PM to join Give a woman a fish or learn with her....

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

15th, Fall 517 AV, early afternoon Salara had chosen the slight jut of beach north of the Sea Gates from where the sounds of the Suvan merged with the crescendo of the waterfall where her light river pole might still catch something and not be entirely overpowered by Laviku’s tide. Fishing, for the most part, was only a relaxing past time as she still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it; but just looking at her neatly organized tackle kit always made her happier - brightly painted corks, drill-crafted stone sinkers, a wood-carved lure somewhat resembling a frog, skein of cord, various hues of feather, and the little clapper bell she had tied to the end of her pole to help her hear over the myriad of water sounds. Sitting upon a blanket with her toes curling in the sand, the fall winds chill her skin in counterpoint to Syna’s warming smile. The breezes play with the folds of her white linen gown, the skirt of which was knotted at her knees to lift the hem from the wet sands and keep it under control. Blonde tresses were another matter as they whipped loose about her face from the sloppy tail she’d tied at the nape of her neck. One of which was frustratingly teasing across her vision as she tried yet again to knot a hook onto her line. Try as she might each time she’d given the hook a tug it had unraveled from the cord but it wasn’t in her to give up. Trying to recall instructions from her time upon Destiny’s Lass where Skinny Bogart had tried to show her how to fish the deep waters, she tried again. Thread the line through the eye and twist the hook about several times, then tuck the loose end through the loop created above the eye and pull the tail tight. For good measure she carefully gives the hook a steady tug only to watch it unravel yet again. Wait. Hadn’t he said something about moistening the line first? Running the slightly salty line between her lips over her tongue, which remains poking out in concentration, she tries the maneuver again. “Got it!” she grins toothily at the first win of the day. Leaning back she pulls a small basket closer to shake bait from a bottle stashed next to her lunch. She didn’t know if the hoppers she’d managed to catch in the Knirin Gardens would stand up to the surf but maybe if she tied a few feathers above the hook? It was bait better suited for freckled browncoats that wouldn’t be found here. She wasn’t sure what fishes lived in these waters at the cusp of fresh and salt but imagined that more substantial bait would work better. Standing to toss her first line out was successful only in the fact that the hook stayed on and the line didn’t tangle. The second try at least appeared to be effective in keeping the bait on. Leaning her pole upright against a bit of driftwood, Salara lays back to watch fluffy white clouds push across the sky. Gulls cry in multitude on the air streams as she lifts her forearm to shade her sight imagining snagging one of them with her pole. Could she whip one from the sky? The lightest of sea spray dapples her flesh in sunlit glitter. Taking in the salty air with a contented sigh she knew that just being out of the Tiers with her pole in the water was good enough for now.

[Pulren Marsh]

The call of the gulls and the even break of the surf. Familiar sounds to a man who had spent most of his life close to the sea. They were comforting sounds. They made Riverfall a comfortable home. Comfort and routine had galvanized the mercenary over the past several seasons, the traumas of his work taking its toll. Much of the previous time since his arrival was a blur. Pulren had been spending a lot of time at home, letting his mind heal from the madness and blood that had seeped into his very soul.

It was akin to a kind of sickness that he had seen in divers. Sometimes, if a diver swam too deep and ascended too quickly, they would become very ill, sometimes suffering to the point of permanent internal scarring and death. Pulren had also descended into depths, darkest places that were not meant to be seen by the soul of man. He prayed every night that the Sea father would wash those memories from his mind but they persisted, the lightning like heartbeat of the cosmic thing penetrating into his own heartbeat. Sometimes the man would awaken in a sheen of his own sweat, pawing at the air above his face while relatively safe in his comfortable bedding.

