Raven stood up in the dark and gently carrying Keil in his arms moved towards the sound of the Provost Guards. "Best be on the move now" he said to his dwarven companion. Up ahead lights from lanterns could be seen and the distinct silhouette of an armored knight drew closer. Raven was about to call out to Marneus when the sound of rushing feet was heard heading towards him. The guards were sweeping the ship checking all that roamed it's decks, Raven held up his arms to indicate his was no threat.

"Well then, who wants to lie to me about what happened here first?" a man who seemed to be in charge of the guards spoke.

"We have several members still at large" Raven added as Marneus completed his narration. "This be Keil, the lad our good knight was talking about. He's going to need a safe place to rest and get medical attention in the coming hours. In the meantime what do you suggest about our missing members and the damage done to the ship?" he asked turning to Deslock.

"Lead the way sorcerer!" Alexis replaced his weapon and spat in the general direction of his fallen foe. "Good riddance to bad rubbish. Though I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them or the mastermind behind this attack". A familiar voice echoing through the passageway interrupted his thoughts, it was Deslock. He was behind a sea of bodies that somehow looked shiny and official in the lantern lights that illuminated the wooden deck.

"Who be you lot then?" Alexis asked once the knight had finished recapping the day's events. "Why are you aboard this ship?" he asked the man who appeared to be in charge but not waiting for an answer, the dwarf turned to Deslock. "If I may be so bold there might be some explosives on this ship that needs looking into. Those men in tatters didn't come here with empty threats at least that's highly unlikely. We should get someone down below the waterline and check the hull."

The dwarf paused to take a deep breath. "I need a drink after this!. It's been a long day" he muttered audibly.

"Also this prisoner we have. Perhaps we should interrogate her. She may have information about what happened" Alexis cleared his throat to suggest he had finished his rant but the silence continued.

"Well don't all just stand there looking down on me. I know I am a dwarf, so either start speaking or start acting or at least get me a drink" he crossed his arm setting a stubborn frown on his face.

"I see," said Inspector Felkin. He hadn't moved anything but his eyes while Marneus, Raven and Alexis had been talking, but something about those eyes gave the disconcerting impression that he'd been taking notes behind them, and if necessary could repeat word-for-word what you had just said. "Right. Let's get busy then, shall we? Hal, get a message to Dockhouse, requesting more guardsmen and healers, and someone who can dive under the ship to check for explosives. Orric! Get the boy stabilized until the medics get here. Dalson and Gelt, find and secure the prisoner the dwarf mentioned..."

He went on, rattling off orders to his men, sending them saluting and running off through the ship.

Nearby, Doctor Nexaddo was kneeling over the body of the human physician who had been assisting him, staring down at him in shock. There was a pool of blood slowly spreading from the body, and the doctor's hands and trousers were soaked in it. A distant part of his mind was surprised by the amount, and his own reaction to it--he had dealt with blood before, but neatly, in a lab, and there had always been something he could do about it. He turned his head and retched.

There was nothing he could do now. He spit, trying to clear his mouth of the acidic taste, and wiped his mouth with a blood spattered sleeve. He checked the physician's pulse, without hope of finding anything. He sighed, and began reciting a prayer worthy of a man who lost his life trying to aid the injured, murmuring the words over the sound of Felkin barking out orders.

One of the guardsmen passed close by, carrying a first-aid kit, and made a questioning sound. Jemalkin looked up and shook his head, and the man passed on.

"...and I want a complete lockdown on this ship in five minutes," Felkin finished. "No one on or off without my say so."

"Wait a minute," Deslock muttered: then louder, "Wait a minute! I'll not be confined to--"

"This is a crime scene, sir," said Felkin, cutting him off. "And I'm not letting anyone leave."

"I suppose" Raven began a thought half to himself "We should assist in any we can" he paused looking around.

There was nothing more to see in the corridors of the ship; the guards from the Dockhouse now made the majority of the ship and they were scurrying about carrying out instructions to the word. Deslock himself seemed outvoted with the events now happening on board and Raven doubted the Grummond would have any authority against Felkin.

"I would like to make a request though" he said finally turning to Felkin. "I would like to be present when your men are securing our prisoner. She may have some information that may prove valuable"

The cloaked man looked at Ticky, and though his face couldn't be seen beneath his hood there was a sense of something there: whether frustration, amusement, or annoyance, who could tell?

"Really?" he said. "For someone who preaches cooperation, you don't seem willing to meet me halfway."

Derlan took a step forward from beside Ticky, trying to slip around the table. The cloaked man shrugged. "Very well, then," he said, and Derlan's only warning before the shot was a flicker of motion beneath the dark cloak.

The pistol fired with a sharp boom, sending a flash of fire and smoke from beneath the cloak. Derlan shouted in surprise and dived aside, a splash of red across his stomach showing where the bullet hit. The elf crashed to the floor, swearing mightily, as the cloaked man flipped the table into Ticky's face. The man spun, one hand shoving his pistol into his belt and one hand groping in his pockets, trying to find...there it is.

It was a little pouch of soft leather, packed tight with specific herbs and a few easy to manufacture chemicals, with a simple flint-and-steel trigger on top. With a flick of a thumb sparks were struck, snapping on the inside of the pouch and into the alchemy inside and sending a metal tab careening into the air, which opened up a little hole that gave it just enough oxygen to burn...

Acrid, blue-tinged smoke poured out of the pouch as the man threw it down and ran, making for the back door while his enemies were blinded.

