Kroll leaned back, tipping his cup slightly as he glanced toward Blake. "You know," he started, his voice casual but carrying a trace of curiosity, "it's been a while since I've seen any of those slippery brokers around.My ships is filled with things to sell, yet I haven't seen any of them in a bit. Starting to wonder if they've all vanished into thin air."
Blake raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting Kroll's comnt hang in the air as he took a slow sip of cider.
''I am sure they will appear soon, after all they know that our business is good...''
In the world of piracy, brokers were the unspoken lifeblood of the trade—shadowy interdiaries who turned stolen goods into spendable coin. Unlike gold or silver, which could be imdiately pocketed, the vast majority of loot raided from rchant ships was far less straightforward to monetize. Bales of silk, crates of spices, barrels of wine, and jewels couldn't simply be spent in the taverns of pirate havens. Instead, they needed to be sold.
The brokers thrived in this niche, ferrying goods from the hands of pirates to the markets of the mainland. The brokers took their cut, of course—a significant one—but for pirates with no other ans of turning their plunder into currency, they were indispensable.
Of course, there were always a few known brokers lurking in the shadowy corners of ports across the seas. But for many Free n, stepping into a port was as much a gamble as sailing through a hurricane. Every ship was boarded and inspected by the local garrison, eager to sniff out the scent of piracy.
And let's face it, an empty hold was as good as painting "pirate" in bold letters on the side of the hull. After all, there were only two kinds of people who sailed the seas—rchants or pirates—and if you weren't loaded with cargo, well, it wasn't hard to guess which one you were.
Because of this, most brokers were the ones on the move when dealing with the Free n. They braved the perilous waters to sail directly to islands controlled by the Confederation, conducting their business right under the pirates' noses. It wasn't without risk—rogue captains could be tempted by the fat purses these brokers carried. But piracy had its unspoken rules, and one of the most sacred was to leave the brokers alone.
After all, if you robbed the man who turned stolen silk and stolen wine into cold, hard coin, where would you sell your next haul? Certainly not back to him, and unless you fancied trading barrels of fine wine for mackerel, there weren't many other options.
Rumors of an impending Imperial invasion had swept through the seas like wildfire, sending brokers scrambling for safety. The whispers of Rolian warships soon to be cutting through the waves were enough to make even the most daring of these middlen think twice about lingering on pirate-controlled islands.
After all, the Rolians had no love for anyone who dealt with the Free n. To them, a broker was as much a pirate as the one swinging the cutlass—and they made no distinction when it ca to executions, both of them just needed so nails and planks.
So, one by one, the brokers abandoned the islands, retreating to the relative safety of their ports. There, they plan to hoard their silver and gold, their minds already turning to the future. If the Confederation erged victorious, the brokers would return, their coffers ready to buy up whatever spoils the Free n plundered during the war. If they did not, well, then it was ti to consider becoming proper rchants.
The allure of Harmway under the Confederation's yoke had always been a boon for their trade, who had a relative close base to go to do business, instead of traveling dozens of kiloters into the sea.
But for now, they waited, silently rooting for a Confederation victory, as their gains depended on them
Kroll leaned back in his chair, his lips twitching into a sly grin as he swirled the remnants of cider in his cup. "I'll admit, Blake, I didn't expect you to win the role of captain. Not with all the sharks circling for it."
Blake raised an eyebrow, his expression unbothered. "You shouldn't have expected it," he said with a smirk. "The only reason I did was because I convinced StormCaller to drop out and throw his votes behind ."
Kroll's grin widened in surprise. "StormCaller? The stubborn old bastard who'd rather eat his boots than take orders? How the hell did you pull that off?"
Blake shrugged nonchalantly, leaning forward to pour himself another cup of cider. " I reminded him that this would probably be the last big battle of his life. And let's be honest—he's not likely to win if he's just another captain among many. But if he backed and I took the lead? Well, I promised him command of the right flank."
Kroll let out a bark of laughter. "The right flank, huh? The honor of leading a third of the fleet in what he thinks is his swan song. That must've been music to his ears."
Blake nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "A few more sweet words, a reminder of how history would rember him as the steadfast hand that helped shape our victory, and he was in. Apparently, the idea of commanding such an important role in what he believes will be his last battle was enough to make him see reason."
'Well, that certainly was unexpected '' Kroll admitted with a smirk, when suddendly the conversation turned more lancholic than he had hoped. ''IYou know, we have known each other since we were boys, so I wonder if we will have the chance to drink like this ever again...''he admitted with a sigh
Blake leaned back in his chair, the flickering lantern casting a golden glow across his sharp features. He swirled the cider left in his cup, then looked up at Kroll. "We'll see each other soon enough, my friend," he said, a small, calculating smile tugging at his lips. "When it's ti to sail into battle against the Rolians.That night's drink will outshine every other experience we will share. And if one of us is destined to not be there, then we can only bla the sea-god for his decision."
Kroll grinned wide his teeth gleaming. "I can't wait for it," he replied, the eager fire of a man who lived for the thrill of a fight clear in his voice. He raised his cup as if to toast the thought but drained the cider instead. "It's been too long since we've cracked so imperial hulls."
Blake nodded, his expression sharpening into focus. "Speaking of cracking things... I've been thinking about the best way to manage the fleet. With the numbers we've pulled together, it's no small task. I've been searching for the right people to assign command over so of the smaller captains. You know the ones—not part of any main fleet, just a handful of ships waiting for orders."
Kroll arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "And you're telling this because...?"
"Because I'd like you to lead so of them," Blake said evenly, his gaze locking onto Kroll's.
"I want soone I can trust," Blake continued leaning forward. "This isn't just busywork, Kroll. There's a mission—a special one—I'll need carried out when the Rolians disembark on Harmway. I need soone with their head screwed on right."
Kroll rubbed his chin, feigning reluctance, but there was a glint of excitent in his eyes. "Well, when you put it that way... I'd be honored. How many ships are we talking here?"
Blake tilted his head, considering. "Not as many as I'd like, of course. But fifteen, maybe twenty. Enough to make an impact.You feel confident?"
Kroll slapped the table, grinning ear to ear. "You're damn right I do. Just tell when and where, Blake, and I'll show those Rolian bastards what Free n can do."
The command structure of the fleet had already been decided. Salt Beard, a fierce veteran with a penchant for aggressive maneuvers, was entrusted with the left flank. StormCaller, as he was promised would command the right. Blake himself would take the center, bearing the brunt of the enemy's attention and leading the main attack.
And then there was Kroll.
Blake leaned back. Kroll's command was a wildcard—a fleet assigned with no defined purpose, at least not yet.He needed of course soone he could trust and that would not have his head fuzzed around by thoughts of glory.
Blake had only vague ideas for now about how to use him : perhaps as a rapid-response force to exploit weaknesses in the enemy lines or maybe as a way to copycat the trick that the Romans used at Rock Bottom, after all the ho ground was theirs and the possibilities were infinite.
What gave Blake confidence, even as the prospect of war lood large, was the quality of his commanders. He knew they were no re opportunists or glory-seekers but seasoned captains who had weathered countless storms, both literal and figurative....
Outside, the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull reminded him of the inevitability of what was to co. War was brewing, and soon, all their preparations would be tested.
''I am sure you will do...to our friendship then, may it last a thousands of storms!'' He shouted as he raised his cup, sharing a toast with his friend, not knowing whether this would be the last ti they two will ever share such a mont together.
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