Kim
Jacob Bernreute was far from home, Findara was a land he had never seen before, he could have never foreseen the wonders of Fae Thyseer, or the vast sprawling plains and fallows of Findara. The food was strange, there was too much fish, and the sights were strange. He could never envision such a world from his family's donjon, leaning out of the wooden ramparts and staring past the small stones that was the Rothenau estate. Norheim was nothing but an isolated hamlet compared to Ardunon. Even Varilion was challenged by the splendor and size of Ardunon. In those bleak days of mugging winter travelers outside of Berwick with his knightly Uncle with nothing but a knife for only a few coppers seemed far behind. 

He couldn't stay in Alynthi, it was too dangerous at the moment, a dishonest life could not be maintained there and peddling trinkets and baubles brought no money. Like in Norheim and Rothenau, he had to move on. It was the life of an exile. His uncle didn't make it as far as he did, now with nothing in Alynthi, Bernreute went east. Somewhere between Berwick and Brerith, he hitched a ride on the back of a Yeoman farmer's horse cart, then he did it again, and again. He eventually reached the border of Alynthi, walked through Thyseer and saw the fae kingdom. By the time he saw Rosewall, he was able to get onto the back of another wagon. There he kept traveling east, passing village after village. Findara was vast, home to the strength of industry. Unlike in Norheim, the land was wet and open, prone to flooding. Only Alynthi was second to Findara in the output of iron and copper. Then, there was the sea. It was the first time in the man's life that he saw the open sea so closely, vast and restless in a wet and rainy land. It was wild waters, with floods of tritheneas beyond.

Hopping off his final wagon, he saw the gates of Ardunon, a city that swallowed the surrounding land. The Alynthi exile was certainly a sight, a man dressed too simply and too conservatively. He was dressed in worsted wool, dyed a mild grey, a buttoned tunic and hose of the same cloth. From his shoulders was a fine woolen hood and mantle, dyed in a rich scarlet and softly embroidered with a white floral motif along the hem. Adorning his head was a simple coif of bleached linen and a wool cap. To any city burgher, it was the dress of a wealthy and old peasant man. But heavy along his waist was a girdle and sword belt. It was a true piece of craftsmanship, an old but cared for sword, made of good steel, broad and strong, warped in a scabbard made from thin goatskin, dyed white and red with another floral motif running its length. Along with its sister dagger hanging from his other side. It was one of the few things of value he had inherited from his Uncle, along with his armour, a heavy and tightly tailored affair of iron mail that could cover a man from head to toe. All of his worldly belongings were contained in a wicker basket slung over his back. It was there Jacob found some respite, paying for a warm shave and bath. It revealed both the small lines of age and wear running from the sides of eyes and the boyish shape of his face. For as beautiful as his mother was, time was beginning to become unkind to the man.

The city of Ardunon could not be understated, it was a world port and home to one of the greatest states in the world. There was opportunity to be found here, opportunity to be seized. Thankfully Jacob had been prudent, it was his good work that managed to net him a full purse that could sustain him for many months if was frugal. Perhaps he could sign on as a mercenary with doubtless the many men of war and conflict now armed with his inheritance, the life of an adventurer was dangerous, but could be worth it. Or even another position as a clerk would suit him, it was safe and consistent at least. But still, his eyes wandered to the tall houses and palaces of the city. It hadn't been since he was a boy that he had been in the court of nobility, then again that was merely his father's own and in Norheim. But, certainly the chance was there, or so he hoped. 