Inspector Felkin took a moment to examine Raven. "Generally speaking," he said, "we don't allow members of the public to be present at interrogations. However, we may make an exception, seeing as you are a...magical expert, as it were. Yes, that would work, I think."

His eyes took in the impromptu bandage running across most of the wizard's chest, seeping blood. "At the moment, though, you should receive medical attention yourself. The prisoner isn't going anywhere...right, Dalson? Right. The prisoner isn't going anywhere, and I'd hate it if you were to suddenly pass out from blood loss in the middle of things. Sends the wrong impression to the person we're questioning, yes?"

Alexis stifled a yawn under his beard. "Alright then lads, this has been a lovely and shocking experience but since Mr. Fancybadge here is running the show and we are no longer under interrogation, I am going to take a stroll on the main deck and if there is a pub open in this wee hours of the morning, well, need I say more?" he made a gesture of moving away from the group

"Alright then lads, this has been a lovely and shocking experience but since Mr. Fancybadge here is running the show and we are no longer under interrogation, I am going to take a stroll on the main deck and if there is a pub open in this wee hours of the morning, well, need I say more?"

"Really?" said Inspector Felkin. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough, then. I am detaining your entire little 'Expedition' until further notice, which I suspect will be given when the Provost throws you out of town."

He folded his arms, and the guardsmen around him managed to look a little more threatening without being distracted from their current duties. "That would include you, master dwarf. No one is leaving or boarding this ship until I get a written notice from the Provost's office saying that I can release you."

Boots pounding on the deck above punctuated the end of his sentence, and the Inspector flashed a look of annoyance at the ceiling. "I said no one boarding," he began, only to be interrupted by one of his men.

"It's the healers, sir."

"Ah. That's all right, then." Felkin returned his attention to the Expedition members. "As I was saying, I'm afraid you may need to wait for that drink, master dwarf."

Raven nodded to Felkin.

"I'll differ to your medical expertise, Mr. Felkin." he began as the healers boarded the ship. I'll make myself available on the main deck for immediate treatment but I will be present for the prisoner's interrogation" with a short bow, Raven made his way to the top deck where he signaled for an approaching healer.

Flying-Emu:

Post

Dastardos:

Flying-Emu:

Post

My Friend

Caimekaze:

Dastardos:

Flying-Emu:

Post

My Friend

Not quite,

The smoke poured through the room, causing the patrons to cry in outrage and the bartender to heft his cudgel menacingly. Derlan cried in pain somewhere off to his left, but Ticky could do nothing but smile. Laugh, even.

Clasping his hands together, Ticky lifted them upwards and snapped outward, blowing through the space vigorously. The smoke filtered to the sides of the tavern, giving Ticky a clear shot at his foe. Lifting his arm once more, palm forward, Ticky grinned and called "Oi; we gave you a chance."

Ticky closed his eyes at the same moment as his fist, feeling for the flows of life, the pressure his target exerted on the ever-flowing air. He sent himself along the flows, the stream of power, and snapped it closed.

In the hold of the Cepolada, eyes watering from the flinchingly bright lanterns after so long in darkness, Doctor Nexaddo rose to his feet wiping bloody hands on his trousers. Inspector Felkin seemed to have things under control now, with the possible exception of the whirl of blood where the undead abomination was slowly being torn apart. Jemalkin seated himself on a crate nearby, pulled out his notebook and watched with fascination. One of the guardsmen who were surrounding the bloody mess tried to wave him back, but he ignored the gesturing hand with academic distain, bending over his paper and pen with intense focus. This was something new to the doctor, and new things were worth recording. He noted everything--the noise of flesh being slashed to pieces, and the way the crimson beast was slowly faltering. The gashes created by the invisible fighter were no longer healing completely, and disgustingly wet slabs of flesh were falling to the ground as if the very threads holding the creature together were being picked apart.

Up on deck, a man with a healer's emblem embroidered on his cap and a businesslike air to his movements examined Raven del Cid. Breath hissed between his teeth as he unwound the bandage and saw what lay beneath.

"Are you sure you're not dead?" he asked sourly, reaching for his tools. "You shouldn't be walking around with a wound like that. Hell, you shouldn't even be conscious." He poked the wizard in the side with a rune-carved stick and was rewarded with an involuntary wince. "You got some blood in your left lung--gonna have to drain that somehow--but the hole in the lining seems to have closed without any help, which shouldn't be possible, by the way. Fucking wizards." He paused, hand in his medical bag, reaching for some potion or other. "You have any allergies or lingering curses that I should know about, do you? Those things can really screw with healing, let me tell you."

"Are you sure you're not dead?. You shouldn't be walking around with a wound like that. Hell, you shouldn't even be conscious."

Raven took a deep breath ignoring the pain in his lungs. "I assure you I am quite alive, it must be all those Aletheas leaves I keep smoking. They do wonders for your mortality you know" he said with an amused smile. "Or maybe the guy who did this had really bad ai-" the healer had poked his ribcage sending a pulse of pain through his nerves "Do you mind?" was all that he could manage to say.

"You got some blood in your left lung--gonna have to drain that somehow--but the hole in the lining seems to have closed without any help, which shouldn't be possible, by the way. Fucking wizards."

Raven grinned, "I apologies for being a special case but I hope that this means I can be cleared for active duty soon?" he coughed to clear some blood in his throat. "There is an interrogation that I need to attend to and I don't intend on missing it"

The healer muttered something inaudible as he reached for his medical kit. "You have any allergies or lingering curses that I should know about, do you? Those things can really screw with healing, let me tell you."

