The Freemarket of Braid buzzed with energy, even as the sun dipped low and lanterns were lit along the cobblestone streets. Merchants haggled over last, minute deals, musicians played lively tunes to attract patrons, and the smell of roasted meat and spices wafted through the air. Amid the bustle, Ibrahim and Scalla led Ross and Talia through the winding alleys to a quieter corner of the district, where a modest tavern, The Hawthorne, named after a retired sea captain, sat with its doors slightly ajar, warm light spilling out onto the street. The tavern was a cozy refuge from the bustling market. The soft hum of conversation filled the room, punctuated by the clink of mugs and the occasional burst of laughter. A hearth in the corner crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the wooden beams overhead.
“Ah, here we are,” Ibrahim said, as they sat down. His voice carried the same steady warmth that his presence exuded. He was dressed simply, his clothes worn but clean, his graying hair tied back into a neat knot. His hands, calloused from decades of forge work, clasped Ross’s shoulder as he gestured for them to sit. Scalla sat, a serene smile on her face. Her green eyes held a welcome that didn’t need words. A young server arrived moments later with four mugs of frothy ale.
“Thanks for joining us this evening,” Ibrahim said, lifting his mug. His dark eyes glimmered in the firelight. “You two, you’ve already done a fine job proving yourselves more than capable in trying times.”
Ross chuckled, the weight of the past weeks easing slightly as he raised his mug in return. “Still can’t quite believe we’re here, honestly. Or that we’ve been accepted. Or that we took a keep. It’s been, something.”
Talia nodded, her fingers curling around the mug. “It’s surreal, really. The Freebooters, this whole thing, it’s like nothing we’ve ever been a part of. The trust, the way people watch out for each other. It’s incredible, but I didn’t think we’d fit in.”
Ibrahim leaned back in his chair, his smile deepening the weathered lines on his face. “The Freebooters value skill and industry just as much as they value swords and spells. Artisans as much as warriors. It’s not about where you came from. It’s about pulling your weight and doing what’s needed. If you can do that, you belong.”
Talia tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “It’s interesting. You’re not a fighter. You’re a forger. And Scalla… you don’t strike me as someone who fights either.”
“You’re right,” Scalla said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve never picked up a weapon, and at my age, I probably never will. But there’s more to a company like ours than just swinging a blade. When I first came, I just wanted to make myself useful. I tend wounds, keep things clean, cook often, take inventory, scribe orders when needed, all the little things that keep us moving.”
“And without the forge,” Ibrahim added, “there’d be no weapons to swing in the first place. Most of the planks, they’re armed with blade, arrowhead, armor, and implement made by my, and now Aster’s hands. Without someone to patch the injured, there’d be no soldiers left to fight. The Freebooters understand that everyone plays a role, and every role matters.”
Talia’s expression softened, her grip on the mug loosening. “That’s comforting, actually. It’s nice to feel like there’s a place for us. I thought at first when we met Andri, she was daft for thinking we might have a place here.”
Ross grinned, raising his mug again. “Well then, here’s to pulling our weight.”
Scalla’s laughter joined his as she clinked her mug against his. “You’ve both done plenty already. And I have no doubt you’ll do even more.”
The food disappeared bit by bit, and another round of ale came and went. Talia leaned back in her chair, a faint smile playing on her lips. “It’s strange. I always thought mercenary work was about coin and glory. It seems like it has its place here, but secondary. But this… it feels like family.”
Ibrahim inclined his head, his expression softening. “Coin and glory might call people in, but it’s the bonds we forge that keep us here. The ones that are only here for the coin, with no thought to those around them, they filter themselves out. A lot of folks here, this is a last stop, or what they need, when they need it. You’ll find that out for yourselves soon enough.”
Ross set his mug down, leaning forward slightly. His curiosity was clear in the way his eyes flicked between Ibrahim and Scalla. “So… when did you two join the Freebooters? Where are you from originally?”
Ibrahim chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Old standing rule there. That’s usually not a question we ask until someone earns their plankholder status. But it’s a rule we break most of the time.”
Scalla smiled warmly, brushing a strand of silver, streaked hair from her face. “We’ve been with the Freebooters for twenty, six years now. And if I’m not mistaken, we’re the second longest, serving members since Bardour retired. He retired just before you came.”
“Roughly,” Ibrahim agreed, his tone laced with fondness for the memories. “Urskine has been a booter a few months longer than us. Bardour put in almost forty years.”
Talia blinked, clearly impressed. “That’s longer than I thought anyone stayed with a company like this. I mean, it’s dangerous work.”
“It is,” Scalla admitted, her smile fading slightly as her voice turned reflective. “We’ve seen more death than I’d like to admit. Friends lost, comrades we trusted, some to battle, some to betrayal. Before you came we had a few mates that were caught stealing. Some got off with a thumping before they were drummed out, one, well one, he got given more. But we’ve stayed because it’s more than just a company. It’s been our home. Our purpose.”
