The firelight flickered and danced against the jungle around them. The camp of tents was nearly empty, as it had been for near a month. Desmond had returned from Starkhaven three days ago with more food and drink. The camp hadn’t changed from when he had left. The six guards in armor that had become sodded and tarnished from the time spent among the densely grown foliage and mud were throwing dice as they waited. Desmond’s own clothes had not been in much better shape when he had left to return to Starkhaven, but his own silks were no polished steel and red dragon scale. What new clothes he had brought back were already clinging to him in the humidity and his boots were hopelessly muddied again.<br/><br/>Desmond looked at the black abyss looming beyond the edge of the camp, the mouth of the cavern that led deep underground. Flanking the expanse were two statues that must have been thousands of years old. The stalwart guardians had once carried shields and spears, but had long since been conquered by the jungle, overgrown with vines and lichen while their weapons and limbs were discarded upon the ground that had nearly consumed them. The camp lay just beyond, ensuring no one else would be able to enter the cavern. They had sent 20 able bodied men, adventurers, warriors, mercenaries, and mages down into the cavern near a month past to find an old world artifact, one that an Antivan merchant prince in Rivain had paid them excessively to retrieve. Desmond never bothered asking why, he just organized expeditions.<br/><br/>The jungle had been unusually quiet tonight and it unnerved the men about the fire. Desmond assumed it was an animal nearby that had frightened off the nocturnal wildlife, though, in truth, everyone at the camp had been nervous lately. It had been a month since the expedition set off, but they had expected the voyage to last no more than a fortnight. It was well overdue.<br/><br/>A sound echoed from within the cavern, without warning, a scraping and tumbling of stones. Desmond and the host of guards jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. They weren’t going to take chances if something other than their group had decided to venture out of the deep.<br/><br/><span style="color: DarkOrange">Ho!</span>He shouted into the expanse and heard his voice echoed back.<br/><br/>A moment later a glimmer of light whispered against the wall of the cave. The light intensified and a small band of men appeared, one carrying a torch. At the head of the group was the big man with tan skin and a mane of black hair to his shoulders. He was an easy head taller than anyone else in the group and his shoulders were broad, and his bare chest and arms corded with muscle. Behind him followed four others, one of the mages and three sell swords. Desmond looked for others behind them, but as the group drew closer, it became clear that they were the only ones coming.<br/><br/>The big man who led them was covered with soot, dirt, and dried blood, much of it looked to be his own by the freshly healed wounds across his bare arms. The mage who followed him was just as disheveled. His robe looked to have been torn roughly from his right arm, and the skin beneath was brown with dried blood and earth. The staff he had entered with was little more than a walking stick, as the entire upper portion had been broken off entirely. The three that followed were even worse for wear. Their armor was nicked, broken, or simply missing. One had a bandage about his scalp with a reddened dot stained where it covered his left eye. But, between two of the sell swords was an obsidian chest with blue-silver bands about it, engraved with glowing blue lyrium runes. A chill ran up Desmond’s spine as he looked at it.<br/><span style="color: Green"><br/>
Where are the others?</span>One of the guards called out.<br/><br/><span style="color: Blue">We are the others.</span>The mage answered quietly in a tone that confirmed what Desmond feared. The expedition had near wiped out.<br/><br/><span style="color: DarkOrange">Did you find it?</span>Desmond asked cautiously as they entered the camp.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">It was guarded.</span>The big man, Cruran by name, growled. He was a barbarian from the far south beyond the Bannorns of Ferelden.<span style="color: Red">Is the ship to this merchant man ready to depart?</span><br/><br/>Desmond’s voice caught in his throat, surprised.<span style="color: DarkOrange">I, uh… well, mostly. We had expected you back much sooner. It will take at least a day to make immediate preparations again.</span><br/><br/><span style="color: Blue">Do it.</span>The mage spoke, this time. He ran the hand that still had a sleeve about it through his dark hair, grazing over a patch that was matted to his skull where blood had tried from a wound. His left hand twitched idly at his side while he stared at the fire with narrowed eyes and clenched his jaw.  The mage had a nervousness about him that unsettled Desmond.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">We want to be done with that rock soon.</span>Cruran added.<br/><br/><span style="color: DarkOliveGreen">Not us. We’re done the moment we step foot back in Starkhaven. You can dock some gold for not seeing that… thing… to the merchant if you want. We don’t care. We’re done.</span>One of the sell swords said, cradling a broken arm. By the way he looked at Desmond, the man may as well have been dead already.