Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Retto nodded as Roach praised his ship, and paused to listen to his men's song. Then, Roach had laid down a flurry of questions. He Retto didn't think anyone would be so enthusiastic to meet him, or to know his story. Retto tapped his foot a few times, then looked at the sky. He reckoned he had time. After all, the drow was certainly enthusiastic and curious, and Retto couldn't help but admire his fervor for asking questions. Retto nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "Alrigh', Roach. I'll take ye up on tha' drink. I 'appen t' know a few good places aroun' here. I'll answer all ye' questions." Retto was just as curious about Roach as Roach was of him, and he had some questions of his own. Who knows? Maybe Retto had found a good friend to share a drink with from time to time. One could never have too many of those, he reckoned.
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, clasped hangs coming undone only to clap back together. "I'll follow you, then? If that's alright. I'm new to here, so I trust you can pick somewhere better than I. It must feel nice to be back here, this is an important stop for your ship, right?" Already having fallen into step, he encouraged the two forwards with a few little steps towards the shore until he was positive Retto was leading the way. Roach could hardly believe the luck he was having, getting to not only meet but to ask *All* Of his questions to the admiral, right on his first day of being in Tonate. Things were beginning to look up for him, truly. While they were walking, Roach pawed at his pocket to make sure he had enough for a few sets of drinks on him. While he was working for the company, his pay was not yet *Good*— but he had faith that things would be better soon, once everyone saw his developments on Python and his successes with the company.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov, Seneschal of House Maith
Tower of the Seneschal, The Maith Mansion

The tower of the Seneschal was the tallest building on the estate, and although Silas was sure that was not designed to resemble the mages towers of Azarya, he could not help but feel that it held a sort of queer connection to his motherland. Mage towers were an instrumental part of every castle and manor in the far North. It was where the most adept in the family stayed, an honor that very openly explained that even though they all shared the same blood, one was undeniably superior. As far as he was aware, he was the most magically adept in the Maith Mansion, if not the Southern Isles, and so it only seemed customary that he would get the tower. He would not have gone so far to say that it was the _chief_ reason for his decision to become the Seneschal for House Maith, but certainly, looking down on everyone did have a certain appeal. 

That was before he had moved in, however. Towers, he came to quickly learn, were a terrible place to live. The first thing that one realized when they moved into a tower was that in order to go to bed, go to a kitchen, go to the gardens, go to the King, or to go just about anywhere that wasn't the top of his tower, he'd have to go down the stairs. The second thing one realized was that if they had to go down the stairs, it was inevitable that at some point, they'd have to go up them again. There were a lot of stairs in the tower of the seneschal. He had once torn the throat out of a man who could put himself in two places at once, although he had never been sure if it was just a trick of lights and sounds, an apparition as opposed to reality. He had never wanted to apparate more than when he got halfway down the winding staircase, only to realize that he had forgotten something at the top.

_They keep Princesses in towers._ He thought, watching as the early morning began to break over the horizon. He watched the moon fade as the sky began to bruise in the purples, oranges and blues of the sunrise. What had once dominated the sky as a great white bulwark had been choked into pitiful, pale blue speck. The day would be upon them, its hands grabbing for his throat. 

"Hm." He brought the wineglass to his lips and felt the silver vibrate as he sighed into it, gentle ripples of the deep red liquid moving back against the cup and then to his lips, the waves repeating until he set it down onto the windowsill. He had been in his cups all night, and it had been his anodyne, curing him of both his fatigue and his migraine. _That was another issue with the tower_ Silas thought, pulling the curtains closed so that the room was once again bathed in darkness. He felt too close to the sun. He knew that height actually made things brisker, but if he had ever allowed the light to shine into his quarters, it would be nothing short of asphyxiation.

