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Erick stumbled slightly with the blow to shoulder. He had been on a boat before, but only once, and years before. He had not yet found his footing. He braced himself against the post of a hammock, realizing quickly that it was unclaimed.
"Hopefully we won't be gettin' into it at sea. I ain't heard much 'bout how these foreigners fight," he said as he slid his shield onto the post to claim the hammock, and leaned his spear against the wall.

He looked to Otter as he stowed away his assorted miscellaneous supplies: a stone for sharpening, a small knife for preparing meat and fish, or carving a replacement haft for his weapons, a spare belt, some dried meat, etc.
"I happened to notice at the stand you was a privateer. Did you fight the invaders when they first come around, and what not? They do any sorta fightin' at sea?"

The air within the walls of Rokva was dimming as the sun drooped ever closer to the horizon. The port city became a chromatic turf war between oranges and blues, the former steadily surrendering ground to the latter.

It was about this time Trimley left the enlistment table in the capable hands of General Dullahan and returned to the ship, ascetic in tow. Upon his boarding, sailors snapped to attention, but the Prince waved them down and made his way to the prow. There he stood, staring at the far wall of port Rokva, contemplating the following day.

The ascetic strode to his side. Trimley often convinced himself the man was not just a Mage but a mind reader; he always knew when the boy's mind needed a reprieve from all the worrisome, fearful thinking. "There's talk of a sendoff party."

Trimley's mind immediately turned to all the negative rumors about sailors. "Then Dullahan will stand watch of the jetty until the men have turned in for the night."

The ascetic quirked a brow. "I'm sorry? What trouble are you expecting?"

"Drunken sailors looking for their... 'fixes' one last time before setting sail..." He didn't say the end of the sentence, but thought it well enough: possibly for the very last time.

"What do you know of sailors and their vices?" the Mage was intrigued.

"I know enough, and heard more than my fair share of rumors. They stay on the dock. No whores, no bars, no trouble among the city. I'd be more than happy to celebrate with them, but I'll not have them wandering off. The potential for trouble is too much."

"As you say. I'll let him know, but he won't be terribly happy." That was only half-true, and they both knew it. Dullahan always had fun putting weaker men in their place, and from drunks he drew a particularly malicious delight. He would not kill a man, let alone harm them, but Dullahan enjoyed certain aspects of guard duty. That would be enough.

"Good. As much as I appreciate your attempts to cheer me, please go. I'd rather stare into the future with melancholy like a normal boy for once."

The ascetic chuckled. "I don't think normal boys... Nevermind. Just remember your whims will not always-"

"-Serve the people?" Trimley interrupted. "I don't think I need you quoting my grandfather's words to me." There was a somber venom in his voice now. "Nor my father's. Now, you have things to do."

"You are right." The ascetic gave only a nod of the head and left Trimley to himself. The Prince-King did just as he said he would: stared toward sea wall, the future, with melancholy. It didn't last long. He didn't have it in him to be a sullen brat... for very long. Still he sat on the edge of the ship, and stared, and thought about many things both in the past and in the future.

Otter subtly tensed as the bandaged man passed him by. His grin faltered briefly into something closer to a disgusted sneer and dark eyes followed the man through the hammocks but it was fleeting. The privateer wasn't one to stare unless he was making a point of it and the prince's own mage had taken this man aside, hopefully seen under those bandages, and found him at least passable. That didn't mean Otter had to trust him, or even like him, but it did mean he had to live with him and Otter found that most easily done when they didn't know you were harboring serious thoughts of tossing them under keel once the ship was out of harbor.

Mages. Can never trust a damn spell-chucker and how many we got? The prince's, the farmboy, this dark twig. Hell the shman even seems prone to explosion and the toy soldier is interested in the craft from his buggin of tha healer. Who of course has magic as well but I won't grudge a healer that, not an idiot. The privateer shook his head slightly looking over the others. I the only one not got a lick a magic in me?

Otter was not at all concerned with remembering names.

Erick caught Otter's glance at the mysterious bandaged figure, reacting with a bit of a smirk as his gaze followed him briefly as well. Clearly he wasn't the only one concerned about this character's true nature. No-one else seemed to notice, so he let it remain between the two of them and continued the discussion, explaining his concerns more clearly.

"These here ships're big, sure 'nuff" he said as he loosened the straps and buckles of his cuirass.
"But if th're armed the same as the ships I done seen back in Laud, they ain't fixin' to shoot anywhere but one side or th'other," he continued, pausing to slide off his cuirass and stow it away, not expecting to need it until after departure.
"Less they can come about real quick like, a fleet of nine 'r ten ships half the size'd make a mighty big mess of 'em, I reckon," He finished as he slid his axe into the belt of his tunic. With a brief assessment of his stock, he went about removing his boots as well. Better off barefoot on smooth, often wet wood floors.

Simon leaned over the railing of the foredeck and watched the dying sun dip under the horizon as the sea air tugged at his clothes and hair. Sunsets always left him feeling slightly depressed, especially when there was the chance that he may never go home again.

He takes a deep breath of the night air and closes his eyes for a moment, then he looks out over the waves of the harbor as the last rays of the sun dissapear and begins to sing.

"The day has passed beyond our power.
The petals close upon the flower.
The light is failing in this hour
Of day's last waning breath.

The blackness of the night surrounds
The distant souls of stars now found,
Far from the world to which we're bound,
Of sorrow, fear and death.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep."

After the first verse he stops and sighs. A party was mentioned earlier, and it would be best to meet the rest of the crew before it started.

"Depending on what you're drinking, I wouldn't mind." Simon stands in the doorway to the cabin, his usual smile once again in place. "I suppose I've already missed the formal introductions, but anyway, I'm Simon. Those of my village call me The Reaper." His eyes roam over those present inviting them to introduce themselves in turn, or possibly for the flask to start making its rounds. Either occurance would be welcome.

"I'll call you Otter then, personally I prefer to be called Simon." He pauses to take the flask and down a swollow of the liquid before continuing. "Being the only thing close to a mage in the village, they felt I needed a title, and since reaping is what I do to support my hobby..., well I'm sure you get where they got the title from." Simon takes another sip from the flask and holds it on his tounge for a while before swallowing. "Do you brew this yourself? It's pretty good, can't quite pin down the flavor."

Erick stared nervously at the flask as Otter held it out to his side in an open invitation, contemplating carefully his situation while the others were distracted. He could guess that with the exception of Twyla, who might not be concerned about such think, they had all already deemed him inexperienced and probably incompetent. To demonstrate that he could hold his liquor would at least prove something he could be proud of, if not something entirely useful on the field. Of course, it could easily backfire.

It was not as though he had never seen alcohol before. In a poor village, ale and wine are often easier to get than potable water. Things like rum and whiskey, however, were off his budget. He was only just familiar enough with them to know the magnitude of their potency. He recalled when an old flame's father had given him whiskey. It was not a proud memory.

With a bit too much eagerness, he seized the flask from Otter's hand and took too large a swig, hesitating at the bitterness and spice of the rum, and swallowing it one gulp with a shudder a cough.
"You use that swill t'grease wagon wheels?" he rasped before his throat recovered from the unfamiliar burning sensation of strong spirits.