The Colors of Fortune

The Timber Peg

The first thing Technoblade found out when he set foot in the pirate's haven was how not to walk. Instantly he sat down on the sand and placed one hand on the ground to keep himself upright. The world seemed to be slowly swaying first one way then another before his eyes. It took him a few seconds to realize why, and a few more to realize Ranboo was telling him the exact same thing.

"You've not been on many ships, have you? You'll soon get your land-legs again. Happens to everyone who hasn't learned to walk on both ship and sand before." The boy sat down beside him. He looked morose and sullenly stared at the many busy pirates and their associates who were unloading the ship or going away or coming again. Boys scarcely older than ten or twelve scampered underfoot, some snatching stray coins or goods, some volunteering to help the sailors in exchange for whatever wages they would be willing to pay. Wood clattered underneath hundreds of pairs of boots, the sea-salt smell was now mixed with spicy scents of food or the perfume of nearby flowers growing in the bushes by the bay. Voices yelled orders or questions, Drake's among them, and all the while Technoblade watched from where he sat by the gangplank.

Eventually he came up with an idea and got up. The world was steadier now, but still rocked a little and he stood there a few moments longer, not wanting to look like a drunken fool staggering up the beach. Glancing back, he saw Ranboo was sticking close and keeping his head down. Smart move on his part. Technoblade thought.

When he was ready, the pair began making their way through the busy crowd further inland. The docks soon turned into wooden sidewalks in a town surrounded by tall trees of varying kinds, from oak to palm to chestnut and ash, which combination Technoblade thought incongruous, but too irrelevant to his current affairs. He was busy looking for what he hoped would be the ideal spot to gain whatever information he needed: a tavern. And, after only a few minutes of walking, he spotted exactly the thing.

A wooden sign hung out in front of a covered porch, swinging lazily in the soft wind and reading "The Timber Peg". Technoblade smirked. "Alright, in we go." Glancing back to make sure Ranboo was following him, he strolled in.

More than a few patrons were already inside, chatting or playing with cards. In one corner, a group of young men were tossing darts at a board, and in another an old sailor with a weather-beaten face was regaling a cluster of listeners with some story. Nobody glanced their way or seemed to notice them as they came up to the bar where a silver-eyed man stood leaning on his hands and watching the scene. His crow-black hair stuck out strange directions and his beard was almost as wild, but the expression on his face was one of mild interest and contemplation. He straightened when noticing the visitors and asked what he could get for them.

Technoblade took a shot in the dark. "Whisky will do. Though," he glanced at Ranboo, "get him somethin' milder." He was relieved when the bartender nodded and left. Then he turned and began scanning the room. Still nobody was watching them. "Good." Technoblade muttered. "Lotta strangers come through here." He beckoned Ranboo to come sit beside him. "Stay with me, alright? I'll keep you out of harm's way as best I can."

Ranboo said nothing, but slipped onto the barstool beside his companion. When the drinks arrived, he drank his without comment and looked towards Technoblade again. As for the anarchist, he was busy figuring out ways of getting information. He leaned back against the bar, sipping the only alcohol he'd ever tried in his life, and listened to the chatter going on.

From the old sailor in the corner: "...an' who coulda known it, too, but me? 'Aven't I come back, then? 'Course I knew. No one goes afoul the Angel and lives." Technoblade turned his ear to the young men at the darts.

"I told you! I told you! Black-eye! Now pay up!" Not what he was looking for. So he tried listening to the card-players.

"Right. The next ship wot comes in with treasure, I'm signin' on. You lot are bleedin' me dry."