He wandered the city, finding himself in a hole. It was crawling with rats and the scum of the earth, sailors. He shuffled in, bearing himself against the mass, a mug of cheap swil, a sour and foul smelling alel, he settled in. Gambling was organized here, while he may not have fit in, there were more than a few who were willing to play a round of dice or cards, of whatever flavor may fit. The evening progressed, Bernreute, his belongings kept close to his side, played on a small stool and table. He won hands and had some losses, only gaining a thin margin of overall wins. His opponent shifted over, and a young woman appeared, a fair younger than Jacob himself. Jacob sat straight and nodded, well groomed and somewhat dignified, he certainly was an unusual sight in a dockyard gambling house.
Casey
*Indeed as far from home as one can get is Yang. Far, far from the desert sands of Knisfire. Especially in this place; by the sea and the endless view of the water. Swapping the endless dunes of brown and cream sand, to those of blue and white of the water. But at this crossroads, is it any wonder why anyone is here? Such a large port is used for a crossing and trading area for almost any purpose, from good, honest work and trade, to the lowest and most degenarate forms of living. If it can be imagined; it can be found here by the shipyard, and always for a price. So it is not a surprise this man had found himself in such a place, especially considering the method of travel. It seemed he was looking for far off places and he found it. Even if half by accident. Though one could make an honest living in this capital rather easily, even if it involved hard work. Far too many were interested in the method of getting rich quick. At this port, it was an access to nearly all the other kingdoms, and there was always those looking to hire shipmates and crew

This of course led to the rather... Unpleasent atmosphere of the shipyard. The rain drizzed docks stinks of fish, there is the constant shouting of workers, cries of pain, beggers and rag and bone men trying to earn coin, the propositions of whores and organised crime in every single pocket. It would be very unwise for honest, especially wealthy, folk to travel without guard, or at least without a keen eye and a hand on their metal. To others however; this is home. The smell of oiled wood, creaking of ship timber, stores and cargo of every item known on the earth and the water mixing with sea brine. It was a comfort to know that there was always money to be found. The excitment that any next taken voyage contract could mean a fortune or doom. The unknown was here to be claimed. But it required a strong stomach, and an equally strong will*

*It is curious then that this man enters such depths of the gambling house. As if the ship yard was not enough- the den proves the most cut-throat. Many sailors would gut men like a fish over a broken promise. Mixing alcohol and gambling, was well as low light in a cramped space... Well... It is a place where utter scum dwell. The lost, the foolhardy, the criminal. There is no law here. No honesty. The "House" Itself is made of old wood and a stone floor, both covered in sea water, alcohol and whatever else may get spashed about. The entire air is a mess of smoke from countless pipes of tabacco. There are maids endless going from table to table to serve drinks and... Other services. The noise is almost defeaning, shouting, fighting, laughing... Fortunes won and lost in a blink of an eye. Some by bad hands; others at the tip of a knife. 

So of course when an elderly man, finely dressed and clearly of money walks it, it takes many by surprise, and may gain the ire or interest of others. He must be careful to keep a hand all times on his coin purse and to watch where the dice fall... Luckily, he seems good at both. Making small winnings through the course of the evenings. Not too bad, better than most in their first time here 

So then we come at last to where he is. Now face to face with a young woman who has taken her place to play. A half human by the looks, with thick jet black locks of hair falling over her shoulders, and eyes of the deepest blue. Her fair, youthful face marred by a scar over one eye, yet luckily the eye retains vision. What is more obvious however is the slave brank on the back of her right hand. A hand which is already shuffling cards. To her lift is a rather large mug of the "Ale" That is served here. Though to give it that name is placing it higher than it deserves. The stuff is like nictric acid in strength, and on drinking a gulp; one would feel the sensation similar to being hit on the back of the head with a rubber club*

*Though it is cheap, and it gets you drunk very quickly. Therefore it is popular. Though for this woman, dressed in a simple leather coat and a cotton white shirt, a smile comes easy on her red lips as she regards the older man. "Well, you're new here I take it? Your clothes are..." She tilts her head, as if trying to find the right word. "Interesting. Yet you carry steel and not iron? A rich man indeed. I would be careful in who you play with tonight my friend. Speaking of which; cards or dice?" She asks in a soft, polite voice*
Kim
Jacob took a careful sip of the ale he had, it was warm, room temperature if perhaps stored near a hearth or fire of sorts. It was uncomfortably warm, a murky brown-orange, maybe leaning towards black. It tasted about as sour as it looked, it was low quality to say the least, made from bad barley and poorly distilled. Jacob quickly took the mug away from his lips, as his face briefly contorted and his lips pursed. He swallowed hard and then recovered as winced. He could firmly say right then and there, that Alynthi ale was far better than the piss they had in Findara. To serve such a thing should be a crime. 

