The boy was standing down by the river, staring at something in the water. The man called to the boy, demanding he get back to work. But the boy didn’t move.
The man called again, discipline in his voice. When the boy did not listen again, the man gripped his pitchfork hard in his hands and stomped through the field to the rivers edge. The anger left his body when he saw what the boy had seen.
A body was lying on the bank of the river, face down. It wore tight fitting black leather, brown patches on the shoulders and and a weathered belt sporting an empty knife sheath. Its black hair was once slicked back, but the water had loosened it into long strands now stuck to the damp earth.
“Go inside.” said the man, his voice calm and firm. The boy did not move.
“It’s alright. Go and get your mother.” This time the boy listened.
When the boy was gone the man knelt down and grasped the hair of the figure, lifting it enough to see the face. The man grimaced. The body had a short pointed beard, thin eyes and thin nose of someone from across the sea. The left side of the face had been severely burnt, vaporizing the leftmost eyelid and some hair. Undoubtedly lethal. Blood was still trickling from the ruptured flesh.
The man once more let the head of the body rest against the river bank. The woman had approached from behind now.
“What is it?”
“Some poor sod must have died and been dumped in upriver. Not too long ago too.” The man gazed up the river, but saw nothing.
“Get the shovel, dear, we’ll dig him a grave in the spare field.”
When the man had dragged the body out of the water he found a loose sack attached to its belt. Inside was a small waterlogged book and two solid metal bars. They were grey, stamped with letters the man could not read, and dull.
When the grave had been dug and the rites had been said, and the soul of the body was assured safe passage to the realm of the mother of the earth, the man showed the woman what he had found in the sack.
“I’ve no idea what the bars are” she had said “but the book might shed some light on things when it dries. Place it by the fire. I’ll have Father Sendal over tomorrow to read it.”
The following day the priest read the book to the woman, and the woman relayed it’s contents to the man.
“I think he was some kind of pirate.” she had said. “But never mind that. The bars, Lloyd. They’re made of electrum,” she had said the word slow, as if testing it on the air, “they’re worth a fortune. They say dwarves mine them.”
The man breathed in, then out.
“You said he was a pirate?”
“Aye, and a real sour one, from what the father could read.”
The man considered this.
“That must mean he had a crew.”
The woman thought for a moment, then turned to the man.
“You can’t really mean… but he was a foul fellow! You can’t really mean to-”
“I do, Mirabelle. The mother of the earth says it is our duty to tell this mans company of his fate, where he now lies in the earth.”
The woman looked at the man, equally worried and bothered.
“You’d leave us? Now?”
“Tenem’s old enough to work the field himself, if he puts his mind to it. And the bars will provide enough for you and him while I’m away. I’ll go to Saltmarsh, find the mans kin and return.”
The woman looked at the book on the table with resentment. The man approached and knelt before her. He put a weathered hand to her cheek. He spoke softly.
“It’s our sacred duty. I take no greater pleasure in it than you do, but the mother of the earth has come to ask us a favor and I’m not one to deny her will. I’ll be back before harvest.”
The woman accepted the truth of these words, though she was not happy about them.
The following morning, the man assembled his traveling pack, took with him a staff for walking and a belt knife for eating and set off down the road to Saltmarsh.
In the coming days the man would learn of the legendary battle fought on the side of the river. Of the dastardly pirates that leapt upon the dragon-born heroes and fought them, almost winning, only to be beaten back by a heroic last stand. The power of the dragon god’s lightning breath that singed the pirates and sent them running. Many had perished, but some had escaped. The man took no great pleasure in meeting them.
When the man arrived in Saltmarsh the town was alive with activity. One of the boats in the harbor had caught fire. The man inquired about the whereabouts of any pirates that came through, and received a multitude of stories. Old and new. The pirates were regulars in Saltmarsh, feared by most and hated by all.
“I saw it!” a beggar had cried to the man “as they rowed out, heading east. They threw a glass of fire at the dragon’s boat! Set it and the one it was pulling ablaze. And they laughed while they did it!”
“Do you know where they were headed?” the man asked
“Only place down that way for a long while is Copperlin. Where them dwarves are mining. Maybe they went to burn that down to?”
The man’s heart sank. He was bound by the mother of the earth not to return until he had informed the dead mans kin of his fate, no matter how far across the world they lay. It was a long journey to Copperlin by foot. Further than the man had ever gone before.
But duty compelled him forward, and so he went.