At the entrance of the Inn at the Edge of the World, stood a tall, dark man with dreadlocks, enjoying the view of the orange haze above the horizon. Evening had fallen upon Bastion, which in turn all the 'real' shops opened at this time. Despite his excitement for the evenings plan, Len couldn't help but gaze at the sunset, it's orange haze lighting up the sky as if lit by fire, yet the haze was so crisp and clear. The sun, like a large, grandeur orange fireball in the distance was partially cloaked by the hanging clouds, which were all splashed with the random colors of hot pinks, reds and even hints of purples and blues. The sun was so large that he felt he could almost touch it. It seemed to look at him with a dull glare, knowing that it's beauty and the planet's dependence on it for survival made up for it.

Len sighed, he always enjoyed these moments, studying and gazing at the beauty of the world around them, looking past the ugly. He had stayed at the Inn for about 2 months, waiting for 'Navy heat' to cool down before he started climbing Jacob's Ladders again. In the mean time, Len would take the time to enjoy what land had to offer. He had planned to visit the old Naughty Nymph, despite the fact that it went against one of his principles to avoid engaging in sexual acts with 'sullied woman'. He didn't mean it as an insult, it was the path that the woman had chosen, some even had no choice, he pitted there situation. Despite that, a that man stayed at sea for months on end with men needs a way to release their 'lust' without any strings attached.

Len made his way over the the Naughty Nymph, slipping through the dissipating crowd of workers heading home for the evening. He eventually made it to the whore house, which was just opening up for the night, even from where he stood he could see all the women inside, he was going to enjoy his evening.

Or so he thought.

The Hound came up behind Len, strangely quiet for his hulking form, and quickly wrapped his arms around Len, giving him an unwanted bear hug, and tossed him bodily into an alley between a couple small shops, straight into a barrel.

“The money, lad.” said the Hound in a rugged voice that sounded like boulders crashing together.He balled up his fists ready for a fight.

Len quickly got up disentangling himself from a broken barrel and sized the Hound up. Big. Len thought, really damn big. Len studied the ugly network of burn scars on the Hounds face and came to an obvious conclusion, this one was a fighter. The Hound waiting for Len's decision was getting impatient. Most people he mugged just gave up the money without a fight. This one won't. thought the Hound, it brought a smile to his face. He hadn't had a good fight in days.

“Come on lad, the money!” growled the hound.

“Funny.” replied Len calmly.

The hound didn't bother to argue and reason with Len, he took a step forward and lunged at Len. The Hound was too slow, Len caught the Hounds head with his fist. The Hound didn't let up, as though he didn't feel the blow. Len was hit in the ribs, the force nearly knocking the wind from him. Len underestimated the Hounds speed, but he wasn’t that fast. Len backed off a few feet and looked for an opening. The Hound obliged him with a rush, to tackle Len to the ground, it was perfect. Len threw a knee up at the same moment the Hound's head crossed its path. Len could feel the jaw dislocate under his knee. The Hound was knocked to the ground but was already regaining his feet.

“Damn” said the Hound laughing “You fight like a demon lad.”

“What?” said Len, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.

“Your alr-” the hound paused rubbing his jaw and pushing it back into place with an audible crack. “That’s better, your alright. Let me buy you an ale”

Len stood in stunned silence for a moment, which allowed the Hound to throw an arm over Len's shoulder in a friendly way. “The Inn at the end of the world, best ale in town!"

Len took a step back, pushing the Hound's shoulder off of him. He half expected the Hound to attack him again, on the other hand he could always try to hornswagle in some other way. "Avast, I didn't come here to eat Salmagundi, I came here for women." Len said with a frown, despite his plans, Len wasn't one to refuse a free drink. Their went his 'modest' plans for the evening. "But I'm sure ye heart be filled with pain for acting like such a picaroon, that you won't be able to walk the earth, without buying me a black jack full of Arrack." Len said, throwing his head back in a laugh before walking back towards the Inn. Women were on thing, but a free drink was in a different category.

