"Name?"<br/><b>"Tam Avaras."</b><br/>"And your business here?"<br/><b>"...Supply run."</b><br/><br/>The clerk glanced up from his registrar, pale eyes scrutinizing the woman for a moment before returning to writing in the salt-stained notebook. Tamelyn didn't like to make a habit of lying (and it wasn't<i>entirely</i>untrue, she did need to pick up supplies), but the fewer people who knew why she was really here, the better. When you worked alone, as she often did, it was better to fly under the radar rather than risk any chance of a confrontation. If what her client had told her was any indication, there were a lot of people who would have loved to get their hands on the artifact she was searching for--and many of those people wouldn't have had any qualms against killing her in order to get it. No, she needed to be careful and keep a low profile until she could get back on the waves.<br/><br/>After checking in with the dock master and tying up her weatherworn catamaran, she cut a path for the markets. Under the massive leaves of the inaril high overhead, the docks and streets were crowded, the air pungent with the reek of fish and sea-salt. Tall and lithe, skin bronzed by the sweltering sun where it wasn't covered by her tank top or loose cargo pants, Tamelyn didn't look too different from the other sailors and scalliwags swarming over the town, although the flinty look in her eyes served to dissuade anyone who might have been thinking of causing trouble for her. Even so, she kept a sharp lookout and a hand on her satchel as she scanned the market. There was fresh fish for sale, as well as fruit from the massive tree the town clung to. The stands hawking fruit, she noticed, seemed to be doing a good deal better than their neighbors. Potable water had become a precious commodity, and had it not been for the rapid appearance and growth of the Inaril, humanity might have disappeared under the waves for good.<br/><br/>She was able to procure the rations she needed without much trouble, but that was only half of the business she had here. If she was going to be diving the Leviathan's Grave, she'd need backup--ideally, someone more at home in the water than she. Finding a suitable guide would prove a difficult task, however. Surface towns rarely took kindly to mutants, and she was hard-pressed to find any in the dockside taverns or inns. When she finally managed to flag down a woman with scales running from her brow to her spine, the moment she mentioned where she was going the mutant angrily brushed her off. The Grave was a labyrinth of crumbling architecture and sharp, twisted metal. It was a perilous dive, one that didn't seem worth any amount of money.<br/><br/>By the time she reached the smelting district, she was growing frustrated. The reek of fish was replaced by the smell of smoke, and she wrinkled her nose at the cloying scent, knowing that it would cling to her hair and clothing long after she left. Aquatic salvagers often came to the forges, however, in order to sell their finds. If there was anyone in this damn town that'd be up for the job, she'd find them here.<br/><br/>She caught side of the cloaked man as he was speaking with a smith, likely haggling over a price for his salvage. It seemed<i>odd</i>to dress so heavily in this heat, and it was this quirk that Tam picked up on. Leaning against a nearby building, she waited patiently as the man walked away from the forge, then slipped after him.<b>"'Scuse me," </b>she said when she caught up to him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder,<b>"Sorry t' be a bother, but I couldn't help but notice that scrap looks like it was only just fished out of the drink. You wouldn't happen to know anything about diving the ruins around here, would you?"</b>