Bastian's Tattoos: An Inaccurate Headcanon

Ilsabet

So I wrote this before we got Word of God about how Bastian got his tattoos, and it turns out this is not how he got his tattoos. But I will still post it here because I think it's fun and I actually wasn't that far off.

***

Linney,

Yes I got your letters, and yeah it's been a while, but you know it's the busy season in port, and twiddling around putting ink to paper ain't what puts coin in my purse. I promise you, though, the stories I been setting aside will be worth the wait.

You remember that new overseer I told you about, the silk-stocking from House Silvelle? Uptight, proper little son of a schoolmarm, everything by the book or so help you Zenithar? Well... let's just say we're seeing him in a different light these days. I mean he was always fair enough, even if he was a stickler for rules, but we weren't gonna let no pampered noble whelp clutching a ledger think he knows better than us how to run goods through a dock.

But then one of them inspectors came by, said a couple of our lads were suspected of filching goods from a recent shipment. Standard ploy, y'know, the boys get their hands slapped and some "fines" get paid and the inspector and the overseer get to split the take on the "stolen" merchandise. But this Bastian, he looks the inspector square in the face and starts asking questions. When, where, whose stuff was it, exactly what went missing... And then he pulls out his damned ledgers and points to that day's exchanges, everything tallied up pretty as you please. Never seen an inspector get so red in the face, and after the two of 'em exchanged some words in private, off he goes grumbling about whelps not knowing enough to shut up and play the game. No fines paid and no hands slapped, and we haven't minded those infernal ledgers quite so much since.

But that weren't the end of it. See this Bastian enjoys a brew or two in his off-hours, and turned out he wasn't too uppity to frequent our little dockside hole in the wall. And after we'd warmed up to him some, we get to talking, and one night someone comes up with the notion to suggest he get a tattoo. We weren't expecting much, just wanted to see him bluster a bit, but the bounder took it as some kind of dare and actually insisted on going through with it. Wasn't anything big or fancy, but he gritted his teeth through the whole thing and seemed right proud of himself after.

Well by that point we were pretty well satisfied that he weren't no run-of-the-mill noble brat. Still all proper and professional while we were on the clock, but not a bad drinking companion once the ledgers were put away, and not bad in a bar fight either. And he must have gotten a taste for ink, 'cause next thing we know that little tattoo was just a little bigger, and then there's a little more, and would you believe by now he's got dragons all across his chest and more besides. Felt a bit proud myself seeing how far he'd come.

He's heading back to Daggerfall next week, and I'd love to see the pearl-clutching when his gentle lord and lady catch wind of his new artwork. I asked him if he was worried about their disapproval, but he just got this little smile on his face and said it'd be fine. "A man ought to have something he can call his own," or some such. So maybe getting inked is what passes for rebellion in Daggerfall, and if that's the case, I say more power to 'im.

So that's been the big news dockside. Never thought I'd say I might miss a noble house's babysitter, and I sure won't miss his damn ledgers, but sending him off will be as good an excuse as any to get good an' drunk. So if my purse isn't quite so heavy by the time I make it home next, that'll be why.

See you... sometime.

Your hard-working brother,
Oscar