The Hound followed Len listening to him and begins to laugh. “My heart ain't filled with nothin' but Ale, and I dunno what a.. pic'ron is, im buying you an ale 'cos you's a good sport. Maybe Rum if yer good comp'ny.” Len simply laughed at him, enjoying the man's company despite the incident that transpired a few seconds ago. “They call me the Hound.” The an said simply.

Len raised an eye brow at the Hound. “Hound huh? I'm Thunder's Augustus”

The Hound laughed once again “Alright Thunder's, pleased to meet ya”

After a few minutes the pair entered the Inn at the End of the World, quickly finding their seats before the Hound shouted at the bar maid. “Ale love! Two!” After a few moments the girl brings over two cups of ale, causing Len to politely reconsider his new acquaintance's choice for him. “Avast, actually ill be taking some Arrack.” which got a chuckle out of the Hound. “Fine, more for me” he said as be lifted the first cup to his mouth and drained the cups contents in one go.



(ignore the Armor)

A tall man stood at the South Village docks, surveying the horizon under the wide brim of his hat. The boarding axe attached to his belt swayed in the breeze, being only secured on by a loop of golden thread, stolen from one of his voyages. Also swaying about were the various decorations attached to his waistcoat and gloves, along with his multiple belts fastened around his waist and chest. One would wonder how the man was not cold, standing there in the moonlight, with only a thin shirt and baggy, flared pants. That man was William Hayden Barclay, known by most as Weasel Savage, veteran pirate and man of the sea, now turned mercenary. The smallest belt that hung around his shoulder, with a cuboid leather bag attached to it, held his book of targets. All of the names had already been checked off, and he was on his way to the Inn at the Edge of the World to get a drink, before heading to the Naughty Nymph - he had business there and was requested to be in the cellar at sundown. He took one deep breath in, before setting off with casual paces towards the Inn.

Once he had arrived at the Inn, he sat down at a table near the entrance, casually flicking through his book as he waited for his usual. He was no stranger to the bar maid, so all he needed to do was signal and she'd get to work on a whiskey. His book clapped shut as the mug was set down on the table, and he grabbed it by the handle, downing it in one. He left the mug, nodding to the maid. She came over, lifting it up and taking the gold coins underneath, stuffing it down the top part of her dress. Then, she went on her usual course, traversing around all the tables and picking up empty mugs, taking any tips that came her way.

William walked towards the Naughty Nymph, pushing past the drunkards and various other people that were out at this time of night. A couple women fluttered their fans at him, and he bowed to them, causing squeals of joy and cries of "he looked at me!". A gruff man stopped him as he headed for the cellar, and Savage slapped some coins down in his hand, before the man stepped aside and allowed him to continue. He jogged down the stairs, and walked over to the corner of the cellar, sitting down at a desk and laying his book open on it. He examined all the other people down there, putting his legs up and waiting for his first customer.

Hiram of York stumbled through Bastion, comparing landmarks, streets, and the increasing number of inns, taverns, and shops with his map- apparently outdated, too. Or perhaps just written by a really bad mapmaker- he was already hopelessly lost. He rolled the parchment back up, and slid it home into its case, and pocketing it again. He rubbed his temples; three days, already, had he been looking for the appropriate places for his research, and the locals aren't very welcoming of outsiders, unless they offered money.

So he looked about and laid eyes on a pair of relatively decent gentlemen- by that, he meant that their clothes were dirty, not tattered and ratty, and their teeth were... somewhat white, with hair that had been cut in the past six months, rather than two years. So he approached, slipped several silver coins into his palms, and said, "Ho, local, might I ask where a good place to find decent drink and local news and information?' The first of the two men eyed him; at first, they may mistake him for prey, based on his speech and what it generally meant- a richie out of his guard and land. But then he took in the clothing he wore, and the sword at his hip, and apparently decided against it, because he said, "Aye, 'at ah do, young'un, but my purse be a tad bit lonely no'wa'days, see?"

