The Last Lands

CHAPTER 11.- CROOKED WAS THE PATH

The date is Quatro the 28th.

The handsome man in the water's reflection smiled brightly at Artifae Sajaestan. He flexed his muscles playfully as small shrimp and fish flew by.

My arms are getting bigger, at last.

His ever-tanned body had grown darker around his forearms and face. His hair had grown to almost reach his chin, its waves coiling towards his eyes. His cheeks had begun to sprout out small patches of hair, which began to dust his top lip. What he was most impressed with, was his small patch of darkening hair on his chest.

Looking good! Now I just need to wait until some ladies arrive...

He dried his hair on a towel by the sand. He looked towards the sparkling turquoise ocean. It had only been a week since Busco and Khol had left, and the landmass felt so much bigger without them. It was difficult, still trying to be friends with them while their path was set, and his has was not.

Yeah, they're going off on adventures, fighting monsters, swooning Eve girls, and I'm just wheel-barrowing rocks.

He had kept an eye out for the Desert Eve that had been traipsing along with them. He didn't think she left with them, but he hadn't seen her since. A pity.

“Oi, Artie! You gonna do any work or not?” A voice shouted.

He turned to look at the top of the cliffs behind him. He was on a small cove, not as hidden as he was hoping for. He squinted in the golden light, as the Brown-Bear worker growled at him, beams of wood held in his massive, hairy arms.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved back, as the worker returned, grumbling.

He grabbed his shirt and towel, relishing in the last stretches of sunlight warming his skin. He scrambled up the rocks to the cliff-side. They were on a peninsular that stretched out like an arm, the beach-head was just over a mile away, and the swaying ships in the bay were still visible. He stretched, looking back towards the round stone base of the lighthouse they had begun building.

As he began to put his shirt on, one of the workers, an Espyder gave him a filthy look. He was half Eve-a tall and skinny body with grey skin and lank, black hair, with a spider's thorax and eight legs beneath.

“C'mon Sajaestan, we need that stone now.” He croaked.

“Alright, alright.” He said, thinking of what Busco said about the spiders in the mountains.

Would fighting monsters really be better than this?

He jogged lightly down the peninsular, empty wheel-barrow in hand. Over the Blare-Water, a crooked raft had been left for him. Using the pole, and accompanying guide-line, he gradually brought himself across, always much quicker without heapings of stone. By the time he reached the stone depot, he had already raised a sweat. The small wooden shack was stacked with rough rocks taken straight from the quarry that had been established near the Silver-Tooth. Stone-masons would take them and carve them for promises of more ornate designs, but Deniz had told them a lighthouse didn't need to look pretty. Artie groaned as he lifted the large stone sin the barrow.

Almost a two mile trip each-way, and I can only take a few rocks at a time.

It was exhausting work, particularly in the heat. Many other labourers had tried their hand at ferrying the rocks, some had fainted, and most had quit. There was only Artie and two others constantly ferrying rocks to the peninsular in different shifts. Mr Blare had apparently been negotiating with his contacts in New Peridios, but without any Comm-Stones or instantaneous travel, it was slow going. The farmers in Heather Gardens were apparently reluctant to relinquish any livestock or beasts of burden for anything other than promises of land, and so, Artifae was designated a skinny ox and given rocks to push around.

The old callouses had healed, but the new ones threatened to split. His feet were a revolving door of blisters, and the constant chafe around the groin area from perfusive sweat was murder. Still, he estimated if a trip unencumbered took him fifteen minutes, and one loaded with stone took close to half an hour, it was only two more full-round trips until the day's end, where he could lounge by the beach and drink Ship-shine until the sun set. Of course, he could definitely get them there quicker, but what was the point? They would only give him more stone to move.

I wish Busco was here. He could move all this with his mind.

He travelled back to the Astral Academy, all in their smart, dark blue initiate robes. He had cheated on his scholar's exam to try to be the first Sajaestan to ever attend the prestigious academy, but even as an initiate he struggled against the stiffness and discipline. The memory came into full view once he met Gybalt Ganders' unimpressed gaze again, here on the beach.

