back to Sarelin. “Why don’t you come join my boys over there, we’ll show you a good time.” He reached for her with an unsteady hand but Sarelin swatted him away before he could make contact.

“You smell like a stray dog.” Disgust filled her voice as she spat those words at him.

Sarelin pushed past the drunk and he stumbled back. Onlookers mocked Dungan with laughter as he retreated to his table. She carved a path through patrons to sit at the bar next to a man dressed in a fine leather tunic over a white sailor’s shirt, both opened in the front, which revealed his bronze skin below.

“Do you always have to dress like you’ve just left a brothel?” She asked.

“Only when I want to annoy you, Sare. Besides, if we’re talking about sex appeal, I’m completely outmatched. Half the tavern still has their eyes on you. No one but that drunk has noticed me.” The man chuckled as he motioned to Dungan — in a way someone laughs when nervous to meet an old friend — and downed the last of his ale. His solemn countenance returned. “I take it since you’ve traveled all the way from Alomont, you’ve accepted?”

“I just thought I’d hear you out in person, Garrick. Besides, I’ve missed our little adventures and the hunting grounds in Alomont are becoming sparse.” Sarelin removed a mirror from her bag then adjusted her veil. She shifted the mirror to look over her shoulder, the image behind her dim but still bright enough to reveal the sailor who harassed her. “It looks like poor Dungan had his feelings hurt.”

“Ignore them, they’re not worth your time. Tonight should be about reminiscing of the past and looking to the future. I’ll buy you a drink and tell you about the plan, they have a special ale here that I’ve—”

“No, not yet, there are matters to attend to before we start. Excuse me for a moment.” And before Garrick could try to stop her, she was halfway to stairs that led to the guest rooms. Unlike the well lit and noisy dining hall, the maze-like hallways of the upper floors were calm, dark, and empty. The noise of patrons below faded as Sarelin walked deeper into the labyrinth, replaced by bellowing winds and taps of branches against walls and windows — an otherwise cozy place if not for the foul smell of the fish market.

Sarelin spun at the sound of floorboards croaking and met the glare of Dungan. His breath reeked of rum and vomit, his gait wide and boorish, his words slurred nearly to the point of drivel. Dungan dropped his empty bottle and grabbed her hands. “It’s dangerous for a little lady like you to be alone at night—“ he paused a moment before feigning spontaneous thought, ”I know, how about I help you find your way back. I’m the Prince of Pirates after all, what is a prince if not chivalrous.” Dungan belched out a drunken laugh and pulled her towards a nearby room as she screamed.

“Ho! Innkeeper, a pitcher of Holn White Ale, will you? Heard it’s your new specialty.”

“Aye, Garrick,” the Innkeeper answered, “Haven’t seen you in years, what brings you to Holn?” The Innkeeper was a heavier set man and renowned for his ales. Twenty years of serving up food and drinks from his family run tavern made him a man of secrets, and not just of the brewery.

“Just a bit of business, as usual. Anything interesting? Rumors, bounties, murders maybe?”

“Murders, ay? There is a new killer. Guards found bodies two weeks ago. Already been five deaths since. The Serpent of Selune, they call ’em. Leaves the bodies shriveled up like jerky, no blood or wounds, say’n it’s a vampire — I’m not sure what to think but the church put a thousand gold piece bounty on the killer’s head. Not sure about you, but I’ve never seen a bounty that high for just a vampire.” The Innkeeper paused before being called by another patron. “Busy night, lad, tell me some stories when it dies down. If you want the bounty, I’ll give you the bishop’s calling card. White Ale, on the house.”

Garrick gave the man a nod and drank from the wooden tankard. The tavern was as lively as ever. Years ago, Garrick brought his own crew to shelter under the same oaken roof. Six long years traveling the world by ship, making a name for himself that would become his legacy, and returning here for rest. The sound of heavy-footed drunkards freed from his thoughts and he set down his ale as Dungan’s crew surrounded him.

A man leaned over the bar and smiled as he propped himself up by his elbows. “Where’d your lady friend go? Hope nothing bad happens while you’re away.” The men laughed on cue as if they rehearsed their petty threats beforehand.

Another one spoke, “What? Can’t hear or someth’n?”

A third joined with a crooked grin, “We’re say’n we’re gonna join the captain. You gonna stop us?”

Garrick turned to the men and raised his tankard. “That lady friend is a woman who needs not the protection of a man like me.”

Dungan’s crew glanced at each other, faces contorted, trying to grasp Garrick’s reluctance to help a woman they thought he was acquainted with. Each shrugged and stumbled to the stairs. “Guy’s not very fun. Was hoping to step outside and teach him a lesson,” one muttered.

The door swung open and Dungan’s crew walked in, met by a woman sat in a chair next to the bed, one leg crossed over the other and her head resting in her hand — bored. Dungan hunched over a pillow in a dream-like state, humping wild as he cried out for his men to join him. The men cackled in unison.

“Control yerself boss,” the lead man said.

“Too worked up to see he’s fuck’n a pillow.”

“A bit too much rum,” another said.

Tears rolled down their cheeks as they verbally lashed their boss. Sarelin straightened in her chair and placed her hands into her lap. She looked to the trailing crew member, a scrawny man with scars that lined his body and gave him an air of authority among scoundrels. “Close the door.” Her voice cracked like a whip and her eyes glowed yellow. The man stiffened and shut the door behind him immediately.

The other men turned on the man as they laughed, Looks like the captain isn’t the only one who’s overeager. Good boy, Vernon.”

“Silence.”

Dungan and his crew froze and the room fell to silence. Sarelin stood from her seat. “Men like you are pathetic. You drink a bit of alcohol and lose control. You believe you are strong and I am weak. But here you all are, frozen with fear, charmed by a woman far more dangerous than the seas you hide from tonight.” She turned towards Dungan and placed her hand on his head. Her fingers bit into his flesh as she squeezed, but they did not pierce the skin to wound him. Instead, they passed through like a phantom in the mists, doing damage not physical but ethereal. “There are things much worse than death — Watch.”

Sarelin pulled her hand away and a flash of red light filled the gap. Dungan’s body began to shrivel. The light grew dim and took his form, shrunken by Sarelin’s black magic and malformed, closer in appearance to a tumor than a man. She ripped her hand away and held it high. Dungan’s body slumped over the pillow. “This is a soul. An ugly one, made grotesque by his actions. And I’ll have each one of yours soon enough.” Sarelin walked to the leading man, her gait light, each step slow and deliberate. She seemed more a queen than the demon she was. A tear rolled down his cheek. A relic of the laughter the men shared moments ago or from the fear he felt now, Sarelin couldn’t tell — nor did she care.

The dining hall quieted as guests retreated to their rooms. It was nearly midnight. Sarelin strolled down the stairs, her face bright and lively despite the hour, eyes sharp and focused as she took her place next to Garrick.

“A full meal tonight… Guess I’ll order for myself then.” Garrick said with a smile. “Why not have a drink? The Holn White Ale is quite good.”

“How chivalrous of you, to notice a parched lady’s thirst. I expect nothing less from the true Prince of Pirates.” She leaned into Garrick and wrapped her arms around his. “Now, let’s hear about your plan to plunder the church’s treasury.”