The night was still dark, quiet and worrisome when the King awoke from his slumber – something bothered him deeply, on more than one level. Next to him, still asleep, was his lovely wife. Trying his best not to bother her, he got out of bed and headed to the doors. Maybe it was just a need for the bathroom that woke him…

  Walking down the dimly lit hallway, the King felt something was wrong, but just couldn’t figure out what. When he reached the oaken door to the latrine, he finally placed the feeling – it was too quiet.

  A party should be happening just below his feet – well, the hall had a massive ceiling, so that influenced the travel of noise, but not that much – and the stairs had no doors between the King and the feet of stairs, literally inside the Grand Hall. He should be hearing something, even if not coherent; something should be heard from downstairs.

  Especially since the Archmage had been given reins over the party for the first time, the King expected there to be a massive brawl - or worse, the insane wizard could have ordered everyone to fight in a competition against magic-enhanced goats. Unfortunately, such things have already happened before…

  The Monarch was worried, but not enough to check on the feast-goers before emptying his bowels, as he always said; “Arrows will hiss, if the king doesn’t take a piss”. What an amazing proverb that is…

  After leaving the latrine, he headed down the stairs, slowly, so as to not fall down and embarrass himself. After a moment or two, he was down in the Grand Hall, in the doorless doorframe leading up to the royal quarters. He stood there, leaning against the engraved wood, and looked onto the gathering. Suspiciously concentrated around his podium.

  All the better chairs, sofas and cushions were moved there, where the guests occupied them, sitting in a circle around some man and his chair. The King signed for one of the servants to come over, curious for answers.

  “What is going on?” He asked simply; royals didn’t need to justify their curiosity.

  The young, elegant man, bowed deeply before approaching his King close enough to not disturb those sitting in the circle.

  “I’m very sorry, Your Highness, but none of the staff were present when this happened, so we can only relay our observations…” he said, as if ashamed.

  “Hmm, pray tell.” King nodded at him to continue.

  Servant visibly inflated, getting his confidence back. “We think the Archmage organised some sort of an event in which the guests share their stories. Possibly, in search of the most entertaining one. It does align with some rumours about the Archmage. Some people say that he is very fascinated by stories. Sir.”

  “Yes, that indeed does make sense… anything unusual?” The royal asked once more.

  “...The corpse, hanging from the ceiling, spoke few times; apart from that, nothing out of ordinary happened. Sir.” After a moment of consideration, the young man answered.

  King looked at him expectantly. “What did he say?” he asked.

  “Sir, the Lich seemed to mock the storytellers. He also argued with the Archmage, but master Kairon soon took away the skeleton’s ability to speak.” As if to announce that he had nothing more to say, the servan bowed deeply – but stayed next to the Monarch, waiting for his dismissal.

  “Hmm… Thanks, you may leave.” The order finally arrived, and the boy – after bending over once more – walked back to what he was doing before.

  ‘Weird that the old corpse spoke so much… Maybe he found a similar soul in the Archmage? If either of them has any, of course. Well, Kairon isn’t that incompetent as to mess up something as simple as hosting an afterparty. I should stop worrying so much, It’s not like he has any chance of starting a war here…’ The King thought, slowly going up to his quarters, to the warm bed and the queen, who laid there all alone.

  Life on the boat can be tough: dry rations, stale beer and sometimes, a fish aren’t what people imagine as their perfect meal… three times a day. Small, cramped cabins or large communal bed chambers don’t help either, they are damp, cold, dark and above all – stink.

  At first, when we arrived in the Fasmaris Fortress, I was happy to see something else for a change. Chambers there were warm, filled with fresh air and much drier. Neither did they stink so much. Food was much more diverse, filled with fish, seafood and some cattle herded on the small islands. The fortress even had a big basin in which the rainwater gathered, refreshing and so much better than low-percentage alcohol, not brewed for taste.

  But, unfortunately, there is no place on earth where spending two months in the same, at most two square kilometres big area doesnt become monotone and boring. Assuming, of course, that you spend the time with the same people, do the same things, and those you love are not nearby – in that case, I would guess my predicament would be much more… entertaining? Or maybe fulfilling? Anyway, it would be much easier to endure, for sure – if someone I loved was there.

  After those two boring months, it was finally the time we were waiting for. Surely, other fleets began moving already, intending to occupy the best spots at the merchant paths for themself and bite the competition out of business. In our trade, nothing is stable, and nothing lasts long, even such hideings, seemingly cowardly. They last only as long as the patience of the most unsteady or greedy captain.