Raven paused for a second. "Well excluding Dragon tears, Wyrrms, Sal-Tamroths and Haskin feet I am have no other allergies or curses."

The black-cloaked man had almost reached the back door of the tavern when Ticky's spell snatched at his ankle. He fell in mid-stride, abruptly, slamming into the door and scrabbling for a hold as an invisible force tried to drag him backward. He pulled sharply on the door, and the rotting piece of leather that served as a latch snapped with a sad little snick.

Ticky frowned and gestured, as though he was pulling on an unseen line, and the man's leg shot out from under him, sending him sprawling completely to the floor. He hit the ground hard, the impact pounding the breath from his lungs in a single burst of air, and a small black sphere rolled out of his pocket, an orb as dull and blank as a dead man's eye.

Those in the tavern who weren't mages didn't see much in the next few seconds. They didn't see the tendril of dark energy that snapped out of the black orb like a whip, going through Ticky's magic like plague through a city. They didn't sense the sudden, powerful, and quickly fading aura of necromancy: all they felt was the sudden chill, which they promptly ignored in their stampeding rush for the door.

Those who were paying attention saw the gnome grimace in sudden pain and stagger, as though something he had been grasping tightly had suddenly vanished. They saw the black-cloaked man pick himself up, snatching the orb off the floor with one quick hand. They saw him adjust his hood and step through the door. They saw him vanish into the shadows, and they heard his running footsteps.

Alexis was hardly amused with Felkin's curt reply. "That's just great!" he retorted as he stormed off. "We have been here long enough and a dwarf can't get to shore for a drink. What has the world come to?. Where has that other dwarf gone, perhaps he died in the battle?. Oh well all the more ale for me, if I can find any. Oh I say, who is that?" the dwarf stopped his ranting when he saw the mage standing on the main deck next to a healer.

"Alowey Raven!" Alexis greeted with a grunt. "I don't suppose your skills could conjure up a keg could you?. Something to make the time pass a bit quicker. I wonder where everyone else is?"

Raven was admiring the new stitching that the healer had applied when he caught glimpse of a dwarf appearing on the gun deck. "Alowey Raven!, I don't suppose your skills could conjure up a keg could you?. Something to make the time pass a bit quicker. I wonder where everyone else is?"

Raven smiled at the initial request. "Master dwarf!" he began. "I have learned many arts throughout my travels in these lands but conjuring alcohol from thin air isn't one of my disciplines. I am afraid I cannot help you there my friend, it is beyond my realm of control. Had I been an alchemist however and you had something of equivalent exchange for the transmutation, I could theoretically create a bottle of Merlot for you but alas the dark days where I skipped my basic alchemy courses." he paused to study the shore which was now filling up with the morning markets.

"As for the others..I have no-" he suddenly fell quiet as if something far off had grabbed his attention. "Lords of Arakish!" Raven suddenly spat getting up from his seat much to the annoyance of the healer who was busy with the last bit of stitching. He noticed the questioning look on the dwarf's face. "Necromancy!" the wizard blurted out. "Someone is using dark magic in the city. We have to go to help"

Raven turned to Alexis. "Where is Felkin?"

The black-cloaked man fled. He wasn't running particularly fast, but his movements were swift enough to outpace the short legs of a gnome and the bent-over stagger of a wounded elf as they pursued him from the tavern. Ticky trying to stop him by magically launching random debris in his direction did slow him down somewhat, but only enough so that they were able to keep him in sight. The man wasn't exactly a noteworthy sprinter, and if Derlan hadn't been wounded he could have easily caught up to him.

The man turned a corner, cloak flapping out behind him, and dashed out onto the docks without, unfortunately for him, fully examining where he was running. At the last second he noticed the dark gleam covering the stone of the harbor, the faint mist swirling upward and the slim figure standing in its midst...

He tried to stop, and his feet almost skidded out from under him. About thirty feet of the ground by the quay had been covered by a thin sheet of black ice, smelling faintly of whiskey. In the center of the ice stood the elf Tiber, in his dark, long-tailed suit, holding a matched set of gleaming emberlock pistols. His plan had been to lie in wait for the men who had attacked the ship, but had proven to be rather...unnecessary. Nevertheless, Tiber wasn't one to let a good trap go to waste.

The black-cloaked man slid across the ice, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to change his direction. He'd had too much momentum when he'd hit the black ice, and now he was having trouble even staying on his feet. Behind him, Ticky and Derlan emerged from an alley mouth, the painted elf bent over and gasping at the pain in his gut, the gnome moving quickly and purposefully. Seeing the helplessly sliding man they stopped, puzzled, before noticing Tiber.

"Stop him!" Ticky shouted, pointing at the black-cloaked man, and Tiber waved in acknowledgement.

The ice elf took one step backwards and glided neatly out of the man's path, easily avoiding a flailing slash from his long knife. He aimed a pistol carefully as he slid backwards, and fired once, a sharp retort against the usual dull hum of night in Tyb.

Below decks on the Cepolada, Inspector Felkin looked up and frowned.

"What now?" he muttered to himself. A quick nod of the head brought his men forming up behind him, heading towards the hatch and a better view of the gunfire.

On the docks, droplets of blood scattered over the ice from where Tiber's bullet had hit the cloaked man. He staggered, his feet finally sliding out from under him, turning his admittedly already ungraceful slide into an ungainly tumble. Tiber traced the path of the man's skidding fall, eyes gleaming like flecks of ice, and frowned.