<br/><br/>With that, Cruran nodded them onward through the camp. None of them argued to stay and rest. Desmond and the guards watched them pass by then looked at one another in unsettled confusion. None of them asked what had killed the others, or what had been guarding the artifact or even if the artifact was in the chest. Something in the look of those men warned them against further question. Silently, Desmond nodded to the guards to begin disbanding the camp before he gave one last look at the forlorn group as the passed beyond the edge of the camp’s fire and his eyes fell upon the glinting black-red chest warded with the soft glow of the blue lyrium runes. By the way the sellswords held the chest, Desmond knew they weren’t to keep something out – they were to keep something in. Desmond felt a cold sweat cover him and chanced only one final glance back at the black abyss of the cave mouth, and for the briefest moment, he felt that inside the blackness, something watched him. Desmond quickly dashed such thoughts and set to work on the camp with the guardsmen.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><b><span style="font-size: 15px">LEGENDS OF THEDAS</span></b><br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">Come on! Its barely three days sail from here!</span>Jal urged, leaning on the table and crumpling the folded canvas map in his hand.<br/><br/><span style="color: DarkRed">We said no, ye' shit!</span>A Rivaini sailor, one of the four that sat around the table with half full bronze cups of rum, yelled and grabbed the map from Jal, throwing it away from the table to the ground. Jal looked at him angrily, but he just gathered up his map and stuffed it back in the shirt.<br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">Every one of you is a fool! Come this time a week from now, I'll be living in a mansion pissing on you!</span>He shouted into the Captain's Rest tavern, filled with sailors, pirates, and smugglers. They ignored him. They usually did.<br/><br/>Jal threw open the door and marched out into the humid air heavy with the smell of the sea and salt. The sun was high, near mid-day, and there wasn't a cloud to be seen. Jal muttered a handful of curses at the tavern behind him and set off down the road toward Dairsmuid's docks.<br/><br/>Jal could see the dozen ships that floated out beyond the docking lanes like black phantoms against the brilliant shine of the rolling blue expanse. Damn them and their money, and their status. Damn them and their ships. Jal spat on the tan stone.<br/><br/>Jal walked down the sun baked street, trying to keep in the shadows of the dyed awnings that often lined the streets. He kept his course set toward the ocean, toward the docks. It always seemed that, no matter where you were in Dairsmuid, you could see the sea to the west, the vast Rialto Bay. The city was built up like a great crescent along the coast, and it elevated the further inland you traveled.<br/><br/>Jal had been trying to gather an expedition, or at least what he called an expedition, for the last week. Luck, however, was never his companion for long, and since he had gained possession of the map, luck had abandoned him. He had tried it at the Captain's Rest too many times. The tavern drew respectable seafarers, every one good at the mast and most owned a ship or officered one, but Jal wasn't one of them, even though he owned a ship as well. He was an alley rat who gambled his way onto a boat, and that's precisely how they saw him.<br/><br/>It was their loss, though, Jal thought to himself as he passed an open door that smelled strongly of incense and had a curtain of beads hanging in it. Eventually he would find a bunch smart enough to take him up on his offer and they would return rich and the likes of those in the Captain's Rest would kick themselves for treating Jal like a dog. Or, he would kick them with boots toed with gold.<br/><br/>Jal turned down an alley, walking past a woman standing in a doorway wearing richly colored fabric that draped over her shoulders. The fabric was sheer and Jal did not have to try hard to see the curvaceous woman beneath. She beckoned to Jal, but he waved her off with a sneer. Alleyway whore. They were common close to the docks. They were the cheap alternative for sailors without enough coin to pay for a woman at one of the brothels, or without the balls to take the attention of a woman whose job wasn't spreading her legs, which wasn’t too difficult. Many of the sailing women of Rivain were as rowdy and verbose as the men. Jal had seen more than a few put most men to shame.<br/><br/>Jal emerged back onto the streets and passed a group of Rivaini sailors talking to a fairer skinned man in a robe - an Antivan merchant, no doubt looking to hire a ship. Jal looked down the road at the docks, filled with ships, crates, and sailors. They were the men and women of the sea. One Rivaini sailor was worth at least three from any other country.<br/><br/>Jal jogged up a flight of steps along the road that led onto a shelf that overlooked the docks. A few sailors sat on the edge of the shelf, danging their feet over its edge. Most, though, were there to relax after a day’s work, or during it. Jal walked into the shadow of a wide awning above a door with iron vine lattices to either side. Jal stepped inside and immediately smelled the incense and tinge of smoke in the air mixed with a hint of sweat. Jal breathed deep. It was the smell of people he could relate to better. And it was here, at the Jezebel, that he would try his luck once again.<br/><br/>He passed a large man, Rivaini in features, with a broad scimitar at his waste made clear to anyone looking to start trouble. A bouncer, Jal knew, one of many. The patrons of the Jezebel didn't have the pedigree of those at the Captain's Rest. The people here were sailors through and through, without rank or claim but to the freedom of the open sea. Or a pint.