The inn was already awake before I stepped in. From the outside I could hear the laughter, the shouting, the clinking of mugs. It sounded less like a place for food and more like a festival ground. When I pushed the door open, the smell of roasted meat and spilled beer hit me in the face. Almost every table was taken, and on every table sat men cut from the same cloth—big shoulders, loud voices, and tattoos of a mermaid on their hands. Some had it on the wrist, some on the forearm, one fellow had it climbing all the way up his neck like the mermaid was trying to escape from his shirt collar. They were pirates, no doubt, celebrating some victory or maybe just celebrating the fact that they were alive. Pirates don't really need a reason.
At the far end, their captain sat like a king. Not a real king of course, but one of those self-made kings, crowned by his own gang. He was a mountain of a man, leaning back with a grin so wide you could see the missing teeth like gaps in a broken wall. Rule number one in such places: never lock eyes with the king. If you do, you'll end up in some kind of trouble, either sharing a drink with him or sharing fists with his men. I wasn't in the mood for either, so I kept my head down and looked for an empty seat.
There was only one spot left, a corner table where an old man sat alone. His face was half hidden behind a grey beard, and his eyes were half closed like he was on the edge of sleep. Both his hands were wrapped around a mug, but the mug was still full. That meant either the drink was too expensive, or he was just holding onto it for company.
I started walking toward him, but one of the pirates decided to be funny. He stuck his foot out like a street trickster. If I had been in a hurry, I would have fallen flat on my nose and given them a good laugh. But I stopped just in time and gave him my best thousand-yard stare, the kind that says: are you really trying this on me, brother? He burst out laughing, slapped the table, and shouted to his mates, "This one's no fun!" They laughed with him, then went back to their mugs, forgetting I even existed. I carried on.
I stood at the old man's table.
"Is this taken?" I asked.
He opened one eye. "No."
That was all the welcome I needed. I sat across from him. For a while, he said nothing, and I said nothing. The pirates kept shouting around us, like waves crashing on rocks, but the old man just sat with his mug, eyes drifting here and there as if following thoughts inside his head. I raised my hand, called a server, and placed an order. Then, curiosity got the better of me.
"Seems like the whole place is celebrating," I said. "What's going on in the city?"
The old man turned his eyes toward me, slow as if they had to warm up first. He looked left, looked right, then finally at me. His voice came out rough, the kind that had spent years chewing dust and smoke.
"Celebrating?" He chuckled. "That's just pirates, lad. They drink when they win, they drink when they lose. They'd drink even if the world was ending, just to toast it goodbye." He leaned back, scratched his beard. "But as for the city…" He shook his head. "Trouble's been brewing. Best keep your head low if you plan on staying."
"Trouble?" I asked. I already had some glimpses of what was happening in the streets, but locals always know more. Maybe he would drop a clue, maybe even a name.
My order came, a plate of meat, bread on the side, steam rising. I pushed one portion across the table toward him. His eyes lit up like I had just handed him gold. Without asking, he pulled the plate closer. I wasn't hungry anyway.
Now that he had food, his tongue loosened. "Well, let me put it this way. The Empire's eye is on this land. Khonaz is the only one standing in their way. You'd think this place is worthless, dusty streets, broken houses, too many mouths to feed. But the Empire wants it. Bad. Why? That's the question everyone asks. Most people don't know. But this old man," he tapped his chest, "has heard whispers. They're planning a ritual here. Something big. For that, they need the people gone. Gone, or dead. And if you ask me, they're close to making it happen."
I leaned in. "Why do you think that?"
He tore a piece of meat, chewed slowly like every bite deserved a funeral, then spoke through the mouthful.
"Last month, they caught Khonaz's second-in-command. He's rotting in their prison now. With him out of the way, Khonaz is weak. And next week, they're planning to hang him on the city gate, just to break their spirit once and for all."
That got my attention. "But I didn't see any Deens here. How's the Empire even holding ground against Khonaz?"
The old man gave a dry laugh. "Oh, the Empire is clever. They don't fight with their own hands. They hire pirates and mercenaries. If things go bad, it's just thugs making trouble, not the Empire. Their name stays clean, their hands stay bloody."
"So the ninja group in the alleys… that's Khonaz?" I asked.
"You got it right, young lad. Poor folk trying to save their land, fighting shadows against a giant. But soon, they'll lose their man."
He took another bite, his beard dripping with grease. Then he said the name.
"Azhar."
At that name, my heart skipped. My ears rang. I felt the room go silent for a second, though of course the pirates were still roaring. I forced myself to stay calm. "Azhar?" I asked, as if it was just another name.
"Yeah." The old man's eyes narrowed, studying me now. "The one they're going to hang next week. Judging by your face, kid, I'd say you know him."
I happened to meet him once on a journey, didn't expect it at all, got proper shocked, I tell you.
Just as I was thinking that, the door banged open with a noise loud enough to scare the mugs off the table. I turned, and there they were, the two pirates with the same mermaid tattoos I had given a lesson on my way here.
Author's Note:
Wassup, my chaotic internet gremlins? Don't just stand there silently like a haunted wallpaper—say something in the comments! Anything! Drop a "hi," a "potato," or just mash your keyboard like asdkjfhalkj—I'll take it. Because right now, it feels like some glowing green ghost is reading my story in total silence.