11th of Winter, AV 514
Pulren had found the sweetest little nook on the dock of Baroque Bay, nestled in between a shed for equipment and some cargo which sat up to almost his head height. By sitting on a box from the stack, he was blocking out all but one direction of wind and could try to enjoy a little fishing. He, Noven and Bitzer would be heading out to Sahova the following day and the stress alone of such an expedition called for what relaxation fishing could bring. It was as cold as Caela's smile and he had received not as much as a nibble. Still, it felt good to throw the line and be left to his thoughts, as plentiful as they were on a cold winter's day.
There were footfalls along the pier, souls as brave or stupid as he out in the cold doing their business. Sailors should be in their cabins unless they had chores to do, the Zeltivan thought to himself. Of course, Sunberth was not full of the brightest stars in the sky and the trip to the Dead Island at least brought the promise of slightly smarter corpses. Chewing at a bit of ration jerky, he tried to guess if it was the cold or the quality of the dried meat that made it so solid and tough. He was almost left to only suckle at the gray meat and hope his mouth would warm it enough to chew. If that failed, it could become bait in a pinch. Pulren's head cocked as it was a fine idea over the half rotted grub he had found to use so far.
Standing from his hovel, he started reeling in the line, though he still pulled slowly to mimic living prey's behavior. Never could tell when a bite could come. All of a sudden, he could hear quite a bit of commotion. Pulren couldn't tell if it was just because he had stood up or maybe it had been there and his jerky quandaries had taken his mind and attention away. He could hear the whistles and jeers of men a they called out to a woman in the least flattering of ways. Their words were crass and harsh and it made the man a little annoyed. Why didn't they try actual flattery? It worked wonders in Pulren's case. Winding in his line, he placed his rod and tackle down behind the crates so they wouldn't walk off.
Since it was a casual occasion, all he had brought with him was his fists and his kukri. The damned knife had been nothing but show since he had purchased it and he hoped it would remain so, having brought it merely to cut line in case of snags. Taking a breath, he listened and surveyed the situation, preparing to step out and intervene if needed. It was the Guard in him.
Pulren had found the sweetest little nook on the dock of Baroque Bay, nestled in between a shed for equipment and some cargo which sat up to almost his head height. By sitting on a box from the stack, he was blocking out all but one direction of wind and could try to enjoy a little fishing. He, Noven and Bitzer would be heading out to Sahova the following day and the stress alone of such an expedition called for what relaxation fishing could bring. It was as cold as Caela's smile and he had received not as much as a nibble. Still, it felt good to throw the line and be left to his thoughts, as plentiful as they were on a cold winter's day.
There were footfalls along the pier, souls as brave or stupid as he out in the cold doing their business. Sailors should be in their cabins unless they had chores to do, the Zeltivan thought to himself. Of course, Sunberth was not full of the brightest stars in the sky and the trip to the Dead Island at least brought the promise of slightly smarter corpses. Chewing at a bit of ration jerky, he tried to guess if it was the cold or the quality of the dried meat that made it so solid and tough. He was almost left to only suckle at the gray meat and hope his mouth would warm it enough to chew. If that failed, it could become bait in a pinch. Pulren's head cocked as it was a fine idea over the half rotted grub he had found to use so far.
Standing from his hovel, he started reeling in the line, though he still pulled slowly to mimic living prey's behavior. Never could tell when a bite could come. All of a sudden, he could hear quite a bit of commotion. Pulren couldn't tell if it was just because he had stood up or maybe it had been there and his jerky quandaries had taken his mind and attention away. He could hear the whistles and jeers of men a they called out to a woman in the least flattering of ways. Their words were crass and harsh and it made the man a little annoyed. Why didn't they try actual flattery? It worked wonders in Pulren's case. Winding in his line, he placed his rod and tackle down behind the crates so they wouldn't walk off.
Since it was a casual occasion, all he had brought with him was his fists and his kukri. The damned knife had been nothing but show since he had purchased it and he hoped it would remain so, having brought it merely to cut line in case of snags. Taking a breath, he listened and surveyed the situation, preparing to step out and intervene if needed. It was the Guard in him.