Eris had just finished lighting the lamps in his room when he heard a sharp rap on the oaken door. He set down the striker and walked warily over to open it. He found the unnamed man from Killian’s table leaning against the opposite wall. He didn't seem nearly so tall, up close and in the darkened corridor.

“Would you care to join me for a moment?” The man asked. Eris nodded; it have been impolite to deny such a simple thing after the man had paid for his stay in full.

“Allow me a minute.” He said, shutting the door behind him. He took his vest off of its place on a hook, fastened the buttons, and slid his feet back into his simple tan loafers.

The unnamed man led Eris through a door and onto a balcony that overlooked the now-empty town centre. The man gestured for Eris to take a seat on a brown wicker chair, before sinking back into his own.

“Killian,” He began, “Was a complicated man.” He wiped some unseen tear beneath his eye, which Eris noticed was now without a veil. In the darkness, though, Eris could hardly make out the details of the man’s face.

“It was once he became involved with those… pirates, that things began to go downhill.” The man pulled a smoking roll out of his jacket pocket, lighting the tip in the flickering flame of a wall lamp.

“Killian had never made any enemies when he was involved in simple trade. There were the odd bouts, of course, but nothing permanent.” He continued on, without waiting for Eris to speak.

“The brigands offered something to Killian that he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.” The man put the smoking roll to his lips and inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and pushed the smoke out of his pursed lips.

“They offered him a chance to get his hands on products that other merchants could only dream of getting their hands on.” Eris sat silently, intrigued, as the unnamed man continued on without so much as a glance in Eris’ direction.

“At first, it was small things. Gold, silk, and the like. Sometimes there would be a spot or two of what appeared to be blood, staining the otherwise pure silk, you know. He thought nothing of it - turned a blind eye when it came to profit.” The man took another breath of smoke, the roll hissing as he breathed in.

“Sometimes, I believe he thought himself invincible. I’ve never heard another man speak with the King of Sviergaard with such crude words.” Eris thought he saw the man smile slightly at this recollection.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I shall not deign to delve into the details, so late at night. In the end, he made enemies. He made enemies in his suppliers, enemies in the royal court, and enemies in even his closest acquaintances.” He pulled another smoking roll out of his pocket and handed it to Eris, who eyed it warily. Seeing this, the unnamed man seemed to smirk - it was hard to tell in the darkness.

“I take it you’ve never consumed?” The man asked. Eris shook his head.

“Light it in that lamp, then.” The man said, pointing to the lamp that sat, flickering, on a table beside Eris’ chair. Eris obliged, cautiously setting the end of the smoking roll in the flame. He raised the gently-smoking stick to his mouth and inhaled. He yanked the stick out almost immediately and began coughing; the smoke, although its taste was attractive, was still smoke. It filled Eris’ lungs with an unpleasant prickling sensation, drying out the back of his mouth along the way. An unexpected sound reached Eris’ ears - the unnamed man was laughing mirthfully.

“Killian never liked ‘em much, either.” He said, barely containing his guffaws. Eris, still coughing, set the smoking stick in a dish that sat on the table, and took a moment to regain his breath.

“Pick it up.” The man said seriously, gesturing towards the dish.

“I don’t think I’ll have any more, thank you.” Eris said, hoping to be polite.

“If you cannot commit to finishing that stub of a thing, how can you expect to continue on with anything else in your life? Pick it up and take another drag.” The unnamed man insisted, his eyebrows narrowing. Saying nothing, Eris obeyed, lifting the smoking roll to his lips for a second time. He was able to take a full draft without coughing, allowing him to enjoy the slightly sweet flavour of the smoke.

“It should become easier to enjoy with each try you take.” The unnamed man commented, watching intently as Eris blew the smoke out of his mouth, took a breath of night air, and raised the smouldering stick to his lips for another breath.

Eris awoke after a fitful sleep - his dreams had been hijacked by the image of Killan’s body dropping to the ground. He drowsily pulled the purple velvet blinds away from the window, allowing the bright morning sunlight to flood the room. After a quick meal at the Frontenac, Eris buttoned up his vest and stepped outside into the once-again bustling town centre. It was past noon by the time he reached the Swift Saviour; the sun was high in the sky, it's warm rays raining down on the city of Ka’Aventra.

Severn and a number of other sailors were already getting to work, unloading the ship’s cargo onto the docks with wheeled carts. Tallen waved in greeting as he came up from below decks dusting his hands off on his trousers.

“Morning, son. Sleep well?” He asked, his tone dry.

“Best I’ve had yet.” Eris said sarcastically, stepping down the closest gangplank.

“Glad to hear it. You’ve got plenty of work awaiting you. Cap’n wants all the goods unloaded by sunset.” As Eris came closer, Tallen added;

“A little flitter in my ear told me you scored a room at the Frontenac last night. How’d you manage that?”

“A stroke of luck, I suppose.”

Tallen frowned, but said nothing.