Jormand awoke to a rather unpleasant jostling as he felt his sodden body being pulled across wet sand. He immediately regretted opening his eyes, the sun bearing down on him was the least of his worries. His eyelids felt puffy and stung something fierce. He tried to rub them but he was being unceremoniously dragged by his arms so the effort was futile, though it attracted the attention of whoever was pulling him.

“So you’re not dead then, you really should be.”

The voice he heard seemed angry at him for some reason and the pull on his arms did not let up.

“What were you doing going for a swim so near the harbor? if the garrison had seen you, you’d be in a cell right now!”

He attempted to reply but all he could manage was a halfhearted gurgle through his parched and stinging throat. That started off a fit of coughing that expelled a good bit of water and spittle onto his already wet shirt.

The shirt was plastered to his chest and already stained from white to a vaguely yellow green from the sea water. With a start he realized he was not wearing his coat before remembering that it had come off the night before in the canals. It likely saved his life in the end, but he still felt a pang of anger. It had been expensive to buy such a large leather garment, --there wasn’t much of that in the city, what with it being needed for soldiers all of a sudden-- not to mention getting it tailored to his exact size.

His undignified trip across the sand came to an abrupt end when he was dropped suddenly, his head striking stone. So they had made it to the road then. He groaned even though it hurt his throat. He would have killed for water or better yet some chilled wine. The sun was beating down in earnest.

“Why were you in the water then, boy?” The voice came from his side that time.

He looked up to see a graying man in a simple linen shirt and short breeches with worn leather sandals. A dock worker, no surprise there, though older than most Jormand had seen. He had deposited Jormand next to a stack of crates on top of which was a waterskin along with a few other odds and ends including something wrapped in waxed fabric.

Jormand motioned towards the waterskin, making the most pathetic rasping cough he could manage, it tore at his throat even worse than before and his eyes began to tear up, only serving to cause them to sting more.

The man chuckled and tossed him the bloated container. It was larger than Jormand had thought and thumped him on the chest soundly as his sluggish arms failed to catch it. The man laughed at him roughly. The water tasted foul and smelled worse but Jormand gulped it down in any case, his raw throat soothed after the initial wave of pain.

He pushed the skin back towards the man and propped himself up on shaky arms. When he spoke, it was in a voice so rough he barely recognized it.

“Fell in.” He said simply, hoping the man wouldn’t question him further.

“Oh you just fell in, right. Well none of my business anyway. Say, you look like a man of means, goin’ by the…” He trailed off and waved a hand vaguely towards Jormand. “I imagine you’d be feeling pretty grateful to the old man who saved your life.” He wanted money, of course. Well, Jormand would be more than happy to pay him if it meant getting on his way sooner. But his coin purse had been in his coat pocket and his small reserve had been on his belt which he realized now was missing. He had been left in only his shirt and trousers, the current had pulled off even his tight boots.

He groaned again and he pushed himself up to his feet, the rush of blood bringing on a stifling headache.

“I’d be happy to pay you,” He said through gritted teeth, his head pounding and swaying him in the morning sea air. “But as you can see, I have nothing here but the clothes on my back.”

The man eyed him suspiciously then pointed to Jormand’s chest.

“That’ll do. No sense letting it go to waste, you’ll just throw it out.”

The man wanted his shirt. Well it wouldn’t be any worse he supposed. He pulled off the garment, sliding it off as it stuck to his skin and handed it over to the man who smiled widely with an incomplete set of teeth. He was careful to pull the ring from a pocket sewn into the sleeve and hide it in his fist.

“Thank you kindly m’lord.” He said before scooping up his waterskin and walking back towards the water.

Jormand let out a sigh that burned his throat and rolled his eyes in exasperation. He could’ve just taken Jorman’s shirt if he had wanted it so badly. He probably just wanted the chance to humiliate a man of higher standing. Looking down at himself, he hardly looked the part now, standing bare-chested and dripping seawater from his hair. Still, he was glad to have rescued his ring. It was a rather simple band of bronze, shaped into antlers for his house crest with a small gem set on the apex. It was misty white and as it reflected the light, something inside seemed to move. He put it back on the third finger of his left hand, gem facing the inside of his fist. He did not want to take any risks.

At least he knew where he was, this close to the harbor, he could find his way back to The Captain’s Cat on his own. Luckily the current had moved him towards his destination rather than away. He would probably not have awoken at all had his unconscious body lain in the rivvens in the early morning. With luck, he would have been left naked, more likely there would have been a knife in his chest.

Looking around himself, he saw he was near the massive Maerin wharf. That was good, it was not far to his destination.

The harbor was a mess of small docks and jetties, built haphazardly off sections of beach rented at a steep price from the crown. Along these ran men dressed much like Jormand’s supposed savior. They carried bundles of supplies, coils of rope, crates of cargo, even cages; empty or containing live animals. To his left was a row of buildings, mostly warehouses interspersed with supply depots that sold last minute wares to desperate captains at a steep markup. One of those would be Galier’s, that man knew how to wring out money from desperate people, Jormand included.