Hiram nodded agreeable, smiling under his hood as he shook hands with the gentleman- and he immediately wished he hadn't, since Thyrum knows what ungodly grime was deposited on his hand. Nevertheless, money changed hands and the man said, "Ah, roight, ye, ye. Head on straight, hang'un left, there be a good place for all yer, ah, wide-spread lootin' needs, ya see?"

Hiram gave the man that same smile, nodded his thanks and turned down the street. On his way, he passed several carts and a couple soldiers chasing after a rather drunken-looking man, shouting about a jar of dirt, but nonetheless outrunning the soldiers, who were panting and huffing in their uniforms. The Scholar shrugged, and took the turn as said, peering down into the dimmer, darker roadway. Almost immediately upon entering, he was nearly shoved over; a kid scrambled back from his fall, and started to dart away. Hiram's hand shot out, grabbing the boy by the collar, and dragged him toward him. Almost immediately, the kid twisted, tossed the stolen Doubloon onto the ground, and escaped into the crowd. Hiram swooped down on his money, eyeing the nearby pirates [who were eyeing him back], and then swept onwards.

Hiram pushed open the door to the... tavern, and stood up to the doorframe. He paused for a moment, outlined in the doorway by the dark gloomy lighting of the dirtier, less civilized street to the tavern's even d darker, if cozier, firelight. Then he stepped inside and let the door fall back into place. Wary eyes took in the residents, and he cursed under his breath. This was not where he wanted to be.

There was little time off at The Naughty Nymph, of course you could take a break whenever you wanted, but if you wanted to eat you worked. Most women here never left the place, as there was always someone to comfort and fill their mugs with rum, ale or whatever else they happened to be drinking.

Jackie barely left herself, but on occasion she would leave out the back. This was so she could remain sane, as at times things seemed to be repetitive. Also she came out back to freshen up at the water pump, she wanted to look fresh as it seemed the men would pay more for a "clean" young wench. That was what she was currently doing as she had just finished with a customer and she wanted to clean up a bit before going back into the stuffy building.

"Jack! Would ya 'ery up lass! Ya got men awaiten needin drinks and yer fine bosom!" Called one of the older women from one of the windows that over looked the back of the building.
"Coming!" She yelled as she dried her face and hands on the tattered apron that hung on the front of her dress.

She walked into the back kitchen/store room of the building and took note of the greasy cook who was drinking a bottle of rum while stirring a large pot of stew. The older man didn't notice her, but she wasn't surprised as he was constantly drunk. She was surprised that he could cook let alone not fall into the fireplace. But she didn't waste too much time in the back.

She quickly grabbed some rum and mugs and walked out into the large dark room that was full of drunken men. Most had women on their laps, which meant that she was going to have to do a lot of the rum serving tonight. Which was okay, but she wouldn't be able to make much, as she made more lying on her back than serving drinks. "Girl! Rum!" Called some sea weathered man who was holding up his mug. She quickly made her way over and filled the man's mug and gave a flirtatious smile, but the man wasn't interested.

Just then she heard the door open, she looked to see a man who looked a little lost. Smirking she walked over to the stranger. "'Ello darling, ya look lost can I offer ya a drink until ya gather ya wits?" She asked with a sweet smile as she gestured to a table not too far from the door. She looked innocent and sweet which usually made new comers feel comfortable when in this shady place.

Hiram stared at the very pretty young lady in front of him, just a tad bit shocked, really. She looked so sweet, so innocent, so pretty, as if she were still untouched by the horrors of the world... but if she worked here, he knew very well what she did instead. But he needed information, and he might as well see if she knew anything about everything in Bastion. So he said, "I am lost, yes, but if I'm to have a drink..." He paused for a moment, before deciding, "I'll have water. Boiled water, mind you. I need information for my research about Bastion and the surrounding communities, and if you can provide some, I can pay you. All you need to do is boil some clean water and have a chat." He made extra sure to keep his face hooded; he didn't want anyone knowing of his presence here. It would have been low of him to come here knowingly- it was no place for a man of his birth.

