Cristin sat in the ship’s galley, idly eavesdropping on the nearby conversations as he sipped from a bowl of stew. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that the food aboard this ship was quite good, better than anything he could make. Spread throughout the galley were roughly ten other individuals; one group of five was speaking about their recent acts of revelry within Steckson.

He had been informed that he was one of five individuals that had been brought on the vessel during this stop. Apparently, some previous members of the crew had been lost in a storm a few weeks prior, and the ship would need as many hands as they could manage for the upcoming journey. Despite being told this, however, he had yet to meet said individuals. As he was thinking on this topic, he felt the heavy thump of a hand on his left shoulder. Startled, he quickly turned to face the individual with a slight jolt.

Behind him was an exceptionally tall man—easily standing above six feet—with long brown hair. Their face looked quite friendly; it wore a pleasant smile that displayed a portion of concern. The main thing that caught Cristin’s attention, however, was the Knight’s Touch on the right side of his face. A splotch of ashy-black on his bronze skin that went from the bottom of his right ear to his chin. Cristin had heard that this line of work tended to attract individuals with something to hide. Apparently, Vestiges were among those.

“I apologize,” the man began, “I did not intend to startle you.”

Cristin looked up and down at this individual, internally questioning how someone of that size had managed to sneak up on him so effectively.

“You’re fine, it’s my fault for being so lost in thought,” he replied.

With this response, the individual moved to take a seat across from Cristin, the wooden bench creaking underneath his weight. After taking a sip from the waterskin hung across his hip, the man spoke.

“So, I would assume you are Cristin?” the man asked.

Cristin raised an eyebrow towards the individual. “You assume correct, how did you know?”

“Captain Hart informed me that I had been brought aboard alongside four others; when I asked for names yours was among the list.”

Cristin paused, his curious expression not dropping. “That doesn’t really explain how you knew who I was.”

“Well,” the man began, “considering your isolation from the rest of the crew, it was quite easy to guess that you were one of the four. From there, I deduced that you were a native of Varicus, considering the black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Finally, taking into account the names given, Cristin was the only one that seemed native to this region. So, I assumed you must be Cristin.”

Cristin’s mouth involuntarily fell slightly ajar. It was unsettling being read so easily; this man was clearly quite insightful. Gaining his composure, Cristin responded.

“Makes sense I suppose. Well, you know my name, may I have yours?”

The man replied with a pleasant smile. “Certainly,” he gestured towards his chest, “my name is Luc, Luc lir. It’s a pleasure.”

Cristin nodded, “Cristin Moreau. So, Luc, have you met the other three newbies?”

“I can’t say I have. Considering we have a few hours until departure, I must imagine they are concluding business within the city before we head off.”

“Sounds fairly bold to m—.”

Cristin was interrupted by the clanking of metal and creaking of wood, as through the door, a large figure, completely covered in plate mail, entered the galley. The figure paused, surveying the room as numerous eyes stared at them, before removing their helmet, revealing the face underneath. The well defined face underneath bore a dark brown complexion, with eyes of a similar color. Blonde hair draped over the man’s face as the helmet was removed, which he proceeded to twist into a long ponytail.

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“I have to ask, would that happen to be...”

“Oh no, it certainly is,” Luc responded, “Timur I would assume.”

“I would ask how you can tell, but you’ve shown me that’s not exactly necessary.”

Luc chuckled briefly before standing, “I’ll bring him over, probably a good idea for us newcomers to stick together, right?”

Cristin shrugged.

Luc made his way towards the man known as Timur, who had already filled a large tankard with some kind of booze.

They were too far for Cristin to hear what they said, but after a brief discussion, the two made their way towards his table. Standing above him, the armored individual stuck out his right hand with a neutral expression. “Timur Barendell.”

Not standing from his seat, Cristin met the handshake, responding with his own name: “Cristin Moreau.”

Luc and Timur each took seats on opposite sides of the long table, Timur giving Cristin about a foot of space.

Looking towards Cristin, Timur asked, “What’s inside the box?” gesturing towards the long wooden box strapped to Cristin’s back. Cristin looked towards where he had pointed, his expression unchanging.

“A weapon.”

Timur shrugged, seemingly satisfied with this imprecise response. Taking a swig from his tankard, he looked across the table towards Luc.

“Speaking of weapons, I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to be equipped with one.”

Luc chuckled, “No, no, my combat abilities are… lackluster, to say the least. I actually came aboard this ship as an assistant to the navigator, as you have with the ship's cook.”

Cristin raised his eyebrows, looking up from his stew towards Luc. “You both are acting as assistants to an officer as well?”

“Oh not just us, all five of the newcomers have been hired for a similar purpose. I’m helping the navigator, Timur; the cook, you; the Master Gunner, Ray; the Carpenter, and Ives; the Doctor.”

Cristin mentally took note of the mentioned names before responding: “Interesting.”

“Speak of the devil.” Luc said as he let out a chuckle and looked towards the door.

Following his gaze, Cristin looked towards the galley’s entrance. He saw an individual of average height, covered head-to-toe in a navy blue cloak. Curious to ask Luc about the figure, Cristin began to speak, but was stopped by the sound of Timur quickly standing from his seat.

With an angered expression, Timur quickly made his way towards the cloaked individual, who proceeded to turn on their heels and begin making their way out of the galley. However, they were stopped as Timur grabbed them by the hood, pulling them towards him.

“I recognize you! You’re the dickhead that stole my coin purse yesterday!”

With the cloak now pulled back, Cristin could see a young man—likely close to his own age—with long, straight, black hair. The man raised his hands, putting on a passive smile before attempting to calm Timur.

“Now, now, we are crewmates, aren’t we? I’m sure this can all be settled with some simple diplo—”

He was stopped as Timur lifted him by his collar and began to root through his pockets. “Diplomacy be damned, I’m taking my fucking gold back.” While rooting through the individual's pockets, various bottles and tools fell onto the wooden floor below. After finding what he was after—a brown pouch from which emanated the clinking of various coins—Timur dropped the man, who fell to his knees.

Cristin looked curiously towards Luc, who lightly chuckled before saying “I believe that would be Ives.”

Pulling a handful of coins from Ives’ coin purse, Timur threw the bag to his feet before extending a hand in their direction. “With that sorted out, I think more typical introductions are in order. I’m Timur.”

Ives looked up at Timur with an expression of bewilderment painted on his face, before muttering his response and taking the extended hand. “Ives.”

Ives grabbed his coin purse as Timur pulled him to his feet. Timur then gave him a strong smack on the back.“I’m counting on you to watch my back from now on, Ives.”

Ives nodded, before pulling the hood back over his head, once again concealing the majority of his features.

The two standing individuals proceeded to make their way back to the table. The four exchanged necessary introductions, and not long after, Cristin elected to move to the ship’s deck, exhausted from the conversation.

Leaving the galley, Cristin saw the quartermaster of the Wind’s Fortune, Renea, gesturing to various locations among the deck, seemingly signaling to areas at which last minute supplies could be left. The cool ocean wind served as an effective relief from the galley’s stale air, allowing him to clear his head. He’d be spending the next year among these individuals, some of whom were likely criminals in one way or another. Letting out a long sigh, he set himself down against the ship’s rails, looking up towards the sky. It was a clear night; the stars above shone brightly enough that Cristin could even make out a noticeable pattern. His astrological knowledge was limited, but he swore he could make out the rigid constellation of the Tower among the stars.