E V A N D E R W H I T E M A N E
[ ♫ ]
The Southern Sea
Approaching Windward Island
As the vessel approached Windward Island, small waves of a beautiful cyan brushed gently against the ship. The ship itself was nothing spectacular, being somewhat spartan in appearance. Two-decks tall, with one large sail placed in the center, and a slightly smaller sail toward the bow. Larger than several of the other vessels gathered at the bay of Windward Island, perhaps, but it did not have the look of a divers ship. No, this was the ship of the merchant Reballo Windchaser, though some would better describe him as a conman. Selling everything from purported hair-loss cures found in an old trunk at the depths of the Sea of Ancients, to the axe of an ancient and terrible pirate-lord, said to bestow martial prowess upon the owner. Reballo himself was a curious man - often wearing brightly coloured garments in an effort to attract attention to himself, almost as if he is taking inspiration from a peacock. Likely in his 40s, though he would always tell you he's ten years younger, he has a short and stubbly beard of deep black accompanied by similarly shaggy hair. The first thing any would notice about him, however, is his particularly large gut. Business has being going well for Reballo, evidently.
Standing at the helm of the ship, Evander began the process of carefully guiding the ship towards the port of Windward Island, if it could be called a port. Despite the uncomfortable heat from the sun, which he had not gotten acclimatized to despite his regular trips through the region as Reballo's helmsman, he often found the task of sailing a ship to be a comfortable one around the shallow and calm seas. The only problem was this continuing heat - which had only been slightly alleviated by his clothing choice of a simple grey shirt and loose-fitting black trousers.
His relaxation was soon ruined, however, by a loud thunder from the skies around Gullspire Rock.
"Pfaaah!" yelled Reballo from the bow of the ship, visibly concerned by the storm.
"Ev', hurry us inta' port!". For being a merchant, and living in a world with rising oceans, it sure was a shame that Reballo Windchaser hated being at sea. Terrified of Leviathans below, or being swallowed by a wave, Reballo was an entirely different creature on the deck of a ship to when he was on land, happily entertaining and commanding large crowds of awed onlookers.
Evander didn't bother replying, he'd heard many panicked commands from the man before. Instead, he turned his attention to the storm itself as the ship sailed calmly towards port. It was unusually localized, Evander thought. Not that he knew especially much about storms anyway. Returning his thoughts to the task at hand, Evander couldn't help but smirk at the memory from when had been caught in a storm only a month prior.
"Remember the storm off Picaroon Pal-", Evander amusedly shouted over to Reballo, before being quickly interrupted.
"Don't remind me about Picaroon Palms!".
Windward Island
Port Harbor, the Sunken Shepherd
@Mcmolly
It didn't take Evander long to guide the ship into the bay, dropping anchor safely. Reballo had already hopped off the ship onto the wooden platform by the port-side of the ship. The other two members of the crew, assistants to Reballo, had already started to transport product from the ship to the harbor itself, but Reballo had not waited for his crew to set up a display of goods. Finding an empty spot in the small but bustling harbor, he had already gathered a crowd of natives to the island listening intently to his stories of bravado and mystery behind the various items he was peddling. He'd opted to twist a story of luck behind some of the more expensive products, assuming the islanders would be no doubt fearful of the powerful storm over Gullspire Rock.
Evander didn't bother to stop and listen after disembarking from the ship. He'd heard it all before, and besides, he was more interested in discovering the reason behind the large crowds and higher-than-usual number of docked vessels. Something to do with the storm, he reckoned, with more than a few of the new arrivals looking like divers. He wasn't aware of any contract, but then again, he'd been at sea - and been performing the same job for near two years now. He was a diver, yes, and an official member of the guild, but he hadn't gone on an expedition for almost four years. Instead, his skill as a helmsman had drawn the attention of several merchants, who would often keep an eye on the guild to headhunt potential recruits for security, sailing, or diving for the artifacts to be sold. For Evander, it was secure and, most importantly, honest work. He was just lucky not many outside the Frozen Sea knew of his family's history.
Making his way through the crowds of arrivals and islanders alike, Evander spotted the small, and clearly overfilled harbor tavern, 'The Sunken Shepherd'. By this point, it was clear many other arrivals had already found and made their way to the tavern. He'd be lucky to get a seat, let alone service at the bar. Nonetheless, no doubt if he wanted to find out why so many had assembled on this peaceful island, the tavern would be the place to go.
Interestingly, as Evander drew nearer the tavern, he spotted a small table sitting under a pavilion with none but a sole figure. Cloaked, and surrounded by an air of mystery, he knew he'd found his answer. Approaching, he lifted an arm to perform a gentle wave and gain the attention of the figure before pulling out a chair to sit.
"Would I be right to say you're a fellow traveler?", he asked before deciding not to wait for an answer, sitting himself down across from the individual.
"Never seen the harbor so busy."
Framing A Moose
Sloth
