Half Moon
| Name: | Half Moon |
| Location: | Mercenary |
| Rank: | <none> |
| Guilds: | None |
| Step Name: | Grumpasaurus Rex |
| Rogue since: | 2015 |
Previous Ships
First Mate - The Dreadnaught (in service until Sept. 2017)
Noted Favors and Awards
EoFP 2016 .
Rogue since 2015. Ship Service: 2015.
“The problem with land wars like this is that it really cuts into my drinking.” Eric said smugly, kicking an empty bottle of rotgut away from his bedroll.
“That is a problem.” I replied, stretching my back and wincing at the cracks and pops that followed. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t ideal and it certainly didn’t help that this little skirmish between the McKay’s and the Sinclairs seemed to be dragging on for no reason. At least I was here with my brother, green as he was, we were together.
The camp was just waking up, a late night raid had yielded several cattle and a few prisoners, nothing more. As our fellow fighters were beginning to move around the smoldering fires in the morning mist, I rolled up our bedrolls and gathered our things.
Eric was on his feet, watching me absently, he yawned, “Is there breakfast, I wonder?” he asked looking hopefully toward the center of camp.
“I’ll go find out, you finish waking up.” I pointed at him as I sauntered away.
“Bacon…if they have it!” he called.
That was the last thing my brother said to me, raiders from the Sinclair clan leapt out of the mist, swords drawn, and ran him and several other men through before we could even see. We were quick to run them out of camp, I slashed a few with my skean dhu but the damage was done, I stumbled through the fog back to where Eric and I had bedded down for the night, only to find him dead less than three feet away from our swords.
My baby brother had died with his boots on, hung over and unarmed….killed by a man who stabbed him in the back, like a coward, I would have my vengeance….the Sinclairs would pay.
That night, while they slept in fact, we raided their camp and ended the skirmish once and for all…nary a one walked away from that field. I made certain of that. I was far from satisfied though, and while my cohorts made merry round the bonfire that night, I left without a word.
Home….
Home should be a place of comfort, a dream you visit when life is a waking nightmare. In my case, it’s the opposite, and ever since my father abandoned my mother when I was child, it’s a cold hearth she’s kept…her justice cold enough to freeze beer.
I was not treated to a hero’s welcome after the long journey, merely a pair of eyes looking past me for my brother, for Eric. When they didn’t find their prize, they snapped on me, blazing.
“Where is he?” my mother snapped.
“Dead.” I answered, dropping a bag on the floor and taking a sack of gold from it.
“What?!” She shrieked, her wails echoing through the house, “Dead? Dead! What have you done?”
“I buried him on a bluff overlooking the sea, and I killed the men that killed him.” I said, hoping maybe some kindness would shine through, that she’d realize I lost something too.
She just shook her head in disgust, “I should have never let him go, not with you.”
I dropped the heavy bag of gold on the table, “You’ll need this. I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Leaving?” my mother asked.
“Yes.” I replied.
“What of us?” she asked, “What of this farm? Your sister? This house?”
“Use the money wisely, and tell Bridget to marry Jim, he’ll be a good husband and take care of this place for you both.” I said, moving to my room.
“Why?’ she asked before I could shut the door.
“Because,” I said turning to show her the depth of my fury, “If I stay here, sooner or later, I will kill you.”
That was the last thing I ever said to my mother, I shut the door, slept a dreamless night and rode away from my home without a single glance back.
I followed the roads, doing odd jobs. Mostly I worked as a guard for the fat and slow merchants making their way along the trade routes as protection against the highwaymen and bandits. It was near the coast that I found myself at a rickety inn, The Crooked Oak, waiting out a storm that had blown in from sea.
After securing a meager room for the night and a stall for my horse, I settled in at the bar for a decent meal of roast chicken with potatoes and ale. The barkeep was less than congenial, truth be told he was likely still drunk from the night before. Sour faced and tired, he was irritated at the rabble the storm had blown into his place. As the rain rattled the shutters and the thunder shook the eaves, we made a strange company late into the night.
A sharp eyed man with a long smoke colored braid barged in later that night, his clothes soaked through. “A room please!” he bellowed, shaking the rain off.
“We’re full for the night.” The barkeep barked without looking up.
“Figures,” the man said sourly, “my horse gets spooked in this mess and I limp it all the way here to find no respite!”
The barkeep was unmoved at this speech, “You’re welcome to sleep in here if you buy something to drink.”