He began to pace around the perimeter of his room, which served triply as an office, a bedroom, and a laboratory. He closed each one of the thick, weighted curtains and bound them tightly, then followed the flame of the flickering taper candle he had lit near his work earlier into the night. He removed it from it's candlestick and used the flame to light it's many brothers and sisters around the room. Next to his great canopied bed, atop the towering book cases, next to his alembic and aludal, and in the great glass show globes that hung from his tall, coned ceiling. Writhen silver was wrapped orantely around them and formed the small door that allowed him to reach inside. He lit the thick, red candles and closed the door and soon, the room was bathed in a soft, red light. Bradai had gotten them for him. There were Amorothi, but just the look of them had make him want to take up glass blowing. 

"Hm." He sighed again, and continued to read the ponderous but informative works of a Moondancer in Trent, who supposedly had lived for over a hundred years, but had dedicated over eighty of them to the study of leeches. He was almost thankful when a knock on the door interrupted his study. His eyes scanned his desk, searching for his ring, and when he found it he slipped it effortlessly onto his his hand and asked aloud who had come to his chambers at such an ungodly hour.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Tower of Princess Silas

Puck couldn't get the dreaming moments out of his head for the life of him, and it was driving him up the wall. Well, actually up the *Stairs*, but... He wasn't making attention to them. He had vomited again before he made his ascent, leaning against the wall at times to pant and shake, but luckily, the tower was tall enough for Puck to form some composure.

His Melsi blood was the only thing saving him from looking out of the ordinary, his sickly pallor was a natural occurrence in his race, but nonetheless, he looked tired, if anything. 

He knocked on the door, and if Silas didn't answer. He would simply wait on the stairs, but Luckily, he did. He didn't soud pleased, though.

"It's... It's the garden snake," He tried to tease. But it was weak and shy. "It's Puck." He said after. Clarifying, just in case Silas wasn't in the mood for Puckgordon's venomously daring tongue.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
Not funny, my young Puckgordon.

Silas didn't say anything in response, as he immediately downed the rest of his cup. He savored what remained of his feast and pressed a sleeve to his mouth. It left a thick, red smear. He threw a hand above him in frustration and motioned for the boy to come in, but because he was in the room alone, no one could see him do it. 

When he eventually did speak, it sounded strange. It was too fast and too loud. "You are early. Come." 

He gave his sleeve one last annoyed glance before reopening his book. From under his desk, Silas kicked the bucket across the room, between he and his apprentice. "Did you know that they are hermaphrodites?"
John
Puckgordon Snæch
I bet you laughed, though, Master Silas

Puck waited for a moment after Silas commanded his entry, psyching himself up. He stepped through the door, slowly closing it behind him.

He watched the bucket slide across the floor, confused by it, and then confused why Silas just said something about hermaphrodites. He passed, his middle head trying to make heads or tails about what Silas was saying. 

He had this entire plan made up if Silas asked something and yet, he was asked a question he didn't even connect the context of. 

With a blank face. He decided to just... Remain silent. For once. He had plenty of jokes to crack about hermaphrodites, all stuck in his head, but he just leaned down, picking up the bucket. "Hm." He responded. Nothing really exciting.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
Tower of the Seneschal, the Maith Mansion

"Ah!" He look of good humor crossed his face as his wiry arms lifted the great tome from his desk an inch, and then back down in a small puff of dust. He waved it away with his hand and pointed to the pages with his thumb, "Leeches. They're neither male nor female. They're both, at the same time. Isn't that interesting to you? They have no sex. I mean, they have _sex_ although I'm not sure that anyone would recognize it if they saw it. I've been thinking about that all night." 

He followed the boy's eyeline to see him glance at the bucket, "The bucket is for the leeches as well. For you to carry them up and down these wonderful stairs. You're going to become very well acquainted with these stairs, my young Puckgordon. Perhaps they'll make you dream of rejoining your fellow Squires, as it made me dream to throw myself from this tower." He gave a bark of laughter, "Although I imagine hearing about me ramble about leeches fucking is probably convincing you to stay." 