Let the pretentious have their magic, who needs it anyway? He thought, just as the wheel jammed itself into a pit of mud.

The afternoon heat failed to subside, beating down on him constantly. His life now was nothing but stifling warmth. Hot days, balmy nights, warm water. The only escape from it was the sea, and every cell within him wanted to be submerged within the water. After almost a month here, he had become quite comfortable in the water. Swimming hadn't come naturally to him, what with the waves constantly smashing against him, but once he learned how to float, he found a new encapsulating comfort within it. He dragged his forearm over his soaking forehead.

Just one more trip, then a quick dip.

After the final round trip, he dumped the last of the stone in the dwindling pile. The cylindrical base was now almost 10 foot high, with an archway for a set of doors. The Brown-Bear was at the top of it, using a pulley system to bring up one of the rocks made with web of the Espyder. Artie slumped himself down by the cobbled-stone wall, bathing in the shade, when a familiar waddling figure came up to them.

“'Ow we getting; on boys?” Deniz shouted, a clipboard in his hand.

The attending labourers shrugged exhaustedly.

“You been lazin' around all day, Sajaestan?” Deniz growled.

“Not all day.” Artie said with a wry grin.

The Gorillon foreman bared his teeth.

“We're gonna have to speed this up come tomorrow. Boss-man says we need that lighthouse a-s-a-p­.”

“We're workin' on it.” The Espyder said, dusting his hands.

Deniz did not take his eyes off of Artie.

“You. Sajaestan.” He grumbled, pointing with the clipboard. “You better start bringin' more of them rocks tomorrow. The boys can't start buildin' till you've brought 'em over.”

“I'm doin' the best I can.” Artie protested.

Deniz only snorted, and turned to head back to the settlement.

“If you'd let me build that pulley system over the river like I said, we could do it twice as fast. Faster maybe.”

“Enough. I keep tellin' ya, ya clod, it's too risky. I ain't riskin' materials we need just 'cos you get a little sleepy.”

Artie rubbed his neck wearily. His plan was to attach a raft to a long-line of rope-or perhaps web,-across the river. It would take at least two people to man, but save them countless hours of exhaustion. Perhaps that way, not so many labourers would quit or collapse.

“I just think-” He started again, as Deniz whirled around.

“Hands up here who is certified 'ere by the Builder's Guild?” He asked raising a hand.

The only other one present to do so was the Espyder. Deniz grunted in approval, waddling away. Artie sighed, staying in the shade until the rest of the labourers began to slowly depart. He stood on the stretched out arm of the penannular. The orange orb brought great waves of glittering light over the infinite expanse.

No-one ever knew this was out here. What else is there?

He imagined himself on a ship by himself, finding new lands and lost treasures. There must be something out here for him that wasn't confined to a wheel-barrow. As he watched and wished for something to rescue him, a ship appeared on the horizon. He watched as the sail-ship slowly approached the coast-line. It wasn't quite as tall or magnificent as the other ships that routinely ferried themselves to Promise Coast, in fact, its sails were battered and torn. The hull appeared to be weeping, splinters of wood were threatening to fall off of it.

Together with some of the last builders, Artifae picked up a torch and lit it. Him and a few others waved them wildly, all along pointing to the right direction of the beach-head. After a few minutes, they saw the ship change its trajectory, turning towards the rough docks.

“Soon as we get this done, the sooner we don't have to worry 'bout doin' this.” The Brown-Bear growled, extinguishing his torch in a bucket of water.

Artie was gone as soon as he plunged his light into the bucket, before he could be drawn to be part of the evening or night watchmen on duty. Grabbing his leather coat, he jogged towards the settlement. Through waves of flies and hungry workers, he made it to the beach-head as The Hunnigan's Glory made it to port. The piers have been built to accommodate up to ten ships now, but there were only a few, and none were in quite as much disrepair as the now docking ship.