She could tell by the way he looked at her, that he was a little surprised that someone like her would be working in a place like this. But then she got those looks quite often and was rather use to them. Though she did appreciate it, as it let her know that she hadn't lost her looks like some of the women in the place. But drunk men don't care what you look like just so long as you fill their mugs and spread your legs.

Boiled water? Jackie couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the man. "Oh deary, I tink it would be bettar if ya drank the rum. But I'll do as ye asks, be back in a few darling." She said as she turned and walked to the back. She quickly grabbed a pot and went to the pump and filled it with water before going back in and placing one of the hooks that swung over the fire.

As she waited for the water to boil two young boys came in from the back. They would be serving drinks and some food now that the girls would be busy with the men. "Hia Jack! Busy yet?" The oldest boy asked as he grabbed an apron. He was a nice young man, no older than thirteen but had more heart than anyone she knew. It was a pity that he wasn't born to a wealthy family. "Aye, it's pickin up. Bettar 'erry, don't want you two getting the strap." She said as she watched the boys quickly grabbed a tray and went out to the front.

"Eh! Who put this pot of 'lear stuff on me fire?!" The old greasy cook yelled. He looked completely bewildered by the fact that there was something other than stew and his laundry on the fire. Jackie rolled her eyes, the big lout was standing right there when she placed the pot over the fire. He must be really drunk to not have noticed or he was a simpleton. "It's water you greasy dog, a man up front wants it." She as she went to take the pot off the hook. "What he want water for? Da rum is safe'r." He said as he took a swig from the bottle he was holding as if to make a point. Again she rolled her eyes and just ignored the man as she poured the hot water into a pitcher before heading out to the front again.

Jackie couldn't help but smile as she noticed how the man she was serving tried to keep others from noticing him. She placed the a mug infront of the man and poured him the water. "Now deary, how can Miss Marie help ya?" She asked as she sat across from him still smiling sweetly.

Hiram frowned at her, almost glaring, as she tried to be... nice'n'sweet. "Quit that smiling. I've seen too many smiles to know when one's real or is fake, and the only reason you're smiling is because I might pay for 'services'-" his lip curls at the word, obviously in distaste and disgust- "And therefore earn you more money. Had you been born where I was, you coulda been paid triple, I bet, of what you are now for less than half the time you spend doing your... job. You woulda been in better conditions too. However interesting the culture might be, the majority of places these days tend to be... like this." He gestured vaguely around him.

Then he raised and brought down his hand, a small thump being made, as if to force himself to remember his purpose. "Serve my purposes well enough- and I mean for information by conversation, not your usual purpose- and you'll get paid very well. That is, I'm researching the culture. Now, you look like a smart pretty lady, so why don't you tell me all you can think of about this here city, its inhabitants, their traditions and greetings, their general moods and the relationships between major families, parties, clans, etcetera, and I'll give you a doubloon if I think you answered all my questions well enough. If I have questions, I'll ask them to fill in the blanks. If your knowledge is not entirely sufficient for my purposes, I'll still pay but not nearly so much. Understood? And again- wipe that smile off your face. Give me a real smile or none at all."

He leaned back in his rickety chair, grabbing the more solid table in alarm as he felt as if it would break, and slowly released as he realized that it didn't- accompanied by a few choice, foreign curses, of course, muttered under his breath in an equally foreign language, before taking the cup of boiled water, dropping a small white object into it, and then drinking it several moments later- the round, white object already disappeared. Like hell, he'd trust a place like this to have actual, clean water. And like hell, he'd trust a place like this not to poison him with its ale and grog.

Jackie was use to rudeness as all men were rude and thought themselves better than all the women here. But this one, was something different as she got the feeling that he thought himself better than everyone in the room. But she didn't let his attitude dampen her spirits, though she did change her smile to a smirk when he offered her a doubloon. Many men had offered her such payment but never made good, so she wasn't going to hold her breath.

