9th of Summer, 514A.V. The inked waves of Laviku’s blessed touch shifted across the left side of Tyne’s chest, as if eternally submerging his heart in the Sea. The art was touched by the sun since the Svefra wore his loose fitting linen shirt open until halfway down his chest. Tyne thudded along one of the Riverfall Port’s many well kept wharfs. The city seemed to pride itself on an outward presentation that was foreign and unheard of in other places. The swampy docks of Kenash were not nearly as well kept as the sailor’s walks in Riverfall. As it should be, here they respect the Suvan and all she brings them. A special kind of thirst was coming over the sailor as he strolled down the wharf. It was the kind of thirst that left a man yet thirsty still, but fuzzier of mind. He found, sitting upon the end of the dock, a rather pleasant looking seaside tavern. The patio that expanded ambitiously from the drink house, dotted with polished tables, wooden and shining. The place seemed inviting enough. Tyne grasped the hilt of his cutlass to better navigate the tables. He took care not to knock astray any lantern nor candle with the weapon as it dangled from his hip. Tyne sat with a sigh, dangling one booted foot over the opposing knee and gazing contentedly out at the open Suvan. He smiled to himself as he watched Laviku’s domain shift uncontrolled and chaotic across the horizon. “Hello. What can I get for you?” The voice was soft and hinted of passion unknown. Tyne turned and found himself gazing upon a beauty whom he had rarely seen the like of, though his sails had taken him far and wide. “My name is Elise and I’ll be your server.” She smiled knowingly at the look on his face, but kept herself professional. Tyne ran a callused hand through his beard. “The darkest Kenashian rum you have.” He returned her smile, blue eyes squinting to the point of disappearance. “Please!” The word followed her as she left to return with his order, politeness was ever in his wake. It was hard to cultivate aboard ship for weeks on end. The sort he commonly associated with were not the type to set much stock by polite banter neither, more by the edge of a cutlass or the weight of a coin purse. The beauty brought his rum and he paid the three silver for it. The ceramic pitcher sloshed happily as he poured himself a cup and sipped from it. The slightly sweet liquid burned as he let it slide down his throat. The Svefra cleared his windpipe in a deeply satisfied manner and leant back in his chair, content to watch people pass by. Worry had not yet entered his mind about work, there were always prospects in Riverfall if you looked hard enough, and he was well to do as it stood at the moment. A bit of relaxation might have been exactly what he needed. |