Wooden pathways had been laid down on the sand, creating a network of raised paths that made traversal far quicker. Everyday the Promise Coast was growing larger. New waves of settlers and workers came in by the boatload, and every-time Artie blinked a new building was in the process of erection. The beach canteen had doubled in size and was beginning to pack out. Smokey smells drifted outwards, and Artie rubbed his stomach. He was starving, and desperate to escape the crowds and endless clouds of flies, but there was something about the arriving ship that intrigued him. As the ship arrived, there was a clamour of joy and cheering from onboard.

As soon as the gangplank had fallen, people began to spill out onto the decks, desperate to connect with dry land again. They were dishevelled and dirty, some were hugging and clasping each-other, drowning in relief. More ramps were lowered, and the crew began rolling down barrels and crates. Artie stepped closer, walking towards the decks and studied the ship.

The Hunnigan's Glory had certainly seen better days. It was an old ship, created in the styles of the Old Age. The majority of the ships during the New Age were built for short distances, and powered by either Nexos energy or steam and made of metal. This was a wooden ship straight out of the pages of old swashbuckling tales, as many of the ships that made it to the coast had been. Its figurehead was of a human woman, once fair and beautiful, now cracked and faded like much of the ship's exterior. Behind him, came a great impatient stomping and some raised voices as Mahaan Blare, the Black-Bear founder of the settlement came stomping along.

“Move aside, move aside please.” He muttered as he escorted his entourage to greet the ship.

Artie stepped off of the dock, and onto the sand below, but continued to watch. As he did so, the tall captain of The Hunnigan's Glory stepped off gracefully. He was human, perhaps of Western blood like Artifae, with deeply tanned skin. There was an almost royal dignity to him, he stood proudly with his chest baring forwards. His eyes were hazel, and there were dark freckles on his face. He appeared about mid-thirties, and wrapped around his head was an orange turban, a very unusual fashion choice for New Peridios. His clothes were fine linen, with a gold and crimson shoulder-cloak hanging above a purple and burgundy tunic. His plumped trousers were purple and white, bloused under tan leather boots. At his side, hung a silver sickle-like blade.

Who is this guy? Artifae thought whilst stifling a laugh.

The captain offered his hand towards the ship entrance, and awaited as a fine, pale hand gently took it. A woman in a black dress carefully stepped off of the ship. She was of the Eastern-folk, pale and adorned with dark hair and almost vibrantly green eyes. There was an aged wisdom to her smile that curved between black lipstick, but her skin and face was completely unaffected by marks or blemish. Unlike the rest of the ship, she appeared completely unfazed by whatever had mishap the ship endured during their journey. Gracefully, she walked down the pier towards the smiling Mahaan Blare.

“My dear!” He bellowed with open arms. “Oh, how we feared the worst!”

Still smiling, she offered her hand and he kissed it with furred lips.

“What happened my dear? Why, we expected you at least a week ago!” He asked, cradling her hand protectively.

“A terrible storm befell us, Mr Blare. One the likes I had never seen before back in New Peridios.”

As she said so, the captain walked towards them, and from here Artie could see the silver trimmings that emblazoned his outfit. There was a scruffy beard beneath tired eyes, but he stood beside her proudly.

“It took us wildly off course. For days we were stranded in open ocean. Thankfully, the skills of our young captain here lead us back. Why, if it wasn't for him...”

The curious bear wrenched his attention away from the woman, and affixed his glasses to study the human before him.

“A storm you say?” He said quietly. “Well, I see. And you are...?”

“I am Dhib Albahr.” The captain said, placing one hand on his chest and bowing slightly. “Captain of The Hunnigan's Glory.”

Mahaan Blare studied him curiously, and Artie studied the pair of them carefully.

Curious.

Captain Albahr spoke with an accent. That was unusual. Nobody in New Peridios had an accent, as far as he knew.

“He really is an extraordinary captain, Mahaan.” She said softly, placing a hand lovingly on the captain's shoulder.