"Hmmm," he said to himself, then called out to Ticky. "Did you want me to capture him for you?"

"Yes!" said the gnome from the edge of the ice.

"Ah," Tiber said, and watched the man claw at the ice for traction that was not there for a few brief moments. "Pity, then." The man's slide brought him to a sudden, lurching halt as he sailed over the edge of the dock, describing an almost perfect arc through the air to the water. Moments later Tiber heard the splash, with the crystal-clear sound of a noise carrying over water.

Tiber came to a neat, elegant halt on the ice and pushed off, skating over to where the man had vanished. Ticky came up behind him, melting a path through the ice with a wave of his hand and a look of focused concentration. They looked down at the water below, looking for any sign of a swimming figure.

"There he--no, that's a fish," said Ticky. "Dammit."

Ticky frowned. Their last lead, shattered. "I blame myself." he announced, turning towards the other two. "Well. I suppose there's naught to do but return to our dear Cepolada and get this Expedition underway." The gnome began strutting away before turning to Derlan and saying. "Ah, yes... you're bleeding to death. A pickle, that. Well, let's go, up on your feet! We're not far from the ship."

Derlan let out a heavy sigh, very heavy in fact, probably one of the heaviest sighs you will hear in your short life(if your a human that is). He put his finger into the air and began to speak when a particularly dark glob of blood slid out of his mouth. His hand lowered and his eyes followed the blood to the ground, a look of concern grew upon his face as he looked back up at the gnome.

"Mbmbh" was all he could say, his mouth filled with blood and his eyes filled with a look that said 'I should probably get to a doctor...now.' He stumbled over to Ticky and placed his hand on the gnomes shoulder, laughing quietly to himself and holding his mouth tightly shut. He smiled and nodded, then began stumbling in the direction of the Cepolada, blood dripping on the deck and his feet.

A thin, precisely dressed man with a healer's insignia on his cap and a master's pin on his jacket met Ticky and Derlan on the gangplank. He took a long, measuring look at the wounded elf, and sighed deeply.

"Kenneth?" he called without turning around.

"Yeah?" said the healer who had been patching up Raven, now in the process of putting his instruments away. "What?"

"If you're done with the wizard, there's an elf over here who seems to have been gut-shot."

"What?" the man who had healed Raven stood, shoving the last of his tools back into his bag. "Godsdamn, people, you're supposed to be Deslock's finest. Just how many of you got hurt tonight?"

"Just see to the elf, Kenneth," said the master healer.

"Yessir," said Kenneth.

The master healer nodded to Ticky and Derlan, moving aside to give the other healer room to work. "I apologize for not attending you myself, but there is a more...difficult situation that I must oversee. You understand." He nodded towards the deck nearby, where the third healer in his little squad was bending over Keil, busy with needle and thread. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

Ko'el came up from below decks. He had been hiding for some time since he had narrowly escaped death trying to think of someway to be useful but now the fight was already over. He saw the caps of the healers and made his way over favoring his wounded side.

"Don't suppose you cared spare some stiches for an old elf?"

He asked grimacing, if only he was younger he toughts, 200 hundred years ago he would have been a whirlwind in that fight but now, he was reduced to lesser roles. Ko'el sighed an leaned against a crate until a healer coul attend to him.

The guards guarded: the healers healed: dead men stayed dead, for the most part, and the Expedition waited. Impatiently, to be sure, but it wasn't as if they had much of a choice. Inspector Felkin had the Cepolada locked down tight, and he was the man with the only key. Which wouldn't have been much of a problem, if he wasn't so quietly and sardonically unreasonable about the whole thing.

"Can we--"

"If it can be done without leaving the ship or the sight of my men, then yes."

Those were the conditions. Those were the rules. He would change them only for the Provost himself, and funnily enough that august person wasn't anywhere on the docks. So, for the moment, the Inspector's word was law.

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" Deslock said sourly. Felkin looked back at him and smiled urbanely from behind his moustache.

"Just doing my job, Mr. Deslock," he said.

"My ship..." Grummond moaned from nearby.

"I'd be more concerned with your ribs," said Kenneth the healer, pulling hard on the tail end of a bandage. Grummond bit off a howl of pain and glared at the man, who grinned back. "Just doing my job, right?" Captain Grummond was the last of them to receive the healer's attentions. Keil had been stabilized, and they said he would recover as long as the wound didn't get infected: Derlan had been patched up and told to lie down for a while: Ko'el's wound had been deemed nonlethal but painful and swiftly bandaged: and Jonas' had been told not to walk on his sprained leg for a few days, and advised to not try taking on twenty men by himself again. All in all it was as pretty a collection of wounds as had ever graced Tyb harbor, and the healers had been amusing themselves and annoying their patients by comparing the various injuries to ones they'd treated in the past.

"Sure," said Deslock, ignoring Grummond and the healer. "So, would your job happen to include finding those explosives on the ship that the man who tried to kill us all mentioned?"

"There aren't any," said Felkin.

"What?"

"We had someone down below the waterline ten minutes ago," said the Inspector. "There aren't any explosives. He was bluffing."

Deslock took a moment to digest this information.

"What about my man Resdian? Mark Resdian? He was being held hostage..."

Felkin smiled politely, but his moustache bristled. "Investigations are continuing."

Meanwhile, down in the hold, Doctor Nexaddo watched as the crimson flailing of the abomination finally came to an end. It was abrupt, if you weren't looking for it: one moment it was up and swinging, if weakly, and the next it was in pieces on the floor. The doctor closed his notebook with a quick snap and hopped off his crate, disappointed that the show was over.

