The captain did not answer immediately, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop, making dull thudding sounds.
The atmosphere was a bit heavy.
Kael could feel the other's gaze lingering on his simple attire and lute case.
"Performing—" the captain slowly began, "Sounds good. Long voyages do need some diversion."
He paused, then changed his tone, "But my cabin isn't a charity. Young man, I can't give you a free ride."
Kael's heart sank, but he still tried to maintain his composure: "Captain, my performance is worth—"
The captain waved him off, interrupting him: "How about this. I'll allow you to board and give you a chance to perform."
"But every copper coin you earn on board, I'll take half." He held up two fingers.
"Additionally, regardless of whether you earn anything, or how much, you must pay me a minimum of ten gold coins when settling up."
"Agree, then board. Disagree, the door is over there."
The conditions were harsh.
Half of his income taken, plus a 'base fee' of ten gold coins.
This meant that Kael would be working for free for the captain until he earned ten gold coins.
Agreeing to this condition meant Kael would have to perform very hard on the ship and pray for generous audiences, otherwise, by the time they reached Dekonor, he might not only be penniless but also in debt.
Kael subconsciously touched the lute case on his back, the cold touch making him calm down slightly.
Dekonor—that was Northrend's most prosperous city, the sacred birthplace of the Dragonborn, and a multicultural center.
He seemed to see the outline of that magnificent city, heard the bustling human voices and potential opportunities there.
To set foot on that land, to emulate the footsteps of that legendary emperor, to see a wider world, he took a deep breath, a flicker of determination in his vertical pupils, and raised his head to meet the captain's gaze:
"I agree, Captain. Thank you for this opportunity."
The captain bared his yellowed fangs, a smile that sent a shiver down Kael's spine.
"Very good. Welcome aboard, Mr. Kael."
"Go find the one who brought you here; he's our first mate."
"He'll arrange your bunk. It's not a good spot, I hope you don't mind."
"Remember, an hour before we set sail, meet me on deck, and let's see if your skills are worth the price."
He waved his hand, signaling Kael could leave.
Kael bowed again and exited the captain's cabin.
—Dividing Line—
The next day, the captain gave Kael's 'audition' performance on deck a low but barely passing mark.
The epic ballads depicting the Dragonborn ancestors' pioneering efforts in Borean Tundra and the founding of their nation indeed made several Dragonborn sailors on board nod frequently, tapping their feet to Kael's rhythm.
Their resonance was real, a remembrance of a distant past and a shared bloodline.
But for other races like the Ice Trolls and Night Elves, these melodies seemed a bit long and unfamiliar, far less appealing than a lively ditty or a love song.
Finally, the captain grunted through his nostrils, tacitly approving Kael's request to board and perform.
Kael was assigned by First Mate Buck to a cramped corner deep within the cargo hold.
It was piled high with goods from Kalimdor, barely enough space to spread out the blanket the first mate gave him.
The air was stuffy, with only faint light and footsteps filtering through the deck seams above.
Kael didn't mind; it was a blessing to be able to embark on the journey.
He repeatedly wiped his beloved lute, memorizing sheet music, preparing for the upcoming formal performance.
A few days later, the'Seagull' sailed into relatively calm waters.
As night enveloped the deck, the small bar on the ship became the sole social hub.
The space was cramped, filled with swirling smoke, and the mingled scents of cheap ale, sweat, and tobacco.
Several rough wooden tables were pushed together, serving as a makeshift stage.
The lights flickered, illuminating the tired faces of the sailors.
After a few rounds of drinks, it was finally Kael's turn to perform.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his inner nervousness, and holding his lute, stood in the center of the'stage'.
The previous clamor died down, and dozens of eyes focused on him.
Kael could feel his heart uncooperatively accelerating, and his fingers gripping the neck of the lute felt cold.
His chosen opening piece was a fast-paced narrative ballad about Dragonborn artisans building the first tall tower in Borean Tundra.
This was a piece he had practiced countless times, one he should have been able to play with ease.
The first note was plucked, and the sound was quite clear.
But immediately after, an accident occurred.
Perhaps the murky air in the cabin tightened his throat, or the rocking of the ship disturbed his balance, or perhaps the gazes from the audience put too much pressure on him—
His pitch was half a step too high.
When he tried to sing the first line of lyrics, his voice uncontrollably trembled.
"When—when the hammer strikes at. —"
The rhythm of the song was instantly broken.
A few undisguised laughs came from below the stage.
A flush of heat rose beneath Kael's facial scales.
He forced himself to concentrate, pressing his fingers hard against the strings, trying to cover his mistake with a louder melody.
However, misfortunes never come singly.
Just as he was fully focused on his fingerwork, a deeply ingrained chorus melody completely vanished from his mind!
His fingers hovered over the strings, his mind a blank.
He could only strum haphazardly based on a vague feeling, trying to muddle through.
Discordant noise replaced the originally rousing melody, so harsh that even he himself found it grating.
"What the hell?" A burly Dragonborn sailor grumbled, slamming his wooden mug onto the table.
"Get off the stage, kid! Don't waste my drinking money!"
"I'd rather listen to old Buck tell his exaggerated sea monster stories!"
Boos, catcalls, and complaints erupted, causing Kael's already chaotic rhythm to completely spiral out of control.
He felt sweat breaking out on his back, soaking his attire.
Kael futilely tried to regain the rhythm, but the more he rushed, the more disorganized he became; his singing turned hoarse and off-key, and his lute playing was full of errors, completely losing the control a bard should possess.
The meticulously prepared performance completely devolved into a jarring disaster.
Amidst the chaotic and embarrassing noise, Kael's gaze darted around, afraid to meet anyone's eyes.
Faces, impatient or mocking, blurred past.
Then, his gaze suddenly fixed.
In the darkest corner of the bar, away from the flickering lights, a figure sat quietly.
It was a Black Dragonborn.
He was completely enveloped in a dark cloak, almost merging with the shadows.
However, Kael clearly caught his gaze—a pair of vertical pupils that glowed like molten gold.
Those eyes neither booed nor mocked, nor did they show any obvious emotional fluctuations.
They simply calmly pierced through the noisy and chaotic tavern, seeing all of Kael.
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