Full Prologue :
PROLOGUE
Clop clop clop clop…
Matthias Teach, then 31 years of age, was a nervous man on a massive goat. No, he wasn’t nervous because of his method of travel, but rather the end-point of his travel. Behind him was just about everything he had earned in his life all saddled onto the one mule behind him; thankfully, it wasn’t much besides some clothing…and maybe a few dozens of pounds of Ducat-grade gold, along with a few other oddities.
If he failed upon his arrival, the poor mule would have to backtrack down a steep, curvy incline just to make it back to the sea port of Western Trovostria. Then he’d have to try again when he could find another mule capable of handling the luggage, since this one was just about at the end of its rope. If he had any other option, he’d have at least three others behind, but in the interests of not turning his destination into a sty and partially for discretion, he had to forego the luxury.
The goat, just reaching its prime, simply pawed at the ground, and snorted smugly as it found another foothold upon which to tread. Just coming into adulthood, this one had twice, if not quintuple the hubris of the mule. As it was doing so, Matthias dared (the second time in an hour span) to turn his head back towards the expanse towards his back, and for a terrifying moment, surveyed the “wings” of Trovostria : two arms of jutting rock that denied access to Trovostria, and within their grasp, the terrace-layered rice fields swarming with tiny shellfish that came with the autumn storms. At the dawn of spring, the shrimps and crayfish be large enough to skewer and roast on the spot – a pastime that Matthias would look forward to, if his success carried that far. As for the land farther ahead, the “waning sun” of Trovostria, also dubbed “New Trovostria” after its fall post-war, clouds covered the lauded Western Coast that would kiss the horizon. That place, which was told to be under constant change due to its central volcano and all-year floods, was supposed to be either stuffed with vegetation or stripped naked to reveal the volcanic ashes underneath. Matthias’s small grin turned into a slight frown; he was always told this sight would be beautiful, but given the amount of clouds that veiled the mountains, and thus his sight, he was more bored by the gray painting than bedazzled.
The goat stabbed its way into the mountain, letting out a sharp sigh as it embedded its hooves at the edge, towards what would be the outer expanse of Trovostria’s capital : Cryathemus. Here, there were no peasants at the outskirts of the precariously placed citadel, but at its lowest rungs artisans of masonry, architecture, medicine, and other various professions made their livings. The closer towards the epicenter of this place, the more religious and militaristic positions the people would hold. Towards the back end, at the Nape of Trovostria, would be the actual fortress housing the God-Prince of Trovostria, both the religious and military leader of the nation.
Matthias, thankfully, was only going to enter a small house towards the base of the Southern Arm : doubly expensive for the generous amounts of sunlight that shined year-long, whenever it wasn’t raining or snowing. Matthias hopped off of the goat, his worn leather boots, crusted with sea-salt from years of sea travel, and wrapped his body with a worn long-coat that hung from the recesses of a satchel. It, too, was soiled with streaks of salt and other irremovable liquids from years of wear. But it would not tear; in fact, it hadn’t torn since the day it was made.
“Creare : Wärme,” Matthias whispered into the collar, his low, reverberating voice resonating with a stitched-in rune (one of six unique ones, three on each side). A slight waft of air began to exude from his sleeves. Matthias’s swept-back hair, already streaked here and there with a bit of grey, whipped a little as the air flew by his head. For an instant, he felt a renewing vigor go through his body, and then disperse as the cold air replaced prickling needles into his scalp, face, and wherever else his skin was exposed. Painful as it was, the act in itself was lifesaving for him on more than one occasion. With damaged lungs and a midsection just about ready to let loose all his innards, Matthias wouldn’t be surprised if even slightly overworking his body would end him right then and there. Now, that wouldn’t do.
~~~
After some struggle pulling the mule up from the slope, Matthias was back on the goat again. His heart thumped louder as time went by, and then he could see it.
The “it” in question was a house nestled in the split between two peaks of the Southern Arm, either a new or recently refurbished one, from the look of it. The wooden beams supporting the structure were wider than two of Matthias’s arms outstretched, but were splintered and cracked at some parts; these were stuffed with a sort of oily-blue pitch. The straw on top, fortunately, was a rich gold : a sign that at least the people inside were somewhat well off enough to maintain good housing.
All this, thanks to the money he sent them.
The goat and the mule were tied to the nearby tree, a twisted juniper at least a century in age, and Matthias felt his scars tear as he landed on the ground once more. Built-up sweat poured down from the sides of his head as all his pent-up anxiety finally manifested itself.
Almost gliding towards the front door, one hewn of powerful oak, Matthias began to feel queasy.
His hand, made strong from years of toiling on the boat, felt clammy as he knocked.
The door opened just a few incredibly long moments later.
And there she was.
“Hello…” said she, who was just as beautiful as she was before. Granted, the strains of motherhood had given her just a smidge of weight, and maybe a sort of knowing gaze from those deep blue eyes, but she was just as every part fair as she was when they had first met, every part the girl, now a self-made woman, she used to be. She stood perhaps a few inches shorter than him now, a little taller by his aging or her gro-
“...Matthias...it is you, isn’t it..?” she asked, the two milky orbs around her sapphires expanding as the seconds crawled by.
He was right about his earlier conjecture back at the base of the mountain. His beard wasn’t nearly long and bushy enough, even after years of growth, to hide any of his features. Not even the stains of age could mask the coat that was wrapped around her shoulders eight years ago. It was impossible for her to forget his face, and him to forget hers.