He heard a slight click, and it occurred to him that the invisible thing was still there, razor-sharp blades drenched in gore. Hmmm. That might not be good, depending on what the thing's intentions were...

Click
Click
Whiiiiiiiiir...

Small indentations appeared in the floorboards--very small, for something with enough weight to knock the heavy abomination off-balance. It paced back and forth for a moment, as though unsure of where to go: then a rune flared in the air, and Nexaddo could feel the wind on his face as it sprang upwards into the darkness. The unseen killer vanished like it had never been, though Nexaddo's eyes tracked it into the darkness as far as he could. He frowned after it, and may have said something along the lines of "Huh." The guardsmen who had been observing the surreal fight paid him no attention.

The presence of the Provost's Guard on the docks hung in the air like superstition, making the sailors and dockworkers move quickly and furtively, trying not to catch the eye of the law. For the Law was angry tonight, and when such a thing is looking for trouble it is best not to respond. For while the Law is full of high ideals like justice and fairness, what it actually fights with are the heavy stomping boots of the Guard.

Morning came slow, the sun peering sluggishly through the mist. With the morning came another squad of the Provost's Guard, quick-marching and carrying a stretcher, upon which was a man swearing at them in every language he knew.

"I can fucking walk on my own!" he screamed at them. The guardsmen gritted their teeth and increased their pace until they were almost running up the gangplank to the Cepolada.

"Inspector, sir," said the guardsman in the lead, "Linehouse Third Squad, reporting. We've found your hostage for you, sir."

"Very good," said Felkin, turning to Deslock. "Mr. Deslock: this would be your Mark Resdian, yes?" He indicated the man on the stretcher.

"Ah..." Deslock peered at the old man on the stretcher, who was glaring viciously at all and sundry. "So it is. Where'd you find him?"

"I'm sitting right here," Mark Resdian muttered. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here." Everyone ignored him.

"He staggered into Linehouse muttering about cultists and assassins and passed out on the floor, sir," said the guardsman. "After the healers saw to him, we brought him straight here."

"Well done, guardsman," said Felkin. "I trust Mr. Deslock can take it from here."

"Ah, about that, sir," said the guardsman, "I've got a message from the Lord Provost. You might want to read it. Sir."

"Indeed?" Felkin unfolded the paper that the guardsman handed him, scanning quickly along the words within. He refolded it with a quick snap of his fingers.

"Mr. Deslock," he said, turning to the explorer. "You have been granted a high honor, good sir. The Provost would like to speak to you personally about this past night."

"Oh, hell..." Deslock muttered, not quietly enough. Felkin smiled his bristling, urbane smile.

To be continued

The office of the Lord Provost of Tyb was a masterpiece in dark tropical wood and brushed metal, with brass and gold shining subtly from inlay, engraving and trim on every surface. The desk by itself could have paid for a year's worth of food for a small village, and looked sturdy enough to deflect cannonballs. The chair behind the desk was almost a disappointment, as though it had been an afterthought, though it was solid enough and masterfully carved with interlocking Tyb roses. In any other setting that chair would have been the centerpiece for the room, but here it seemed positively shoddy. Behind it rose a painting in a gilt-covered frame, portraying a man staring soberly out at the room from beneath heavy brows.

Deslock sat in a chair cleverly designed to be impossible to be completely comfortable in. It was a chair meant to disrupt the concentration of anyone who sat in it, which was why the guardsmen gave their reports standing up most of the time, but it was having little effect on Deslock. His focus was elsewhere.

"Master explorer Tyrone Deslock," said the Lord Provost. "So good to finally meet you in person." He smiled, an expression that did not touch eyes like chips of ice. "Alas, I would have hoped the circumstances were more favorable."

Deslock said nothing.

"Tyrone Deslock," the Provost muses, drawing out the words. "An explorer of much note, famed for his journeys through the Sunset Jungles, the Shattered Lands and the distant north. Beloved by Ver Arcana for his contributions to their store of knowledge, adored by merchants for finding safer trade routes through the wilderness, admired and envied by every young fool dreaming of adventure." He pauses for a moment, staring across the desk at the battered and unwashed explorer. "And now, the great Tyrone Deslock is my problem."

Deslock shifts in his uncomfortable chair, but again says nothing.

The Provost picks up a piece of paper on the desk in front of him and reads it idly. "Let's see here...one count of endangering trade ships, one count of illegal use of Verdan munitions in the harbor, one--"

"The munitions wasn't us," Deslock said. The Provost looked at him over the top of the paper, brows drawn tightly together. Deslock, realizing that he has just interrupted the one man in Tyb who can order him shot or imprisoned without people asking awkward questions afterward, added a belated "Sir."

"Indeed," replied the Provost. "The burner wasn't, I believe, which helps you quite a bit. However, according to my reports, one of your men...Jacien Criver, I believe...had quite the supply of explosives on his person. Or in his person, as the case may be." He smiles thinly, though the joke isn't really funny. "Now, if I may continue?"

Deslock wisely keeps his mouth shut.

"Thank you. Where was I?" the Provost examines the paper once again. "Ships, munitions...ah. One count of destructive wizardry, two counts of public disturbance, one count of transporting foreign assassins--"

Deslock cannot help himself. "Say what?"

The Provost sighs and glares across the desk. Deslock is once again reminded that he remains out of prison only on this man's pleasure.

