Pim
Member
It was just past noon in the bustling port of Alliria. White sails fluttered like flocks of seagulls on the azure ocean, where ships of all sizes were coming and going from the great city of commerce. Sweaty sailors shouted and cursed as they hauled goods across the highway of boardwalks and prepared docked ships for their return to the sea. Pickpockets were on the lookout for an easy mark. Shifty-eyed merchants watched them from the corners of their eyes as they bartered passage for their goods. Beggars slept in shaded alleys to escape the midday heat.
A halfling woman in plain travelling clothes sat on a barrel looking out at the docks, her hopelessly messy straw-gold hair catching the breeze despite her frequent attempts to tame it under a straw hat. Eventually she gave up and turned her attention to something far more important: her lunch.
A crumb tumbled down the halfling's chin and through a crack in the boardwalk below. Her gaze fell to where it had disappeared with a hint of sorrow, as if she'd lost an entire sandwich to the cruelty of gravity. She sighed and took another bite of the hearty beef pie she'd packed in case of emergency. A late lunch should qualify, by her reasoning.
Pim had been waiting an awfully long time for the rest of her party to show up. The owner of the catering company she worked for, a highly strung man at the best of times, had a long-standing grudge against lateness. But breakfast had long gone, and now lunch was coming to a close with no sign of any of the other employees. She was supposed to meet them here before boarding the ship they'd hired for portage to... well, she couldn't remember where, but did it really matter? Gone were the days of the company having exciting costumers. Not since the boss had decided that catering to wealthy aristocrats was more profitable and carried less liability than haunted vampire castles out in the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps it was time for her to consider a new career. Something where her specialized baking skills would be better appreciated. Something that promised a new culinary adventure!
"Hey!" she exclaimed helplessly as a werewolf - no, on further inspection it was just a hairy man with crooked teeth and arm muscles the size of melons - yanked her seat out from under her.
"Sod off, pipsqueak!" he growled, only to backtrack when a cast-iron stove jumped at him from the cluster of boxes and barrels. Its slightly rounded shape was covered all over with patchworked metal. Despite the strange metalwork and quirky decorations reminescent of some cross between a bulldog and a hedgehog, it somehow managed to appear menacing. Hot sparks flared from a snapping grate that silently promised a lack of teeth would not prevent it from gnawing his foot off. The sailor blanched at the sight of a possessed oven and dropped the barrel on his foot in his haste to escape, howling like a tone-deaf opera singer gargling syrup.
The oven hopped over to the halfling on its four stubby legs. Pim dusted herself off and patted the oven's side reassuringly. The metal was surprisingly cool to the touch despite the embers burning inside its firebox.
"I'm okay, Smokey. You know, I'm pretty tired of being here too. What do you say we wait onboard the ship?"
A soft metallic whine was the oven's only response. Placing her hand on her forehead to block the blinding sunlight, Pim scrutinized the ships moored along the wharf, trying to recall the name of the transport ship her boss had hired. The Cutting Remark? The Junebug?
"I think that's it," she said and pointed to a ship that looked a bit different than the surrounding merchant vessels. Yes, that was definitely it. Probably.
Captain Kelly Wells
A halfling woman in plain travelling clothes sat on a barrel looking out at the docks, her hopelessly messy straw-gold hair catching the breeze despite her frequent attempts to tame it under a straw hat. Eventually she gave up and turned her attention to something far more important: her lunch.
A crumb tumbled down the halfling's chin and through a crack in the boardwalk below. Her gaze fell to where it had disappeared with a hint of sorrow, as if she'd lost an entire sandwich to the cruelty of gravity. She sighed and took another bite of the hearty beef pie she'd packed in case of emergency. A late lunch should qualify, by her reasoning.
Pim had been waiting an awfully long time for the rest of her party to show up. The owner of the catering company she worked for, a highly strung man at the best of times, had a long-standing grudge against lateness. But breakfast had long gone, and now lunch was coming to a close with no sign of any of the other employees. She was supposed to meet them here before boarding the ship they'd hired for portage to... well, she couldn't remember where, but did it really matter? Gone were the days of the company having exciting costumers. Not since the boss had decided that catering to wealthy aristocrats was more profitable and carried less liability than haunted vampire castles out in the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps it was time for her to consider a new career. Something where her specialized baking skills would be better appreciated. Something that promised a new culinary adventure!
"Hey!" she exclaimed helplessly as a werewolf - no, on further inspection it was just a hairy man with crooked teeth and arm muscles the size of melons - yanked her seat out from under her.
"Sod off, pipsqueak!" he growled, only to backtrack when a cast-iron stove jumped at him from the cluster of boxes and barrels. Its slightly rounded shape was covered all over with patchworked metal. Despite the strange metalwork and quirky decorations reminescent of some cross between a bulldog and a hedgehog, it somehow managed to appear menacing. Hot sparks flared from a snapping grate that silently promised a lack of teeth would not prevent it from gnawing his foot off. The sailor blanched at the sight of a possessed oven and dropped the barrel on his foot in his haste to escape, howling like a tone-deaf opera singer gargling syrup.
The oven hopped over to the halfling on its four stubby legs. Pim dusted herself off and patted the oven's side reassuringly. The metal was surprisingly cool to the touch despite the embers burning inside its firebox.
"I'm okay, Smokey. You know, I'm pretty tired of being here too. What do you say we wait onboard the ship?"
A soft metallic whine was the oven's only response. Placing her hand on her forehead to block the blinding sunlight, Pim scrutinized the ships moored along the wharf, trying to recall the name of the transport ship her boss had hired. The Cutting Remark? The Junebug?
"I think that's it," she said and pointed to a ship that looked a bit different than the surrounding merchant vessels. Yes, that was definitely it. Probably.
Captain Kelly Wells