4 Fall 519
Out on the Lakeshore, Syna's light had past its zenith and now began to sag, spilling shadows out towards the east. The Whailer sat idle off the shore, what the Saique had ferried over long since unloaded to awaiting carriages and carts. Yet the load it was meant to take on its way back to the floating city had not been waiting when they anchored. Nearly a bell had past since the ship was meant to have disembarked now, and the monotonous drone of gulls, insects and the creak of the ship only added to the restless lull the crew currently found themselves in. The Captain, having nearly paced a hole in the Saique's deck upon his return to the vessel, had since sequestered himself within his cabin, drawing his Quarter Master and First Mate within after giving a sound order to the remaining members of his crew: 'Do not stray far.'
Most of the crew lingered on board, as a result. Some gambled - dealing cards or tossing dice - while others saw this as a time to air their grievances amongst themselves. Some sought to stretch their legs and get a feel for solid ground beneath their feet and, thus, made use of one of the two ship's boats to transport themselves to the awaiting shore. Of those, most loitered near the docks, some casting the odd glance towards the Beer Hut while others discussed the odd change in the weather as they drew their coats tight and collars up around their cheeks.
Two stood just off to the side of the docks, one casting their gaze off towards the horizon, as if willing the cargo to materialise before his eyes. Orias stood beside him, eyes trained on the waterline just below the docks, watching lazy shapes swimming within the shallows.
He hefted his crossbow up, securing the tiller into the crook of his shoulder and chest as he stared down the sight, waiting with held breath as he watched a shape slowly grow closer to his line of sight. And, with an exhale of breath, he pulled on the trigger just as the shape enter the line, listening as the bolt shot and pierced the water. The shape turned in a flash and disappeared into the depths, leaving the bolt sitting at an angle, having lodged itself into the silty submerged soil. Grumbling, Orias lowered the crossbow and approached the bolt, stepping into the water and leaning down so he might tug the bolt free. His body jolted as it held firm and, with a grimace, he fixed the crossbow to his belt, freeing up both hands so he could grip it and tug with every bit of his being, muscles tightening and tensing as he did so. The bolt was torn free, the force causing him to stagger back, and he flicked his gaze to his companion as he wiped the bolt clean with his shirt.
"No fish for dinner, hm?"
Orias shook his head with a slight noise of disappointment, "No. Outsmarted again." He shoved the bolt back into his quiver with exaggerated effort for emphasis.
His companion smirked.
Orias closed the gap between them and folded his arms atop one of the wooden pillars of the dock, leaning into it languidly. After a short pause, he eventually tipped his chin towards where his crewmate had been looking. "Is this one the spice trader?"
Rapana, a fellow sailor, shook his head and he crossed his arms across his broad chest. "No, that's Masten. This is likely Kaster.. or maybe D'Nestrie, but likely Kaster." And then, after a beat, "Slaves. Usually all the way up from Cyphrus."
Orias nodded slowly. He had been attentive when he first came on board to trial for a place aboard The Whailer but had since grown more complacent, happy to focus on getting whatever it as they were moving from point a to point b rather than fitting a product to a merchant. His brows narrowed in thought as he eyed the horizon, chin lowering to his forearms, "What do you thinks held them up?"
It could have just as easily been a rhetorical question, but the blond was rewarded with a response, the more seasoned of the two resetting his stance in contemplation, "It's a long route to travel... and rough. No roads for the majority of it. Could be anything, really. Brigands, highwaymen.. broken wagons or lame horses. Sickness."
The man seemed momentarily lost in thought before he straightened sharply with a roll of his thick shoulders as he turned to his younger cohort, "Either way... it's shyke for us." And then, after a hard look, his gaze shifted towards the Saique off in the distance before his gaze shifted conspiratorially towards the blond, "And even more shyke for business. Right petches the Captain up."
Orias moved his head in something akin to a nod, dark eyes never shifting. He hadn't a clue where Cyphrus was, only that it was beyond, somewhere well outside his scope of knowledge.
A stir from those nearby drew both from their idle chatter and they looked towards the docks and then back towards the ship to see what had caused the commotion. A single figure rowed doggedly towards them, eventually landing the ship boat. Rapana slipped past, joining the curious group that had gathered, crewmen obviously eager for news or direction, anything to break up the monotony of waiting. Orias also approached, eager for news.
"What's this, then?" the big sailor asked.
It was Lon that had paddled over, the brunette handing the ship's boat over to another sailor to send back to the waiting Saique. "Captain's sending me out to scout for the merchandise."
This made sense; Orias remembered how Lon had originally been a stablehand. Strong and eager to try his hand at something new, the youth had found himself a member of the Whailer.. and one of the few with any knowledge of how to ride a horse. The blond watched as the brunette headed off towards what he believed as the direction of the stables, no doubt to hire a horse to ride out to see if he could find anything.