“I see.” Mahaan said, standing tall. “You are to thank for bringing our dear Senator Aldophus to us safely. Then, we should arrange a reward for your hard-work and skill! Wouldn't you agree, Silema?”

“I was about to suggest the same thing.” She smiled.

“Thank you, but no.” Captain Albahr said, bowing slightly once more. “The agreed payment as promised will be most sufficient.”

“Nonsense.” Silema Aldolphus said.

“Perhaps at least we can help with the repairs of your ship?” Mahaan said, rubbing his chin with a jewel adorned claw.

Dhib Albahr looked back at the battered ship.

“That would be most generous.” He said.

“Let's get some more help to unload your goods as well.” Blare said, turning round to his entourage and barking commands.

Artifae stayed nearby, watching the scenes unfold.

“Where is the professor? And your bodyguard?” Captain Albahr asked as he escorted her to the edge of the docks.

“I believe they will be with us presently.” She said, admiring the sight of the jungle and the beach, breathing it in deeply.

“You, boy!” Mahaan Blare growled, pointing at Artie, snapping him from his dream.

Artie had barely a chance to respond when he was ordered onto the ship.

“Help the crew unload their supplies would you? They've had a hard week!” He said, wandering back towards his new guests.

Artie shrugged, walking towards the ship, curious to see the inside of it. As he arrived at the hatch, a large figure carrying bundles of chests and rattling glass bottles stood outwards, cursing as he did so. He was a well dressed Orkan, with light-green skin and small protruding teeth at the bottom. His suit was of linen, with a fashionable boater atop. He had spectacles that were threatening to slip off of his face at any moment, and looked incredibly awkward with encumbrance.

“Can I help?” Artie asked, giving him a wide berth.

The orkan did not hear him, struggling to step off of the gang-plank.

“Professor Kasar!” Senator Aldophus called out. “Mr Blare is about to give us the tour! Are you ready?”

Professor Kasar only grunted, struggling to keep his belongings up.

“Please, senator.” Artie could just about hear as they walked away. “If you could call me Governor, given that is my new role here on Promise Coast...”

He heard her titter as they disappeared into the crowds. He watched as the professor dropped a heavy casket on the pier, but stepped backwards, heading into the bowels of The Hunnigan's Glory. There were a few smatterings of crew members left, hoisting large barrels and sturdy crates to dismount. The stale smell of salt seeped into the old timbers of the ship. Fragments of light seeped into the old cargo hold, which creaked and rocked beneath his boots. It was mostly empty, with only a few lolling hammocks and containers left behind. The majority of the noise came from the upper deck, the ceiling squeaking above him as sailors feet stomped above. He lingered by the short set of steps , looking upwards to the bright wall of light. Drops of water fell like old memories, melded into the very being of the ship. He stepped back, turning to scan the hold, both hands on hips. He cocked an invisible hat, its long peafowl feather tickling the back of his neck. He heard a shining sabre rattle against his waist, his fine leather boots tapped gently on the wooden flesh. His coat was no longer shabby, but a luxurious red affair, emblazoned with gold.

That would be the life.

He imagined himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the strange captain of The Hunnigan's Glory. The majesty of the sea bent to his will, the world open for him to gaze upon. A queasiness festered in the pit of his belly as the motion rolled.

That would take some getting used to. Still, it beats hauling rocks around.

He stepped onto the wooden stairs, ready to head topside and help out with the last of the cargo, when a noise piqued his curiosity. A whimpering, following by a murmur, followed by an abyssal hissing sound. He gripped the banister, a cold dread spreading down his spine. He took a deep breath, decisions forming in his head. It came from below, beyond the bowels of the ship. He scanned around the empty room, and saw the closed trapdoor in the corner. He knew he shouldn't, but he was already moving towards it. As he crouched, the whimpering grew louder. There was scuffling sounds, scraping metal, and through it all, that infernal hissing sound. He held the trapdoor in both of his hands, and slowly lifted it, careful not to generate any noise. There was a slight creak to it, but whatever was below made no inclination of detection. He carefully lifted to his side, revealing another set of stairs towards abject darkness. He stole a deep breath, readying himself. He could hear hidden voices, one was in distress. The other laughed.

