A dock further away from the yimgai than the Jubilee and a mooring further down the line, a man dressed in shark leather sat in the sun on the edge of his raft. Beside him were several jars and a small stack of fish jerky. On his lap were a set of three bone knives, cleanly carved with single edges smooth enough to make some people doubt that it was done by hand. The oddest thing about the knives was their color though, they had a blue-green sheen to them. They also smelled of a couple kinds of oils and a few herbs, strongly enough that he couldn't smell anything else. But, that didn't last.
He picked up the knives so that he was holding them by the handles in his left hand, one between each pair of his fingers. Then he held them over a small oil lamp. They ignited like torches but the man didn't look startled or disturbed, he simply shifted so that he was holding the flaming knives over the ocean and let the drips of burning oil fall from the base of the blades into the water. Now he couldn't smell anything but the smoke. While the blades burned and the drips passed his knuckles, with only a centimeter or two between his flesh and a nasty burn, he took a look around.
The docks were almost always busy here.
He had been gone for the better part of the last month, only coming back briefly once to trade after a particularly large haul. It was common for city's to fish out the best of the smaller fish in their area. But, sharks and other bigger beasties would still wander the waters not too far away. He had made some contacts with traders here in Sigarmyth. If they needed good shark leather, they would pay someone to watch for him at the docks. So, if he had a buyer for his leather, they'd be coming soon to haggle.
His leathers were well known but they weren't his true trade. His name was Darse Finlure and he was one of a rare few who knew how to do what he did with bone. The smoke from the blades changed scent and color and his eyes snapped back to watch what he was doing. The timing had to be right and the technique smooth. There, he saw what he needed to and swept the burning blades down into the sea as though he were trying to slash it with claws. The blades were only in the water for less than a second but it was enough to quench the flames. He gave the blades a moment to cool in the air while he watched them carefully. A small sound drew his eye to the one held between his pinkie and ring finger.
Cracks, tiny and shallow, formed a pattern like a spider's web over a tiny part of the blade. The other two blades remained perfect with a black and grey marbled sheen. The two finished blades soon lay beside him. He still needed to wrap their grips with leather. The damaged blade was only in his hands for a moment longer before he snapped it between his fingers and dropped its pieces into the sea. Bubbles came out of the broken edges as the failed knife began to sink, breaking again and again as it slowly vanished below.
Two out of three wasn't bad. It wasn't perfect but it would have to do. Darse took a bite of jerky and turned his dark eyes on the sky as he began wrapping thin strips of leather around the grips of the finished knives. The breeze was not terribly strong today, barely stirring his rough cut hair, and there were only a few birds on the wing. Every now and then he could get a bird that was feeling bold enough to aim for his meal. After all, if they'll aim for his meal, he'll let them be the next one.
