Rumor

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan was sitting at his desk, pen scratching at paper, when the knock came. His head lifted, his eyes narrowed for just a moment. A sigh escaped his lips, and the captain closed the book, sitting back. "Come in." His tone was neither irritated, nor was it quite bored. Simply… distracted, perhaps. For the moment.


"Captain, we've found the chain. Five islands on a reef shaped like a crescent moon." The Bosun did not fully enter, but stood in the doorway, nearly blocking it entirely. But perhaps it was more presence than actual physicality. The captain stood, pushing his chair back, and rounded the desk, letting fingertips drag across the smooth wood as he passed.


"So at least part of the rumor is true." He mused, following the large half-orc out of the lush, warmly lit cabin onto the deck, swathed in darkness and only relieved by the pale glow of the moons. It took only moments for his eyes to adjust, and he continued to shadow the other to the starboard side. Looking out into the water he could see the pale near ring in the water, and crossed his arms. He couldn't quite contain the smile on his face, and it seemed somewhat contagious perhaps, for Bosun's own lips quirked skyward.


"What would you like to do, sir?" He indicated the crew behind them, turning to face the much smaller man, who continued to survey the small islands with a curious tilt to his head.


"Let's see if we can't get into the circle, and anchor down for the night. We have to wait until morning for the next part, anyway." He turned, reached up, and set his hand on the half-orc's shoulder with a single, solid pat, and leaned forward, grinning. "A real treasure hunt." He said with some amount of barely contained excitement. With that the captain strode away, a spring in his admittedly small step, right back to his cabin. "Seeya at sunrise!" He shut the doors behind him, standing quite stiffly, before sinking against the door and letting out a shuddering breath. Slowly, it turned to a soft giggle. And then laughter. He stifled it quickly enough, before any of the crew would think to have him locked away for madness, and pushed away from the door, doing a little happy dance all the way to his desk.


He rounded it, and opened the drawer to pull out a battered old book bound in leather with gold leafed lettering that simply read: Retribution. Carefully, he opened to a bookmarked page, and ran his fingertips gently over the hand-sketched image of the very islands just on the other side of his ship. Slowly, he turned the page, and let his gaze settle on the next. A ship riding toward the rising sun, sails full and bright and happy. Morgan had to wonder how many people had died pursuing this very rumor. This had suddenly moved from whimsy to something far more serious that needed to be planned accordingly. He shifted his weight, and pulled the book from his desk, letting it close. What he could really use right now…


Was a warm carrot muffin.