"Also, property damage equal to three-hundred gold crowns, in the Third Flagon tavern--I believe several of your Expedition were directly responsible for some broken furniture, a destroyed wall, and a fire there earlier today. And, hmmm, let's add inciting riots as well, though once again I suppose you'll argue that that was this bounty hunter and not your crew." The Provost paused and glared levelly at Deslock. "And two counts of interrupting the Lord Provost," he added pointedly. Deslock winced, but said nothing. "I hope you realize how much of a problem you present, Master Deslock."

Deslock was silent for one awkward moment, until he realized that this time the Provost really did expect a response. "My apologies, sir," he said as humbly as he knew how. "In my defense, it was never my intention to cause you any trouble."

"Of course not," said the Provost dryly. "You'd be amazed at where that defense has gotten people in the past. You, however, are a unique problem, because much as I'd like to seize your ship and hit you with fines heavy enough that you will never sail again, I cannot."

For the first time since entering the office and seeing the Provost's expression, Deslock looks hopeful. "You can't?"

The Provost snorted, and drew several documents out of his desk. "I have here," he said, waving a piece of paper at Deslock, "a very politely-worded letter from one Professor Archinal of the University Arcana, co-signed and approved by Thaddeus Grismatin, stating that they would appreciate it if Tyb were to, and I quote, 'Not unduly hinder the Grand Expedition upon its great and noble course.' It arrived a few weeks ago, I'm told, and was forwarded to me by the House of Mercers when they heard that you had arrived in the city. Incidentally, this Professor Archinal is the head of the College Scientific, and directly related to the Archinal family of Merdallan. Specifically, he's the younger brother of Duke Archinal, a man who I've been assured I cannot afford to offend." The Provost's mouth twists in a smile that is almost a grimace. "Lucky you."

Another letter. "This is a message from one Ambassador Kempthorne of Buron, telling me much the same. Apparently because you chose to start your little voyage in his city, the good ambassador believes that your success will reflect well on Buron." The Provost's smile is utterly humorless. "Kempthorne is not a man I can take lightly. I don't need the House of Mercers to tell me that."

The Lord Provost straightens his papers with a neat tap. "So then. Here is what I shall do. After much argument and pleading I will waive these charges against you, you will return to your ship, and you will leave Tyb on your mad expedition this very afternoon, no later than four past noon. Before then your ship will be repaired courtesy of the House of Mercers, and you will receive a slight discount on any bulk supplies you may need to purchase."

The Provost paused. Deslock thought. "That doesn't sound particularly bad," he said slowly. "I may have to leave Keil here to recover, but I'm expecting a few more--"

"Oh no," interrupted the Provost. "Perhaps I wasn't clear. You and your entire merry little band of troublemakers and murderers are being kicked the hell out of my city. Including your wounded, anyone who should happen to join you, and anyone who might be having second thoughts." He paused for a moment, then added grudgingly, "I suppose your deceased can stay."

Deslock gaped at him. "But without proper healing--"

"Now listen here," said the Provost, no longer making any attempt to appear polite. He leaned forward across the desk and hissed into Deslock's face. "There are no exceptions. There will be no compromise, for I assure you I have given you too much already. I have been charged with keeping the peace in a city of smugglers, ancient feuds and traffickers in everything under the sun, and I will not have you godsdamned people stirring up trouble any longer. Get. The. Hell. Out. Do you understand? Bear in mind, the only answer that will leave you alive is 'yes.'"

"Yes, sir," said Deslock.

"Good," said the Provost, leaning back in his chair, gaunt face once again bearing an expression of polite amusement. "You may go, Master Deslock. I believe you have quite a lot to do today."

The carpenters were already at work on the Cepolada when Deslock returned. He looked around at the bustle, slightly dazed at how fast things were moving.

Grummond approached him, swearing under his breath. "I appreciate my ship being repaired, yes," he said, "but they've got ladders and beams everywhere in there. It's a fell day indeed when I can't even walk through my own godsdamn ship without hitting my head on something."

Deslock didn't say anything for a moment. "Well?" Grummond prodded him. "What'd the brass hat want?"

"We need to leave," said Deslock. "Fast."

Grummond snorted. "After last night?" he said. "No shit, Deslock."

Rokya woke as his door opened, springing upright and a hand reaching for his shortsword. "Easy there, sir. Ye told me to wake you before dawn, ain't say nothing bout a fight," the bartender pleaded as he backed himself out into the hall.

"Wha-? Oh, right, sorry," said Rokya as the memory became clear. "Sorry. Here, I'd like a steak for breakfast, please." He tossed a couple silver coins to the round man in the hallway, paying for both food and service.

"Yes, sir. I'll have it ready for ye fresh in just a few minutes."

Rokya pulled himself up out of bed and quickly dressed. As he pulled his leather vest over his second arm, he saw his reflection in the mirror and laughed. His dark, curly hair was sticking up on one side and he looked like a mess. He tidied himself up and gathered his belongings in his one large bag, with his shortsword on his hip.

The steak was decent, not the best, but obviously well prepared, and Rokya felt the bartender earned the coins. After a few questions on directions and the day's prices on various supplies, Rokya left the inn before any of its other patrons had risen.

Taking in the fresh sea air of Tyb, Rokya found himself subconsciously heading towards the docks. The air soon became cluttered with shrieks of seagulls and cries of sailors striving to be heard over each other. The good life, as some called it.