Ibrahim leaned back, his mug cradled in his hands. “A lot of folks here, there backgrounds, it’s hard for them. What’s led them here, often times, it hurts. But, they need a home. A place to belong. The Freebooters gave us something we didn’t even know we needed, a place to belong. And in return, we’ve given them everything we have.”
Ross nodded slowly, his respect for the older couple growing with every word. “That’s… something else. Twenty, six years. I can’t even imagine.”
“You will,” Ibrahim said with a knowing grin. “If you stick with it, the years pass faster than you expect. One day, you’re fresh, eyed and eager, wondering how you’ll fit in. The next, you’re the one inviting new faces to dinner, telling them how you got here.”
Talia looked at Scalla, a question flickering in her eyes. “And Bardour? You said he retired before we joined. What did he do?”
Scalla laughed lightly, her eyes gleaming with nostalgia. “Bardour was something. Big ogre, king man, a drunk, he was a porter. He was in charge of getting us packed and sorted. Sometimes he’d stand in as a strongman or bodyguard, but that faded as he got older. I honestly thought he’d stay with us to the end, but he got offered a good job, and took it. something to see him through his twilight days. It was after Urskine stepped down. I think he took that hard. He loved Urskine, and I think he wanted to get out before Urskine did. The Razor will retire out from us in about ten months or so. That will be a lose.”
Ibrahim tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows back up, to be honest. Either of them. It’s happened before. Retire and then show back up, because we take care of our old as well.”
Ross and Talia exchanged a glance, their awe evident. They were still new enough to the Freebooters to feel like they were learning the stories of a myth, but sitting here with Ibrahim and Scalla, the myths felt tangible. Real.
“Well,” Ross said, raising his mug once more, “here’s to twenty, six years and counting. May we all live long enough to tell stories half as impressive.”
Scalla smiled, clinking her mug against his. “To all of us. And to whatever lies ahead.”
Ibrahim set his mug down, his fingers idly tracing the rim. His eyes seemed to focus on something far away, a memory that carried both weight and pain. “You asked how we ended up here.” He said softly.
Scalla’s hand brushed his arm gently, her touch steadying. She glanced at Ross and Talia, her expression darkening, but she gave a slight nod. “Go on,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the heaviness in the air.
Ibrahim inhaled deeply before beginning. “We were slaves,” he said bluntly, the words carrying an edge that hinted at years of buried pain. “This was in Anoria, under the rule of an Anoram Shaka, kind of like a local lord in Raakonia, or a senator here in Braid. We were both born into slavery there. You won’t find cruelty like theirs in many places, brutal, relentless, and entirely without mercy. No one knows how to keep a slave docile like the Anoram. I’ve heard Pentavus is bad, but Anoria, gods.”
Scalla’s jaw tightened, her lips pressed into a thin line. She sat straighter, her hand falling from Ibrahim’s arm, but her gaze remained steady on him.
“I forged for the Shaka,” Ibrahim continued. “Weapons, tools, armor, anything he demanded. I was good at it. Too good, maybe. He took pride in my work, not because it reflected well on me, but because it brought him prestige. And if anything was less than perfect…” His voice trailed off, his hand unconsciously gripping his mug tighter.
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“They made sure you remembered who you were, and what your place was. Slaves could marry, because otherwise, how do they make more slaves?” Scalla finished for him, her voice cold and brittle. She looked down for a moment, then up again. “I tended the house of the Shaka. And our boys.”
Both of them teared up at that, their shared grief evident. Ibrahim placed a hand over hers, squeezing it tightly. He took a long moment to collect himself before continuing.
“Our sons were slaves as well of course,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “It didn’t matter that they were young. Children weren’t spared the lash. They were laborers by the time they could carry a bucket, and the punishments... they came down harder on them than us. To teach obedience early.”
Talia gasped softly, her hand moving to her mouth. Ross sat back in his chair, his face pale, the weight of their words sinking in.
“Why…” Talia started, her voice shaking slightly. “Why didn’t you try to run?”
Scalla looked at her with a mixture of sadness and resignation. “You don’t run in Anoria. The desert doesn’t care about your freedom. It’ll kill you just as surely as the Shaka would if you were caught. It’s not a good place, and they had a way there, of encouraging you not to. In the Shaka’s house if you ran, and were caught they beat you, and three other slaves, just because. If you weren’t caught, they beat ten. It was this way with everything.”
“That’s terrible.” Talia said softly.
Scalla shrugged. “It’s another world now. But they did what they wanted with us. I tended house, but you can imagine, when I was younger, the Shaka took his liberties with me as well. If you rebelled, spoke out of turn, those liberties would be worse.”