It was getting better, however. Daily walks along the shoreline and visits to Laviku's Tower were healing him. Each pass of the tide was slowly washing that stain away from his sanity, refreshing it with the turn of the father's hand. On this particular day, he was practicing his oldest and most familiar pastime: fishing. of course, it would be easy to merely dip his feet into the water and know where the fish were, but that was no show of skill. Perhaps in a situation of dire need or hunger, he might seek out sustenance in such a manner from the Father. There was just no sport in it otherwise.

Dressed in his leathers, his high boots and long cloak, he never took a lovely day for granted. If he had chosen to stay inside the relative safety of Riverfall's port, perhaps he could relax his guard and wear simple finery. Not out in the open, however. His fishing pole was in one hand and his trusted three tined friend in the other. As he scanned along the beach toward the city, he could see what looked like a woman sprawled out with the same kind of leisurely ideas as he. His eyes reflexively looked to the skies for Zith. It was very strange to see an unarmed and unarmored woman unaccompanied on this stretch of beach. Dangerous wasn't the word.

Taking caution not to completely startle her, Pulren made his way toward the woman, making obvious noise as he clattered rocks, picking them up and seeking the small crustaceans and amphibians that found root there. they made lovely bait and they were plentiful. Pinching a small salamander, he quickly ended its struggle with the swift movement of a hook through its eye, the curve coming up through the top of its head.

Fixing his trident into the sand, he looked down at the long and lithe form before him. "Anything biting today?" Smiling, he strung out his line as he prepared to cast it out. "You're either very confident or very naïve to be out here away from the guards like this. A Zith could just snap you right up and that would be the end of life as you know it." He pulled back and let the twitching newt fly out into the water, his eyes on its progress.

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[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Having a tendency for catnaps in sunshine, Salara didn’t know how may chimes had passed before her keen ears caught the distinct sandy crunch of footsteps in the distance. Although in no great hurry to interrupt her peaceful repose, she slightly moved her far hand beneath a blanket fold to ensure her throwing dagger was ready to hand. As the footsteps began to pause in ticks she could fight curiosity no longer so shuffled to sit with knees bent to the side in a posture of relaxed readiness. Hand lifted to shade her brow with flattened palm she was pleased to see an apparent human man and even more so that he carried a fishing pole even if he looked rather like a guard in his cloaked regalia. He obviously wasn’t here to chase her off. As he moved about lifting larger stones she spared a look about the area around her blanket to see what he might be collecting – assuming it bait of some sort. Still with no clue, she felt a little foolish knowing she might have sat upon a trove of critters for her hook. She’d be darned to ask and let him know… Before the final steps of the man’s approach she used what she’d learned from Fallon to paint a more thorough picture - rugged, scruff warrior-type comfortable with his weapon; unsurprising as most of the people of Riverfall were. He was easily as comfortable with fishing tackle, which was point in his favor. Nearly her height, lean but well toned. He sported a healthy tan; but as he came closer she noted a pinched peakedness about his eyes under serious brows – not resting well or maybe recovering sickness? Straight nose, no apparent scarring and, ‘Anything biting today?’ a nice smile with all of his teeth! She returned his smile in welcome. “Not so far but I’m not really trying all that hard.” He might recognize Ravok’s inflection in the natural husk of her response. As he continued speaking she found herself distracted a moment by the warm feeling from the Zeltivan in his. ‘…Zith could just snap you right up and that would be the end of life as you know it.’ Her eyes lifted quickly into the sky as oddly a slight blush rose to her cheeks. “Zith? Do you really think so?” Surely no apprehension there and no explanation either. Her eyes turned from the white gull-filled sky, with no sign of leathery wings, to watch him with appreciation, “Good cast!” Then more seriously, “I really didn’t know that a colony was in the area; so I say, yes, naïve, confident, and truth be told desperate. Riverfall has so many people and I always feel their eyes on me. This seemed like the perfect place to get away from them all and now I guess I know why such a beautiful spot is so secluded.” Gracefully coming to her feet she shook her skirts loose and reached for her pole, “Although I didn’t know better I’m glad for your company as surely I’m safer now. I’m Salara by the way.” Pulling in her line she hoped that, this time, all of her bait would actually be gone so he wouldn't see her amateur rigging. As luck would have it, yup, empty hook. Her lips twitched from ironic to pleased. Setting her pole aside she casually began lifting stones nearby, half curious and half afraid of what she’d find. Casually she asked, “How long have you been away from Zeltiva?” His response will be interrupted as she flipped a particularly large stone, eyes widened, and with a squeal of obvious disgust pounced down with both hands to scrabble and come up with two largish wriggling salamanders twisting between hesitant fingers.