Taking some time to buy some supplies from a dockside merchant, Rokya overheard some sailors talking about last night. Usually not one to eavesdrop intentionally, Rokya was attempting to tune it out when he heard the men say, Cepolada. His mind focused on that one word and all he had heard of the Great Expedition from back home in Lomar. Finding the merchant staring at him strangely, Rokya paid for his goods and continued his morning stroll.

After many more minutes traversing the docks, Rokya realized he was being followed, and by no amateur. Every time he tried to see his pursuer, the figure vanished. Even reflections became uncertain with the milling crowds. Realizing that his troubles had only caught up to him, he sought his only escape, the one idea on his mind: The Expedition to the Unknown.

After another quarter hour of trying to lose his silent follower, Rokya found the Cepolada. Carpenters and dock-hands swarmed the magnificent vessel like ants, and dotted in the chaos were finely dressed men trying in vain to keep track of expenses. On the main deck was a man yelling angrily at a few men carrying crates. What was the leader's name? Tyson? Tyson Bresrock? Crap, I'll have to find out, quickly, Rokya thought to himself.

Marching up to the yelling man Rokya said, "Excuse me, sir? I'm here for the Expedition."

"What? Who the hell are you?" the angry man asked as he took in the image of this new stranger.

"Rokya Nasheel, I was under the impression that I was accepted from the summons. It said to meet up with the ship in Tyb, are you the leader of the Expedition?"

"Who in the hell do you think I am? A dancing bear? I'm the Master Explorer, Tyrone Deslock! And this is my expedition!" Deslock said angrily. Rokya was just glad he didn't ask for any proof of the summons, else his lie would fold and he'd have to face his pursuer.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," said Rokya as he shook Deslock's hand. "Shall I go to my cabin now?"

"Just get out of my sight!" Rokya quickly obliged and ducked below deck. After a little searching, he picked out a small room and closed the door as he unpacked.

In to the unknown they stride
Bold and strong and tall...

That is why I stick with rum.

It was her excuse as she crawled out of bed, unwilling to admit that she had a drinking problem. With her head throbbing at the pace of her heart, she squinted out her surroundings, finding her clothes scattered across the floor. She regained most of her grace by the time she was dressed landing herself in front of a mirror. She messed with her hair for a minute before finally giving up and used the water pitcher. After she cleaned herself up a bit, she tidied up the room, an uncommon courtesy, and locked the door behind her.

The bartender looked up to see Rhee struggle down the stairs and let a small smile crack his lips. She had made him a small amount of change last night by out drinking most of the visitors. What was most surprising, though, was how people treated her as if she was always part of the group; not bad for someone who couldn't speak the common language in these parts. She had made many trips back to the counter from her table; it was obvious that she wasn't alone, always carrying drinks in both of her hands. He couldn't make out who the other was but his priority was the angry mob with empty mugs.

"Morning, we have some eggs and toast if you are looking for some breakfast," said the bartender trying to hide the fact that he said this to everyone.

"Eggs? Yes please," she moaned, leaving the door key and some change on the counter. The bartender quickly took the money, leaving Rhee eyeballing it into his purse. He left for the kitchen, coming back with a warm plate of food in his hands.

"If you don't mind me asking, who were you drinking with last night?" the bartender asked. "I didn't see him follow you to your room so I was quite curious." Rhee didn't bother answering right away, wanting to get her food down.

"...Name..." she shrugged, That's not good, "Boat-man...Boater?"

He just laughed, "A sailor you mean, what business did you have with him?"

"To Unknown." She finished the food quietly and left as the workers talked amongst themselves; their speech was much too fast for her to understand but she did get the prices at the market and the strange events at the port.

What a strange expedition, she thought. Ironic that they hope to find comfort in The Unknown, of all places.

She started off by heading to the docks, or, at least, in the direction of the docks. She didn't know the town very well, often relying on her compass to stop herself from straying. It didn't help, though, as she soon lost herself into the silver compass, cleaning the engravings every time she looked at it. She did stop at the market to grab supplies but made up the time by packing light. With that and asking directions, she spotted the line of white masts in the distance.

She wandered a bit, looking for the man that she drank with last night. Sadly though, she couldn't remember his face because of the intoxication. She eventually recognized his voice along one of the docks. Rhee waited patiently for the man to finish talking to two burly men, it didn't take long for the twins to finally depart, grabbing barrels and headed for the nearest ship. The last man turned around to accomplish something else but caught sight of Rhee in the corner of his eye. It took him moment, standing dumbfounded to realize who it was, and quickly corrected himself.

"Oh, hey, hope you didn't stand their too long. You should of said something, I'm not used to hearing people being quiet, it means their slacking." He wiped his hands on his dirty trousers and took Rhee's hand in a rough shake. "So your still wanting to go to The Unknown right?" Rhee nodded in approval, "I've talked to Deslock about you going, how it went, though, I'm not sure...you'll have to see for your self."

The man turned around heading towards the gangplank with Rhee quickly reading Cepolada as they went by. "Now Deslock is rather busy and has a short-temper," pausing to let a man walk between them. "Don't take his words to heart, he just doesn't like idiots." When they reached the deck, Deslock paid no attention to their cries as he ordered the men loading the supplies. When they finally managed to get in his way, his ranting quickly turned on them.

"What do you want Ther...I guess that bullshit that you spewed last night was true," said Deslock, "what a miracle." Thereck's face grew red as Deslock changed his attention to Rhee. "Do you have a name, or did Thereck strike true with 'Sexy Lass'?" Rhee shot a dull stare at Thereck but he was already stomping away in embarrassment to find work.

Ha, what a hypocrite, she replied, but no one could read her mind. "Rhee Dharmack, sir."