He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you up so early? And why do you smell like vomit?" A hand slammed loudly on the table as the man got to his feet. "Remove your bandages. Your wound is infected. I did absolutely everything in my power to prevent this and I—" He began to remove things from his desk. It was not the first time the Seneschal had used it as a makeshift operating table. "Come. Before your body purges any more of the bad humors. Do you have a fever?"
John
Puckgordon 
Tower of the Seneschal, Maith Mansion

Puckgordon raised an eyebrow as Silas began ranting on about leeches fucking. Puckgordon thought to himself then, about how Silas just told him that he was thinking about leeches fucking the entire night. And then he wondered himself how the leeches fucked. How *Did* They...?

He looked up as Silas began his questioning, and he shook his head. "No, it's not my back. It's not." He insisted. "Well... I fell on it. It's what woke me up- Or- I woke up right before I fell... Off my bed. To my back." 

So much for his thought out excuse. "It's not my back." He said a little quieter, but he obliged, slowly pulling the shirt over his head. He walked over and laid down on his stomach, his eyes closing. 

Once the bandages were removed, low and behold, no infection. A few cracks in the scabs from where he fell, but nothing more. He took a deep breath. Gripping his hands together above his head to stop them from shaking, he spoke up again. "I just move a lot in my sleep. Rolled off the bed. Couldn't sleep after that. Didnt want to. Nothing more." Was he talking too much? Was it too suspicious? He shut his mouth after that.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov 
Tower of the Seneschal, Maith Mansion

Silas did not care to listen to the protests of a boy who was probably just scared to find out he hand an infection. He inspected them by under the soft red light of his show globes and pursed his lips. There was something on the bandages, dust or dirt or debris, but that must have been from the fall, and he had wrapped and fixed the cuts so well that even if it had gotten it, it would not have posed any serious risk. 

"Your hands are shaking." He observed. "Calm down, you're safe." His tone was was pleasant, and he gently set his fingers on the back of the boy's right palm. "You're actually healing very quickly." _Perhaps I should cut him on accident and record it_ , he thought, but he did not speak it aloud. "But you're young and fresh, so I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. The fall doesn't look as if it's damaged you any, but you were due for a rewrap anyways." 

Silas practically skipped over to his alchemist's station, grabbing a new wrap of fabric and a pot turmeric and honey salve. "Did you know in Amoroth, a popular way to kill prisoners of war is to tie them down and to feed them nothing but honey? You can well and truly _honey_ someone to death. Isn't that incredible? They _also_ cover them in money and put them outside until they let the flies get at them, and their skin gets pruned the same way it does in water. So perhaps it's not so glamorous. Not the way I would want to go." 

Silas talked all through the process, about honeying prisoners and dehydrating prisoners and eventually all the forms of mummification known to man. "Your people, the Melsi, have perfected the art. Not on purpose, though. Your bogs are known to a freeze a man in time. Corpses that died thousands of years ago are dug up and look as good as they day they... Well, drowned in a bog. So they don't look _great_ but they look young, and that's what matters, no?"
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun
Tonate Proper 

It'd been what felt like ages since Valkrin's ship, the *Dream Killer*, had left this harbor. Nevertheless, he still made the walk from the barracks down to see the old girl, which these days had started to show her age just like Valkrin himself. There was a time that the sight of the Branded Man approaching on the deck of the *Dream Killer* Was enough to make even the most hardened sailors pray to the gods for mercy, but now they were both fading into legend. 

After he'd finished his cigar, Valkrin began the walk back to the barracks, flanked on both sides by guardsmen. Most of his old crew had been conscripted into the guard as informants on the people and goods coming to the city. Those who weren't willing to join the guard had left the Isles with other ships. 

Once back in the barracks he gave the guards their orders for the day and took the important reports, there was a festival to begin soon, and Valkrin wanted to be ahead of schedule. He'd already sent guards to find the best vantage points in the area, and sent a messenger to the Pirate King to find out the King's schedule. Valkrin would be handling the King's security personally.
Elissa
Mouse
Tonate Proper

There was always something to celebrate in Tonate Proper. A birthday, a wedding, various religious holidays and the never ending wakes and funerals - but these were usually confined to the space of a pub or home.

