The dingy back alleys of Uru spanned the outskirts bathed in shadows. Two girls walked through the seedy fringes of the city, one undaunted, and one relatively daunted. They passed people in rags curled up right on the salt and demure women hanging off their stoop, trying to lure anyone with money in their pocket.

Out here the streets reeked of salt, smoke, and piss. Protecting against it with magic was not something a pirate would do. They would bask in it, boldly wading through as if they’d spent their whole lives shrouded in it.

So, Cira did the same. Unlike her companion who wasn’t half as committed, her nose didn’t even scrunch up. She walked through the alley with an air of importance about her. Delilah on the other hand looked uncomfortable and scared, wearing a dark skirt and a tight white blouse with leather buckles that hardly contained their bounty. She was nervously looking around, but only Cira noticed the men tailing them from behind.

“You sure know you’re way around, Delilah.”

“Ah, well I just know places to avoid, really.” She managed to keep a steady face and gave her a smile. Delilah had made the witch-turned-pirate wait outside while she ‘changed’. In truth, it took longer than she meant but she managed to wash the day off and put on some makeup.

Between nervous expressions, Delilah kept glancing down then up at Cira whose brazen yet aimless gaze was on a swivel. I know I’m just a plain woman from Uru, but she hasn’t even looked at my chest once. If anything, I know they look great in this shirt.

“Something smells…” Cira said in a gruff voice as she turned to her smuggling wench. “It smells like trouble.”

A clearly drunk man called out from behind them, “Ey, where’re you ladies goin’ on a fine night like this?”

Cira stopped and turned to look down on two deplorable miscreants with her neck craned, “And what would two degenerates like you want with an illustrious swashbuckler such as myself?”

“The hell’d she just say?”

“Ey!” The other man looked at her with one enraged eye and another lazy one hanging off to the side, “You got an attitude! I don’t like it!”

Delilah shook like a leaf, but Cira put a hand on her shoulder and flashed a grin, “And what do you intend to do about it?” Though her words did nothing to make the girl feel better.

The men shared a conniving chortle before turning back to the girls, “Why don’t you just come with us, and I’ll show ya’. Ya’ know, before we have any trouble.” Their laughter was raspy and drawn out.

“My, you two have clearly had your fair share to drink, but I haven’t had a drop. You can’t possibly expect us to go with you before our night has even begun.” She feigned concern as she fluttered her eyelashes at Delilah and her gaze lingered a little longer than she meant. I think that shirt might be a little small on her… She cleared her throat and turned her flutters back to their assailants, “Ahem.”

They looked at each other like they’d hatched the most brilliant plan, “Why don’t we take you girlies to get some drink, then?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Cira embellished, “but you can’t take one such as I just anywhere. I have…” She pretended to look around suspiciously then leaned in close as if to whisper a secret, “a rather large bounty…” And she threw them a wink for good measure.

As she bent towards them, the two men’s eyes were stuck on a particular bounty, and if they had looked just a few inches up they would have seen the world’s least convincing act of seduction. Alas, men like these always had their eyes on the prize.

Cira was getting tired of their grunting laughter but let them run their course as any good pirate would. They looked at her like a shiny doubloon, “I think I know just the place to take ya’.”

Delilah tried to express concern, “Are you sure about this Cir—"

She put a finger up to stop her, “Before we go, I should introduce myself.” Faster than the drunkards could blink, Cira pulled the saber from its scabbard with a satisfying shing and pointed it to the sky, “I am Cirina Dreadheart, bearer of the cursed blade Tide Quencher, and I hail from Leviathan Isle!”

“Shut the hell up!” An irate shout came from a window somewhere above them and Cira’s eye twitched.

Her companion had to hide a grin, that hat with the skull really is over top. Is she just doing this for fun?

“Leviathin Isle?!”

Superfluous shining emblems on Cira’s conjured blade glimmered on their faces. “No way!”

The men were flabbergasted from their stupor and Cira basked in it with a toothy grin. She had reflexively brought a leg up only to realize she couldn’t conjure something to rest it on, but luckily that didn’t seem to retract from her otherwise flawless introduction.

“How big’s your bounty?” One asked.

“Aha, that’s the best part,” she put the saber away, “It’s so high they can’t even count it. Now why don’t you help this salty bird quench her thirst?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he stammered under her bewitching gaze, “I mean, yeah, I know just the place. Just follow us, ladies.”

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Cira winked at Delilah and pulled her along.

Delilah herself was lost in though, I feel like we’re walking straight into danger. These guys obviously have ill intentions. Is she trying to infiltrate Uru’s smuggling ring? To what end? I thought she was curing the plague. Don’t tell me she brought me along just because she wanted to see me? And this is how witches have fun…?

They followed the two unsuspecting drunks through the dark alleys to the leering gazes of the street urchins that lingered out this late. Their escorts boasted about many things that ultimately amounted to stealing salt and robbing people. Cira wasn’t impressed by their exploits or their tact, as they had approached the girls to commit a similar crime.

Soon they reached an even darker part of town, and a muffled fiddle could be heard from somewhere afar. A scent much more inviting than piss wafted to Cira’s nose and she knew her guides had served their purpose.

“Sleep.” At Cira’s voice, the men dropped.

“What—” Delilah looked over in shock, “Did you do that?”

“I certainly did, now what say you we grab a drink?” She locked arms with Delilah and followed the aroma around a corner where they found a staircase leading below a decrepit old building. At the bottom there was a door and when Cira knocked, a slit opened up to reveal a set of mean looking eyes.

“Password?” The voice was grizzled and carried the sharp bite of strong liquor.