[Pulren Marsh]

Satisfied with his complete lack of stealth, Pulren watched as the woman sat up from her previous pose and seemed to look in his direction, her hand shielding her eyes from the sunlight. As he had moved closer, he could see that she was indeed a beauty, so he was already at a disadvantage. he remembered how Zandelia, perhaps the most striking woman he had ever seen, reminded him of how dumb a man could be. His ribs tingled with the excitement of the memory of that knife pressed against them, the Cyclops' warm lap on his own. Well, at least she was checking him out too, her own eyes painting some sort of canvas on his form. Enjoy, lady.

Pulren could already tell that she wasn't trying hard to fish, but he did know how relaxing it could be. If the mercenary could find enough solace to take a break and lie down on a beach in such a vulnerable fashion, he might truly enjoy those simple, blissful moments. As healed as he might have been, however, he just wasn't there yet. When she looked up and scanned the skies, her tone involving the Zith was on the cusp of incredulity. He tugged in small jerks on the line once it was out as he hoped to mimic the staged swimming motion of a salamander, his head nodding in response to her words as she continued.

"I don't know if there is a colony proper anywhere around here, but I have certainly heard of lone Zith landing just about anywhere. They can cover quite a bit of distance, as you might suspect. Death would be a blessing, especially for one as attractive as you." His eyes turned from her form to the water, practiced scanning of the shadows on it looking for movement. He felt a brief tug on the line but could tell it was just a taste. he didn't fight it, but did begin pulling the line in a more rapid and frantic state, as the amphibian prey might try to desperately escape to the shoreline. She was rising from her seated position and it became very clear why the eyes were on her. Pulren's pole hung loosely in his hand as he turned to greet her.

"Their eyes are on you because they want to give you an Akalak baby. They don't have females, though I have heard of a strange few, so they fall all over themselves to make women of beauty and good health feel comfortable in Riverfall. Of course, it makes the pickings slim for we humans, but that's alright. I have the rest of Mizahar to preen." His hand extended out to her. "A pleasure, Salara. I am Pulren Marsh." His pole nearly jerked completely out of his left hand as his salamander's dance had been as effective as the simple pleasures of observing Salara.

The two of them seemed to switch positions. She seemed pleased with her fishing and set about to looking for bait as Pulren was completely disgusted with his performance and wrapped his line up and placed the pole next to the standing trident. His eyebrow cocked as she mentioned Zeltiva. there was definitely more to this woman than a pretty face. That in itself was more attractive to Pulren: dimensionality. "You've got quite the ear there. It's been several years since I was home. I am indeed a Zeltivan, born and bred. I have been all over the world since then, however. Never this far west, surely. Where do you hail from?" observing and enjoying the day and its fruits were just as pleasing as fishing. Not all that different, either.