She leaned forward and placed her elbow on the table and gently rested her chin on her hand. "Darling kindness can be contagious and that was all me smile was. But I will respect ye wishes if ye wish me not to smile." She said, though there was no anger or disrespect in her tone. It was simply fact. "Ye wish to know about Bastion? Well, darling you should be knowing that it's a sea town with much sea dogs about. These men and most locals have trouble with the guard, tension rises wit each hang'un. As fer greetins, the poor don't take kindly to strangers but friends it's customary to embrace." She said almost bored like, but she smiled and leaned a little bit more forward. "But if ye really want to know something, those highar up don't like comin down to places like dis, but they do send their men down to a grab one of us. Usually me....." She said coolly letting her accent come through, she would let his mind come with reasons why they (nobles) would want her over the other women. She leaned back a little before continuing. "Naval Officers too like to come and have a tumble, or they simply corner ya on the streets until ye give them what they want.... Truth is sir, poor is poor anywhere ye go. Don't matter if me came from a place like you's, I would still be considered low." She said as she looked down at her hands, she really wasn't sure if this was what the man wanted to hear. But he wished to know how the people of this city interacted and she was giving her view, she really doubted that he ever talked to anyone like her or anyone just as poor as her.

"I tries to just get by, but those highar up like to make tings harder for those like me. They tink it's fun beaten on us....... Truth be told darling, ye don't want to be 'ere. Ye don't like to associate with people like us, ye should of gone to the Inn at the Edge of the World. They at least have bettar company and ale." She said as her eyes went from bright to sad. She wasn't what he wanted, neither for talking to or for carnal pleasures. He made that painfully clear, though he had no idea what it was like to starve and slowly die. It was either that or sell herself, and people do whatever it takes to survive it was their nature.

Hiram scowled under his cowl, before muttering, "Keikia mano minkštą sielai..." (Curses to my soft soul) He set his flagon of boiled water down, and fipped his cowl back, studying her on equal ground, rather than hiding his face. "I won't lie, miss, you aren't wrong. However, I need someone to guide me around town without any trickery, and you've been the most honest person in this rathole since I got here two days ago. And, I'm getting to know too much. I need an assistant or guide, at least while I'm in town. And, if you cover yourself in a cloak so no one sees who you are, you can actually be important for a short little while." He leans a little closer to her, saying, "I can pay your boss or whoever enough to let you go for a while. And for a while, you can be someone who actually matters, rather than a stress reliever. How 'bout that?"

Then he muttered under his breath, as he leaned back, "Skaisti šviesa, padėk man, mano padėtį." (Shining Light (His religion's primary God), help me in my plight)

Jackie bit her lip as she listened to the mans offer. It would be nice to be important even if it was for a short while. She knew why he was her to wear a cloak, as some (if not all) men knew who she was. He didn't want to lose face, but again she was use to that as she had nobles do the same. "Fine, but you are goina have to pay Slayer. He sits by the door that leads to the cellar. Just don't use ye fancy words on 'im or else he may think you's a Naval guard and cut you down no questions asked." She said as the smallest of smiles played on her lips.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then relaxed, deciding something that she could only wonder what it was.

Hiram pushed his chair back, nearly toppling himself in the process, before regaining balance and standing upright. the entire time, he was muttering again, "Niekšiškas kėdė, ir tai šūdas skylė." Then he weaved between the tables and chairs with a fighter's grace, ignoring the women and their... clients with a diplomat's poker face. As he approached the rugged, dirty man slumped in a rather large, somewhat better chair at the back of the room, he couldn't resist the impulse to rest his right hand on his sword- a clear warning to anyone that he was ready to defend himself.

But he didn't attack; the large man had shifted so he was more upright, speaking with a deep, rumbling voice: "What ye quarrel, strangah?"

Hiram replied, "No quarrel, just a... request. A ducat for that lady that I was speaking with-" The man was already rumbling with laughter. "E'ry'un a'ways wan 'er. A right gol' mine, she is." Hiram waved his hand as if batting the words away, and said, "Nay, I was misled and came here against my wishes. However, I need a guide through this... city, and for business that concerns neither you or your kind, nor the Guard. However, that doesn't mean you can't profit. A ducat, so I have an escort throughout the day. She'll be back by tomorrow evening unharmed, guaranteed."

