The Swift Saviour seemed almost joyful as it bounced over the turquoise ocean swells, spraying water droplets up and onto the deck.  The sun shone brightly overhead, bathing the weary crew in a blanket of warmth.  Eris had never seen days as beautiful as this, in his seventeen years of life.  They were noticeably more common, though, as the ship and it’s crew came nearer to its destination.  When the crew had set sail from Selvarberg, the ever-present clouds had been a fact of life, a staple of the dreary coastal city.  Sunshine was a rare occurrence, back at home, one that only came about during midsummer.  Even then, the sunshine was never so bright and warm as it was here, in the Alvareth Archipelago.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”  That was Severn, the ship’s mate, appearing at Eris’ shoulder.  Eris nodded, leaning against the wooden rail.

“I’ve never seen anything like this, sir.  It’s beyond beautiful.”  

Severn smiled; it was perhaps the first time Eris had ever seen the man’s leathery face shift in such a way.  The two were silent for a moment, both leaning against the oak railing, gazing out into the distance.  That silence was broken when Severn clapped Eris on the shoulder;

“Well!  Beautiful it might be, but there is work to be done lad.  Get to it!”  He turned on the spot and sauntered off towards the captain’s cabin, his usual frown setting back into place.

Three days later, the sun continued to shine as the Swift Saviour lowered its sails and glided into the bustling port city of Ka’Aventra.  Eris and the crew got to work tying the massive ship to the docks, making sure the knots were tied securely to the algae-covered wooden docking posts.  It took Eris another few minutes to dress himself in his casual attire - a black silk vest over a simple white tunic.  Stepping down the gangplank, he bade a quick farewell to Severn and headed off in the direction of the sun-bathed white city.

The streets were wide at first, but they became narrower and noticeably more decrepit as Eris made his way into the centre of town - where the best taverns were, the more experienced of his fellow sailors had told him.  The ground beneath his leather boots was paved with polished stone, cobbled together over the centuries.  Eris thought he could see parts of the road that had been built up more recently, places where the stone was a much lighter shade of grey and the rocks had not quite worn away enough that it was immediately obvious to any passerby.  The magnificent whiteness of the city dulled as the sun began to fall away, a fact that Eris did not much mind.  The city might be beautiful, but it was also bright.  The constant assault of the light on Eris’ icy shockingly blue eyes was tiring, to say the least.

He could tell he was coming nearer the town centre, after half an hour of walking, as larger crowds of people began to appear, lurking outside old buildings or perusing the bustling night market.  The chatter of men and women bounced off of the walls on either side of the narrow street, occasionally interrupted by the loud bellow of a drunkard.  Turning the last corner, Eris found what he had been looking for; the spacious town centre was packed to the brim with folks from all walks of life.  The sour smell of good drink flooded Eris’ nostrils, causing his mouth to water.  Wall torches were lit, casting their flickering light throughout the vast area.  The night sky was cloudless, but the moonlight didn’t reach this place - many of the shops and pubs featured massive awnings that were meant to block out the light of the sun.  At night, they almost blocked out the moons and the stars entirely.  

Eris stumbled about, clumsily weaving his way through the dense crowd.  His eyes shifted around, hoping to catch sight of some familiar face.  He knew the older sailors would likely already be indoors, sliding down a glass of whiskey or two, entertaining the women of Ka’Aventra with their wild tales of life on the waves.  The image made Eris snort slightly; the older sailors were hardly attractive men after their long days on the sea.

A rough hand clamped onto Eris’ shoulder as he was looking through a grimy tavern window.   Eris spun around, but relaxed when he saw it was only Tallen, a burly lifelong sailor.

“I was beginning to think you’d gotten yourself lost in the big city!”  Tallen said, a smile on his face.

Eris laughed lightly;

“Me? You forget where I come from, my friend.”  He neglected to mention that, while he did hail from Selvarberg, he’d never actually spent much time in the heart of the big city.  His parents preferred that he stayed close to the estate, hoping to instill in him a sense of noble superiority, he supposed.