He saw the young woman, in a leather coat and light cotton. He recognized her immediately as a woman from Khisfire. The last time he saw a man from khisfire was on his Father's estate, his uncle dragged him off of his horse, and beat half his teeth out before he surrendered his purse. Afterall, the Norheim grove was quite close to the border of Khisfire, their merchants were not an uncommon sight there. If nothing else he could sympathize with being so far from home. He wouldn't have been surprised if the weather was disagreeable with her here. She didn't seem like a merchant's slave, nor would a slave find themselves alone in a shanty shack posing as a gambling house. She's freed. But then it occurred to him that she was a sailor, a woman sailor and a freed slave, which was something very novel to him. A half human wouldn't have fared well in that sandy hellholt. Along with a large scar. Bernreute started to piece together a story behind this young woman. He couldn't imagine she was very lady-like despite her amicable appearance. She seemed to regard him as old, not older but old. Perhaps the years did take their toll on him, traveling rough for so long could only destroy one's body, and he was gaunt too, Bernreute was not much of an eater. It bugged the man slightly, if only for a moment.

Jacob then seemed to focus his attention onto the lady. He didn't seem particularly bothered about the violence, the scantily-clad loose women that made their professions here. It was if he had seen this song and dance before, it was neither relaxing or stressful for him. Neither too unusual or routine. If nothing else he seemed guarded and possibly a conservative player when came to dice and cards. He simply adjusted himself in his stool and spoke in a respectful, low voice that hinted at a country noble, certainly a foreigner and a man from Alynthi. His words were a bit slow, as if he was still thinking as he spoke. For as little as she did, she certainly was very inquisitive, if for very good reasons.

"It will be a game of cards," He gestures to her shuffling a deck, "It would be convenient. But, yes I am a foreigner, and so are you, you seem to be from Khisfire, I know your kind, and you are a freed slave as well," He mused. 
He ignored the comment of his clothes and went on with his musings, "But I am not a wealthy man by any means, miss, I am dispossessed through no fault of my own. The sword and scabbard was inherited." 
As he watched her shuffle cards with his own dull silver eyes, his left hand, a small signet ring bearing an almost unknown coat of arms on his pinky, tapped the table.
"May I ask your name, young lady? And what might be the wager?."
Casey
*The ale indeed was a complete crime to sell or even make in any respect. It was probably made from the chaff the farmers rejected and made in very poor, and likely unsafe conditions. The "Normal" Ale in this land that one would find in a proper tavern would be a lot nicer. But it is true, it would pale indeed to those found in Aylnthi. This ale however is for sure an aquired taste. Most drinks start tasting better the drunker one gets, but the prospect of this drink ever tasting acceptable is extremely slim 

The woman in front of him doesn't seem to care for her status as a previous slave, not wearing any gloves or making an effort to cover up the "Sash" Brand on the back of her hand. The language, if he knows it, would simply mean "Danger", a brand given to a slave marked as violent and troublesome to owners. Likely this would cause even worse conditions during her time as a slave. The manner of her freedom however of course is unknown at the moment. Though considering the brand, her clothing, the place she is in and her likely role as a sailor may compliment his prejudice that she isn't lady-like. Though this of course would be in sharp contrast to her hair and face, both well done up and taken care of, clearly she wants to show she is a young woman, rather than what some women sailors do in making them appear more masculine

Though her features are not done to the extend of the other women here. Wearing basically nothing, or vibrant colours of worn dresses to highlight what they sell. Clearly a profession well in hand, as there are many in this hellscape of thieves. While the air outside smelled of fish- at least it was fresh air. Clean from the sea wind and fresh. The air here is like a poison fume. The amount of smoke makes it hard to gain a proper lungfull, and causes vision to be poor, the smoke even stinging the edges one's eyes. 

