"We still do have that shipment of iron and goods you got from Tobaro," Morgan commented, the quartermaster reminding them they still had a fair way of getting cash. Markus looked at Emmaline, who looked away guiltily so as her wave of blonde hair fell before her eyes to hide her. 

"You know as well as I do that one flimsy promise of money leads to a mutiny the second it fails." Markus reminded him, turning back to the old seadog. "Besides, there's no telling what the Duke might think of us at this moment. We can transport the goods, but there is a chance they'll try to arrest us once we make our destination." 

Morgan raised his hands and shrugged, sighing. "Well then, what do you suggest lad?" 

Emmaline raised a hand, and the two regarded her. "Uhm...I have an idea?"
[hr] 

The City of Corsairs was a spectacular sight from the railing of the ship. The spires reached the sky, towering with majesty as if they were carved by the hands of giants. The sun gleamed golden in the expansive blue sky that reached as far as the eye could see, and even the colors, sounds, and smell of the place came to opulent life as they had drifted closer. No crewmember of the Hammer wasn't breathless from the spectacle, whether or not they had seen it before in a past life. Markus had only been to an Arabyan port once, and it was for just a day. The closest he had ever gone to a true desert was a foray into the badlands during his mercenary days.  

It was a strange experience to the crew when they had stepped off and saw the city close up. The colors were there, but most were on cheap and gaudy goods men would lie to their teeth to you about. The spires were there, but that was only in a small area of the vast shantytown of a city teeming with the poor and destitute. The sun beat down mercilessly on any that were not in direct contact with a coastal breeze. Thankfully, the crewmen weren't picky, and they knew something about making a living in the slums. Each member of the crew save Halfdan and Morgan had readily embarked on a journey of debauchery, to squeeze Lashiek dry of whatever pleasures and money they could find. 

Markus and Emmaline found themselves in a less than safe area, having passed alleyway through alleyway, descending down stairs into a slum of blackmarket trading and illicit activities that even the city proper would turn their nose at. Markus wore his normal attire, though he had taken a windswept cloak he could wrap about his face if any sand billowed from below. Now they just needed to find the right man with the correct information in this den of theives.