Tareleton
The cry of gulls sound different today; as if they know that this day will be one of mourning. The sea remains still with anticipation, its blue only broken by the wake of The Empress Death. Captain Tareleton “The Smiler” Zelwrath stands on the poop deck peering down at the pirates at work. One of the many baubles that adorn his royal blue hat and coat swings into his view; it’s shaped like a pearl but infused with a magical red glow. The sag around his mouth twitches as the pearl brings forth a memory of screams. He snatches the pearl and rubs it against his protruding ribs as despite his ghastly figure his coat remains proudly open. He proceeds to pocket the pearl and brings a cigar to his mouth. He takes a long, slow inhale feeling the tar and smoke black his lungs. After enjoying the heat, he lets the smoke dribble out his mouth.
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As expected, a wooden dot ascends over the horizon. Tareleton looks down at his first mate.
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“PREY SIGHTED BOYS! FULL SPEED ’HEAD! THERE’S NO SLACKING ‘ERE! GET THE FUCK ON WITH IT!” The orders that Ike has barked a thousand times before are barked once more and in an instant the merriment silences and the drinks are thrown aside as the crew man their stations; the oars fly out, the cannons are pulled in, the sails put at full mast, but Tareleton stays still as he takes another drag of his cigar. For just a moment, instinctually, a smirk on the right side of Tareleton’s face flickers as he cannot help showing the pride he has for this machine; a simple glance is all he needs to pull the puppet’s strings.
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The captain of the Eastern Star is going through the morning routine; he begins by re-examining the native metals from their dwarven home which will be forged into legendary weapons and the gems, so beautiful and rare that they will be sold exclusively to royalty. He proceeds to check the integrity of the hull, made from the wood of the Praleean Tree it has been slow cooked in the SIgmis flames for thirty years in the to strengthen it. He then greets each member of his crew. He has earned the respect of every one of them as he has defended them against a variety of fearsome creatures and rogue pirates. However, the captain now stands petrified staring down The Empress Death as it's shadown darkens the deck of The Easter Star as a silence, that will prove to be The Eastern Star’s last, falls upon the ship.
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The air and sea are as still as the two ships, the seagulls silence themselves out of fear. Although a simple sigh could be heard for miles the silence is shattered by the bells that Tareleton wears ominously tolling with every step. The curious are entangled within the tendrils of his greying beard and long dirty hair, they dangle off his long trench coat and are attached into every crevice of his skin. The fluorescent blue in his eyes is now diminished by the black void of his expanded pupil as it fixates on his small prey. Knowing what is to come next, the slight smile Tarleton always tries to cover gently creeps onto his face once more before he forces it back into a grimace.
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Tareleton’s voice effortlessly booms forth, seemingly louder than a Kraken’s warcry:
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“You have been chosen for death. Do not fight but welcome the next stage of your existence. If you attempt to defend yourselves, you will wish for the painless death we will grant to the rest of your peers. Make peace with those you’ve sinned and pray that the gods are merciful. If we are to meet again then you may take vengeance against Tareleton, Avruumore and The Empress Death.”
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He then lowers his voice turning to Ike once more.
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“Make them one with death.”
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“KILL THEM ALL! TAKE THE CARGO! LET THE GODS DECIDE THEIR FATE!” screams Ike.
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Before the first word had finished exploding out of Ike’s mouth the resemblance to anything human within the pirates, disappears as they become hungry wolves in a feeding frenzy. Tareleton walks back up to the poop deck for the best vantage point. He watches his pack feed. Soon after, Ike kneels before Tareleton and presents him with a green jewel cut like a diamond. As he examines the magnificent stone, finally the smile is inescapable. It takes the perfect shape of a crescent moon; it is unnaturally wide and long as though his face is being stretched by pliers. His lips curl back to reveal his yellow, rotten, decaying teeth and bloody gums. Tareleton cares not for the agony he is putting himself through as the cold sea air bites at his exposed flesh for this is when The Smiler smiles.