Whispers Of A New Storm

Author's note

- Oh, boy! Thanks a million for eyeballin' my tall tale! I sure hope it tickled your funny bone or even made you spit out your coffee (but not on your keyboard, please)! So, whaddya think? Did it make you chuckle, or was it as awkward as a whoopee cushion at a fancy dinner? Don't be shy, just holler at me in the comments below! Let's chat, yeah?

The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea as my ship glided into Anchorfell's bustling port. The towering lighthouses stood like vigilant sentinels, their beams cutting through the mist that hung over the water. It's as if they're welcoming us, guiding us into the heart of this maritime metropolis.

The port is alive, a cacophony of voices filling the air—sailors shouting orders, merchants haggling, dockworkers grunting under the weight of crates and barrels. Ships from all corners of the world were here, their flags a colorful tapestry fluttering in the wind. The sight is awe-inspiring, a testament to Anchorfell's significance as a hub of commerce and diplomacy.

"Helm, bring us about," I called out, my eyes scanning the harbor for the designated area reserved for Thalassar's fleet. "Docking position two-seven-niner. Let's park Morwen's little retirement gift where the people can get a good look at her."

Around me, the well-drilled efficiency of my crew was a sight to behold. We were a diverse lot - sons of fishermen and noblemen, seasoned veterans, and fresh-faced recruits - all bound by duty, ambition, and the promise of adventure on the open sea.

I leaned against the railing, taking it all in.

Ropes were hauled, sails furled with well-practiced ease, tow lines secured, and in no time, we were slotted between a sleek corvette and a battle-scarred ironclad that probably had its own collection of enemy cannonballs embedded in its hull. A far cry from our usual mooring, but then again, it's not every day one waltzes into Anchorfell towing a pirate ship as a souvenir.

As soon as the gangplank was secured, the harbor sprang to life around us. Navy personnel - all crisp uniforms and expressions that could curdle milk - swarmed the vessel, herding Morwen's less-than-thrilled crew off to the tender mercies of Anchorfell's holding cells.

Elara, I noted with no small amount of satisfaction, was orchestrating the controlled chaos with the demeanor of a particularly irritated bureaucrat. I swear she thrived on this stuff.

I waited until the last of Morwen's crew - a scrawny fellow who kept shooting me venomous looks from beneath a patch-covered eye - was being herded off to whatever fate awaited them.

Then, I addressed my own.

"Attention!"

The roar of the harbor - the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging, the ever-present clang of hammers from the dry-docks - faded to a dull murmur as every eye on the deck snapped to attention. Even a couple of dockworkers hauling crates nearby - turned towards me.

Showmanship

, as I might have mentioned once or twice... was part of the job description.

"Today, we gave those sea slugs a taste of Thalassar steel," I announced, making sure to inject the right amount of pride (and maybe a dash of theatrical flourish - a captain had to entertain his crew). " You all performed... admirably." A pause, letting the significance of the victory - and a touch of well-deserved fatigue - settle in. "Enjoy a night of well-deserved rest, but be ready for new orders."

"Aye, Captain!" came the rumbling response.

"Dismissed."

As soon as the crew had dispersed, I gestured for Elara and Luke to follow me down the gangplank.

"Luke, get a shipwright to look at our new acquisition. I want to know if she's worth salvaging or just good for parts."

"You got it."

"Elara, give the crew some shore leave. They've earned it. But tell them to stay ready; we might have new orders sooner than we think."

"Okay..." she replied, that familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. "Though I'm pretty sure the Admiral is going to bury you this time."

"Ah, come on now, El," Luke said, ever the voice of reason. "You know she's not

that

bad."

"Darling," she said, turning that withering stare on Luke, "you've spent far too long around Aedan if you think a

pirate ship

tied to our bow qualifies as a 'minor infraction'."

"She's not that unreasonable. Besides, it's a good ship; we could use the parts."

"You only say that because..."

I interrupted, clapping him on the back. "That's my man! See, Elara? Not everyone thinks I'm headed straight for the gallows!"

She snorted. "That's because not everyone has had the pleasure of saving your ass as many times as I have. Seriously, Aedan, tone down the damn stunts for once, or so help me -"

"Oh, come on now, where's your sense of adventure?" I said. " I happen to think my 'stunts' as you so eloquently put it, add a certain flair to this whole thing."