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[Salara Kel'Halavath]

An observant student, Salara had watched the action Pulren had gotten with his efforts at the water’s edge. Eager to see what he might pull in she was slightly disappointed to see him give up so soon. Maybe he couldn’t easily do two things at once? Or maybe fishing had taken second stage to talking to a pretty girl. Even so, his compliments fell flat to her ears but she knew it wasn’t his fault. This place had made her jaded. She supposed she should appreciate his effort as a gentlemanly respectful gesture. Her corresponding handshake was firm and sure. “Well met, Pulren Marsh.” “I understand what you are saying. Before I got here I had been given the impression that the Akalak were insufferable brutes forcing themselves on every woman. I was prepared to defend my honor at every turn. Instead I find them more indirect, posing their attributes or running away. It doesn’t matter how badly I look or act. Believe me I’ve tried! It seems there is always some who are attracted to every woman plain, pretty, foul acting or fair. Maybe it comforts the other women but I think they can truly be tedious. Truth? They hold little attraction for me.” Salara looked to her pole then his, lifted one squirmy amphibian in offer then flipped a nearer stone with her toe to place it under expecting it may stay until it was needed by either of them. She hadn’t really had anyone to talk to other than Fallon, who was far more business than pleasure, so she found Pulren’s company enjoyable; but she had no problem doing two things at once with dexterous fingers that often had a mind of their own. As she baited her hook the way Pulren had, her eyes rose to his at a true felt compliment, ‘You’ve got quite an ear there.’ Genuinely pleased she adopted a good approximation of the Zeltivan dialect, “Thank you! I’ve been training myself to recognize nuances and speak as the locals to better help me fit in. I moved from Ravok and spent a season in Zeltiva where I met…a very good friend. I wish we had been able to stay.” Shaking off a maudlin thought she switched to a rougher, less-practiced version of Riverfall as her freshly baited line was smoothly tossed into the water. “Sylirias closed its gates just as we arrived there. Otherwise I might have been able to speak that one too.” She jigged the line and continued in the Riverfall accent for practice, “For someone who is so well traveled what is your most favorite land? Are you finding this place full of amorous men to your liking?” Eyeing his trident and leathers she guessed, “You have come for the combat?” Jig the line, jig the line, she felt a bump. "I Got ...!" Overly excited she overcompensated with a sharp tug which stalled then snapped stone sinker, hook, and slightly mauled 'mander back past her dunking head in a whiz headed directly toward her companion, "...one." Hesitant to see, it took her a tick or two before meekly turning with a corner of her bottom lip securely pressed between pointed teeth.

[Pulren Marsh]

With a handshake, they were no longer strangers. Acquaintances had been made and that was the first step in all manner of meeting. While listening to Salara speak on the ways of the Akalak, Pulren took a breath and reset himself. It had been quite a while since he had been social, much less with a woman. Kneeling down, he picked his gear back up and started to uncoil the line, looking up to catch her eyes so that she would know that he was still paying attention to her. Chuckling, he nodded. "Yeah, being a little pale human man among the azure giants can be a little unsettling as well."

Pulling out to the end of his line, he saw that only a little bit of amphibian detritus remained. He wrestled it off of his hook and tossed it out into the surf, picking among the rocks before finding a small mussel attached to the underbelly of one. Stooping, he nonchalantly pulled his straight razor from its home of his right boot, opened it and peeled the mussel away, attaching it to his hook. He folded it back up and slid it back where it belonged, standing again as he watched her find her own bait. "Fortunately, I have joined the city as Kuvan, so I have slightly better relations than a visitor. I'm neither Akalak nor female, so I still rank pretty low, though."

Always observing, he watched as she did her best to mimic his actions, another fine attribute of a student's mind. Her details of coming from Ravok and then visiting Zeltiva piqued his interest. He could tell that this friend in Zeltiva was clearly more than that, judging from her change in demeanor, but it was nothing worth digging into on a chance meeting. His eyebrow arched in a genuine show of surprise when she mentioned Syliras closing its gates. That was something he had never heard of in his entire life. "Syliras closed its gates? What kind of cataclysm occurred to make that happen? I've never heard of such a thing." He shook his head, praying to the Sea Father that his friends, Markus Andres and S'Essy would be well and were safe with their family. "I pray the people are safe."