Today, coloured banners and lanterns littered the warm streets of the city and Mouse stood at the window of her tiny, one roomed, apartment, watching the bustling streets of her slum as the sun rose. At her feet, her cat rubbed against her and mewled.

"Yew've ate-in." She scolded him gently and went to the half wall of cages filled with rats. One of the cages on the top row was filled with enough rats to bring to the streets to sell, she decided.

The rat catcher dressed herself in a simple red kirtle, it's sleeves coming just to her elbow and below the sleeves of her chemise and exposing her freckled forearms, the bottom hem stained a dirt brown. A belt hung at her hips with skirt hikes on either side, which she used to hold hers up for ease of movement. Her red hair had been growing back since she shaved the lot off, now it reached her jaw in a sorry excuse for a bob that only ever got in her face.

Mouse rubbed kohl under her eyes and when she was satisfied with her appearance (which wasn't saying much, really) she loaded her small cart with a cage and began wandering the town, dragging it along behind her as she called among the other sellers to announce her wares.

"Clean rats! Fresh caught from th'finest 'ouses in the Southern Isles!" She called out at the passing crowds of early risers. She didn't expect a busy morning, but she welcomed the sun happily and was perfectly content to sit and people watch until the evening.
Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Retto nodded to the drow. "Aye. I know o' a really good place t' ge' a drink. Jus' follow me, and try no' t' lose me." As they walked Retto spoke to him once again. "I'd say this is more than jus' an important stop for th' *Siren*. This-" He swept his arm around, indicating the busy and lively harbor around them. Men and women exchanging goods, peddling wares, and generally going about their business. The smell of salt in the air mixing with the sugary sweet smell of rum. "This is 'ome." 

BMTC or not, Retto made sure to keep an eye on Roach. As great as Tonate was, it still had its very fair share of bad, and he wanted to make sure Roach didn't get the very much so less friendly version of a Tonate welcome. "So, Roach." He started. "Where ye from? Ye a natural born Islander, or are ye from th' mainland? If ye don' min' me askin'"
John
Puckgordon
The Tower of the Seneschal, The Maith Mansion

The young boy couldn't do much, acting much more defeated than last time as he only became conscious of his shaking when Silas patted his hands. He opened his eyes, staring off at a point in the room without wavering his eyes from that spot until his mind could change everything around it. It was a book. He couldn't read what it said. He didn't care to, really. He just needed something to focus on.

Silas began to go on about mummification, honey, and finally he rested his conversation with Melsi Bogs. The rest took a while for Puck to continue, but he finally did whisper.

"Mmm... It's not always an accident." He said simply. "Water graves... They are not seen as a bad place to be for eternity. Melsi don't look much different alive or dead in the water. I met my great-great uncle because he had insisted they let his weak body drown in the bog."
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper 

Roach smiled to the fixing of his own language. It was a delight to get to see the admiral look so content, and speak so happily of the place. He trotted along, weaving through the crowds to ensure he kept pace with Retto. "You're right, my mistake. Home. Important is an understatement. How long has it been since you've been here? You must be glad." 

Silence befell before the new question rose, and though he tried to not show it, Roach did recoil in the slightest. His face flinched, he tensed up while walking. "Amoroth, actually. But I'd consider these isles more home to me than any other." Roach brought his smile back, forcing the memory flood to be pushed back again and away from his present. He needed to keep focused, he needed to prove he was beyond his roots— so he brushed it off quick and hurried along. "I worked on ships for a good majority of my time, the sea is still where my heart is, in truth. But I'd say these days, I spend so much time on the isles that they've practically become home for me. I could only wish to call here my homeland, but so far I've been warmly welcomed." Satisfied with the response, he ceased. "These isles truly are gorgeous. A dream."
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Tower of the Seneschal, the Maith Mansion

Silas could not conceal the smile that came over him them. He bunched up the old bandages with one hand and tossed it across the room. Whatever pride he felt when he watched the ball of bloodied gauze fall into the bucket faded away when he realized how disgustingly sticky his hand had become. With his unsoiled hand, he tapped the boy on the thigh to wordlessly tell him he was finished.