The large man- Slayer, Hiram recalled- regarded him warily. Hiram understood- he was offering a rather large price to borrow his best money-maker, without very much reassurance. "'Ow 'bout no-" But already, as Slayer refused, Hiram interrupted, "Why don't we take this into the cellar? I have a much better offer, if you won't accept that one." The man glanced at him uncertainly, becoming more unnerved by the strange, well-spoken man who has a foreign accent and weapon, walking like no one did. But nonetheless, the man grumbled and got up, revealing that he was much taller than Hiram expected, and they disappeared into the cellar.

--+~+--

Ten minutes later, Hiram emerged, followed closely by Slayer, who was grinning widely, as if he just made a magnificent deal. Hiram was tucking a rolled-up parchment into a small, leather tube, of obvious quality, which was engraved with foreign letters and words. He slipped it into his clothing, and walked back towards the lady he had just gotten the services of. Stopping at the table, looking down at her, he took off his cloak and dropped it in her lap. "Come on, we don't have all day."

Jackie was unsure if Slayer would let her go as he didn't like having his best whore too far. He even had special prices for nobles that wanted her. She wasn't sure what those prices were as she rarely saw a cent of any of it. She could see that Slayer was waving the man off, but it seemed that the stranger was using some special words as they both went to the cellar. She simply sat at the table and watched as some of the other women seduced the men, though it didn't take much.

After about ten minutes she heard the man telling her to go. She looked over at Slayer and noticed how he looked like he got the best deal in the world. She lifted an eyebrow as she looked up at the stranger. She had to wondered what he did to get him to let her go.

Standing she threw on the cloak and flipped the hood up. "Ye mean evening..... If I's to travel wit you's, may I have ye name? I be willing to give you mine. Jackie Marie Smith, but ye may call me whateva ye wish." She said as she lead him out of the Naughty Nymph and into the darkening streets of Bastion. "Keep close, don't 'ant to lose you's to the rift raft 'round 'ere." She said as she smiled slightly at him, trying to be polite while leading him to the Inn at the Edge of the World.

"Hiram the Practical, of York. If you know the name- and it's unlikely that you will- then you will know its reputation. If you do not know the name, I'd advise against asking about them. Questions about York lead to bloody ends. And before you go ahead with it- I already know your name. Your boss gave it to me." He followed her down the streets of the dirty, smelly, shitty city, and he rather regretted his decision to come here. He had already been to dozens of places, but even the worse ones were at least small and rundown. This just seems to thrive in its own filth, like a ill pig rolling its own dung, enjoying itself until it can run free and eat more disgusting slop.

And when they finally reached the Inn that she was guiding him to, he only said, "You're still with me, Jayum, so don't go running back to your ol' place." He stepped in front of her, before she could open the door, neatly sidestepping any patrons or other people nearby, completely ignoring them except to scan for weapons or hostile intent, and quickly stepped into the Inn, expecting Jack Marie- or as he now called her, Jayum {Based on her initials, really}, to follow.

On his way, he passed several carts and a couple soldiers chasing after a rather drunken-looking man, shouting about a jar of dirt, but nonetheless outrunning the soldiers, who were panting and huffing in their uniforms.

((You, my friend, have just made the best reference ever.))

A young woman with a mask that covered most of her face dashed down the middle of the road, avoiding being hit by a horse and a cart or two, before ducking into a dead end alley, hiding from the soldiers that had been on her trail. She grinned as she lifted the heavy purse from beneath her long jacket and inspected the contents. The family jewels of a pompous nobleman sparkled dimly in the weak light that the alley afforded her. She peeked out from her hiding pace, senses straining for any sign of the soldiers. Nothing.

