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# Waverider Expedition - Caerduin

Asking for help

The wind off the cliffs carried the smell of salt and peat smoke as the Waverider dropped anchor off Ardwych. From the deck, the town looked half-forgotten, gray stone houses hunched against the wind, their roofs sagging, their fields brown and bare. Even the seaweed clinging to the rocks looked thin.

As the longboat scraped the shore, a handful of villagers came forward, their clothes patched, their faces hollow from hunger. At their head was a man wrapped in a faded tartan cloak, his hair streaked with white, his shoulders bowed with more than age.

“I am Bryn of Clan Ardwych,” he said, voice rough from cold and worry. “You’re far from home, Captain. Few ships come to Ardwych these days.”

Captain Solonex Virellus nodded. “We came seeking water and timber. Nothing more.”

Bryn hesitated, then spoke low. “Then perhaps... you might sell us something else. Grain. Salted meat. Whatever you can spare.” His eyes flicked toward the empty horizon. “The Empire’s blockade strangles the coast. No trade, no seed, no hope. We have coin still, but little left to eat.”

Eira stepped forward from the crew, her breath misting in the cold air. “Captain,” she said softly. “These are my people.”

The villagers turned at the sound of her voice. One woman gasped and covered her mouth. “A daughter of Caerduin?”

Eira nodded. “Once. Long ago.” Her eyes met the captain’s. “Please.”

Virellus looked past them all, toward the hills, bare ridges, smoke curling from blackened hearths. No men of fighting age stood among the villagers; only old men, women, and thin, grim-eyed children. Even the dogs were bones wrapped in fur.

He sighed. “I have no love for the Empire,” he said at last. “They’ve bled enough lands dry.”

Bryn bowed his head. “We can pay...”

“Keep your coin,” the captain interrupted. “We’ll sell you what we can spare for a token price and silence. No word of where the food came from. The Empire has long arms, and I’d rather they didn’t notice us reaching into their larder.”

The old chieftain’s eyes shone with gratitude. “You have our vow.”

Eira looked at him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Captain.”

Virellus gave a small shrug, watching his crew begin to haul sacks of grain and barrels of salt pork onto the beach. “We’ll restock in Albirica,” he said. “So in the end, we’ll take it from the Empire anyway.”

Eira smiled faintly, but her eyes were wet. Around them, the villagers moved with desperate purpose, tears streaking soot-stained faces as they lifted the food from the boats.

Above the cliffs, the wind howled like a starving thing.

That night, the Waverider’s lanterns burned low, and the crew ate quietly. Below on the shore, Ardwych’s hearths glowed again for the first time in months, their smoke rising like prayers into the frozen air.

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