He couldn't let his mind sink into the depths, so he listened on. Hauling back, Pulren threw his line out far to the left, well away from Salara's line so the current didn't twist them. Letting the bait float and sink on the tide, he commented, "I've never been to Ravok. I got close when I was in Nyka, but I've never heard any pleasant stories about it. I've seen enough horror and misery for a lifetime. So probably won't go there." He pulled back and jerked at the bait some more. Questions. "Well, I enjoyed my time in Sunberth. Had a kind of family of vagabonds and hunters there. We were known as the Scars." His face softened as he thought back to the many people that he traveled with in those days." His line continued to come back, no bites. Probably due to his mind being elsewhere, a common event with fishing.

As he pulled his line in and prepared for another cast, he thought more on it. "Combat? Well, it's my trade, actually. I am a mercenary. I travel the world and solve problems for money. It has taken me all over the world, to places that had to be seen to be believed." The same reactions that had sharpened with his trade aided him in the dodge of hook and bait that came sailing toward him. A duck and sidestep and all was well. He didn't take it poorly. It had brought his senses back to the present, where they belonged. "No hook in the face. We're good." Pulren laughed heartily.

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[Salara Kel'Halavath]

“Well, thank goodness you’ve got the reflexes of a cat!” she teased him in ironic humor. Relief for not catching the mercenary on her line was paramount but a hint of caution muted her response where otherwise she may have more fully joined his laughter. Sunberth? Scars? Dangerous talk. What was it that Fallon had said? It had been something about some rebels that wanted to try and do the right thing but got chased out. Although it still meant little to Salara, her mentor had taken on an air of challenge with no little pride to say, ‘I am Sunberth’s Red Wolf, and the leader of the Scars.’ As if a cloud had covered Syna’s warm smile on the beach, the Kelvic reflexively rubbed chill bumps from her fore arms to remember the subtle dark change that had overcome the woman with that confession. The fondness in Pulren Marsh’s features as he spoke of family painted another picture besides what had shadowed Fallon’s actions since they met – secrecy, distrust, and warning of the chance of the humiliation, torture and death at the hands of those who had chased the Scars out. He easily admitted his association with the rebel group to her, a stranger, and didn’t seem as damaged. What mask would one wear to put such a past behind them? In light of this new knowledge she searched across his face, the strain around his eyes, with some sympathy. Salara was quiet with her thoughts as she gathered her line and chose to use the spare bait rather than find whatever crustacean he had pried from the stones. Impaling the critter upon the hook she returns it to the waters with a distracted cast. There was no way she would reveal her acquaintance with the Red Wolf even if it had already been decided that for safety sake the Kelvic, as a woman, not be seen in association with the Inspector of SWI. Even if upon his word he were a trusted friend, it wasn't Salara's place to bring the three of them together based on one conversation. She remembered Fallon’s directions should danger come from Sunberth, ‘… the only request I have for you is that you run, and that you forget who I am.’ But her instincts did not warn of danger here so she had a decision to make: to end the conversation and report immediately to Fallon or continue with the hope of learning more about the Scars than what Fallon ever cared to reveal. “From my experience there is surely misery aplenty in Ravok especially for the slaves. Many of those don’t know any other way so believe they are ‘cared for.’ Did you know that Kelvics are kept in cages and still experimented upon? But to ask the citizens, Rhysol is the savior and benefactor of all. The god of lies protecting his own I guess. How can anyone be content to be owned? I’ve been told that my perspective is all wrong but…” Her shoulders lifted in shrug as bitterness seeped through, “I have given up much to not return there.” She jigged her line to bounce the bait teasing along Laviku’s floor then led her effort to gain more information by sharing a little of her own, “But Sunberth now? That would be a place I should see someday. It seems it was my birthplace although I don’t remember it or my parents. I'm not quite sure where I would start but maybe I would be able to find them or word of who they were. Is it truly as treacherous as they say? As a mercenary and where your 'family' is I'd think that would be a more lucrative place for you to be rather than here where many capable men can be bought for their sword.”

