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[Arahim]

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The day was bright and new, scant hours past dawn, and already it was hot. The strong scent of fish clung to the salty air. It followed one even into the deeper recesses of the port city where commerce not connected to the waterways held sway. Perhaps this was why Vesper, for all its many charms, never took off as a city for socialites. Here, people worked for a living.

The docks bustled. The business of shipping and trading, while adhering to set schedules often very tight, were not held thrall to the notion that mornings were meant for breakfast, or that sailing by moon's pale light was reserved for only the romantic. Captains made more money by making more trips. There was a simple math to that notion that Arahim found very soothing. And very enticing, if only his life had taken different turns at different points.

The ship was new, embarrassingly pristine actually, and stuck out amongst the weathered ships, and sloops moored around him. Their decks abuzz with activity, and swarmed over by their crews, while Arahim haunted his in solitude and worked alone.

Colorful rejoinders, arguments, haggles, scraps, and clipped orders played like a well crafted, and practiced orchestra. The wharf very much at ease with the music of limited space, the press of bodies in constant motion, and the constraints of time upon doing a job, and then sailing out.

You could not help but to smile while around this life.

[Arahim]

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Arahim dragged his shadow behind him as he strode down the gangplank to the dock. A bearded man in his later years, his skin bronzed, and craggy, stalked quickly towards him with a wave. A heavy cane, he very obviously did not need, gripped tightly in his other hand.

"The tide is favorable m'lord." he said all too amicably, while keeping a respectful distance. His face smiling, but expectant.

"I'm no lord," replied Arahim without sparing him a glance, busying himself checking the ships lines, "You watched me load my hold by myself all morning, no? A lord would have a retinue to handle such tasks."

"Aye. So they would. But yet ye've been docked nigh two full days an' nights..."

"And I paid the agreed fee for three." he cut in smoothly, still showing the harbormaster his back.

"Ye did at that..."

Turning to face the man, Arahim drew to his full height and stepped in closer. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spoke quietly despite the surrounding din, forcing the harbormaster to lean forward to catch his words.

"The price paid, upfront, was fair. Now it is true that as I am not importing, exporting, or trading, I am not subject to the city's tariffs. I have no crew who would likely spend money on wenching or the dice games you either run, or take a piece of in the basement rooms under your offices. I have no cargo that you could turn a blind eye to if I were to weight your pockets, and I have nothing on board that could 'go missing' during transport."

Arahim paused to allow his words to take hold, nodding once before continuing.

"I understand you have more to gain by quick turnarounds, or from true shipping concerns, but I met your price and intend on staying one more night. We have an accord?"

"Son...ye do me wrong..." the old salt mumbled with downcast eyes.

Arahim laughed and clapped his shoulder.

"But not too wrong."

"Nay," the old man smiled, "Not too terribly wrong!"

Placing several coins in the harbormaster's hand, Arahim jerked a thumb towards the Sea Song.

"I'm set as of right now, but I fear I will have a slow going sailing out tomorrow morning. If you would, have one of yours move her? Help me avoid the traffic? Early?"

The harbormaster frowned thoughtfully, his hand still open, and his eyes on his coins.

Sighing, Arahim placed two more into his waiting clutch.

"South Vesper beach. Outside of town. I'm staying at the Ironwood Inn, have your man wake me after he's anchored her."

Grinning happily, the old man jingled his fist before stashing the gold into an inside pocket of his vest.

"Ye've been more'n fair, lad! I'll have 'er there...bright an' early!"

Nodding, Arahim turned to leave.

"Son! Anythin' else afore ye leave? Ye said ye'd stay through the night. Lotta time ta kill."

"There is," he said over his shoulder, "Any idea on what the ladies are wearing in Nujel'm this season?"

[Cezanne Abella]

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“Bandages…iodine…” Cezanne ticked items off her mental list as she placed them in the basket held over her arm. She picked up a glass bottle filled with an obvious yellow elixir and placed it into the basket, then paused, biting her lip thoughtfully. Better safe than sorry. She plopped a second healing potion into the basket.

The shop mistress approached her with a smile. “We have a fine selection of herbs, if you’re an apothecary.”

“Hmm. There is one thing, I think.” Cezanne looked into the basket and flipped through the items she had collected: a thin stack of parchment in a lovely shade of ivory, a new quill wrapped in a nondescript brown paper parcel, an ink well, a roll of crimson ribbon, a tin of imported black tea, and more medical supplies than most people would use in a year.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Of course, how can I help?”

“Do you have dried lavender?”

“We do,” the woman hesitated. “It’s…a bit pricey, I’m afraid. Apologies. Fellow from Minoc got it from someplace overseas.”

“No matter. That’s all I need. Lavender.”

“Excellent. Here we are then.” She lifted a glass jar from the shelf, half-full of tiny dried lavender blossoms and held it out to Cezanne. “A healer?” the shopkeep surmised with a polite smile.

“Afraid not, MiLady." Cezanne laughed. "Just accident-prone.”