"Well Rhee, bunks are at th-for fuck sakes, THIRD DECK, mate, where the rest of the food is stashed! Bunks on the second deck, grab any empty one or a full one if you prefer. You would do great to introduce yourself to Captain Grummond, other than that, get out of the way. With my luck, you won't be the only one buzzing in my ears."

They shook hands sealing the contract and Rhee headed for the cabins, dodging other passengers. She found an open door tossing her bag underneath the bed and felt strangely at home.

What a strange expedition indeed.

Derlan's eyes shot open, a bag was thrown under the bottom bunk, below the mattress of which he slept. His eyes shifted back and forth along the ceiling and he quietly sniffed the air,

A...woman? Is that what I smell? None other but a woman in this room? The room of which I sleep there stands a woman?

He quickly sat up and quietly whimpered in pain, looking around the room until he caught sight of Rhee. He licked his fingers and ran his wet digits through his eyebrows, a smirk spread across his faced and he arched his now wet eyebrow,

"Why hello there miss. Is it heaven I have woken up in for I have seen an angel!" he said as suave as he could, keeping a straight face for about 20 seconds before bursting out in laughter. For about a minute he went back and forth between laughing and howling in pain, gripping his stomach in pain and slapping his knee, "Ah I do apologize for that, I find it difficult to resist using lines like that, its just... fantastically hilarious! Am I right or am I a pumpkin?! Anyways, the name is Derlan, I am a bit out of service right now but you should see me when I am 100%, I am like a ship on land! It would appear as though we are bunk-buddies, what would your name be?"

"Why hello there miss. Is it heaven I have woken up in for I have seen an angel!"

Rhee was quite unaware of the painted elf in the bunk, She tried to swallow the words that Derlan said but something must of shown on her face. He started howling in laughter guarding is chest every time.

He must like conflicting pain on himself to keep laughing, Is he laughing at me though or does he really find himself funny? she let Derlan continue for bit more finding it somewhat intriguing.

<"All right, all right, give your chest a rest. Sadly I didn't understand a word you said though, would you happen to speak Illarym?">

"Ah I do apologize for that, I find it difficult to resist using lines like that, its just... fantastically hilarious! Am I right or am I a pumpkin?! Anyways, the name is Derlan, I am a bit out of service right now but you should see me when I am 100%, I am like a ship on land! It would appear as though we are bunk-buddies, what would your name be?"

She laughed at her weakness offering a handshake while the other hand grabbed her bag. <"it is a pleasure to meet you Derlan,> I Rhee Dharmack." She let out a small sigh reaching for the water skin that reeked in gin, she took a swig and offered it to Derlan. She wasn't sure what to do, she knew she had to find a bunk soon but she didn't want to offend the elf who has shown some kindness with good intentions or not.

"How?" she started patting the same area where Derlan was wounded on her chest deciding small talk might be the wisest.

"How?

Derlan grabbed the flask from her hand and sniffed it, he took a quick swig and handed it back to her,

<"Hm... Illarym eh? Lucky for fish my mother's half Uncle was half Illarym so I know how to speak the boat... somewhat at pickle"> Derlan pondered about what he just said, hoping it was correct Illarym, <"Erm... a..."> Derlan racked his brains for the word gun, it just wouldn't come to him, <"I... was shot with a... shooting machine. I can't think of the word sorry. It hurts like a dog but I will be river soon. So what brings you with a to Expedition?">

Excellent, small talk is one of my specialties, she will be vying for my love soon enough!

<"So what brings you with a to Expedition?">

She relaxed a bit after hearing some familiar words, maybe my luck wasn't so bad after all.
She cracked a smile as the gin warmed her throat, of course it wasn't very good but it was understandable and it broke the awkwardness that could of been.
"<Hopefully to get rich, find something of worth value over there,>" she continued to pass the flask uncaring if it emptied, she knew where to get more. "<what about you? Also, what can you tell me about the rest of the crew? they seem to be a colorful bunch from the ones I've seen.>"

"<what about you? Also, what can you tell me about the rest of the crew? they seem to be a colorful bunch from the ones I've seen.>"

<"Well, to be honest me just needed something to does, my life was getting rather boring and its difficult to life a boring live as for Painted Elf. As for the rest of the crew..."> Derlan paused for a moment, recalling the many secrets that the members of the crew had harbored, <"I best advice is to be careful, the people on this ship have more secrets than I have tattoos! Me learned these past few nights that seemingly normal crew members are wizards, mages, healers and water knows what else! I have made a couple of friends but there are some people I do no like be trust.">

He motioned for more gin, he didn't want to be rude but the conversation, and of course the booze, took his mind off the pain in his gut.

<"So you going to are lay with me?"> Derlan asked, not realizing he had asked the woman to sleep with him.

Ko'el walk through the crew quarters holding the bandages on his right side tight. The wound wasn't deep but it was long and broad. The attackers blade have cut a large flap of skin off of his stomache, which the healers stitched back.

He was just passing Derlan's room when he heard.

<"So you going to are lay with me?">

He peeked his head inside and took a saw what was happening. Due to the nature of his work, and his considerable life span he had enough time and reason to learn the language of Illyrm, and it's culture. He was fairly certain asking a woman to sleep with him in their first conversation was a taboo in any land, but Derlan was a Painted elf.

He shook his head and spoke up.

"For god's sakes Derlan, you'll probably split your wounds open, but if your going to atleast us a sheepskin, can't have no babies on this trip."