The Return to Drinax – Or, How to Impress a King with an Unbelievable Amount of Stolen Wealth

The Harrier slid gracefully towards the Floating Palace of Drinax, a majestic and absurdly over-the-top structure drifting through the skies like a lost artifact from a civilization that took one look at the laws of physics and said, no, thank you.

King Oleb’s palace was equal parts regal splendour and glorified theme park, where ancient grandeur collided with whatever new nonsense the king had decided was fashionable that week.

This week, apparently, it was live falconry inside the main hall.

The falcons were not trained.

A Grand Entrance – Mostly Because The Crew Was Carrying a Ridiculous Amount of Wealth

The Harrier’s landing ramp lowered, disgorging its crew with the swagger of pirates who had absolutely no intention of apologising for anything.

Behind them, a small army of Drinaxian porters struggled under the weight of obscene amounts of stolen Imperial loot. Gold-trimmed crates, stacks of gemstones, barrels of what was either very expensive wine or highly explosive chemicals, diplomatic documents, and an entire pallet of luxury goods wrapped in velvet.

Maltz looked at the absurd display of wealth and muttered, “This might be a bit much.”

Caitlin grinned. “Oh, believe me. Oleb lives for a bit much.”

The throne room of King Oleb was exactly as excessive as they remembered.

The statues of Drinaxi kings past looked down sternly. The risqué Sindalian paintings looked down suggestively. And King Oleb himself was already halfway through a goblet of something that was definitely strong enough to be classified as a weapon.

He beamed when he saw them, arms outstretched, gloriously resplendent in burnished breastplate and crimson sleeves, fur, and possibly bits of a small spaceship.

“AH-HA! MY GLORIOUS AGENTS OF MAYHEM RETURN!”

The falcon perched on his shoulder took this as a cue to attempt regicide and had to be wrestled off by a very distressed courtier.

Caitlin gave a sweeping gesture toward the towering pile of stolen Imperial wealth, letting the sheer absurdity of it speak for itself. "Brought you a present."

Oleb’s eyes widened, taking in the vast piles of loot now flooding his audience chamber.

“By all the gods of the Sindalian Empire, YOU’VE DONE IT! YOU’VE ROBBED THE IMPERIUM BLIND!”

Caitlin shrugged modestly. “Well, technically, they made it very easy for us."

Oleb threw back his head and roared with laughter, nearly choking on his own delight.

“AH-HAHA! MAGNIFICENT! GLORIOUS! I AM BOTH PROUD AND SLIGHTLY AFRAID OF YOU!”

Quinn allowed himself the smallest smile. "A rational response."

The crew watched as Oleb’s courtiers began cataloguing the wealth, a mix of terror and disbelief on their faces.

"THIS," Oleb boomed, kicking open a crate of gemstones with the unrestrained glee of a child at their own birthday party, "IS A TRULY STUPID AMOUNT OF WEALTH."

Caitlin grinned. "Stupid wealth is the best kind."

Oleb thumped her back with such gusto that one of the court scribes flinched on her behalf.

"YOU, MY DEAR, ARE A VISION OF PIRATICAL SPLENDOUR. THIS IS THE STUFF OF LEGENDS!"

Morwen, observing the ridiculousness of this entire situation, murmured to Maltz, “I give it two minutes before he declares this a national holiday.”

Maltz nodded. “I give it one.”

Across the room, Oleb threw out his arms and bellowed:

"FROM THIS DAY FORTH, LET IT BE KNOWN AS THE GREAT PLUNDERING OF THE MARTIN II!"

Morwen sighed, handing Maltz a credit chit.

The Aftermath – Revelry, Rewards, and More Bad Decisions

Drinax erupted into celebration, because when a doomed kingdom suddenly got an influx of obscene wealth, there was only one logical response.

Feasting, drinking, questionable decisions, and at least one duel that began over a disagreement about who looked better in red.

Oleb, drunkenly pleased beyond all reason, threw his arms wide and staggered toward the entire crew like a man who had just discovered a new religion and it involved looting.

"YOU LOT," he slurred, gesturing so enthusiastically he nearly backhanded a courtier. "WHEN I STARTED THIS WHOLE 'LET’S REVIVE DRINAX WITH A SECRET PRIVATEER' THING, I NEVER IMAGINED IT WOULD WORK HALF THIS WELL."

He grabbed a goblet off a nearby tray, lifted it in salute, and continued, voice rising with every word, "LOOK AT YOU! A CREW OF ROGUES, REPROBATES, AND OVERACHIEVERS! YOU'VE DONE THE IMPOSSIBLE; YOU'VE MADE ME LOOK COMPETENT!"

Caitlin raised her glass, barely hiding her grin. “We do what we can.”

Oleb beamed. "AND YOU DO IT WHILE LOOKING LIKE YOU’VE JUST ROBBED AN IMPERIAL TREASURE SHIP. WHICH, I SUPPOSE, YOU HAVE."

The feast sprawled into the night. Drinax’s court, veterans of Oleb’s excesses, held their composure even as their King arm-wrestled a salvaged deathbot the Morrigan crew had found earlier. Conversations flowed around pockets of chaos; nobles smiled politely, traded barbed pleasantries, and pretended none of this was even slightly unusual.

As the night wore on, even Oleb’s boundless energy began to sag. His proclamations thinned. His gestures slowed. And finally, with a yawn large enough to trigger nearby winces, he slumped back in his creaking throne. Moments later, his thunderous snoring rolled across the hall. The signal was clear - when the King slumbers, the evening is officially over.

The Next Morning (or Afternoon, or Whenever Everyone Regained Consciousness)

Oleb’s court lay scattered across the palace in various states of unconsciousness, disarray, and regret.

Caitlin, one eye half-closed against the daylight creeping through the palace windows, leaned back, groaned softly, and said, "Next time, someone stop me after the fifth toast."

"Oleb has decreed a week-long festival in our honour," remarked Quinn in the tone usually reserved for spotting a leak in the airlock.

Caitlin squinted at him through the pounding in her skull. “Of course he has.”

Morwen, rubbing her temples like she was trying to physically squeeze out the memory of last night, growled, “We’re not staying for that, surely?”

Caitlin tossed a gemstone lazily, caught it, then pushed herself upright like someone very aware this was going to hurt.

“Nope,” she said, voice rough but grin sharp. “There’s another job waiting. Quieter. Probably cursed. You know how it goes.”

Maltz let out a low groan. “Brilliant. Nothing like dying somewhere scenic.”

Caitlin cracked her neck, grabbed her jacket, and gestured toward the door.

“Onwards,” she declared. “Before Oleb wakes up and makes it a month.”