The blond sailor shook his head, trying not to let the frustration of those around him spoil his mood. Surely if something was amiss then the slavers would have sent someone ahead to alert them, to seek assistance from the Ebonstryfe that patrolled the Lakeshore.
Most of the crew lingered on board, as a result. Some gambled - dealing cards or tossing dice - while others saw this as a time to air their grievances amongst themselves. Some sought to stretch their legs and get a feel for solid ground beneath their feet and, thus, made use of one of the two ship's boats to transport themselves to the awaiting shore. Of those, most loitered near the docks, some casting the odd glance towards the Beer Hut while others discussed the odd change in the weather as they drew their coats tight and collars up around their cheeks.
Two stood just off to the side of the docks, one casting their gaze off towards the horizon, as if willing the cargo to materialise before his eyes. Orias stood beside him, eyes trained on the waterline just below the docks, watching lazy shapes swimming within the shallows.
He hefted his crossbow up, securing the tiller into the crook of his shoulder and chest as he stared down the sight, waiting with held breath as he watched a shape slowly grow closer to his line of sight. And, with an exhale of breath, he pulled on the trigger just as the shape enter the line, listening as the bolt shot and pierced the water. The shape turned in a flash and disappeared into the depths, leaving the bolt sitting at an angle, having lodged itself into the silty submerged soil. Grumbling, Orias lowered the crossbow and approached the bolt, stepping into the water and leaning down so he might tug the bolt free. His body jolted as it held firm and, with a grimace, he fixed the crossbow to his belt, freeing up both hands so he could grip it and tug with every bit of his being, muscles tightening and tensing as he did so. The bolt was torn free, the force causing him to stagger back, and he flicked his gaze to his companion as he wiped the bolt clean with his shirt.
"No fish for dinner, hm?"
Orias shook his head with a slight noise of disappointment, "No. Outsmarted again." He shoved the bolt back into his quiver with exaggerated effort for emphasis.
His companion smirked.
Orias closed the gap between them and folded his arms atop one of the wooden pillars of the dock, leaning into it languidly. After a short pause, he eventually tipped his chin towards where his crewmate had been looking. "Is this one the spice trader?"
Rapana, a fellow sailor, shook his head and he crossed his arms across his broad chest. "No, that's Masten. This is likely Kaster.. or maybe D'Nestrie, but likely Kaster." And then, after a beat, "Slaves. Usually all the way up from Cyphrus."
Orias nodded slowly. He had been attentive when he first came on board to trial for a place aboard The Whailer but had since grown more complacent, happy to focus on getting whatever it as they were moving from point a to point b rather than fitting a product to a merchant. His brows narrowed in thought as he eyed the horizon, chin lowering to his forearms, "What do you thinks held them up?"
It could have just as easily been a rhetorical question, but the blond was rewarded with a response, the more seasoned of the two resetting his stance in contemplation, "It's a long route to travel... and rough. No roads for the majority of it. Could be anything, really. Brigands, highwaymen.. broken wagons or lame horses. Sickness."
The man seemed momentarily lost in thought before he straightened sharply with a roll of his thick shoulders as he turned to his younger cohort, "Either way... it's shyke for us." And then, after a hard look, his gaze shifted towards the Saique off in the distance before his gaze shifted conspiratorially towards the blond, "And even more shyke for business. Right petches the Captain up."
Orias moved his head in something akin to a nod, dark eyes never shifting. He hadn't a clue where Cyphrus was, only that it was beyond, somewhere well outside his scope of knowledge.
A stir from those nearby drew both from their idle chatter and they looked towards the docks and then back towards the ship to see what had caused the commotion. A single figure rowed doggedly towards them, eventually landing the ship boat. Rapana slipped past, joining the curious group that had gathered, crewmen obviously eager for news or direction, anything to break up the monotony of waiting. Orias also approached, eager for news.
"What's this, then?" the big sailor asked.
It was Lon that had paddled over, the brunette handing the ship's boat over to another sailor to send back to the waiting Saique. "Captain's sending me out to scout for the merchandise."
This made sense; Orias remembered how Lon had originally been a stablehand. Strong and eager to try his hand at something new, the youth had found himself a member of the Whailer.. and one of the few with any knowledge of how to ride a horse. The blond watched as the brunette headed off towards what he believed as the direction of the stables, no doubt to hire a horse to ride out to see if he could find anything.
The blond sailor shook his head, trying not to let the frustration of those around him spoil his mood. Surely if something was amiss then the slavers would have sent someone ahead to alert them, to seek assistance from the Ebonstryfe that patrolled the Lakeshore.
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