Weylam Roth... here, let me share something I remember from me granddaddy's stories.
No sooner had the others turned in fear from the great, white Leviathan, did Weylam load the ballista with his final harpoon. And right then he vowed, to sea and sky, that he and he alone would be the one to finally kill this bastard son of the Brine King.
The ballista fired and the harpoon smote that creature right between the ribs as it made to dive back under the angry sea. Thick clouds of blood bloomed beneath the waves, roses flowering in the black water, and impossible though it seemed, the already shadowed ocean grew darker still...
He used the bones of the great beast to reinforce the hull of his ship, the Black Crest. Old Rot-tooth, he's a true legend. A real pirate hero. I can only hope, one day, me own stories will reach his ears and make him proud of the granddaughter he had to leave behind.
Yeah, I knew Tarkleigh, if you catch me drift. He's got no time for his old bunkmate these days though. Too gaga-eyed over his lost cause of a fishwife, Nessa.
Time was, Tarkleigh and I would smuggle all 'bout the coast of Oriath. Ah, good days they was. Sweet with rum, nothing but the wind and salt in our faces, freedom in our hearts... and the law on our tails.
But I could tell he were getting ready to make feet for children's stockings with me, so I cut him loose. Not a spark's chance under the ocean the dreaded Lilly Roth's gonna wind up swelling like some drowned carcass.
Still, nice to work with that bugger one more time, just for old time's sake, you know?
That scallywag? I reckon Bestel thinks I be kind of lass who'd bed down with any sort of rascal. Ha, not too far off I guess. He is rather sweet, but not the most comely of figures.
Actually, he kinda reminds me of me Grandfather, Weylam Roth. A poet and scoundrel extraordinaire, he be. Bestel's but spittle from the mouth of Old 'Rot-tooth' Roth.
"Buss my blind cheeks," said the Sailor to the Doxie. She sports her dairy treats afar, and relishes her moxie. But a fire ship'll sink the broken 'neath the ocean waves. Tip nutmegs a deadly token, sends captains to their graves!"
Don't think I be forgetting that favour you owes me! In fact, now I think of it, there's certainly a way you can be repaying this most considerable debt.
You see, those blasted cultists have been plundering the refugee ships trying to escape Oriath, and if not for my incomparable skill as a sea captain, we'd have met the same fate. But now the drowned dead are washing ashore, and they ain't staying dead.
There's been a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears getting these few lucky survivors here in one piece. What sorta Captain would I be if I let them get ripped apart by walking corpses?
Wipe the Twilight Strand clean of those filthy undead bastards and I'll call us even. Might even throw in a little something extra, if you can pull it off.
You've got the Black Flag from me grandfather's ship? Ah, the Black Crest were the most formidable ship to ever sail the seas. Yet now it's a hulk of rotted wood and bone, mouldering away in that forsaken graveyard.
But why is it there? You don't think that Merveil... Never! I won't even think it. No Roth would ever fall victim to that tentacled sea-hag. Weylam must be out there somewhere. Yeah, a castaway, that's it.
For now, you'll be after safe passage to the Brine King's Reef. And there ain't no ship going to get you there faster than the Black Crest. So, as the only Roth present and accounted for right now, I hereby give you permission to burn that flag in the Beacon. Might as well see if there's some truth in that old legend about it resurrecting the wrecks of Roths past... and, other less notable vessels.
Maybe when this is all done, I'll take back the Black Crest for meself and sail out in search of me grandfather. He's too hardy an old barnacle to kill, so he'll be out there, somewhere.
Yeah, I know the Brine King. What pirate doesn't? Drowned me fair share of mutineers under the full moon... to keep the old king's slumber when storms threaten, you see.
If he's been roused from the depths, it be nothing but ill tidings for those of us with air in our lungs.
He'll be getting back to raping and eating us ocean-going folk soon enough. Stealing wombs in which to spawn his slithering offspring.
Aye, that blasphemy is out there somewhere right now, I'd wager. And to think there still be folks needing transport from Oriath... more commissions to be had. But a lecherous sea god, now that complicates things.
The Black Crest, she lives again! And me granddaddy... still can't believe Merveil did that to him, the bilesome bitch! At least his spirit roams free once again. Wonder if he'll come and visit his favourite granddaughter one more time...
Anyways, with the Brine King gone, you've done a fine thing for us seafarers. The waters won't no longer pander to the whim of an overgrown bloody crustacean, and damn me if I don't feel a stirring in me loins. It's the ocean, calling... like a lust-starved lover.
But for now, bugger it all, I'll be sticking about Lioneye's Watch until I get me a new ship. Nah, don't feel sorry for me. With me womanly wiles as sharp they are, I'll be having Tarkleigh help me pass the time, just you see.