Greeted with the jetties of Wortgott's docks, a ship with fresh and blank canvas sails arrived at the port, and Darxin was curious—it was of typical Dayaman design, but it was an outcast among the old, seasoned trade ships he was used to seeing in the harbor. He always admired their shipbuilding style, with the long, narrow bows and tall rising nests, the wide sails catching swift ocean winds, and the blunt front end splitting the waves. Soon the crew would encounter the man running the show at the bay, a square-faced, smiling gentleman, not someone Darxin was unfamiliar with.
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That man was Mister Edwin Tubigan, whose trademark smile couldn't be forgotten by visitors to Wortgott's shores. Appointed by the mayor, Tubigan ran up and down the docks daily, him making notes meticulously on all departures and arrivals, expected and unexpected, travelers and merchants. These notes he kept in an office with copies made for the city's records. Maybe every now and then he asked too many questions, but he was a gentle person in particular, despite his gruff and beefy appearance. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a tight vest over slacks, pocket-watch emblazoned with the city seal and an anchor and water in the background, and this day in particular the wind tossed his well-kept, short salt-and-pepper hair combed over intentionally to the right. He squinted his soft brown eyes in the sunlight, his square jaw set as he held his hand over his eyes, watching the undocumented ship come in. No doubt a traveler, and an inexperienced one at that, given some bad sailing skills that needed a little bit of work. Black, leather fishing boots making a great deal of noise against the wood, Edwin strode up the docks to the ship preparing to anchor itself in, him standing where he anticipated its arrival.