"Filthy bilgerats," she whispered breathlessly. "Can no' even tell when they've been played for fools. Especially if they've been played by the fairer sex." She chuckled to herself as she took off her mask and placed it in the bag with the jewels, took her hair down and fluffed it out, pinching her cheeks and chewing on her lips to make it look like she was just another young lass going out for a night on the town. If you could really call it that. She cautiously walked out, then settled into a stride that spoke of confidence, and she let the saber hanging from her belt show-a warning to anyone who might think to try and handle her roughly.

Alice Stonewall made her way to the Bent Dagger weapon smith, and left half of the jewels for the head blacksmith. The rest she was saving so she could buy a dog. She'd prefer that it be a pup instead of a full grown, but she would take whatever she could find. She hummed to herself as she then placed her mask upon her face once more-she didn't want to risk being recognized-and made her way to the Inn at the Edge of the World for a drink. After a full day of delivering the commission slips to the weapon smith and stealing small trifles from nobles and well of people, she was ready to relax.

She was nearly to the door when a man and a woman stepped neatly in front of her, irking her.

"Step aside, lad," she said irritably, pushing past. "Ye're blocking the doorway." Her black and bronze mask flashed in the light, framing her brown eyes, highlighting the gold flecks.

The surge of humidity that reached boiling point during day has seeped over into the evening, threatening to suffocate the citizens of Bastion. Packed are the narrow city streets with desprate sweaty bodies. Many beeline for the nearest Tavern, aching for a cool drink. Others spill out of open doors and pool around the threshold finding it too hot in already crowded establishments. Stumbling along towards the Inn at the Edge of the World is a young foreigner by the name of Charles Dunn.

Dunn rode in with a caravan of vagabonds. Upon request, the young traveller was led to an unpeopled cart brimming with cargo. He peered in anxiously and found no people. He also found there were no seats. Just a thick rug that ran from wall to wall. As the caravan set off, Charles settled himself in a far corner and began to doze. When he woke, he found the cart now held passengers among the miscellany. Clutching his belongings protectively he eyed the strangers accusingly, judging them for crimes they have yet to commit.

As they neared the city, one passenger began to tell tales of their time in Bastion. They spoke at length about the hubs and taverns that were frequented by some of the greatest Captains to ever sail the seas. Charles gathered that these 'Captains' were not the kind one might find within the ranks of the Royal Guard. Taking a steadying breath, Charles inquired where these hubs might be found. The man sized him up through narrowed eyes.

"Why? Be ye interested wit' th' affairs 'o th' lawless?"He asked in a voice of steel.

Charles froze. He'd assumed that question would be quite harmless. The other travelers did seem like the kind to partake in illicit activities. He felt his mouth open and close twice but only heard a small squeak on his part. This resulted in uproarious laughter from his fellow passengers.

"He's a shivery one, innit? Like a wee rabbit, this one is." The man said through disjointed chuckles.

Charles tried to seem put out by this response, but snickered despite himself. The man knotted a folded scarf around his own head so that it pushed his unruly black hair away from his face before settling against his belognings. For the first time Charles could really study the strangers features. Rich brown skin and a group of shallow scars along one side of his face. This strange storyteller couldn't be much older than himself. The storyteller lit his pipe and took a long drag.

"If it's pirates ye want, then just head to th' Edge of th' world" Smoke curled towards his lips as he spoke. Flowing out to surround his face like a hypnotic shroud. Flustered, Charles averted his gaze before speaking again.

"How will I know that I have found the right place? Should I look for you?" His new friend snorted dismissively, but Charles could tell he was the slightest bit flattered. "You seem like a decent fellow is all. I would like to know there is at least one familiar face I can look out for." His voice was soft and even despite his nerves.

The starnger seemed ready to respond when the Caravan came to a halt. The doors were thrust open and all passeners for Bastion were told to exit now. The storyteller seemed to mull it over as they all gathered their belongings. Once everyone had exited onto the busy cobbled street, he settled a hat atop his head and motioned for Charles to follow.

"What's yer name, Rabbit?" He asked, speaking around his pipe. Charles found his pace hard to match what with the packed streets, uneven cobblestones and a heavy bag.