This is stupid.

He stepped down slowly, the steps creaking beneath him. He stopped, but the chattering continued unabated. There was a slapping sound, and the whimpering grew louder, always followed by the rasping hissing sound. On tip-toes, Artifae descended quickly, but lightly, letting the darkness envelop him. The trapdoor dropped rays of silver light, illuminating corridors lined with rows of small barrels filled with supplies and gentle layers of dust. The murmuring came from the very end of the room, hidden by the barricades of clutter. The rolling beneath his feet intensified, and he began to feel like there was only paper between himself and a watery grave. Still, his deviant curiosity overrode the nausea, and crouching towards the walls of shelves, his footsteps muffled by the sounds of squeaking wood.

“...You can do better than that, Lortz. This doesn't have to go on any longer.” A stern voice within the shadows spoke.

It was answered only by a muffled sob, which in turn, was answered by the hissing sound. Here in the room, it was much louder, and dripping with terror. Artie swallowed, sweat pooling at the back of his neck. He crept closer, beckoned by a stream of light let in by a porthole. He heard shuffling.

“One last time, Lortz, or the next question will be asked by Kielly.”

Hissssss.

“P-please...I don't know, I don't know!” A second voice rasped.

“Well, that's no good, is it Kielly?”

Hissssssssss.

“Because if he doesn't know anything, then we don't need him, do we?”

“W-w-wait!”

Artifae slowly made his way to a stacked shelf, directly in front of the two speakers. He bent down gently, peering through the gaps, holding on as the room swirled and turned.

“Mm? You got somethin' you wanna say, Lortz?” The standing figure said.

He had his back to Artifae, but he could see he was one of the Frost-Kin, those from the ancient Daemon lines. His skin was an icy blue, with two short pointed horns. He had a burst of bone coloured hair, swept back past his pointed ears. He held a thin frame, standing over six-foot, adorned in a long, black leather coat. There was a hook-shaped dagger in one hand, his other was firmly clasped around someone else's throat.

“Well?” The Frost Daemon asked.

“It-it-it's to the south...” The victim creaked.

The one being interrogated was a Dromea, one of the Saurians. They were thinner and shorter than the imposing Theropodii and most other Lizard-folk. He had a thin, fairly long neck and protruding mouth, with short quills running from the top of his head down his back. His scales were black with red patches, and his vibrant green eyes held slit-like pupils. His pointed teeth were gritted, and his body squirmed. He had simple sailor clothes on, and was bound by white rope. Rope that moved to constrict him.

“The tower, yes?”

Lortz choked under the icy grasp. The hissing grew louder, and Artie fought against a gasp.

“What do you think, Kielly?”

What he thought was rope was a snake's body, coil around the Dromea's arms. The monstrous head of a pink eyed cobra revealed itself, its forked tongue dancing on the sailor's neck.

“What did you do with the message?” The interrogator asked, bringing the hook-shaped blade to Lortz's cheek.

“Sarvi, Please...”

“Who else knows where the tower is?”

“N-n-no-one, I took the message...” He squirmed, trying to escape the fangs and the knifes-edge. “I threw it in the sea. No-one else saw it, I swear!”

“Did it say about the others?” The Daemon called Sarvi asked calmly.

“Y-yes, they're there now, by the ruins...”

“Where?”

“B-by an inlet, up the river, there's some old ruins near a mountain....a mountain of fire...”

“When did you get it?”

“A couple of days ago...ack...after the storm...please, Sarvi, I won't tell anyone about this, I promise...”

“Good.”

The snake bit into the Dromea's neck and Lortz screamed. Artie felt the shock-wave of his bellow knock him backwards. He tried to hold onto the shelf, but the spinning room hit him in the back. Small pots fell off next to him, and he cursed. Through the cracks, he saw the Frost-Kin whirl round.