"Freed?" She asks with a laugh. "I doubt they would see it that way, but I will take the compliment however"*

*She finishes shuffling the cards, and if he was perceptive; she wouldn't cheat and shuffle them fair and well before dealing them, a hand to both of them. "The wager? How about that fancy ring for my emerald necklace? I like a good trade. What say you?"*
Kim
He peered down at his signet ring, it was a small thing of silver, another possession of his uncle. It wasn't worth much really, it was a smaller wager. Still it was the signet ring of Bernreute. His uncle insisted on wearing it still, the few letters he signed were always stamped with it. Jacob remembered that he was near-sighted, he would ever hunt with a bow or crossbow, he couldn't hit anything if he tried. He always hunted with a spear, and only a spear. Jacob remembered when was no older than the lady in front of him, his Uncle would also insist he held his pair of spectacles to his face, a collapsible wooden thing with two poor quality lenses that needed to be held up. He would always take the utmost care when folding and sealing a letter, he would only use the barest minimum of wax, always a scarlet stick of good quality. When he pressed his signet down, it was only enough wax to barely make the impression of his arms noticeable. A six pointed star on a plain field. There was pride in the simple nature of their arms, the Bernreutes would have never compromised to change such an ancient symbol, not even a minor scion of their line could sacrifice their arms for a better marriage.

He then looked up to the collarbone of the lady, then to her dainty and nimble face. His eyes then to the necklace, it was worth more than his signet, certainly, if that emerald was real, and it seemed so, it looked well cut and fine. He highly doubted that the lady acquired it with honest or legal means, but that didn't exactly matter. He narrowed his eyes slightly, he saw the glinting jewel in the dim candle light and considered her offer. It would fetch a good price, he could use more money really, it was always needed. If the worst happened, he could try to buy back the ring. Or perhaps he could follow her, knock her over the head, or put a dagger into her shoulder, drag her away, take everything of value and dump into the port. She was a sailor, no one would pay too much attention, except for maybe whatever crew she was running with, if she was with one at all. Although committing a murder on his first day in town was a bad idea. Worse if she fought back, if she had survived in her profession, she likely was not easily. It wasn't like he could don his armour and gut her in open combat with his sword and shield. 

Of course, it was clear that the Alynthi couldn't read Khisfire script, it was completely unknown to him of the exact nature of her brand. He was only educated as an Alynthi scribe, his knowledge of any Khisfire script was effectively null. But he could deduce that she was not so meek.

He blinked slowly in the smoky haze. The smile lines near his eyes becoming more apparent. Her hands and fingers were deft as she shuffled the cards. Hard to say if she was going to pull a trick to him. He glanced around him in the crowded and musky gambling house. A nude young woman led away two drunken sailors and passed their table. A few more were passed out on benches or the stone floor, some were fighting outside, then there was the smell of urine. It seemed that both men and women relieved themselves inside and out of the establishment, soaking into the sparse straw that covered the stone floor. There he showed a tinge of discomfort. He ran his fingers across his chin, feeling a hair already growing back in.

After his pause, he spoke, "So be it, seems fair," He then changed his topic again, "Say, why are you here in Ardonon? I'm no crimp, you won't get press-ganged, I'm simply interested." It was clear he was making some small talk to ease the game a bit.
Casey
*She watches him look at the signet ring. Her face expressionless, but her eyes bright and keen as they watch him look down, watching the look in his eyes and the expression on his face. The ring didn't look like it cost much, but there is value more than currency, which is evident in the ring judging by how he is peering at it, obviously he is thinking back to times he used it or when it came to mind. Her eyes never leave him, even as he looks up at her. But it's clear he is not looking directly at her, but rather her necklace. Is this indeed real emerald? Or is it painted glass? Without better light or a proper appriasal, it is hard to tell. Especially in this poorly lit, smoke filled dungeon of depravity that they find themselves in. If it was real- it would fetch a modest price for sure. Not anything fortune worthy, but a gemstone is always in good market and one could live well for several weeks from the selling price. If it was fake... Well, perhaps a few copper at least. 