[Pulren Marsh]

Pulren grinned right along at the feline reference, straightening his line out in preparation for another cast. Another long throw, the looping of the line as it unraveled and flew away to the ocean beyond. They were both quiet again and he took the time to pay more attention to his craft, pulling in teasing jerks to hopefully lure some kind of fish. Looking down at the surf, the idea of cheating started to creep back into his mind like high tide, slowly but surely.

As he continued to look out on his Father's face, something odd occurred to Pulren. Salara had never mentioned why Syliras had closed its gates. Maybe it was a well known and widespread event and only shut ins like Pulren were clueless about them. Current events outside of his surroundings were never high on the interest list for the Zeltivan. With cities so far apart, what could anyone do about any kind of emergency in the first place? he couldn't remember any boring cities. Well, Sahova, when it wasn't terrifying, was mind numbingly boring. That's what happened when you weren't a cadaver, probably.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by some revealing emotions concerning, Rhysol, Ravok and the subject of slavery. Pulren nodded and listened intently. He had put many a slaver to the trident, their blood soaked into the wooden shaft of his trusted weapon. Salara seemed to have lost something by not returning to the city that she reviled. It must have been important. An inheritance? Land? A lover? Children? Pulren's shoulders also rose and fell, but more in the sense of a simple 'oh well'. "I hate slavers. I have executed many of them. I'd kill a slaver for free."

Then a sudden turn into the assets of Sunberth. Outisde of free reign to kill, Pulren couldn't think of much. She made some statements that were true, though when she asked if it were truly treacherous, he couldn't help but chuckle audibly. "treacherous is a valid word, yes. Especially in the colder months. It agitates people because there isn't much to burn except someone else's belongings. Lots of people freeze to death. Of course, it smells better than in spring and summer, when the urine and fecal streams start flowing. Personally, I stayed up at the Hot Springs and walked to town. If you have the money, it is much more pleasant."

Pulling in his line, he found a completely unnibbled mussel. Wrapping his line again, he decided he was done with fishing for the moment, putting his gear down and putting his hands in his pockets, his eyes again on Laviku. It kept nagging at him, gnawing at his insides. "You never mentioned why Sylrias was closed. Can you please tell me? And is Zeltiva safe?" he had to know.

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[Salara Kel'Halavath]

‘I’d kill a slaver for free.’ A telling statement for a mercenary, she thought as a pleased expression slipped across her face to hear Pulren’s opinion toward slavers and slavery in general. Her eyes slid appraisingly across the stout handle and what she could see of the tines of his trident impaling the beach. Another point in his favor, she found she liked him ever more as they talked.

Freezing to death? Urine and fecal streams? Hot springs? That wasn’t the answers she was anticipating. Perhaps she could come at the question more directly, but how? It wouldn’t do to scare him off of the subject of the Scars if she were too forward. Surely she didn’t need him to get suspicious or clam up from some kind of posttraumatic stress. No, the last thing she’d want to do is cause him any further distress, which was likely why she wasn’t brave enough to ask Fallon more directly. No, that wasn’t it with Fallon, who frankly had Salara half afraid to stir into the depth of her darkness. That woman could surely survive a few innocent questions but Salara wasn’t so sure she herself would. ‘Volatile’ was the word that came to mind with an emphatic headshake.

The turn of her thoughts relayed into her efforts to fish while Pulren wrapped up his efforts. Jig, JIG, jig, JIG, JIG, JIG, her pole whipped about more emphatically as she pulled the line in and quickly tossed it back out with hardly a glance at the bedraggled limp bait still present upon her hook. She wasn’t sure if she were still trying to fish or fight off an irate Inspector in her mind. But his next question caused her pause that allowed her bait to sink back in a more somber lure.