Near the buildings walked the usual pedestrian traffic that congregated near the wharf. A rare mix of nobler breeds with the workers and sailors. They still turned their noses up but they did not move to strike those who got in their way. They were there for business; hopefully speedy business by the looks of it. Jormand joined the flow of people headed south down the road along the shore and ever so slowly the crowds became more clothed, their smell less ripe, and their posture more refined. As he neared the main wharf, the only workers left at least wore tailored vests and the sailors often carried small side swords at their hips. Jormand began to draw stares, in his current state, he did not blame them. He started to walk faster, before anyone had the chance to recognize him. He kept his eyes down, his damp hair falling to the sides of his face obscuring his identity rather well. Very few would connect this shirtless tramp with the noble face of Jormand Derran but he still remained watchful for anyone who might know him.

The walk to Galier’s tavern was long on foot and not painless for his bare feet. The cobblestones weren’t sharp but they were uneven enough that he stubbed his toes on multiple occasions. He cursed himself for his sluggish legs but he was so sore and tired that he could do little better. The night before had left him with many now-forming bruises and sore muscles and he doubted a night spent in the canals had been any help.

He crossed several short, arched bridges on his way, each time wondering if this one was the one he had tumbled off in the night. They all appeared the same to him, short stone bridges worn down with the passage of untold numbers of feet. The canals below were similarly uniform, murky green water moving lazily down towards the river and then the sea. It all smelled of salt and marsh mud. Occasionally he could pass a small boat carrying passengers or supplies, usually helmed by one man at the rear with a pole to keep the craft going. These boats stayed well away from the canal walls where slime and salt covered the stones. From time to time, two boats would cross paths and one would be forced to scrape against the canal wall, leaving a noticeable gash in the accumulated muk. The slime would plop into the water and float along with the boat for a while.

As he neared his destination, Jormand noticed a marked change in the buildings he passed. Though still warehouses, these began to be built of stone rather than wood, they became taller and with less grimy walls, occasionally he got a look inside and they were without fail less dingy than the ones before.

The foot traffic became more densely packed as he neared the wharf. A large ship had just arrived and men scrambled towards and away from it, often carrying large burdens as they did so. The ship itself was massive. It was incredibly thin and long, the sides studded with small windows in three rows for the rowers. This was an old blood warship, it was obvious even without the soldiers yelling orders from atop the deck, its sleek design and ram floating at the waterline gave it away in an instant. The front was painted heavily and shone with metal accents so much so that Jormand shaded his eyes to keep the reflected sunlight away. He stood, looking hungrily at the behemoth of dark wood. The smell of the harbor enticed him, the familiar scent of tarred ropes on the salty air. He caught himself taking a few steps towards the wharf. He didn’t draw as many stares now, many of the newly arrived sailors were stripped to the waist and barefoot after disembarking, they gleamed with sweat even though the day was not too warm yet.

He looked back to the press of people in the street, he really did not want to rejoin them. Well, he was in no rush, Galier was likely sleeping in and even though the docks had been busy for hours, the sun had only been up for a few of those. He turned back towards the cool stone of the wharf, itching to get a better look at the ship. He shrugged and without looking back again he dashed up the stairs, past clerks who thought him just another sailor, no one gave him a second glance. He couldn’t help but grin to himself, without the trappings of a nobleman, he passed through the crowds like a ghost, never even turning a head.

He spotted a conspicuous pile of apparently empty crates near the edge of the wharf, ignored by the sailors and clerks alike. It would provide a much better vantage point to see the ship so he clambered up the pile. The rough wood tore at his skin but it really didn’t make much of a difference, it was already scraped and swollen from the night before. He managed to pull himself to the top crate, from there he could see over the crowds of sailors easily. He was at least two spans higher than them and the wind no longer brought the scent of unwashed men. It was the pure and clean sea air he remembered now, it blew his damp hair back and he looked up at the sky, smiling even though the sun still caused his eyes to ache terribly.

He could see the ship clearly now, at the end of the wharf. It was truly massive, larger by far than any of the vessels he had ever been on before. The three tiers of oars ran the length of the vessel, the amount of men needed to crew such a large ship would be immense! There would be barely any room left for the soldiers who he saw patrolling the upper deck. Those soldiers strutted along, occasionally looking down at the crowds beneath them, he could not see their faces at such a distance but he was willing to bet they bore self righteous sneers to match their posture. They wore brightly painted helmets, lightened compared to what the city guard wore but with a long forward brim and leather cheek pieces that nearly covered their faces. Their armor was similarly stripped down, leaving them without the molded breastplates of soldiers in favor of padded armor and boiled leather. Even their shields were smaller, they would be easier to maneuver on deck that way and they did not carry the customary sword at their hip, rather, each man had a bow slung across his back and a quiver at his waist to compliment the long spears no doubt stored throughout the ship. These men knew their niche, Jormand had seen their kind before and knew them to be the ferocious beasts they were. Perhaps they would be vulnerable on land but on the rolling deck of a sinking ship as they tore through ranks of rowers, easy and unhindered movements were as effective as any armor. More so even.