While she is thinking he is looking at the value of the necklace- she has no idea his true thoughts are filled with dark, malicious intent. Murdering a young woman for monitary value? Well, one cannot call themselves a good person after considering such an idea, and it is good indeed she doesn't know of such things, for surely she would fight back. He isn't wrong in thinking she would have it in her. After all, a dangerous slave, now freed and working as a sailor, or worse, a pirate? For sure it would be a tough fight 

The scenes around them however were honestly shambolic- and she pays them hardly any mind. Eyes flicker between the nude woman, the fight and the other patrons. But her expression holds no interest. Its more than likely she is used to such sights. Perhaps she has been here before, or to places like it. Finally however, she deals out the cards. It seems they play a simple game of 21. The higher pair wins, the person can request another card- closest to 21 wins*

*But if they go over 21, they lose (we can just roll and whoever rolls higher wins?). After dealing the cards face down, she responds to his question. "I follow the work. I hardly even look at the destination of the ships anymore. Sometimes away weeks or months, I like the surprise of seeing land and not knowing where it is. Keeps things fresh. But you? You look like a man of means, what brings you here?"*
Kim
Jacob was dealt his two cards by the lady. Drawing the two sheets of coarse paper close and face down on the rough table. His hands were clean, and notably soft looking, with long, boney and nimble fingers. His eyes shot downwards as he peered at his count as lifted the corner of his cards, it was a very favourable position, unless she drew very high of course, even in a game mostly based on luck, it seemed that he could perhaps press further. He looked towards her, he couldn't tell of her position, but it seemed as if she was confident in her position. She looked at him with sharp eyes and a blank face, he couldn't seem to get a read on her. 

He shifted again in his seat, looked behind him briefly and then back to his wicker basket, a hint of a mail mitten and sleeve peeking out of a woolen throw. 

Jacob gave a thin and flat smile as he began to speak. "Well, it's the same reason you have come to this port and town. I follow the work. Coming to Findara seemed like a good option and Ardunon seems to have many areas that I may apply my trade to."

That was true enough, she seemed amicable enough, perhaps better to speak to than a local. A sailor might have a better idea of opportunity than a man so far from his home. If he had to guess she may have frequented this port before. 

He tapped the table, and the young lady passed another card and he took his count. It was 19, not great at all. Jacob tempered his thin smile. He couldn't call another draw, it was simply too much of a risk. All he could do was wait for her to act.
Casey
*Like him, her hands were spotless. Which is surprising given where they are and presumable she has been here longer than him. Also indeed her life as a sailor, but her hands are unblemished and soft looking, aside from the brand. Either she washes them constantly, or uses some kind of magic to keep them clean. She turns over her own cards. Her expression of course remains unreadable. Though, unlike him, she has been delt a raw deal. Even if she is very lucky it is most likely she would lose. 

But indeed it was hard to get a read on her. On one hand she seems conversational, pleasent even, friendly and ladylike. On the other she has a slave brand and is a sailor in a course gambling house. A hard read for sure. "Here for work?" She replies with a light look of surprise. "And what is it you do? Too well dressed to be a rag and bone man, but why would a wealthy merchant come to a place like this? Your trade; tell me" She asks with clear interest in her voice 

She looks at her cards for a moment, she drew low. She takes another card, up to 15. She debates taking another or leaving it. She narrows her eyes before drawing and... Damn! A king. She is over 21 and bust. She lets out a low growl of frustration and drops her cards upside, letting him see her loss.*