The tavern was dim, save for the flicker of candlelight that struggled against the gathering shadows in the corners. Smoke curled lazily above the heads of those gathered, and the clink of tankards was barely audible beneath the low murmur of conversation. But when Old Grimes began to speak, the room quieted. His voice, raspy from years of ale and age, drew the patrons in, each one eager to hear the tales he carried like whispers from another world.
"Ah, ye young fools don’t know the half of it," he muttered, taking a long drag from his pipe, smoke rolling from his mouth like the steam from the grand engines above. His eyes, though clouded with years, still gleamed when he spoke of the skies. "There was a man… a legend, more like. Bruce, the Sky Captain they called him, though many whispered he was somethin' more. A shadow, a ghost. But I'll tell ye—he was as real as the air we breathe. I should know. I was there the day he pulled the greatest heist the skies had ever seen."
The patrons leaned in closer, the crackle of the hearth growing faint against the old man’s tale.
"Bruce had been chasin' treasures for years, aye, like any good captain worth his salt. But this treasure… this one was different. It wasn’t just gold or jewels. It was something older, darker—steeped in ancient powers no man had any business touchin'. But Bruce, he didn’t care. He knew the risks and still, he dove headfirst, the madman."
Grimes paused, taking a swig from his mug, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the scene as clear as the day he’d witnessed it.
"He’d barely gotten his hands on the prize when the marauders came down from the black clouds, guns blazing, steam engines roaring like some nightmare of brass and gears. They wanted his treasure, and they wanted him dead. Now, any other man would've run, would've given up. But not Bruce. No… not him."
He lowered his voice, making the crowd lean in even more.
"He tricked ‘em. While they circled his airship, all teeth and steel, Bruce feigned retreat. He knew they'd be bold enough to board his vessel, too eager to get their hands on his loot. So what does he do? The mad devil—he grabs the treasure and sneaks aboard their airship! While those thick-headed marauders were sneaking onto his ship, Bruce was already climbing aboard theirs, stowing the treasure in their own hold."
A few patrons gasped, and Grimes chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, it gets better. When those fool marauders finally figured out Bruce wasn't on his ship, it was too late. He was already in control of theirs! One by one, he kicked ‘em off, sending ‘em spiraling into the clouds below. But before he made his final escape… he set his own airship aflame. Watched it burn like a falling star in the sky. It was his way, ye see—leaving no trace behind, no clues, no sign of where he'd been or where he was goin'."
Grimes leaned back, the creak of his chair loud against the silence that had fallen over the room.
"And so there he was, alone in the skies, with not only his treasure but theirs as well. He vanished into the ether, leaving nothin' behind but the charred wreck of his ship and a tale to be told in taverns like this."
The old man tapped the side of his pipe, ash falling like snow into the hearth. "They say he’s still out there somewhere, flyin’ the skies, lookin’ for more treasure, more adventure. But mark my words—no one’s ever bested Captain Bruce, and no one ever will."
The tavern was still, save for the crackling of the fire. The patrons exchanged wide-eyed glances, but none dared break the silence. Not until Old Grimes raised his mug and said with a grin, "To the skies, then, and to Captain Bruce. May he always stay one step ahead of the fools who think they can catch him."
With that, the tavern erupted in a roar of raised glasses and hearty cheers, the legend of Captain Bruce living on in every clink and every echo.
