Valyrion Pontar

Valyrion Pontar knew the catacombs like the back of his hand. He lost count of many times he’d been down here to make arrangements or give orders. He felt the pirate’s eyes boring into his back as he rounded the corner. He turned once again to the left and followed the damp, mossy pathway past an old fountain to a set of narrow, steep stairs, which he began to climb. Valyrion came to a hulking wrought-iron lattice door and, out of his right sleeve, he produced an impressive ring of keys. It wasn’t long before his nimble fingers had found the right key and he was unlocking the door. A drawn-out, tortured screech echoed throughout the catacombs as the door swung open.

When Valyrion entered his boss‘ house, he was completely soaked through with sweat. You could cut the air that hung over the harbor with a knife, it was so thick and saturated with humidity. He reached for a silk handkerchief from one of his pockets and wiped the beads of sweat that were collected atop his bare head. A servant approached him and stared at him with unabashed contempt; regardless of people’s standing or rank, they all seem to see me in the same light, though Valyrion.

“Master is expecting you – you may now enter his chamber,” said the servant with a subtle bow in Pontar’s direction. Valyrion nodded his head as if to say, “Thank you,” and he silently approached the closed door. As he opened the door, his heart jumped into his throat … his boss was a merciless shark of a man and Valyrion could see that he was quivering with fear.

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The man and his master

Valyrion’s boss stood at the window taking in the comings and goings in the harbor with his back turned to the door and his hands crossed behind his back. The room was pleasantly cool and Valyrion noticed that his sweaty body and clothes were thankfully beginning to dry.

“As quiet as ever – one of the things I like about you the most,” he said. Pontar exhaled silently. “Thanks, boss.”

“Did you deliver the orders?” The boss’ voice was deep and gravelly, though it was scarcely louder than a whisper.

“Of course, I did everything just like said,” Valyrion bowed even though his boss still had his back turned to him. His boss, almost sensing the gesture, turned and looked at his subordinate with cold, dead eyes.

“How did he take the assignment?” There was a suspicious tension in his eyes. Valyrion was not accustomed to seeing this expression on his boss‘ face.

“With trepidation, but I think we can trust him.”
„Very good. I don’t trust him, but your judgment of his character. So everything as planned is a go?“

A cruel, dark smiled played at the corners of his mouth. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”
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Jonas Black

Jonas’ crew was gathered around him as he announced, “I accepted a job today that will make us all very rich men.”

His men began to murmur excitedly. Some of them were smiling, while others who were a little older and wiser listened intently with furrowed brows. They knew that such riches come at a price. Jonas produced a scroll from his pocket and broke its seal. The seal was of an ilk that he’d never seen before. An excited murmur welled up amongst his men.

He read aloud, “Tools: Receive 10 barrels of gun powder at the tavern in the Nassala harbor. Liaison: Thor Ironclaw. Receive 20 carpenter’s uniforms at the tavern in the Byrades harbor. Liaison: Darios Stormfedder. The barrels of gun powder will be disguised as wine barrels and they can be stored under the terraces of the lodges in the Tirinic harbor. Barrels to be detonated using a long fuse during the closing ceremonies of the Tournament of the Great Five …”

“You mean we’re supposed to blow the leaders of the five great merchant houses to kingdom come,” Jonas’ first mate David begged for clarification. Unperturbed, Jonas continued, “Target: The leaders of the five great merchant houses.” He let the scroll fall the deck. The astounded, dreadful silence of his crew members was deafening.
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On the precipice

“This is pure insanity. Count me out,” said Lamar, one of Jonas’ most experience pirates. Black had been tacitly counting on his support.

David, Jonas‘ first mate, countered, “They would never be able to trace the attack back to us. The carpenter uniforms will be all the cover we need. Think about it, how we will stick out any more than all the rest of the handymen that will be hanging around the harbor during the tournament?”

“Just what exactly is in this for us?” asked George, the ship’s cook.

“20 million gold pieces,” replied Jonas. George whistled in disbelief, “That’s a helluva lot of gold. I’m in!”

“Nobody’s officially in yet,” cried Jonas, “… at least, not until we’ve come to a consensus.”

Jonas gave his 34 crew members the signal to put it up to a vote. “Who votes against accepting this contract?” 17 of his crew members raised their hands, some quick and decided, others slow and unsure. Lamar was one of the crew members who voted against the job.

“And who is for taking this job?” The remaining 17 crew members raised their hands, David and George among them. Finally, Jonas raised his hand and cast his vote, “That settles it,” he concluded. “We’re taking the job.”

“You all are making a big mistake,” Lamar warned. “The reward, handsome as it may be, will never make you happy; heed my words!”

Cursing under his breath, Lamar left the deck and headed for his cabin. This is precisely what Jonas wanted to avoid. He’d hoped that he’d be able to convince his entire crew but everything happened so quickly. The worst possibly scenario had become a reality – his crew was split down the middle. Jonas wished that he had never laid eyes on that bloated, puffy Pontar …