And that was how Talion ended up on a small boat, sailing into the domain of the dead. Santis was an elderly man whose brown skin had a greyish tint at the extremeties, and whose left arm looked withered and twitchy. Perhaps those marks had been part of the reason he'd been so insistent about never going back into a shadowland at night. It had taken generous bribery and reminders of favours from Innora and even then it probably wouldn't have worked without Talion's own charisma added in support. As it was, he was certainly moving the boat across the waves at amazing speed considering the relative lack of wind. Another part of it might have been the unmarked sacks sitting in the cargo hold--something it looked like he had been very anxious for Innora to not notice.<br/><br/>It wasn't hard to see where the shadowland lay, a region where the water darkened and became mirror-like. And just visible in the distance was a tiny blot of land, the peak of a long-sunken hill.<br/><br/>"Last chance to turn around." Santis muttered, looking round at Talion. "You know once we're in there, we can't leave till the sun comes up? Well we could, but you could ha' just used a crackhouse on the Bliss Street if you want to kill yourself. Would'a been more pleasant."