Baylin - Orc Fisherman (Patreon)

The cool sea water lapped at his sore feet as Baylin eased down onto the edge of the pier, grunting with the aching pain of his popping joints. It was a good day for fishing.

The old orc wiped his brow before carefully opening the old wooden lockbox by his side, a treasure trove of hooks, weights, threads and bait of all kinds met his admiring gaze. Considering, he picked out a hook. Bright blue feathers with black, bound together with a fine thread. He had made it last night by candlelight, using some scrap bits of feathers he bought from a travelling mummer’s show. It was a little scruffy, but he didn’t mind. Fishing wasn’t about precision, but patience.

Attaching the hook and skewering some choice bait, he lazily flicked the rod through the air and watched the bait sail across the shimmering blue and disappearing into its depths. Bliss.

This was how he spent most of his days. He was too old for much else. What little money he had the mind to save up in his younger years helped cover what his meagre fishing could not. When they bite, he ate well and could even afford to repair his clothes. When they didn’t bite…well, he went home hungry.

There was a time when this life would have been unimaginable. And even laughable. But fate worked in a funny way it seemed.

The sun rolled by with the hours when the silence was broke like a shattered vase.

“Ho there good sir!”

Baylin, grunted and turned stiffly to eyeball the interruption. A small group of strangers approached.

They were young, their faces smooth and unmarked as their armour and weapons. There was a sour-faced elf, decorated in silvery charms and swishing robes. A orc, muscles bulging from his breastplate as he casually hefting a large sword. Lastly, A golden haired halfling, who bounded at the front like a Labrador. The Labrador spoke first; “Sorry for the interruption!” He beamed unapologetically “How goes the fishing?”

“Been better”. Said Baylin.

“Excellent! Excellent. Well, we are adventurers looking for some information on a local Sea hag. Malatrix the Umberweaver! No doubt you’ve heard of her? Fear not, We’re here to-“

“Nope.” said Baylin, “never heard of her. Got the wrong town.” He turned back to his fishing. An uncomfortable silence lingered in the air.

“Are you…sure?” The Labrador asked hesitantly “As a fisherman, you’ve no doubt noticed something? Unusual changes in the water? Perhaps strange fish or ghostly sounds at night?”

“Fish are fine. Water’s are all great.” Baylin said. He silently wished the group would sod off and leave him be.

Then, just when their disappointed mumblings seemed to be the end of the matter, the young Orc spoke up; “Hey, I recognise that tattoo.”

Baylin froze. The large octopus tattoo that covered his upper arm, brown with decades in the sun. He had forgotten to cover that up this morning. A scar from an older time. He opened his mouth to protest but the orc piped up again, his voice eager.

“That’s the black Kraken! Were you part of the Captain Baylin’s Crew??”

Baylin remained silent, he could feel their eyes focusing on him now.

“…You must be mistaken, lad.” He said, “I’m…just a fisherman. Leave me be.”

“I’ve never heard of this Captain Baylin?” The elf asked skeptical.

“You wouldn’t, he’s a legend to all us coastal folk! Captain Baylin is a legend! A Pirate from my father’s time, they called him the Blood-Whale!” The young orc continued excitedly, “Turned the seas red with every battle during the Ironbay skirmishes! Then one day he just vanished along with his crew!” The orc turned to Baylin, eyes bright with interest.

“They say the captain took all his worldly treasures away before he disappeared. An entire fortune, stashed away whereever he ventured to. If you’re part of his crew, maybe you-“

An old ice rage siezed Baylin. Suddenly, he was there again. Amidst the smoke and screams of death. Cutlass in hand, hot blood spilling off the deck and into the sea. The old rage…how quickly it came flooding back. Inevitable like the tide.

Something snapped, and he lunged to his feet. He fixed his eye upon them, burning like a hot coal. They stumbled back, mouths open in shocked.

“LEAVE. me. BE!” He bellowed, murder in his eye.

They scattered. He watched them scurry back to the dockside market like rats. His heart was hammering, it took a few moments to steady his breathing. The pain of his sudden movement made his joints scream. As he rubbed his knees, he noticed his broken fishing rod in his hand. He must have gripped it hard when he snapped.

“Foolish kids.” He spat bitterly.

Sitting back down, he sighed and rested his hand on his box - the legends were right in one thing at least; the captain’s treasure was still with him. It’s just not quite what anyone would imagine.

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It’s been a while since I wrote one one these! Was a lot of fun! I’ve a couple of character drawings in store which I’ll post in the coming weeks whilst I work on my puzzle book!