"Put these things back onto my desk while I find a rag to wash my hand." 

The man took a knee and began to rummage through his desk one handed, eventually finding something decent to clean the flakes of dried blood and honey from his fingers. Had it been earlier into the night he might not have cared as much, but now, in the presence of his apprentice, the man was more concerned with finding some time to rest. 

"Your great great uncle, you say?" Silas wished that he had known his great great uncle. He had only ever known his great grandfather, but he had lost his magical potency by the time Silas was born. "Did it look like you?"
Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Retto nodded as the drow explained himself. They got a mix of looks as they walked, the worst ones were shot down with a dirty look or a shake of his head from Retto. "Aye, I was 'ere when Tonate Proper didn' exist. Back then, this place was called th' Stilts. Bigges' shithole aroun' before King Bradai really turned this place around. I was one of th' first t' join him. 'e 'ad a look like tha' of a man I woul' follow t' th' ends o' th' earth." 

He simply nodded when Roach mentioned he was from Amoroth, and that he believed the islands to be his home and the sea in his heart. "Amoroth. I see." He said before giving a tut "Well, tha' don' matter t' me. Your hear' is with th' sea. Tha' an' ye are par' of King Bradai's merry band. T' me, ye are an Islander." He replied, pointing to Roach as they stopped at the door of a tavern. Sounds of merriment could be heard from within its walls.
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

"King Bradai is really something special. I've never heard of a person more tenacious and inspiring, he's certainly the reason I've gotten to where I am today. I'd consider myself fulfilled if I had just the slightest opportunity to let that be known to him, though I'm sure he's much too busy for a ramble as such." Roach took a pause at the door of the tavern, internally preparing himself for the rowdy environment. It had been a while since he'd dealt with a proper tavern, having been quite busy on Python, but from the sounds of the joy inside there couldn't have been much of a problem. 

The feeling of acceptance was certainly not common for him, and was certainly cherished within him. Roach gave a short laugh, and a wide grin. "I appreciate it, sir. You're truly too kind, it means a lot for a man such as yourself to be so welcoming." Roach reached for the door, pulling it open and holding it for Retto to enter first. It wasn't only a courtesy, but also would hopefully mitigate his worry of having improper manners in that setting.
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun
Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper

This tavern wasn't exactly a regular spot for Valkrin, partially due to the fact it was always so damn cheery, but it was the first he'd come across after deciding he needed a drink. As he sat alone at a table he heard men pass with a tip of their hats and a "Captain Farensun, sir." Since his appointment to Head of Guard he still hadn't gotten used to everyone calling him sir, and he didn't believe he'd ever get used to it. 

Pulling one of his trademark Terresolian cigars out of his coat pocket, he struck a match on the table and lit the end, taking a large draw. Through the smoke he saw the door open, and recognized one of the faces as Admiral Retto, but the other bastard was new to him. He finished his drink and loudly ordered another three, knowing the admiral would most likely sit with a fellow city official. He cast a glare at the drow with his amber eye as they came in.
Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Retto let out a sigh of happiness at the sight of the tavern. He had quite a few fond memories there. As he was surveying the scene, he caught Guard Captain Farensun's eye. His presence rather surprised Retto, as he wasn't exactly known to hang around there. He turned to Roach. "Over 'ere, lad. We'll sit wit' 'im." He motioned over to the table where Captain Farensun was sitting. "Ignore 'is restin' scowl. 'E's allergic t' a good time." He laughed and sat down at the table, placing his instrument upon it. He motioned to the waitress "I'll 'ave m' usual." He turned back to the man who sat at the table. "Farenshun! I'm surprised t' see ye here. 'tis been quite a while since we've talked. 'Ow th' Neither are ye?"
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