"Seriously? You think dragging home a prize ship like some two-bit pirate is going to impress the Admiral?" Elara threw her hands up in the air. " Next you'll be demanding we call you Captain Bloodbeard!"

"Now

there's

a name that commands respect," I mused.

"You're impossible," Elara muttered. Then, louder: "Seriously. Tone. It. Down."

I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Ah, but it's my daredevilry-that's the precise reason you're working for a

Captain...

" I emphasize the last word, my eyes darting to Luke, and then back to her., "...who allows fraternization among his crew."

She rolled her eyes so hard I'm surprised they didn't fall out of her head. "Oh don't flatter yourself. Luke and I could've just sneaked around on any other fleet. We're here because... well, someone must keep you from making any monumentally dumb decisions."

I considered letting that slide. Considered it for all of two seconds. "Oh really?" I said, taking a menacing step towards her. Before Elara could so much as blink, I flicked her on the forehead with my knuckles. Her surprised yelp was immensely gratifying.

"OW! I told you never to do that." she hissed, clutching her forehead as if I'd just tried to impale her skull with my finger.

"Did you know? But you see I'm the captain - I get to order you around, not the other way around!"

And because some impulses were just too strong to resist - I did it again. Boink.

"That's it!—" She reached for one of her pistols, which looked awfully loaded at the moment.

I raised an eyebrow, already turning to walk away. "Attempted murder of your commanding officer is subject to court-martial, imprisonment, or even—"

"That's not even the correct protocol, you imbecile!"

I waved a dismissive hand over my shoulder. "Just following your captain's orders would solve all these problems, you insubordinate wretch."

"You infuriating, arrogant sea-dog!"

I couldn't resist. I turned around and offered her an exaggerated bow, my arms sweeping wide, my grin stretching from ear to ear. "At your service, my lady."

The click of a pistol's hammer being pulled back rang through the air.

Elara was aiming straight for me, her eyes ablaze. But before she could pull the trigger, Luke's arm snaked around hers, pulling the pistol off course. "Easy there, love. Let's save the ammunition for actual enemies."

"You spineless, insufferable buffoon!"

I just smiled, brighter than ever. "Ah, the dulcet tones of your affection. How they warm my heart."

"You're lucky, Aedan!" she yelled, as she struggled against Luke's grip. "Next time, I will definitely off you!"

"Ah, but that's what makes it so exciting, doesn't it? The constant promise of 'next time.'"

Shaking my head with mock disappointment, I turned and continued on my way, the sound of Elara's colorful string of insults serving as the perfect backdrop to my departure.

Ah, the joys of command—never a dull moment.

* * *

I took a deep breath as I stepped off the docks and into the heart of Anchorfell. The air was a heady mix of tar, bread, salt, and a thousand untold tales that meant you were in a port city.

Streets stretched out like a labyrinth, each turn leading to a new adventure—or a new way to empty your pockets. Merchants hawked their wares with fervor, their stalls overflowing with exotic spices, intricate trinkets, and the kind of baubles that made you wonder,

"Who actually buys this stuff?"

From spices from the Far East to textiles from the mystical lands of the South, if one did not find it in Anchorfell, it probably doesn't exist.

I sauntered through the city, dodging the occasional pickpocket and street urchin. Founded by pirates—yes, pirates—the city had once been a haven for every scallywag and ne'er-do-well this side of the equator. That was until the Empire decided they needed a strategic outpost on this stretch of the Azure Expanse.

And these pirates, with their convenient little fortress city... well, they became a minor inconvenience. What followed, as I'd heard it told, was a masterclass in "negotiations." Involving a lot of rum, even more gold, and a surprising number of Imperial Navy uniforms that mysteriously went "missing" from supply ships for a few months.

By the time the dust settled, the pirates... were still here, just wearing slightly fancier clothes and answering to fancier titles. And the Imperial Navy had itself a brand-new base.

The naval headquarters loomed larger with every step I took - a monument to Imperial might and a stark contrast to the more... free-spirited architecture of the surrounding city. It was built like a fortress, all soaring arches and thick, gray stone, with cannons positioned at strategic intervals.

Two marines, flanked the entrance - their expressions as welcoming as a pair of stone gargoyles. I offered a casual salute - more out of habit than any real respect for military decorum. They didn't even blink. Figures.