“I’m so sorry.” Ross said, shaking his head.
Ibrahim nodded grimly. “And we had our boys. What good would freedom be if we left them behind? They probably would have beat them at best, killed them at worst.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “I hate Anoria, and everything about it. But that’s the not the point of this story.”
“No, it’s not.” Scalla smiled softly. “One day, men came, men with swords and steel and spells. They’d been paid to do a job against the Shaka, and in the course of it, they freed every slave in the house, just because.”
Ibrahim picked up the story. “The Freebooters came. Men and women who, back then, were just names and faces to us. Only one that freed us that’s still here was a young goblin named Urskine the Razor. The rest of them, are long gone now, retired, dead, or disappeared. But they came, and they brought chaos to the Shaka’s compound. Fire, blood, steel… They didn’t care about his wealth or his power. They freed the slaves and leveled the place.”
Scalla’s eyes glistened as she looked at him. “They were ruthless,” she said. “But they gave us a few of us with skills a choice. Join them. They freed all of us, but had a place for a few of us if we wanted it. We were the two, with our boys that took them up on it.”
“We joined,” Ibrahim said quietly, his hand tightening over Scalla’s. “Because there was nothing left for us there. And now, twenty, six years later… we’re still here.”
Talia hesitated, her brow furrowed as she ventured to ask the question lingering on her mind. “What… what happened to your sons?”
Ibrahim’s expression softened, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. “Our boys.” he said quietly, the weight of his memories showing in the lines around his eyes. “One died young… too young.”
Scalla’s hand tightened around his, her lips pressed together. She didn’t need to say anything; the pain was etched clearly on her face. Ibrahim glanced at her, drawing strength from her presence before continuing.
“He was caught by a slavecatcher in the early days of our freedom. The Anoram mark their slaves with magical runes. The booters didn’t have anyone at the time to get them off, we were waiting until we hit the Greenlands to find a magus to do it. The goblins of the Greenlands have been warring with Anoria for centuries, and they know well how to remove the mark. But it was early in our freedom.” Ibrahim said, his voice hardening.
“The slavecatcher saw us in a port, month or so after being freed, with the booters. Mates back then. He got our boy.” She said, shaking her head.
Talia bowed her head, thinking of Asha. “I don’t know what to say.”
Ibrahim chuckled grimly. “This story at least has some goodness we will get to.” Ibrahim sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. “Our son didn’t make it. The slavecatcher pushed him too hard, kept him chained up in the desert heat. By the time we found him, it was too late.”
“But the Freebooters.” Scalla smiled softly. “They took it on themselves to find the slavecatcher. No charge. Just grim work. They found him.”
“And I broke every fucking bone in his body.” Ibrahim said, looking far away. “I put his arms and legs on my anvil and hit them, until they were powder.”
“And our captain at the time, he hung what was left of him from a tree until his neck was stretched good and proper.” Scalla added.
Talia’s hand flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Ross sat back; his face grim as he absorbed the story.
Scalla cleared her throat, her voice thick but steady. “Our other son stayed with us for a time, until he was grown.” she said, her tone softer now. “Now I’ll say this to you, for your little Asha. It was hard for him, at times, raising a kid in this life. But, with Varilla and Eruch’s, Hammer and Tonkes, and Fallow’s kids around, it’s different now. There were kids back then, but fewer. Hell, some of them grew up to be Freebooters. Bones for example. You never met him.”
“A good man.” Ibrahim tapped the table.
“Our son stayed with us until he was a man grown. But eventually, he found religion when we were in Raakonia. He decided to stay in Absalom, the Raakonian temple city. He’s cloistered there now, a priest.”
Ibrahim chuckled dryly, though it lacked humor. “We write to him sometimes, but these days, he doesn’t want much to do with us. Says our lives are too chaotic for his taste. And frankly… he’s too religious for ours.”
Scalla snorted softly, her first real smile of the evening breaking through the tension. “He always was a bit too proper for us. We love him of course, but they grow and live their own lives after all.”
Talia blinked, surprised by the levity, but managed a small smile. “It sounds like you’ve been through so much,” she said, her voice heavy with sympathy.
“We have,” Ibrahim agreed. “But that’s life, isn’t it? It’s messy, brutal, and beautiful all at once. And the Freebooters… they’ve been the one constant. Through everything, they’ve given us purpose.” He looked at Ross and Talia, his expression kind. “And now you’re part of it too.”
Talia smiled softly. “I’m still shocked by all of this. We just needed coin for our debts, but this… this is something else.”
“How long have some of the others been around?” Ross asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. “If I can ask?”
Ibrahim glanced at Scalla, his expression thoughtful. “Us and Urskine? Twenty, six years or so. He was Warmaster before he became Captain. Sammy’s been here close to twenty, three. And Cheri…” He paused, looking to Scalla. “Has she hit twenty yet?”