Following Retto's gaze, Roach's eyes landed upon a *Very* Easily recognisable man, one who had fought alongside King Maith himself. That amber eye's glare didn't hinder Roach much, not only as he was accustom to wary scowls but also because the sheer *Glee* Of meeting not one, but *Two* Figures he has looked up to clouded his perception. Retto encouraged them to go sit with him, and Roach took a moment to follow— how on earth could this have been reality? It felt like just yesterday, Roach was sewing sails on an unimportant ship on an unimportant journey, yet he was now following to sit with some of the most important people in the land. He sat, keeping his hands politely at his lap, waiting for a moment to speak. After Retto has greeted him, Roach dared to take a turn. "Captain Farensun, sir, it's a privilege to be in your presence." His eyes were starry, he was holding back a grin. Roach was quite terrible at hiding his excitement.
John
Puck
The tower of the Seneschal, The Maith Mansion

Puck wordlessly got up, not putting his shirt back on since his back was sticky and sore. He looked over at Silas, seeing his smile, and Puck looked back down. He exhaled through his nose, leaning down to put Silas' things carefully back on his desk.

"Did I look like him? Mmm... Yeah, actually. I don't look like my living family, but the old ones, yes. It's why I'm named Puckgordon. It was his name." He said simply, rubbing his hands together. "I'd sit next to him on the dock, and just..." He shrugged, trying to explain it without sounding sad. "I'd talk to him more than any other. Legend has it that the original Puckgordon Snæch was... A monster."

Grabbing another item, he set it down. "I touched him, once. Put my hand in the water and poked him. It... It sunk in like if you poked your finger into a cold bread pudding. That's how I found out he died from arrow wounds, I stuck my finger in one."
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun 
Tonate Proper

"Admiral, I've been well, yourself?" He slipped another cigar out of his pocket and handed it to Retto. "And I'm not allergic to a good time, we've different opinions of what a good time is." The Captain took a pause to finish his drink and called for another, then turned his attention to the drow. 

"And who are you? At first I figured you were one of Retto's men, but the way you're staring like you want to fuck me makes me think he hasn't told you who th'fuck I am." He took another long draw from his cigar and blew the smoke away from the table. "So wipe that fuckin' grin from your face, and quit eyeballing me like a cut of meat." Valkrin absolutely hated men who couldn't compose themselves, and the young drow was quickly working his way up a list the boy didn't want to be high up on.
Mark
**Admiral Retto Elbaroda**
**Hangman's Harbor, Tonate Proper**

Retto set the cigar on the table with a frown. "Come on, Valkrin, th' boy well an' good knows who ye are. 'E looks up t' ye. Tha' was rather underhanded of ye." Retto crossed his arms. "I'll 'ave ye know 'e's no' one of my men, bu' 'e *Is* A par' o' BMTC. So, if ye 'ave a problem wit' 'im, take i' up wit' King Bradai." He took a swig of his rum, and looked at Roach. "Sorry abou' tha', ye don' 'ave t' pu' up with this if ye don' wan' t'"
Martha
Roach
Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper 

Undeterred, Roach remained within himself. He didn't shrink back or recoil, since in honesty, he would expect nothing less. "Yes, as Admiral Elbaroda stated, I'm apart of the BMTC. My name is Roach, I manage Python, and oversee trade and accompaniments there." His eyes flitted over to Retto, and Roach lifted a hand to his chest as a dismissal. "I'm alright, please. I've had much worse introductions." Much worse with far less *Important* People, at that. Seeing as Valkrin hadn't spat at him or pointed a weapon in his face yet, Roach was more than able to tolerate a bit of threatening language. He returned his gaze to Valkrin, and gave a polite nod of his head. "Forgive my excitement, sir."