"Ch-Charles. Charles Dunn."

"Well Chuckie, when ya get to the end of the world, just ask for Mr. Cask. You'll be taken care of."

With that he flashed a devilish grin and rounded a corner. Charles stopped abruptly to search for him among the crowd but the storyteller was gone.

~

That was this morning. By now the lad was horribly tired and his memory of the storyteller's instructions was foggy. He asked around desperately but many disregarded his plea of 'Where is the end of the world?' as the cries of a madman. Some street urchins swindled Charles out of most of his funds and belongings before giving him the (incorrect) directions. Finally an older fellow took pity on him and offered directions to an Inn that had a similar name. The journey left him with the clothes on his back and one piece of eight. Forlorn and hungry, he swallowed back any lingering fear and walked right into the Inn at the Edge of the World.

clink clink clink

Yamuna tapped a bony finger against the rim of her cup, the heavy gold ring wrapped around it rapping against the glass and ringing out, small but sharp, against the humming din of the inn. Within the confines of her corner, lit sparsely by the single candle laden on the table taken by her, Yamuna released a thin considering hum, leaning back in her seat and bringing the glass up beneath the beaded veils of her mask and to her lips.

The day had been tiresome, listless hours under the sun and dull drivel at the markets, but at least the gin was sweet.

Content to savour the drink, Yamuna turned the sharp yellow of her eyes to the spread of the Edge of the World. The fare was standard tonight it seemed. Wayward youths eager for a taste of the sea dancing around the ankles of seasoned vagabonds either too tired or penniless to enjoy the lusher company of the ladies at the Naughty Nymph, instead stopped here for the evening for a tankard and an easy but firm welcome under Ms. Moore.

A short spell ago two men, a dark man and a giant, had entered the inn and taken residence some tables over, Yamuna had noticed, but they had buried themselves in their ale and talk and she had not thought of them any further.

Beneath the decadent weight of her mask, Yamunas lips twisted into a thin, disappointed frown. She set the now empty glass on the table with a soft thump and instead tapped her fingers idly on the tabletop, her body, draped in her fine intricately-decorated heavy woolen coat, shrugged further backwards into her chair. Her eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, and annoyance would be evident in her features if they weren't so veiled currently.

Yamuna thought back again to several days before when, having been taking a leisurely stroll through the fish markets, draped in her coat and golden veil, she had noticed a stallholder, a seamless and make-do seller, point her out within the crowd at the urging of the two uniformed men at his shop. Quick to act and as trusting in her instincts as she was, Yamuna had easily flighted from the crowded market, and had kept well away from the area since. No trouble had come calling for her in the days since but that didn't necessarily mean she was in the clear.

Bastion was supposed to be the place where she could become lost amongst the rest of the salty crooks, the isle so dense with sin that it would only take a villain of infamy to really stand out from the rest. For a brief second she allowed herself to be flattered with the possibility that her misdeeds could have brought her such renown, before dismissing the notion with the rising distaste in her mouth.

Six weeks she had been in Bastion and her scent was still catching, it was in no way a good thing. At the back of her mind she wondered if spiriting away those five barrels of spices and that chest of jewels had been worth it. When her legs moved to fold over one another beneath the table, Yamuna felt again the heavy weight of her purse at her belt and knew that she didn't regret it at all. She allowed a smirk to play across her lips, short-lived for it soon melted into a thin line of concern, matched with a furrowed brow of deep thought.

I should really move on...there's only so much they can do on the seas Yamuna mused to herself, tsking quietly in annoyance. Her fingers ceased in their tapping on the tabletop and instead seizing up her empty glass. Wordlessly she raised her chin and her free hand and motioned pointedly towards the bar.

Settling back in her seat again, Yamuna watched as one of Ms. Moores girls hurried around the bar, a white clay jug in her hands, and made for her table, darting neatly around a tired freckled youth that had just entered the inn.

If nothing else I might as well get a little in my cups this evening Yamuna decided as she nimbly lifted up her glass to be refilled.

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