The two elven women

My attention kept drifting away from the noisy dwarves toward two of the Night Elf deckhands sitting across from Baelog{if game:Uthul_in_party = true} and Uthul{endif}. They were stunning, tall, athletic women with silver skin, sharp cheekbones, and long, dark-blue hair tied back in loose braids. In the dim, swinging light of the lantern, they looked like any of the captivating elven women you’d see strolling the avenues of Darnassus, their long legs flexing naturally as they leaned over the crate.

Seeing them on a vessel felt distinctly out of place. Most captains were deeply superstitious, holding fast to old maritime lore that women on board invited foul weather, sea monsters, or plain ill luck. To see two of them actively working as deckhands was practically unheard of on the Great Sea.

The dwarves certainly thought so, too, and made it known.

Living under a mountain hadn’t exactly blessed Baelog’s kin with progressive views, and combining maritime superstitions with stubborn dwarven tradition made for a volatile mix. To them, the sea was men’s work, and having two stunning females at the table was bad luck at worst and a welcome distraction at best.

As the cards were dealt, one of the elven women - a striking beauty named Vaelira with a low, smoky laugh - lost a heavy hand to Baelog himself.

“Well, well! Look at that, lads!” Baelog cackled, slamming his fist on the wood. “Told ye the high seas aren’t for soft elven lasses! Should’ve stayed in the woods braidin’ flowers instead of bringin' bad luck onto a fine ship and pretendin’ ye can play with the big boys!”

The other dwarves barked in agreement, shouting for her to pay up or forfeit her seat to a “real sailor.”

{if game:Uthul_in_party = true}

Uthul merely snorted around the rim of her tankard, shooting Baelog a dry, unimpressed look.

“Watch your mouth, short-stuff. Last dwarf who babbled about ‘real sailors’ ended up tied to a beam in my tent.”
“Don’t get so touchy, orc. I’m not talking about ye, not when ye’ve get a bigger log between yer legs than most men.”

The surrounding dwarven pathfinders burst into a chorus of boisterous, knee-slapping laughter at the crude compliment, and even a few of the sailors chuckled into their mugs. Uthul just smirked right back, casually taking a deep gulp of ale and flexing a muscular green shoulder as if to prove his point.

{endif}

Vaelira merely rolled her deep violet eyes, though a tight flash of annoyance crossed her gorgeous features. With a dramatic, exaggerated sigh, she unlaced her leather vest to cover her lost bet, slinging it over a barrel to reveal a tight, thin linen tunic that clung to her damp skin.

I leaned back further into the dark, nursing my drink, completely content to stay hidden while my eyes greedily tracked every flash of bare skin, every low laugh, and every flex of muscle as the hot night wore on.