Cira spit as she spoke to stay in character, “Pah! Cirina Dreadheart knows no passwords. I destroy doors, not open them, so let me in fast. I have a thirst that knows no boundaries.”

The impish barmaid at her side shrunk back in case the doorman was trouble, but she couldn’t take her eyes of Cira.

The slider snapped shut and the door flew open. The doorman was twice her size with a chest like a barrel. He wore a striped shirt and tattered shorts. The look in his eyes was like he waited here for the arrival of people to stab. He looked her up and down without relenting the angry expression. Then checked out Delilah too before stopping on the sword at Cira’s waist.

“What’s two pretty girls like you doin’ all alone in a place like this?” Certainly, he was a bigger badder smuggler-adjacent person than little Cirina would ever be. Or is he…?

“Already told you, didn’t I?” Cira glared, “Just scored big down in the queen’s nest. Looking for a place to lay low and drink.”

“Oh?” The hulking doorman leaned in, “And just how’d ya hear about this place?”

A sorcerer does not lie. Now, this was really just something Gazen said when he pulled the wool over his daughter’s eyes. She knew this well, and while she tried to stick to the truth, she lied regularly when the occasion called for it. Sometimes she felt bad, like with Nanri, but the truth would come to light soon enough.

Here, Cira decided honesty was the best policy, “Two fine gentlemen were kind enough to show us the way. If you listen close, you can hear them snoring from here.” She cupped a hand around her ear and turned it toward the stairs.

The doorman, taken aback, did the same. After making a funny look, he closed the door behind him and listened closer, “I’ll be damned.” Thankfully one of them snored like a bear and it echoed through the alley. He opened the door back up, “Don’t believe your story, but I guess you gals can take care o’ yourself. Go on then. Don’t make trouble or you’ll see me again.”

He beckoned them in with a less than welcoming expression. Cira concluded that his face was just like that. She led Delilah by the arm into the dim watering hole filled with odors of the night. There were ragged flags and rope hung on the wall. ‘Milty’s Tavern’ was burned onto a piece of driftwood and hung above the bar. The inside was built with wood for the nice rustic look, and there were decades of stains on the tables and floor. All eyes fell on them as they entered, and the surroundings got noticeably quieter.

Cira tipped her hat and bequeathed unto them a radiant smile, before resting her free hand on the pommel of her blade and taking Delilah to the darkest part of the establishment with the least patrons. When they sat down in the hard wooden seats, her coat snagged on a splintered edge. She thought it was a nice touch.

After looking at Delilah, the girl got nervous but held her gaze. Cira glanced around for a moment and spoke quietly, “Now, we should get to business quickly before we get accosted by those unsavory ruffians. The reason I wanted to find you.”

This is it. The reason she’s taken me to some hidden bar on the backside of town. What she wants with me… She looked up at Cira timidly, “That’s right, you said you were… looking for me?” She tried to push her chest together.

“Indeed.” Cira laced her fingers, resting her chin on them, “You’re an alchemist, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Is… is that it? “Do you mean an herbalist? I make medicines…”

Of course, it is. Born an herbalist, die an herbalist. That’s all there is for me. Why did I even bother getting my hopes up? It’s not like she was going to whisk me away to some distant sky, far away from here. I knew she wouldn’t… What am I even trying to do?

Looking down at the laughably small blouse and skirt she wore a decade ago, her face fell into a frown. She was no old lady, but she wasn’t as young as she used to be. Her blood kept her appearance youthful, but the days of wistful hopes and dreams had left Delilah behind long ago. She felt ridiculous trying to gussy up to a bright, young witch so far out of reach.

A heavy wave of shame hit her, and Delilah thought she would cry until she felt two hands wrap around hers.

“That’s great!” She watched Cira’s eyes fill with hope and a natural smile burn through her scurvy façade.

“It… it is?”

“Of course, it is!” Cira looked around and noticed she’d drawn attention, so hushed her voice down, “I can cure the plague, and I even have people gathering ingredients as we speak. The one thing I’m missing is someone to actually make it.”

“You need me to make… the cure?” Delilah was baffled, “I- I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Sure, you can.” She was briefly dazzled by Cira’s bright expression to such a degree she almost believed her, “The day I met you, you smelled terrible. An alchemist doesn’t smell like that unless they do an excellent job in the purification stage. I can tell you take great care in your work.”

Is this how she compliments people? The look in Cira’s eyes said that indeed it was. “But… to cure the plague? That’s too much. There’s no way I can do something like that.”

“Says who? I have an eye for talent, you know.” She leaned in, “I’ll even been there to walk you through it. Besides, I am of the belief that you can do whatever you want. The only thing that should stop you is wanting something else more… or basic morals, of course.”

Is that how it is…? Whatever I want, huh? That smile on her face looks just like Mother’s used to. It was one she was familiar with, and her most striking memory of it was seeing her mother’s face after Uru was finally rid of the worm flu. The relief and pride of saving lives. But why does she look like that? She doesn’t live here, she’s just a witch with a job. Why should she care about this island?

“Here’s a round from the folks on the end.” A girl with blonde hair like Cira’s approached the table pointing out a group near the door. She was dressed shockingly similar to Delilah and held two mugs of what looked and smelled like cheap ale.

“Aren’t you a little young to be working somewhere like this?” Cira asked.

“Mom owns the place.” She set the glasses down like they were heavy. “And I’d be careful catchin’ the attention of any men here.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Cira flipped a silver crown into the girl’s hand, “You can tell ‘em these drinks will hardly cover gazing at us from afar.”