“Ah!” the man replied, “I thought I saw a halo floating about your head! You saint, you gentile!” he threw a silver coin on the bar, “Give me whatever that will buy and rest well knowing you’ve saved another soul!”
A mug of ale was poured with little enthusiasm and as the spry stranger took a deep drink, he looked about the dimly lit room for a place to sit. His eyes danced around the room, several of the occupants had already dozed off in a drunken stupor, a merchant and his wife were wrapping up their meal and finally….his gaze fell on me. “You’ll do.” He said as he sat opposite me at the crooked table.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do without me.” I said rising.
He looked around curiously, lifting the lapels of his coat and inhaling, “Do I offend?”
“Not in the least,” I replied, “I have an early start in the morning.”
He nodded vigorously, “Best kind of start to get, early and in the morning.” Waving me off he hunched over his mug, but watched me as I climbed the steps to my room.
It was a rickety little bed, with rough blankets, but I was tired and the rainfall on the roof made a lullaby that led me to sleep quickly.
It didn’t last.
Someone was in my room, coming toward me. I grabbed my skean dhu from under my pillow and lunged into the dark at the stranger.
We grappled, and I was shoved into the wall. I recovered and threw him into the table, but before I could get a glance at him with my blade, he was on his feet and charging at me with all his might.
Through the door, we both tumbled into the dimly lit hall where I saw that my attacker was the spry man from earlier, a sly smile on his face as he crouched low and drew a sword.
“You’re turning out to be more trouble than I thought.” He said casually, “Good for you1”
“This was a mistake.” I said flatly drawing my own.
He quirked a brow at me, and lunged with a startling grace, but the hallway was narrow, the floorboards crooked, and I dodged him, our blades singing as they met for a moment. I was shoved through a door, a woman’s scream heralding my intrusion. My attacker was knocked through a pane of glass, shattering it and the silence of the night.
But I was back on my feet and charging him down the stairs, our swords clashing all the way.
That damnable woman would not stop her caterwauling, and soon the bleary eyed innkeeper reeking of his wares was hollering at us to get out.
I threw him into a table, he tossed me against the bar. Slashing for him, I took out a shoddy painting instead. He lunged and speared the mounted moose head on the wall.
It seemed that no matter how hard we tried, neither of us could get the edge on the other…and we were tearing the place around us apart in the process.
Tossing tables and chairs out of our way as we went, we tumbled outside into the driving rain, finally in an open space, I could swing free. But he was so very quick and nimble, my power and strength wasn’t enough to overtake him. But on we battled, for what seemed like an eternity.
We were both soaked to the bone, exhausted and fighting to breathe. My sword felt like it weighed 20 stone. I was battling to go on. Our eyes met in a flash of lightening and as the thunder rolled he said, “This is pointless! You’re too strong and I’m too fast…it could go on like this forever!”
“What did you want anyway?” I asked with a half- hearted swing.
“Only to rob you.” He managed rather innocently, “But I believe I’ve stumbled on something I would like more.”
“And what’s that?” I wheezed.
“You.” He replied simply.
“I serve no man,” I growled through the gloom.
“I seek no servant,” he said, stopping his attack but holding his blade at the ready. “I have a proposal for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I am the Captain of a ship, The Dreadnaught, and we are part of a mighty fleet. Together we sail the seas and take what we can, watching over each other in this cruel and selfish world.”
“You’re…?” I started, almost scared to say it.
“Pirates.” He supplied. “Join us and you’ll live a life unparalleled by any other. Join our family, and I promise, you won’t regret a moment of it.”
“Family.” I echoed.
“I’m Zatara.” He said, breaching the gap between our blades with his hand extended. “And who, might you be, you grumpy bastard?”
“Just call me Grumpy.” I said, taking his hand, “I never much cared for the name my mother gave me.”
“Grumpy it is.” He said smiling.
We stood there like that, in amenable silence, soaked, exhausted and watching the sun rise.
“I’m starving!” He said looking back at the inn.
“Probably best if we moved on,” I said, eyeing my bag that had been unceremoniously tossed on the stoop before barring the door. “I believe we’ve outstayed our welcome at The Crooked Oak.”
“Who wants to eat at The Crooked Oak anyway?” He hollered back at the building.
On horseback, riding toward the coast in the early morning sun, I headed to my new life. As we rode in silence, he finally asked, “Where the hell did you learn to fight like that anyway?” he asked seriously. “That, Captain.” I replied, “Is a very long story.”