"Captain Aedan, reporting, " I said, my voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged hallway. One of them checked my name against a list - and with a grunt, they waved me through.

Inside, it was all polished marble floors and portraits of stern-looking men and women, each one looking as if they were silently judging me for not being as epic as they were.

Ah, give it time, my stoic friends, give it time.

I made my way through the maze of corridors - ignoring the stares from passing officers and trainees. It was a curiosity I'd grown accustomed to.

Do I appreciate it? Not particularly.

Do I care? Even less so.

Let them gossip. I've got bigger fish to fry.

Finally, I arrived at the door with the nameplate, engraved in gleaming brass, simply read: "COMMODORE THORN". I swear I could feel a prickling sensation just looking at it. Taking a deep breath, I rapped my knuckles on the heavy oak door.

"Come in," said a voice, gruff but not unwelcoming.

I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was functional and austere, much like the man who occupied it. An imposing figure was seated behind a large oak desk, cluttered with maps and reports. His eyes, sharp as flint, met mine as I entered.

"Ahhh... Aedan. Take a seat."

I compiled, easing into the chair opposite him. It was probably the most comfortable piece of furniture in the entire headquarters, but right now, it felt like I was about to face a firing squad. Or worse, an audit.

Thorn, was an imposing figure, even seated. Grizzled, gray hair that spoke of too many campaigns and not enough good rum, a face that could probably stop a charging bull in its tracks, and a network of scars that spoke of battles fought and won (or at least, survived). The one that always drew my eye was a jagged line that ran from just above his left eye - which was permanently clouded over, a milky white - down to his jaw.

I'd heard stories about how he'd gotten it, whispered in hushed tones over tankards of ale in the dimly lit corners of Anchorfell's less... reputable establishments. None of them were pretty, and no one was ever stupid enough to ask him directly.

He's not the kind of man you'd want to tangle with, and that's putting it mildly.

"Aedan." Thorn leaned back in his chair, steeling his fingers. "How long would you say we've known each other?"

The question caught me off guard. Wasn't expecting that. "Twelve years, sir? Maybe thirteen?"

"That's right." he sighed as if weighing the time in his hands. "That's a lot of time and yet no time at all."

He rose from his chair and moved to a cabinet that looked older than the Imperial Navy itself, retrieving a cut-glass decanter and two glasses. Whiskey. Well, this was a surprise.

"You've done well, Aedan. Impressed, in fact." He poured a generous measure into each glass before returning to his desk with a grunt. "Taking down the

Siren's Cry

was...bold."

"Am I being relieved of command, sir?"

Thorn let out a bark of laughter. "That's your first thought? A compliment from your superior officer, and you assume you're about to be thrown to the sharks?"

"With all due respect, sir," I replied, my tone carefully neutral. "You don't have a reputation for handing out praise like party favors."

"True," He conceded taking a long of his whiskey. "Patting someone on the back for doing their damn job.... is pretty dumb."

Couldn't argue with that. Never needed a medal or a pat on the back to know when I'd done a good job.

I waited, letting the silence stretch between us. Commodore Thorn, for all his gruffness, had never been one for pointless chatter.

"You're twenty-five now, aren't you?"

"Yes sir."

"Young. An anomaly even among our ranks. Captain at barely thirty..." His gaze was intent now, studying me like I was a tactical map. "Tell me, Captain... where do you see yourself... in, say, ten years' time?"

"Never really... pictured it, to be honest, sir."

"No grand ambitions? No desire to climb the ranks? To become... a symbol? A hero for the people to rally behind? The face of Thalassar's might?"

I snorted. "No disrespect intended, sir, but 'hero' isn't exactly high on my list of career goals."

"Why's that?"

"Overrated and mostly useless, in my humble opinion."

A slow smile spread across Thorn's face. "You haven't forgotten, then."

"Of course not, sir."

How could I?

It had been Thorn himself - a grizzled lieutenant commander back then - who'd taught us that particular lesson during our academy days. Some bright-eyed idiot in the front row had piped up with his dream of being a "hero", of earning a statue in the Grand Plaza and a place in the history books. Thorn had made the poor bastard run laps around the academy grounds for the rest of the day, shouting "Heroes are overrated and useless!" until his voice gave out. Then he made him scrub the galley floors while chanting the same mantra.