“Come out now.” He ordered.

Artie remained still, only creaking wood and hissing snakes remained.

“No-one else, eh Lortz?” Sarvi asked mockingly.

“I-I-swear, It was just me!” Lortz said as he begun to weep, his shoulders sagging.

Sarvi picked up the Saurians face in-between his icy fingers.

“It was brave, I'll give ya that.” He said cruelly. “Thinking I wouldn't see the dove. I don't know what you think you would've done with the treasure there, Lortz. I really don't.”

“I..I just wanted to...help my fa...” Lortz said weakly.

Sarvi released him, cackling.

“Crooked was the path you chose there, Lortz, and brazen was the walk.”

The Dromea sank to the floor of the ship, gurgling slightly. Sarvi studied him for a moment.

“Kielly.” He said, twirling his blade.

Swiftly, the large white cobra unfurled itself, releasing Lortz who slumped to the ground.

“Whoever's there, I'd reveal yourself pretty quickly before Kielly finds you.”

Artie's heart began to hammer as the slithering came barrelling towards him. It cast its black shadow before the white body came, curling around the corner. With beady fuchsia eyes and a crooked flicker of its tongue, it stared deeply into him. Artie remained petrified, until it slowly came towards him. He bolted upright, sprinting through the labyrinth of storage towards the stairs, but the Frost-Kin was already waiting for him. Artie stopped, his hands up. The cobra slowly slithered behind him, the terrible hissing sound looming by his calves. The Frost-Kin remained still, his curved knife pointed directly towards Artifae's throat.

“Oh, hello there.” Artie said, forcing a smile.

“Who are you?” Sarvi asked.

“Oh no-one.” Artie said with a nervous chuckle. “Just here to help move the stuff topside.”

Quickly and without looking, he grabbed a jar of unidentified preserves from the shelf opposite.

“The senator wanted me to get this pickled beetroot personally.” He said, still flashing his old smile.

The Frost-Kin grinned in dark amusement.

“Did she now?” He growled.

Hisssss.

Artifae nodded enthusiastically, even as Sarvi stepped towards him, his cold fingers seizing him by the throat. The jar fell to the ground, rolling away.

“Well now you've gone and seen something you shouldn't have.”

Artie was forced to stare into the fierce white irises and furious pupils of Sarvi Natreat. His teeth were jagged and clenched.

“I-I don't know what you mean. I haven't seen anything. Nothing at all.” He said, trying his best to keep calm.

Sarvi grinned sardonically.

“No?”

“Nope, just got some beetroot, met you and your lovely lizard, uh, snake, and now I'll be going back to help on the lighthouse, unless anyone needs me for anything else.”

He flashed his final biggest smile, fighting against the fear in his eyes. Sarvi grinned wildly.

“Alright. Good. Guess you'd best get that beetroot to her then. Bet she don't like to be kept waiting.”

He released Artifae who drew in a desperate breath, the cold sense of touch still lingering on his skin. He sheathed his knife, and beckoned with a head for Artie to leave, who took no time to be indecisive, and headed for the exit.

“Wait a minute.”

His blood froze within him.

“You might want to take this.” Sarvi said, tossing the jar over to him.

Artie caught it, and without another word, headed towards the steps. His feet pounded on the wood, up through the trap-door, closing it behind him as he found it. He raced towards the gang-plank.

I've got to get the Hel off of this boat, he thought, as he collided with Captain Albahr, the jar of beetroot smashing on the deck. The captain glared at him. From behind him was a lanky, figure, another human, with a young, angular face. Their cheekbones were sharp, and their chin protruding. Their eyebrows were thin, if there at all, with pale uninterested eyes beneath them. Their auburn hair was shaved at the sides, but spiked and combed down towards the face, the style of the street-punks from Kingsport. There were several piercings in each ear with one in their lip, and their visible chest and arms under their leather vest and bracers were covered in various types of tattoos. There was a short sword tied with ribbon that hung by their loose, long denim shorts.