<br/><br/>The sound of chatter, and laughter filled Jal’s ears, mixed along the sound of local Rivaini music for the dancers of whom there were several twirling about the room. They were dressed scantly, with long, flowing sheer skirts about their waists, hanging loosely among cords of small bronze disks and jewels. Crisscrossing bands of fabric hid their bosoms from view.<br/><br/>The crowd was more diverse here. Dairsmuid had seen a large increase in the number of foreigners several years ago. It had something to do with a famine, Jal had recalled hearing. Darismuid had always had more than its fair share of foreign blood. It was a place where work was easy to find. Ships always needed crews, the docks always needed workers, goods always needed mercenary guards, and taverns always needed wenchs that could fit into corsets. The Antivans brought great deals of gold and business. By that virtue, it was also an excellent city to be a thief. The Jezebel was a sea of faces. Elves, Humans, a few Kossick… hell, Jal even spotted a Dwarf or two.  Some looked ready to fight, others looked ready to drink.<br/><br/>A corner of the tavern hall erupted in laughter and Jal saw a Rivaini man sitting dazed on the floor holding a hand to a red cheek and an angry dancer looking down at him. Jal smirked. Don’t touch the girls unless they tell you to. They were as likely to knock you on your ass as the bouncers were. Several weeks ago Jal recalled seeing a drunk Ferelden grab one of the girls. He refused to let her go so she kicked him in the groin then grabbed a stool and smashed it over the man’s head.<br/><br/>Yes, Jal thought, these are more the sort I need to be hiring anyway. He fixed his eyes on the Rivani woman behind the bar wearing a red stringed corset that lifted her tits in her low cut, gracious bodice.<br/><br/>Several minutes later Jal tumbled backwards out onto the street. He scrambled to his feet, but the laughter ringing from inside the Jezebel was still loud in his ears. The bouncer stood squarely in the doorway, the woman from the bar in front of him with her arms crossed.<br/><br/><span style="color: DarkRed">Go pick your crew from the docks like everyone else!</span>She shouted.<span style="color: DarkRed">I'm sick of you, I'm sick of your map, and I'm sick of your poaching in <i>my</i> tavern! Come back again and I'll cut your tongue out!</span><br/><br/>Jal watched them go back in then started shouting curses at her back.<span style="color: SeaGreen">When I come back rich I'll give you the rutting you deserve, bitch! Me and everyone who was smart enough to come with me!</span>He raged, spitting on the ground. A moment later he winced and grabbed his shoulder. He had landed on it when the bouncer threw him out.<br/><br/>The few people outside the Jezebel stared at him in curiosity, some of them already knowing why he was thrown out. He saw them looking and shouted,<span style="color: SeaGreen">Go rutt yourselves!</span>then left.<br/><br/>He arrived at his ship an hour later, having stopped by the alley with the whore in it to take his frustrations out on her cunt. His crew was sitting about the ship, lazily basking in the sun without their shirts, throwing dice or throwing daggers at the main mast. The five crates Jal had told them to load were still sitting on the docks.<br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">What in the abyss is this?!</span>He shouted.<span style="color: SeaGreen">You've had three hours and you haven't moved a damn thing!</span><br/><br/><span style="color: SandyBrown">Piss yourself, Jal. We're not moving shit until we have a reason to.</span>Reshad answered, throwing another knife squarely into the mast. He had three bronze studs in his ear and a scar on his chin, a scar that Greg, a Ferelden that was playing dice on the deck, had given him two years ago.<br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">Captain Jal! I am <i>Captain</i> Jal!</span>He shouted.<br/><br/><span style="color: SandyBrown">Aye, you're captain when we've got boat things to do, but we've been sitting on our asses for the last week and you keep promising us an expedition!</span><br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">We can't go on an expedition if we don't have the supplies loaded!</span><br/><br/><span style="color: SandyBrown">We can't go if we don't have people either!</span><br/><br/>Jal was silent, but his eyes burned with rage. In a flash, he pulled his rapier from his belt and bounded up the gangplank onto the deck. Reshad took a step back as Jal came within feet of him with the sword lifted.<br/><br/><span style="color: SeaGreen">Is that insubordination I hear in your voice, Reshad?</span>Jal asked, his voice trembling and his eyes wide. He had to take the insults of the captains in the Rest, and he had to take the beating in the Jezebel, but he wasn't going to take anymore, and especially not from his own men.<br/><br/><span style="color: SandyBrown">Careful Jal... we don't need to be shedding blood over this.</span>Reshad lifted his hands in surrender, though he knew he could grab the knife in his belt before Jal could thrust. The rest of the crew looked on, most standing up slowly from their games and lazing about.<br/><br/>The sound of nearing footsteps broke the confrontation as everyone looked down to see someone standing on the dock looking at them.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>