I get it, though. He must have seen too many young recruits come in with stars in their eyes, dreaming of glory and fame.

Growing up on the streets, I learned quickly that life isn't a fairy tale. You're not dreaming of being a savior when you're fighting over a scrap of bread.

"But even the most pragmatic of men...they have something that drives them. What is it you want, Captain?"

I swallowed. Over the years, I'd perfected a whole repertoire of vague but admirable answers to that particular question. Duty. Honor. Serving Thalassar to my last breath. The usual navy-approved nonsense.

But something in Thorn's one good eye told me that wouldn't cut it this time.

"To be perfectly honest, Commodore, I've never been one for long-term plans." Took a slow sip of the surprisingly smooth whiskey. " The sea...it doesn't care much for five-year plans or career trajectories. So I take things as they come. Do my duty. Protect Thalassar. And try to enjoy the ride while I can."

"A sound philosophy, Aedan. To a point. But a naval officer...needs to be prepared. Life - much like warfare - rarely unfolds according to a predetermined schedule."

"I get that, sir. Preparedness is part of the job description. But so is adaptability. If I've learned anything from my time at sea, it's that no plan survives contact with the enemy—or with life, for that matter."

He chuckled. "Well said, Captain. Well said." He lifted his own glass. "To the present, then?"

"To the present, sir," I echoed, and we clinked glasses.

The silence stretched out between us, but this time, it wasn't uncomfortable.

It wasn't every day Commodore Thorn offered a toast - let alone with his

good

whiskey-when he wasn't busy scaring the living daylights out of trainees, he had excellent taste.

We both knew how this dance worked. He would speak when he was ready. And I'd learned the hard way that rushing a superior officer - especially

this

superior officer - rarely ended well.

"Enough of this philosophical rambling," Thorn said abruptly, placing his glass on the desk with a decisive

thunk

. "You're here because you're attending a meeting tomorrow."

"A... meeting, sir?"

"An important one. The Admiral herself requested your presence."

"Orders, sir? But the

Siren's Cry

..."

"Is the least of your worries," he cut me off, his tone allowing no room for argument. "Tomorrow, be ready. I will send someone to fetch you"

"I don't..."

"Admiral felt it prudent that you be...

briefed

on the situation beforehand," he continued as if I hadn't even spoken.

Of course, she did.

The Kraken Queen was nothing if not thorough. "And the nature of this... briefing, sir?"

"You'll understand soon enough. The less you know at this juncture...the better and Aedan...."

"Sir?"

He turned those intense eyes on me, and for a moment, I felt like that wide-eyed academy recruit all over again. "When you're in that room... keep your mouth shut. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't offer opinions. And for the love of the Abyss, do

not

challenge anything you hear."

Intrigued was an understatement. Thorn wasn't one for veiled threats - if

he

was telling me to keep my mouth shut, then whatever this meeting was about...it had to be big. "Understood, sir."

He studied me for another long moment, then nodded curtly. "Good. Dismissed, Captain."

* * *

The sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time I left headquarters, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet.

Anchorfell never really slept - the air, even as the daytime throngs thinned, buzzed with restless energy.

The stalls that had lined the waterfront during the day - hawking everything from silks to spiced meats to questionable nautical charts - were being dismantled for the night, their owners exchanging greetings and gossiping with the easy familiarity of those who lived and worked by the tides. In their place, lanterns bloomed like fireflies, illuminating a different breed of commerce. Though not as bustling as the daytime bazaar, the night market had its own charm and a steady stream of patrons.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the more earthy aromas of the market. It's a refreshing contrast, one that I've come to appreciate during my time here.

After a leisurely stroll, I made my way to my sanctuary—a small cottage on the shoreline, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city. Just a modest wooden cottage perched on a bluff overlooking the sea. Not much, but it was private, secluded, and offered a view that made all the worries in the world fade away.

It's not grand by any means, but it's spacious enough for two, maybe even three people if one don't mind getting too cozy.

Inside, I quickly shrugged off my uniform - gods, it felt good to be out of that thing - and headed straight for the bath. The hot water cascaded down like a freaking liquid lullaby, washing away the salt, the sweat, and the lingering tension of the day.