#thehyrulefool

I’d been watchin’ the events. It wasn’t just chance I was in Bilgewater- though by now it’s obvious I had somethin’ to do with the way that story unfolded, and the way the dust settled.Now, topplin’ the Pirate King ain’t gonna leave the playin’ field level. It was always gonna blast a hole right in it, a hole shaped exactly like Miss Sarah Fortune’s desperate hunger for revenge. 

When a power like Gangplank is removed, all those squealin’ writhin’ bodies rush to fill the hole- and what they don’t realise is that there’s somethin’ already there, somethin’ shaped like me. I’ve seen it before, every time someone that influential is removed.

It’s almost laughable, the way you humans make the same mistakes. But then, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t be nearly as well-fed as I am now, figuratively speakin’.

The first great fireball almost knocked my hat off. P’rhaps I was lurkin’ too close to the boat, hidin’ beneath the rotten beams of a dock, the remains of my meal still in my hands. I dropped the bones into the water when the boat when up, my calculatin’ eyes watchin’ carefully. Ain’t nothin’ survivin’ that, and if they did, then the creatures of the sea would be lappin’ them up without mercy. 

My gaze picked out the bait, eventually. The cardshark and the outlaw. They were unimportant for now; the power vacuum that was formin’ in front of my very eyes was practically makin’ me salivate. From my hidin’ place, I liked to think I could spot the conductor of my feast, her red hair, way up in her hide. Now, I’m wonderin’ if she knew what she wrought, but at the time I was lost in the smell of blood and burnin’ flesh.

I ain’t ever been so happy.

And the cry that went out, and the way that the bells followed it, and the shouts...! Gangplank is dead! Gangplank is dead! Gangplank is dead! Why, music to the ear to a connoisseur of despair like myself. 

The lootin’ started almost straight away, and I got to work swiftly after. The screams and the shouts of Bilgewater fightin’ and tearin’ itself apart, why, they were somethin’ to behold. That first night I made seventeen deals, all with folks runnin’ away from someone. The second, I got the richer ones- the higher ups and their families, who never did think they’d be makin’ deals with the River King.

I ain’t been so swimmin’ in deals since the Mage Wars. I would be done with one, only to have some other poor soul turn the corner and face my helpful smile.

There was one lad; a gang leader. His name is unimportant, I ain’t gonna remember it, and I ain’t gonna be keepin’ any souvenirs. But he was runnin’, lady wife in hand and kid in the other, baby in the hands of the woman. Their runnin’ took them past a burnin’ boat on the docks, a burnin’ boat they’d hoped to board, and then straight into my helpful arms.

They were bein’ chased, he said, by Fortune’s men. He’d once got rich from Gangplank and now they were to die for it. She was roundin’ them up, burnin’ down taverns and brothels, anythin’ that bore his mark.Well, I ain’t ever about to be takin’ sides when there’s a meal to be had, am I? I’d take them, I said, to somewhere they could be safe. Freljord, I suggested, cold, but perfect for tough folks like them.

No chance of Fortune followin’ them.

Quick trips, there and back, right to where I was. I ain’t ever traveled so many miles in such a short span of time- and it was all easy trips, takin’ them places of safety, takin’ them places where they could keep their wealth. No time travelin’ or complex trips; all of it easy dips into the soothin’ embrace of the water.

Even when the Harrowin’ came, Bilgewater was still rippin’ itself apart. ‘Course, it’d mostly all calmed- Fortune seeks to be queen, I’m reckonin’, and I’m hopin’ she does. ‘Cause she ain’t got what Gangplank had. Bilgewater is gonna stay a broilin’ hive of discontent, and if she’s queen? Why, I ain’t ever gonna leave my favourite city. Why should I?

Though that brings me smoothly on...

I hear a whisper, and it ain’t a pleasant one for me... They say the King is still alive, and while I got respect for an unkillable human, there ain’t much I can say about losin’ meals when Bilgewater ain’t scramblin’ for power again.

But I suppose...

It’s all a matter of seein’ what happens.And in the meantime, to answer your question- my involvement ain’t anythin’ more than enjoyin’ the sweet sorrow of despair that’s become my nightly feast.And all thanks to Miss Fortune.