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Nils stood at the edge of the Tenio docks, his boots propped up on a battered crate, arms crossed as he watched [i]the Maiden's Lullaby[/i] pull away from the pier. [i]Bastards[/i], he thought. He should've been on that ship... Hell — he was on that ship, until Captain Riley lost his patience; or as Nils would've put it, gave up on his ambitions. [i]All because the good captain didn’t like him suggesting they actually do something other than smuggling crates of rum[/i]. Had they not already been docked in the port town, Riley might well've had Nils tossed overboard. Luckily for Nils, he was marooned in one of the most pleasant corners of the know world: Sun-kissed Xaegosti; where beautiful women, delightful food, and breathtaking, ancient architecture were all abundant. Though for the past few days he'd licked his wounds by playing the tourist for a little while, he couldn't help but get hot under the collar as he watched his best chance at finding the hoard drift away. Worst of all, they knew nearly everything he did, [i]and he didn't have a boat[/i], so the idea of them using all of his hard work, and him not getting a single silver coin to his name, was a possibility he couldn't bare the though of. He quickly sobered from the thought, smirking as he wondered how long it would be before Captain Riley realise his coin-purse was full of Xaegosti beach pebbles, and not two-months of pay. Hopefully, it'd be long enough for Nils to find his way off the island.

Nils and Riley been on the hunt for Cazaban's treasure for close to two years now. Sure, they hadn't gotten remotely close, but things were slowly piecing together. Day by day, Nils' confidence had redoubled. He'd find Cazaban's hoard, and he'd become the most respected and wealthy adventurer from Skaldvarr to Elqirza. That'd been the ultimate goal ever since he'd stepped board on a ship nine years ago, at the tender age of sixteen. [i]The Maiden's Lullaby[/i] hadn't been the first, second, or third ship he'd pursued his aspiration from; nor was it the first that'd left him on a foreign island without as much as a good-bye. He'd worked many a job on many a ship, with his dreams of finding the hoard always superceding any other responsibility, which was seldom appreciated by his captains. He'd been a deckhand, a navigator, even once a chef (though that particular tenure ended very quickly due to a ship-wide case of food poisoning). He always ended up on his feet in the end — he had a way of talking himself out of trouble. 

Nils sighed. The process would have to start again. No matter how many times he'd been knocked down, his tunnel vision had never deviated. Cazaban. The name lingered in his mind like a ghost; whispered among thieves, sung by troubadors in taverns, but no one ever knew what had become of the treasure the infamous vampire lord left behind. Untold riches, they said. Enough to buy kingdoms. Enough to settle scores. Nils had his own reasons, beyond just that of wealth, to take an interest in the matter — personal reasons. But, hell, the coin was damn good incentive on its own.

It'd been nearly twenty years now since Cazaban had came to his end; the legendary vampire-prince who'd brought every major power in the region to their knees. Not only had he cultivated an empire of brigands and swashbucklers, but he'd otherthrown the island realm of Morgorad, declaring himself its ruler. For all intents and purposes, he'd been the most powerful man in the world. Until Cazaban, the Khoralis Basin had been an untamed body of water, like it was now; a huge inland sea that was perfectly equidistant between a handful of empires and kingdoms, the most important region for trade in the entire world. Cazaban hadn't sought to crush trade between nations, but to control it, and he made damn sure he had a slice of every single proverbial pie that passed through his waters. He ruled through fear and intimidation, treating those who failed to conform to his rules with complete, unabridged ruthlessness. During his reign, he'd been responsible for death of tens of thousands of innocents; it was said that, during the many uprisings in Morgorad, he'd nearly halved the nation's populace. Eventually, for his tyranny, he was assassinated. Many had tried to pick up the pieces of his empire, but with his death, the cult of personality crumbled into ash. Now, as it was before Cazaban, the Khoralis Basin was ungoverned by any single power. Instead, it was frequented by many dozens of separate pirates; but ones that couldn't quite hold entire kingdoms to ransom. After the vampire-prince had died, thousands began to search for his riches. He'd accumulated an inordinate amount of wealth, and none of it was found. Evenutally, people gave up, lost interest, and reasoned that it was forever lost to the tides. Nils felt differently, and he'd spent the last decade of his life aggregating every single piece of information he could find on its whereabouts.

Having been lost in his own head for a few minutes, he realised that his former ship had now disappeared from view. He glanced around the harbour, hoping for some kind of opportunity to emerge. He was good at sniffing them out, and in a busy port like this, there was sure to be [i]something[/i]. He hopped to his feet and began his saunter around, quietly seeking out a free ticket off Tenio.

After a while, he slowed to observe an interaction between two men at the beginning of a pier. The first was a tall, dark-skinned man, with thick hair, and tattoos covering every inch of his body. He had the look of a real swashbuckler — scars on top of scars, and towered over the smaller, older, bald gentleman, who, though appearing rather scrawny, had an equal measure of scars upon him.

"Where's Sotiriani?!," the taller man said, his voice incredibly deep.

"He - uh, he couldn't make it," the bald man replied.

"Couldn't make it?!"

"Think he lost his nerve," the smaller man replied. "Suppose after he realised that we actually go [i]looking[/i] for trouble, the chances he'd have to actually fight a leech went up. I think he thought he was just coming along as insurance."

Ah, a [i]leech[/i] - slang for the vampire corsairs that roamed the seas. These people were sailors, and by the sounds of it, they'd lost a member of crew to good old yellowbelly-fever.

[color=#a2e8d4]"She's a beauty,"[/color] Nils said with a sigh, approaching the two gentlemen with a glint in his eye as he looked over at the ship afront them, whose bell was ringing. [color=#a2e8d4]"What I'd do to taste the sea breeze on her back."[/color]

The two men exchanged a look with eachother, perhaps a little mistrusting of Nils' angle. 

Nils had begun his gambit. Yes, there was every chance these two men would take no interest in him, shoo him away, and that'd be that. But equally, there was a chance they might, in their desperation of being a crewmember short, test the waters; entertain the possibility that [i]Nils[/i] was the answer to their questions. Of course, whatever they needed, Nils [i]was[/i] — or at least he would pretend to be. Opportunity rarely comes to those who tell the truth all of the time, after all, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it. Or just keep faking it until it's made for you.

"You ever seen action, kid?," the older sailor asked. "We need an extra pair of hands to man the stakes, so to speak."

[color=#a2e8d4]"As a matter of fact I have,"[/color] he said, without any need to lie. Most ships in the Basin had a small team of dedicated vampire slayers, and those that didn't were pushing their luck. Nils had worked this station once before, though admittedly, he'd only been involved in a handful of scrapes with vampires — not on the level of these two gents, clearly.

"You lookin' to get off this rock?," the taller man said.

Nils grinned, and nodded his head curtly.

"Tell Ayita that Sotiriani flaked, but we've got a replacement," the larger man said to his comrade, before returning his focus to Nils. "Get your stuff and get on board. We're leaving any minute."