Of course he would want to know what had happened to the cities, his family and friends. How callous of her to think only of herself in their discussion. These were her bittersweet memories and she had only recently come to terms with the disappointments, yet still carried some small hope that maybe someday…

Her voice started soft then grew more solid so he might better hear over the waters’ sounds. “It was the weather, Pulren. Winter was petched up driving the animals and insects into an unnatural cycle. Some were crazed. At first they gathered in large flocks and swarms, infiltrating and damaging homes and businesses.” Looking across to him she remembered, “Then the plants began to be affected, wilting and dying in the unnatural heat. Game grew scarce then and the predators more desperate. It wasn’t safe to walk the Zastoska Mountains beyond Mirahil Pass without a large party.” Wolves, she remembered with an obvious shudder as her hand lifted to stroke the dual-fanged cord about her neck.

“Thankfully a more normal spring came, but really by then it was too late.” Salara went into silent contemplation for ticks as her pole continued bobbing in sedate automaton. “People were starving in Zeltiva, so we gathered a caravan with guards to cross the Wildlands. Life was a toss up between those who stayed in Zeltiva, the oldest and most determined, and those that chose to migrate.” Her sad gaze turned back to him, “I’m sorry that I don’t recall any Marsh’s traveling with us, but the caravan was large. We ran across thieving Pycon, Dire wolves, Yukmen, and even a child murderer in our midst, so not all arrived at Syliras.”

“We became closer, almost family….” Her agitation was clear as she pulled her line in again and tossed it back farther yet into Laviku’s depths with a growl, “Are there no petching fish in this sea?”

After a shaky breath her tone became sarcastic, “Syliras, Jewel of Sylira, Symbol of Hope. All I know is that the gates closed as we reached them eager for comfort and rest. All were turned away. As I boarded a ship with my mentor, I learned that even the Syliran knights and citizens were surprised. The caravan was divided, joined by more people and moved on to either Ravok or here.”

Gift from Rohka <3

[Pulren Marsh]

The weather? It was a foe that Pulren never expected and felt impotent at the thought of. Was that Zulrav's doing? It seemed a stretch, as it was more the actual animals that were acting crazy, rather than the winds or the rains. He thought about the animals becoming dangerous. That wasn't as much of a reach, as any local knew that Mirahil Pass was no pleasant stroll. But to need groups to navigate safely? All Pulren could do was shake his head in some disbelief. "Zeltivans are tough. We've dealt with both natural disasters and starvation before. Any Zeltivan worth their salt would stay, no offense to your traveling companions." Or maybe offense. Petch it.

Grinning and looking out at the ocean, he looked over to her with a twinkle in his eye. "If you had run into another Marsh, it would have been as much a surprise to me. I was raised by my Uncle and he died several years ago. I never knew my parents. Old Pal raised me the best he could, stinkin drunk bastard that he was." Pulren had come to terms with that fact over his years traveling and encountering different kinds of families. For who he was, Palaren Marsh did an excellent job of child rearing. Any other wharf rat would have as easily sold the boy off for beer money. The only family that Pulren ever felt after that were his Scars. They were now all scattered in the wind.

Hearing the woman's frustration at fishing brought a natural laugh out, more than likely due to his own mental plumbing of his own depths. "You won't catch anything out here. If you did, it would be a complete fluke. Throwing out into the surf is a terrible idea. Fish stay out in the deeper parts or more still waters. I assumed you were just fishing for fun." He knelt and started wrapping his gear, the idea that she really thought that casting from a beach was going to work continuing to make him giggle a little. He didn't want to make her feel too bad, though. Standing again, he heard her last little bit of explaining and a small detail caught his ear.

"You said you came here with your mentor? Are you a student or something? I appreciate your news of Sylira, but your own details seem shady at best. I have been pretty clear. Who am I really talking to here?" His demeanor remained pleasant, his eyes searched her actions, movements and responses. There was no danger, never was. But Pulren knew as well as any other Scar that Sunberthians appearing in your life wasn't always the most fortuitous of boons.

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