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Tor stood alone in his rented room. He could hear the sound of town’s people drinking and laughing downstairs in the common room. He stood facing the window, gazing out at the evening sky visible over the clay tile roof tops. The sun would soon set, and then he and his band of fellow adventurers would attack the Dread Pirate Blackbeard’s ship. They would launch an assault from the docks. They would race up the gang plank. They would swing swords, cast spells, and they would win.

Tor reached up and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his Great Sword. He wished he had a full length mirror, but he knew exactly how he looked without one. Tall, heavily muscled, intimidating in his silver chain armor, rugged. Square jaw. Bowl cut blonde hair. A hint of savagery modulated by stern earnestness in his gaze. He flexed his fingers and drew his Great Sword. It slithered free with the sound of a metal snake gliding over an iron log. Holding it before him, he felt good. He felt sure of himself.

“I am Tor, warrior of the planes and valleys, and I am here in the role of your nemeses,” he said. “I am Tor.” He waved the sword slowly from one side to another. Soon its silver length would be dark with blood. The tip, wickedly fine like the point of a needle, would slip through leather armor. It would rupture chain mail. It would break skin. It would draw blood. It would sever muscles. It would puncture organs. It would kill people.

“I am Tor, and I fight for Good. I am Tor, and I am a warrior in the service of the Light.” Tor looked down at his sword. He held it before him with ease, his arms corded with muscle. He watched the sword, bemused. The sound of revelry below intruded in his mind. The time had come.

Sheathing his Great Sword, Tor exited the room and stopped in the dim passageway. Alutharian was walking towards him, clad in his ceremonial purple robes. His long white beard seemed luminous.

“I am Tor,” said Tor, distractedly.

“Good evening, Tor,” said Alutharian. “The rest are already below. Let us join them.” The pair of them walked silently down the corridor, Tor’s hobnail boots causing the wooden planks to creak, Alutharian’s slippers whispering almost silently over them.

The common room was large, filled with the light of numerous torches and a massive central fire. Commoner’s with rubicund faces stood, holding their tankards aloft and in the midst of song. They wore tunics, jerkins, breeches, boots. Their tunics were of various faded colors, red and grey being the most common. Their song was loud, and seemed without end. Tor’s companions were seated at a table in the corner of the room. They sat silently as Tor approached.

“We are all gathered,” said Alutharian, nodding in approval. “Let us waste no time. The Dread Pirate Blackbeard awaits.”

“Indeed,” said Grimnush the dwarf, rising to his feet. He was clad in heavy plate armor, and his beard was long and lush, the color of coals after the fire has dwindled to a whisper.

“Indeed,” said Hersimmon, rising to his feet. He was clad in black silks, and the handles of numerous small blades emerged from his belt, from a bandolier across his chest, from nooks and crannies. He was svelte and lithe, and seemed more a shadow cast across the wall than a person.

“Indeed,” said Tumira, rising to her feet. She was tall and dressed in earth colored robes, tightly wound about her womanly figure. All turned to consider her. She was beautiful, and seemed more puma than human. She held a long staff in one hand, and the symbol of her god in the other.

“I am Tor,” said Tor, and stood still as the others began to step passed him towards the front door. None met his eyes, seeming instead to look through him. All the peasants were still in song, on their feet, arms thrown across each other’s shoulders. The fires made the room warm, and shadows danced everywhere in time to the music.

The street outside was already painted in dusky hues. People hurried past the Inn without giving it a glance, intent on returning home. The five adventurers began to walk swiftly towards the docks, boots and slippers and shoes sounding on the cobbles and echoing off the sides of the buildings. They moved in silence.

Alutharian had the lead. He moved with long, stiff steps, his head held high. Behind him walked Grimnush the dwarf, his small legs moving quickly and heavily, his head lowered, a large axe now in his hand. Beside him strode Tumira, her staff clicking on the cobbles with every other step she took. Behind them glided Hersimmon, silent and unobtrusive. He seemed to waver from one side of the street to the other, his face hidden under a voluminous hood. Tor brought up the rear. He would occasionally reach up to his Great Sword, palming the hilt.

The buildings pulled away on both sides, and the ocean was before them. In the tumultuous setting of the sun, the water was painted a flat iron color, visibly darkening. Ships and boats bobbed alongside the piers. Piles of crates, the reek of fish, massive nets hung to dry on lines. A massive galleon to the left was the Dread Pirate’s ship. He had docked openly that morning, much to the consternation of all.

“Hersimmon,” whispered Tor when the other drew close. “Hersimmon.”

Hersimmon paused and turned to the warrior, his face hidden by the hood. “What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” admitted Tor. Thinking had never been his forte. “Something is not right.”

Hersimmon didn’t reply. Instead, he moved off to the right, and disappeared behind a pile of crates. The others were moving towards the ship. Tor followed. They approached the galleon openly, and saw that there was no movement on the deck.

“Dread Pirate Blackbeard,” roared Grimnush, “We are come to slay you!”

There was no response. The four adventurers stood silently, waiting.

“Dread Pirate Blackbeard,” roared Grimnush, “We are come to slay you!”

Still there was no response. Alutharian scowled, and began to move towards the gang plank. Tumira followed, as did Tor. Grimnush remained where he stood, mighty axe in one hand, other hand raised to cup his mouth. Alutharian reached the base of the plank, and without hesitation began to ascend. The plank creaked with each step. None moved to the railing of the ship to challenge them. Tor couldn’t see any pirates on the rigging, in the crows nest, anywhere. There were no lights lit in the port holes. There were no signs of life anywhere.

“Dread Pirate Blackbeard,” roared Grimnush from below, “We are come to slay you!”