“Hey, thief!” First-mate Ban called out.

The captain remained silent, studying the red carnage amidst glass on the floor.

“Oh, no, no-I was asked to, I had to get this, I just went down to-” Artifae stammered.

“Who are you?” The Captain asked with his silky accent.

“A-Artifae Sajaestan, sir.”

“You are not part of my crew?” He asked, angling his brow.

“No, no, I was working on the beach-head, Sir, captain, then Mr Blare, Governor Bear, Governor Blare, sorry-”

“What are you doing with my supplies?” The Captain asked.

“I was just asked to get some Sir, sorry, captain, and I just saw, I didn't mean to, but when I went down there-”

“What? What is it?” Ban asked.

Artie swallowed hard, the fear engulfing his eyes. Captain Albahr and Ban exchanged glances, and with the faintest idea of a nod, Ban stepped forwards, gripping the hilt of their short-sword.

Oh X, why do I always have to put myself in these situations?

Quickly moving past Artie, they opened up the hatch. Silence emanated form underneath. Drawing their sword, Ban descended the steps. Dhib Albahr continued to stare at Artie, who squirmed under the scrutiny. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I, uh, suppose I should clean this up for you.” He bent down and began picking at the large shards of glass. A couple of fruit flies had already descended on the fermented vegetable.

“What did you see down there?” Captain Albahr asked coolly.

Artie threw a quick glance at the captain.

I shouldn't have come here. These are pirates, they'll all be like that.

“Nothing, captain.” He said meekly.

The captain continued to stare, until they heard the creaking of footsteps.

“Nothin' down there.” Ban said, fixing Artie with a stare.

Artie swallowed hard.

Gone? Does that mean...?

He turned to talk to the captain, but he had already spun on his heel.

“Take that glass and get off of my ship, boy.”

Ban gave him one last look of distaste as they stepped past, heading to topside. Artie breathed deeply, a melding of relief and anguish forming inside of him. With a hand-full of glass carefully nestled in his hands, he departed The Hunnigan's Glory. The evening heat clamoured to meet him. The docks were still busy, but Governor Blare and Senator Adolphus had long since left the beach-head. He scurried through the crowds, constantly looking for Daemonic faces and cruel hisses.

His efforts of seeking into relaxation proved in vain throughout the evening. There was no escape from the dread that had seeped into his skin. He sat with his back to the wall of his cabin as he ate alone, and sought no Ship-Shine or companionship. He tried to hold in his urine for as long as possible, not even daring to step away from the light of fires and the watchful eyes of the people around. He tried to stay away from the beach-head and where the crew of The Hunnigan's Glory were staying. He passed the idea of going to the captain about his ordeal with the Frost-kin, who appeared to have been acting on his own accord. At the very least, one of the crew members was seriously hurt, or worse.

Maybe pushing rocks around isn't so bad. I never should have gone on that ship.

He tried to shake the anxiety out of his head as he made his way back to his hammock. He wrapped himself up in his coat despite the rigid humidity. Every creak became a hiss, and pink eyes stared at him through creases in the ceiling. He rose with the sun, before any of the surly builders had. He gathered his coat, his plume-less hat, and the meagre amount of silver dynasties that where left from renting the hammock in the dank, overcrowded cabin. He trudged towards the coast just as the world began to awaken to bird-song. He stood before the all-consuming maw of water that sparkled under golden sun. Beyond it, perhaps as far as it would go, was home. His parents, all of his siblings, Quinny and Khol. That was all he knew, and for the first time since he arrived here, he missed it.

I came here for a reason though.

By the docks, The Hunnigan's Glory swayed in the gentle morning waves. Its sails were rolled up tight, and many of its wounds had been patched up, though it remained patchy and hobbled. He gathered breath in his lungs, and let it out in a sharp burst.

Maybe it is time to be brazen, he thought, as he strode towards the ship on his crooked path.