A cold wind woke the both of them up from their mutual daze. Matthias had still not uttered a word.
“...here, come in, come in,” said she, that woman, as she stood aside for him, “you must be cold, and if you insist I too must be frank with you; the could kill you if you plan to stay outside this long…”
Wordlessly, Matthias waddled inside, and was immediately greeted by the warm, toasty air of the cabin. Whatever nerves had been deadened by the wind outside thawed to life again, every hair, every goosebump rose to embrace that warmth.
Inside, there was a sort of homely dimness that only homes, not houses, could have. Darkness enveloped her, and then Matthias’s vision, if only for a brief moment.
“Um...in this household, sir, we customarily walk barefoot. If it inconveniences you, though, I can ma-”
“Lilly,” Matthias replied as he rose his left hand, before bending down to take off his boots, “this is your household, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Then with all the respect I’ve failed to provide for you, I will follow what you dictate.”
Silence followed, only to be interrupted with a small crackle from the dying fireplace. What little light was produced from its depths shown that indeed, the money was put to use one way or another. The fur carpet, a cream hide sprinkled with mottles of coffee, sunk as Matthias pressed into the floor with each step, and many more trailed the floors. The walls, lined with some sort of fuzzy bundle, insulated the warmth to great effect. Drawers were positioned symmetrically on each side of the fireplace, each almost Matthias’s height.
Softly steaming above the cinders was a hanging kettle, which the woman named Lilly took with a mitten, before pouring its contents - goat milk - into three plain porcelain vessels.
Three cups.
Matthias sat criss-cross on the floor, and made a slight bow as he received the cup, but did not drink. After setting down the one cup by the hearth, Lilly sat across from him, sitting in the same manner, also just as motionless. She was observing him, examining what had happened over those eight years when he left her carrying a child in a place she had no idea about. At least, that’s what Matthias thought.
He abandoned her, didn’t he? And yet, she was still so easy, like she had always been. Still so ready to forgive, still so ready to do away with any grudge.
Finally, she spoke.
“The third cup is for the child, isn’t it?” he inquired.
“Alexandria. Her name is Alexandria. She’s your child too...”
“Hardly,” he replied, shaking his head as he set his lips on the rim of the vessel, “I wasn’t there for her.”
“And you can be there for her now? That’s your reason for coming here, isn’t it?”
He nodded, and drank. She turned off to the side, her eyes focused on the fireplace. She set her cup to her lap, and rubbed her thumb along its rim.
“Then do make yourself comfortable. If you’re still the man I’ve loved eight years ago, and your coming back does prove that point, then I’m willing to support more than just a daughter.”
Matthias almost spat as he made not a look of surprise, but a frown.
“...Lilly, you can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“Shouldn’t you have any qualms by now, at least?”
“I do.”
“Then why be so complacent?”
“Well,” she started, before the door was heard opening. A sharp chill shot into the room. “...if not for my sake, it must be for her’s. It's always has been.”
Lilly nudged her head towards Matthias’s right, where he turned to see a little bundle of furs on two legs. Its frontal features cloaked by the contrasting dark, the figure was hard to make out visually, and the scarf it wore under its parka did little to aid in the effort. Piercing blue eyes, bright like Matthias’s, but blue like Lilly’s, stared back at him.
The figure closed the door shut its foot, eyes still locked on Matthias, before setting down its pack in a dark corner, and then it averted its gaze to Lilly.
“Alexandria, this man here is a very special person. You don’t have to do any of the chores today; I’ll see to them. Now, as for the two of you, I’m sure you both have much to say, so…”
Lilly took a quick drink, gulping down the milk, before walking back into the dark throes of another room. A grindstone could be heard rumbling not long after.
And there came the second silence.
“...hello there,” Matthias said, just to break the silence. He crawled over to the hearth, and produced from it the third cup of milk. Silently, he offered it to her with both hands interlocked around its sides.
Alexandria, with mittened hands, took the offering, and pulled off her hood.
Her hair, black with a sort of raven-like sheen unknown to both Lilly’s and Matthias’s features, hung smoothly from her scalp; the occasional strand, damp from her perspiration, clung to her pale cheeks made gold by the firelight. With small, pouty lips, she exhaled before closing her eyes; she drank delicately, with both hands gently lifting the bottom of the cup, emptying half its amount in silent ceremony.
“...Mother said you were special,” stated Alexandria as she set the cup down. She wiped the froth from her upper lip. “What did she mean?”
“I’m...Matthias Teach, your father.”
A long silence paused as Alexandria frowned into her cup, only broken by a low, continuous hum from Alexandria.
“...I don’t like your last name. And I thought you’d be taller.”
Granted, Matthias was kneeling down, and he had a great deal of clothing on his person. Even without those, he was well over six feet in height. Surely, she didn’t me-
“I think I liked my life better when I didn’t meet you,” she finally stated. “Mum said it would do no good to be cross, but I think she thinks the same as I think.”
Matthias nodded and grunted in agreement. There was no reason to disagree with the child you’ve abandoned for eight years.
“So...what were you doing for eight years? Mum didn’t tell me much, but I saw your name on those letters with gold in them. Are you rich?”
“Um...one could say that,” Matthias replied. “I...um...was working. Working so I could send money, like you said, to your mother.”
“What kind of work?”
“Business. Trading at sea.”
“What kind of trading?”
God, this was going to take a while. He really was going to have to give her the full story, wasn’t he?
“Lives. I trade lives and livelihoods for profit. I am...or rather, was, a pirate.”