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“Never, Sir.”  Tallen said sarcastically;  “Let’s grab a drink elsewhere.  If this window is anything like the rest of this pub, we’re better off not going inside.”  He ran a finger through the coat of brown that smothered the window, and, seeing that it stuck to his skin like mud, wiped it off on his trousers.

“The Frontenac is much nicer, if you ask anyone with taste.”  He grabbed Eris by the arm and towed him away, manoeuvring expertly through the gaggles of drunkards that still packed the town centre.

Tallen was right - the Frontenac was a reputable-looking place, well cared for and hosting a lively crowd of welltodo folks.  A group of musicians played a shanty-like jig on a raised platform in the centre of the room, surrounded by a small crowd of rowdy enjoyers who were singing along poorly.  Tallen and Eris laid claim to a circular wooden table by the hearth, with seating for four.  A server brought them both mugs, Tallen’s filled with a dark wine, and Eris’ a lighter ale.  Eris clinked his glass against Tallen’s before taking a deep swig of its contents.  It was an earthy drink - not rich, but certainly not bland.

“This is my kind of place.”  Tallen noted, his eyes on the flickering flames of the fire that blazed brightly in the stone fireplace.  Eris nodded, taking another small sip from his mug.

“It certainly is quaint, but my father loved to tell me that anything worth having is never easy to get.”  Eris said.  Tallen smirked slightly, still gazing into the fire, threw back some more of his wine and said nothing for a moment.

“Your father sounds as if he is a very wise man.”

“When it comes to some things, certainly.”  

There was a loud slam as the Frontenac’s door was thrown open.  A number of men marched in, holding curved swords in gloved hands.  Tallen looked uneasy, pushing his stool backwards from the table, his hand dropping to the holstered dagger at his waist.  The Frontenac fell silent as the men, dressed in battered leather coats, made their way towards a long table that ran along one side of the Frontenac’s main room.

“Pirates,”  Tallen said under his breath, “This could go… poorly.”  Eris nodded slightly, moving his own hand to the hilt of the dagger at this hip.  As a former member of nobility, he’d never spent much time with knife-fighting; his formal training had only ever been in fencing and sword fighting.

“Killian!”  The tallest stranger bellowed.

A richly-dressed man at the far end of the table nodded warily, his own hand drifting to his belt.

“Malius.  Never thought I’d see you here.  Not your kind of place.”

The stranger laughed.

“Not my kind of place?  Everywhere is my kind of place, Killian.”  The man stepped slowly closer to where Killian, tripping over the hem of his expensive robes, was standing up, fumbling with the dagger in his belt.

“And you.”  The tall man snarled, his cutlass flashing upwards, slicing the belt off of Killian’s waist.

“You are not my kind of person.”

Killian stumbled backwards as the tall man approached, the dim lantern light glinting off of the sword’s corroded blade.

“Malius!  The payments were made, and on time too.  I’ve done nothing wrong.”  Killian’s face was lined with worry.  Malius said nothing.  He pressed forwards, the tip of his blade pressed against Killian’s chest.

Tallen and Eris watched as the group of strangers encircled Killian, each with their blades drawn.  Killian’s comrades hadn’t moved - they sat at the table, seemingly frozen, their gazes all focused on Killian, who was now pressed up against the back wall.  

“What should we do?”  Eris whispered to Tallen, who was staring intently at the conflict.

“Stay quiet is what we should do.”  Tallen hissed back.

Finally, the tall man, Malius, spoke.

“It was never about the payments, Killian.  I’d have been happy letting you continue your trade through the closed waters, but he was not.  I’m here to send a message.”  Killian raised his hands in surrender, plastering them against the wooden wall.

“You’ve sent your message, my friend.  Please, no harm need be done here.”  Killian stammered.

Malius only shook his head.

“This message is not for you. You are the message,”  and then he thrust the point of his cutlass swiftly through Killian’s chest. The blade slid out as his victim fell limply to the floor.