  Leaving behind only the bare bones needed for the defence of the islands, we took nearly all supplies and lauded ourselves onto the ships. This time, I was not on some small or medium-sized vessel – such as Marietta, who, despite her toughness, was a rather small ship meant for more political, delicate matters. This time, I boarded a mighty carrack, the “Seaborne Mary”, boasting a total of eighteen cannons, nine per side and three masts.

  Seaborne Mary, until recently, when the Royal Navy conficated her greatness after mine, and my officers’ capture, was my flagship. My pride and my greatest lover.

  Along with Marietta, another galley named Stephania, a frigate Fuerta and second galleon – Dicebreaker Anne, Seaborne Mary left the harbour at dawn, bathed in the early rays of the sun over the vast sea. It was really pretty that day, clear sky – with maybe one or two cushy pearl-white clouds moving slowly high above, a refreshing breeze and sunlight taking everything it reached into its warm embrace.

  We weren’t in a hurry, but the wind is never calm around the island fortress, or in the open sea in general; as such, we moved away from the rocky cliffs and fortified towers at considerable speed. While the winds blew, the sea was relatively calm, with a few waves gatting through the open windows of the lower decks from time to time, spilling little to no liquid over the wooden boards.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Swimming west, we didn’t expect to see any land or other beings in a few days, maybe apart from a few fishes or a whale. Both of those expectations proved to be correct until the third day of the voyage – a quiet but dark day, with little to no wind, but waves much larger than they should be.

  The sky was dark, becoming blacker and blacker by the minute as we swam west. Clouds slowly gathered, merging into one, gargantuan sea of grey above the masts. Winds stayed silent, not bothering us on the surface, despite clearly stirring the sky above.

  Unrest on all five of the vessels grew, as each end everyone, from underdeck lowlifes through the deckhands, officers and captains all the way to me, could see that the weather had turned against us, possibly, against its own will.

  Darks clouds and turbulent waters are never a good sign in the open sea, especially if they seem off. In any way someone may imagine, all of them are bad omens.

  The waves grew and grew until one moment, unexpectedly, a large tentacle ascended from the waters, smashing into Marietta from above.

  The beast, a Kraken whose limbs were at least half a meter wide, pulled on the galley form below, pushing itself up on the ship and sailors' expanse, who tilted and screamed in unison until the vessel broke.

  The right side tore into shreds as the tentacle pulled it from the fuselage, exposing the decks to the turbulent waters and silent wind. Furthermore, another grotesque limb emerged from below, climbing among wooden structures along with salt water, smashing supporting beams and crushing bones of those unfortunate enough to be in the monster’s way.

  As Marietta, sweet and precious galley, was devastated by the Kraken, the rest of the felled didn’t stay idle, especially after the penetration. The ship was already forgotten, forsaken and forgiven, along with its sailors – after all, what could they have done better? The four remaining ships, Stephania, Fuerta, Dicebreaker Anne and Seaborne Mary – on whom I was located – turned as fast as they could to face the dying vessel with their sides and bombard the deep-sea beast with heavy iron.

  No orders were needed; none of my officers, let alone captains, were incompetent enough to not know what to do when a friendly vessel was attacked by a giant monster.

  As such, soon, before Marietta sank completely, and the sailors on board either drowned or were left to the tides’ mercy, all four of us began the bombardment. Cannons roared and let out their anger on the immediate vicinity of Marietta, where multiple limbs of the mighty Kraken took hold of the ship, not sparing wooden boards and our comrades either – both were left with holes and lacerations, painting the salty water red.

  Kraken roared, or at least, that's what I think it did – the water vibrated all around us, and waves shifted course for a moment, with sinking Mariette in the epicentre.

  Some brave soul on board, in an act of bravery and heroism, pushed a few barrels full of gunpowder down towards the beast. The explosions shook the waters, creating geysers tall enough to wet the top sails and break our eardrums in the process. The Kraken, though, was affected the most, as a whole limb got separated from its disgusting body a few moments after the explosions, accompanied by scrapos of flesh and pieces of its head.

  I personally took charge in directing the cannonfire of Seaborne Mary, whose barrels shook and thundered every minute, without rest. My officers and deckhands ran around, transporting the gunpowder and cannonballs from one edge to the other, sometimes falling when the ship tilted and dropping their load. I, on the other hand, watched the sea and pointed where to shoot while also communicating with my captains using a system of flags.