Alutharian gained the deck of the ship, Tor and Tumira stepping out behind him. The expanse of the great deck was sheeted in shadow, still and mysterious. The deck of the Dread Pirate Blackbeard’s ship, thrilled Tor.

Alutharian raised his hand, and began to mutter an incantation. His words were thick and seemed to churn the air. From his hand began to emanate a glow, and then a ball of fierce white light arose into the air, banishing the shadows.

“There are none aboard,” said Tumira. “Where did they go?”

“They must be hiding,” said Alutharian. “They must be hiding.”

Tor reached up to the hilt of his sword, and almost drew it. Instead, he gripped the handle, and then relaxed his hand and dropped his arm. “They may be below decks,” he said.

Alutharian waved his hand to one side; the ball of light drifted after, and illuminated the stern of the ship. The prow became covered in shadow as the light moved away. Frowning, Alutharian waved his arm back towards the prow; the stern grew dark.

“Perhaps we should explore below,” suggested Tumira, nodding to Tor.

“I am not satisfied that there are no pirates on deck,” said Alutharian.

“But we cannot see any pirates,” said Tor.

“Exactly,” said Alutharian. “It is possible that they are avoiding my light.”

“They could not move so fast,” said Tor.

“It is possible,” said Alutharian.

Tor frowned, “I suppose,” he conceded. Alutharian moved the ball of light towards the stern once more, and scrutinized that portion of the deck. The ship shifted slowly from side to side in the tide, seeming to sigh with each roll. The town stretched out along the coastline, a dark huddled mass with only the occasional lit window to betray presence of life.

Grimnush roared his challenge from below.

“I am going to explore the cabins,” stated Tumira. Alutharian ignored her, and cast his light as fast as he could towards the prow. Tor turned to follow her, and together they approached a large hatch that stood open, revealing a ladder descending into the hold.

Tor stepped forwards, and lowered himself onto the ladder. The rungs were smooth, stout. He began to descend, and Tumira followed him down. When they reached the floor below, they stood uncertainly. The darkness was complete.

“May my god grant us light,” said Tumira. A soft aureate glow began to emanate from the tip of her staff. Tumira turned to Tor. “That is the light of my god,” she said.

The hold was filled with crates. Some were open, and spilled masses of gold coins and jewels onto the wooden floor. Rolls of expensive cloths and carpets were heaped haphazardly about. A massive gilt chandelier lolled ruinously to one side. A mess of finely carved dinner chairs upholstered in red velvet were piled like driftwood. The hold was empty.

Tor reached up for his blade, and drew it smoothly. Tumira looked at him. Tor looked down at his blade, and then sheathed it.

“There is nobody here,” she said. “Let us explore the cabins.” Moving together, they moved towards a door, and opened it. Tor shook his head. This was correct, but it felt wrong. He couldn’t figure out why. They were adventurers. They were exploring the Pirate ship. That was as it should be. But something felt amiss, like a subtle spice missing from a complex dish. Something was amiss, but he couldn’t pin the cause.

The door opened to a narrow passage. It reminded Tor of the hall in the Inn. Tumira moved before him, along the passageway, passing door after door. At the end was a wide staircase, descending further into the ship. Tor reached up for his sword. Released it. He could hear the sound of singing below. The pirates, he thought. They began to walk down the steps.

Turning to the left, the steps opened out into the large belly of the ship. It was filled with the light of numerous torches and a massive central fire that blazed in a stone hearth. Pirates with rubicund faces stood, holding their tankards aloft and in the midst of song. They wore tunics, jerkins, breeches, boots. Their tunics were of various faded colors, red and grey being the most common. Their song was loud, and seemed without end. The Dread Pirate Blackbeard sat at a table in the corner of the room.

The light about Tumira had faded. She stood still before Tor. He reached out with one hand, and gripped her shoulder. He shook her gently. He then moved her to one side. As if imbued with momentum by his push, she began to drift towards a large bar that lined the side of the belly of the ship. Tor watched her. She drifted towards the bar, and then stopped by an empty table. She sat down, leaned her staff against her chair, and propped her chin in her palm.

Tor turned to where the Dread Pirate Blackbeard sat. None of the pirates seemed to have noticed Tor or Tumira’s arrival. Slowly, as if moving through honey, Tor began to move towards the pirate. He wove his way through the men, listening to their song. The pirate’s table seemed incredibly far away. Tor reached up to his Great Sword, and felt a sense of purpose infuse him.

Finally he rounded the last table and reached the Dread Pirate. The man was large, broad shouldered, with his famous black beard pleated into countless braids across his barrel chest. He was watching his men sing, face expressionless. Tor stared at him, blinking.

“I am Tor,” said Tor. He paused. There was more he wished to say, but he couldn’t remember what it was. “I am Tor,” he repeated, and then reached up to wipe at his brow. The Dread Pirate ignored him. Slowly, Tor reached up to his Great Sword. He began to draw it. Half way, he stopped, and then released. The sword sighed back down into its sheath.

The belly of the ship was warm with the heat of the flickering torches. Shadows writhed across the bulging boards of woods. The pirates were swaying from side to side, arms across each others shoulders. Shadows moved amongst them as if lashed by the light of the fires. Tor felt unsteady on his feet. He was Tor, warrior of the planes, steadfast in courage. He wiped his hand across his brow. Turning, he walked away from the table. He crossed the room. He ascended the steps. He walked down the passageway and stopped at a door.

Pushing it open, he stepped into a bedroom. He moved to the center of the room, and stopped. There was a window before him, looking out over the waves. The sun was setting. The final dying red light caught the tips of the waves, and made them appear like red tile roofs. Taking a deep breath, Tor felt his shoulders relax. He reached up for his Great Sword, and drew it. He looked along its length.

“I am Tor,” he said, and closed his eyes.