Scalla nodded with a small smile. “Got her John’s Mark this year.”
“John’s Mark?” Ross raised an eyebrow.
Scalla chuckled. “A little token badge the Loremaster draws next to your name in the book for every five years of service. Named after a fella back in the fifteen hundreds named John. He served fifty years and demanded recognition for it. So, he got ten John’s Marks. Ibrahim and I have five; Cheri’s at four.”
“Urskine, Sammy, Cheri…” Ross began to count under his breath, trying to put faces to the names.
Ibrahim continued, “Hammer Red’s been around for eighteen years. Madgrin’s at nineteen. Lincoln? Fifteen, give or take. And Tuk’s got a decade under his belt.”
“Danni’s eight years in,” Scalla added. “And the rest? Less than five.”
“Danni? Jael?” Ross asked, perking up. “They’re the ones up north?”
Scalla nodded. “Aye. The ones everyone left to go fetch. You’ll like them both. Good kids.”
Ibrahim grinned. “Good kids in love.”
“It’s sweet,” Scalla said, her voice warm as she touched Ibrahim’s arm affectionately. “There hasn’t been this much coupling and real romance in the Freebooters in a long time, probably ever. It’s good for us.”
Ibrahim chuckled. “Good for the booters, you mean.”
Scalla laughed lightly. “Aye, that too.”
Talia tilted her head curiously. “Why aren’t there more mages in the Freebooters? Seems like magic would be a huge help.”
Scalla smiled knowingly, leaning back in her chair. “It’s simple, really. Mages can make a fortune elsewhere. Had one back a few years ago, told us all about it. They don’t need the risk. Most of them end up with noble houses in Raakonia, or running their own enchanting shops, raking in coin hand over fist. Why risk your neck swinging spells at mercenary pay when you can get a cushy position crafting magical trinkets or advising lords?”
Ibrahim nodded in agreement. “Even mid, level mages can make more in a year enchanting weapons or brewing potions than we could pay them in five.”
Talia frowned, thoughtful. “But… Varilla. She’s an Archmagus. How did?”
Scalla chuckled, a trace of admiration in her voice. “Our captain is something. Varilla being a Freebooter at all is unheard of, let alone as an Archmagus. You’d be hard, pressed to find another like her in any mercenary company across the world. Mages of her caliber don’t march with companies. Power like that sits next to kings.”
“Or locked away in their towers,” Ibrahim added, smirking. “But not her. She’s the exception, through and through.”
“She must have her reasons,” Talia said, clearly impressed.
“Oh, she does,” Scalla said with a smile. “Love.”
“Warmaster Eruch?” Ross asked.
Scalla nodded. “That is a long story, and honestly, a beautiful one. But theirs to tell. But yes, been in love some time. He was a booter first, she came in after.”
“And now,” Ibrahim continued, “she’s a pillar of the company. A mage of her standing in a mercenary company is unheard of, but it’s also one of the things what makes the Freebooters different.”
Talia leaned forward, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “Is it really true? The Freebooters… are they really a millennia old?”
Ibrahim smiled, a touch of pride in his expression. “Closer to two thousand years, actually. The records aren’t perfect, but the company traces its roots back two millennia. A small band of sell, swords, formed before many nations as we know them even existed.”
Scalla nodded, her tone reverent. “The Word keeps the history. Every captain, every plankholder, they’ve left their mark in the journals. It’s the Loremaster’s job to see that it is inscribed. Someday, if you stick around, you’ll be trusted to learn the Word yourself. You’ll see the names, the deeds, the lessons that built this company.”
“The Word?” Talia asked, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“It’s more than just history,” Ibrahim explained, his voice steady and calm. “It’s the heart of the Freebooters. The journals, the archives, they hold the stories, the oaths, what’s a good port, what’s not, where a good place to eat is, what’s a safe city, what’s a bad lord, and the knowledge passed down through centuries. Battles fought, alliances made, the lives of those who carried the name before us. It’s how we remember, and how we endure.”
“Some of them are imperfect, gaps, but it’s there, nonetheless.,” Scalla added, her tone soft but firm. “We’ve found old journals in bookshops, libraries, on a nobles shelf from time to time.”
Talia sat back, taking it all in. “That’s… incredible. I had no idea.”
Ibrahim chuckled. “You’re not alone in that. Most who join don’t understand what they’re stepping into at first. It’s not just a company, Talia. It’s a legacy. One we’re all a part of, in one way or another.”
Talia nodded, clearly impressed. “I see why you two have stayed for so long.”
“Exactly,” Scalla said, lifting her cup. “The Freebooters don’t just hire anyone. They build something that lasts. Even when the faces change, the heart stays the same.”