  When the Kraken lost interest in Marietta, it attacked the second smallest, Fuerta – whose captain must have smelled that happening much earlier than me, because when the tentacles reached his vessel, they already had their back to the beast, sails full of wind and rows of oars pushing the water.

  As the beast pursued its prey, it pushed against the other ships, propelling itself faster while damaging our hulls and tilting the ships dramatically, until it could no longer reach us with its limbs and swam after the runaway galley.

  For us, it was a blessing – cannons still could reach the creature, while it could not reach us. As such, Fuerta has been declared dead, next to Marietta, whose sailors did their best to enter other vessels from the sea.

  Target changed location, but the objective remained the same – fire enough cannonballs to kill it or scare it away. None of the remaining three stopped the barrage, I’d say, all of us increased our efforts, if that was even possible.

  Fuerta slowly succumbed to the devastating barrage of tentacles, which, while overall slow, struck mightily. Kraken, too, suffered consequential damage, its limbs torn and shred, by the cannons of my vessels, while its torso mangled and bloody, from the suicidal attack of the Marietta’s sailor — may the sea bless his damned soul.

  The beast retreated underwater, bit by bit, until it was completly submerged.

  Cannonfire stopped. We knew the effective range of firearms underwater, and it was not worth even trying to cause it harm while its skin was more than a few metres away from the surface. If we had a wizard in our ranks, though… That would have been a completely different story. But I digress; no wizard would become a pirate, unfortunately.

  As we lost the sight of the attacker, Dicebreaker Anne’s Captain turned the vessel towards Fuerta, whose wooden structure still poked form under the water, on it, many of our comrades. Frigate turned too, but stayed more in the back as it had less space for the survivors. My ship, remained in the same spot, relatively.

  Wet, burly men climbed aboard with the help of ropes and rope ladders, slowly filling the Dicebreaker Anne’s deck with people oozing blood, puss and sweat – not to mention salty water that fell off of them in streams.

  My lack of movement soon proved to be a blessing, when the waves shattered and the beastly tentacles shot out of the water once again, all bloody and torn – with few digits lost – but full og angry fervour and need for vengeance. After the limbs, the Kraken’s head popped out too, all now, above water and speeding towards the Galleon through the air.

  The beast missed, falling a few meters next to the vessel instead of directly on top of it, but it’s attack proved fatal nevertheless – the gigantic wave created by its dive crashed into Dicebreaker Anne, shaking the ship and nearly toppling it. Water seeped into the lower decks, litres upon litres filling the space and making the vessel sink a few metres deeper into the icy-cold sea.

  Seeing the renewed attack, I immediately ordered the cannons to roar again – coming in like a blessing, as the beast's head was still above water.

  Seaborne Mary shook, both from the devastating wave left by the Kraken’s dive, and by the simultaneous slavo of nine cannons – and the water devil, whose name is feared by every sailor, died in a beautifull explosion of blue blood and flesh.

  As its mangled corpse floated towards the water’s surface, the clouds finally parted.

  And that's my dear listeners, how I defeated a Kraken. What’s more, without dying.

  Fierd looked at his master in thought, as if wondering if asking him a question at the moment was a good idea, or would it bring unwanted wrath upon himself. He didn’t really have the balls to check, though, so all he was left with was wonde–

  Nevermind, Kairon turned towards his disciple and, while looking at him with resentment, asked. “What?” As if someone tried to break him away from a book or woke him up an hour too early on his day off.

  The disciple visibly flinched, not expecting such a response – to nothing really, as he hadn’t yet even decided if he wanted to ask his question. “Eeeehhh…. Say, Master – is Kraken’s meat good? I overheard you talking about it with some wealthy merchant the other day, and was left curious…” The later part, Fierd nearly whispered.

  “Don’t bother – there is no use in chasing some delicacies while your teachings remain unfinished. Especially since it tastes something like a chimera of squid and octopus. I would definitely not recommend it.” The Archmage finished talking and immediately turned towards the speaker’s seat once again. This time, two girls were walking up towards it. Their nervousness was visible in their stride and on their faces – or face, as both had one, nearly identical.

  Sorry for the massive delay. I'd like to say it's not my fault - but it is.

  On the bright note, or not, depending on who you ask, really - the story crossed the halfway mark! [I think(?)]