There weren’t many soldiers on the ship and of the few there were, most were clustered around a massive ballista near the bow, a few of them were carrying thick shafted projectiles longer than they were tall towards it, leaving them in piles for later use under the eye of an officer whose intricate helmet sported a wide fan of blue and white plume across the top, that man would be a local lord most likely, possibly one Jormand himself even knew but he was engrossed in his work, Jormand had no need to worry.

As the soldiers clustered near the front of the ship, crates and packs of unknown contents were being loaded on by sailors. Most of it was hidden from Jormand’s view by a canvas covering currently over the aft section. If he just joined the sailors, he could get a look on board, maybe even up on the mast. They wouldn’t notice him, would they?

He began to make his way down the pile of crates but even as he dropped from the top one on the pile, the gangplank was drawn in and oars emerged from the ports along the side. They pushed off against the wharf and as he watched, the warship began to row away. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, his chin resting on the top crate. The water churned to foam as it was cut by hundreds of oars in time, leaving a massive wake as it made its way away. Jormand slumped against his crates, looking wistfully after the departing vessel. It had been so long since he had sailed himself. The months were long here in Maerin, they passed at a plodding pace. He had only been in residence in the city for a year now, since he was deemed old enough by his father to represent their house in the capital. He would not be proud of the young man standing on the wharf now. Fixated as he was on the ship, Jormand did not care. All he could think about was the seemingly endless expanse of water that now swallowed up the ship as it passed over the horizon. It enticed him to sail, to revel, as he once had, in the unshackled freedom offered by a ship of his own.

The crowd on the wharf trickled away as the sea water splashed onto its stones dried. He still stood on the pile of crates though as the sun pulled its way up, warming his bare back. Eventually he was forced to confront it, the light reflecting off the water onto his face. Unwilling to leave yet, he turned around and sat with his legs hanging off a crate so he faced the buildings, his hair hung in front of his bowed head and hid him from the sun for the most part. The streets still held a crowd though they passed him by, the waves still broke on the shore and he heard the calls of gulls on the wind. It all continued without him as he slumped against the rough wooden dais of crates.

He let himself doze off in the warm morning sun, it sucked away his strength and coaxed him into sleep, his splintery seat seemed a feather bed to him as he drifted deeper into slumber. When he awoke, he knew it had not been long, perhaps an hour since the last ship had departed. Now, the wharf bustled with life again, its little world reinvigorated by a tide of men unloading a new ship. A merchant this time, judging by the amount of crates carried down into the streets towards various warehouses. The shouts of sailors and clerks were sharp to Jormand’s ear as he shook the smoky grip of sleep away for the second time that morning. His trousers were dry now as was his hair. Both crackled with salt and itched. That was something he did not miss.

His back protested as he moved to stand, cracking and aching something awful. His seat had not been the most comfortable, the slats of crates left defined marks in skin that was still tender.

As he stood, a shimmer on the crate caught his eye. Where he had just been sitting a small object reflected the sun brightly, too brightly to be a nail. He bent over to investigate and found a tiny gemstone no larger than the heads of the nails holding the crates together. It was misty white and seemed to shift in the sunlight. It could have been the twin to the one set in his ring. A soulstone. Surprised by his find, Jormand quickly pocketed the stone, looking around though nobody paid enough attention to him to notice. He wondered how it got there, no sailor would risk such a piece on the docks and he had never seen one unset before. Perhaps some wealthy merchant had lost it, but anyone foolish enough to do so would not dare to trade in such valuable goods.

Smiling to himself at his good fortune, walked back down the stone steps and into the street, mixing back in with the constant flow of people. He was not far from the Captain’s Cat now and walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the morning before it grew too hot.

The cobblestones were pleasantly warm against his bare feet, something confined to the summer back home and he found a new spring in his step as he neared his destination. He could easily replace his lost outfit with his new found riches, he father would be none the wiser, soulstones were always in demand. Their rarity and unique beauty always meant that nobles wanted them to add to their collections. Jormand himself did not wear them, it wasn’t right to wear someone else’s soulstone but the one he had found he would not mind selling. There was no way to really find the owner and in all probability the owner would sell it anyway. Southerners had no attachment to their soulstones, if they made them at all, it was a very strange culture.

It was still before midday when Jormand arrived at the steps to the Captain’s Cat. The large warehouse still cast a shadow into the street that kept the passageway cool. It had begun to heat up quickly and Jormand was glad to have found respite now. He made his way up the steps to the familiar door and pushed it open into the empty common room. At this point in the day, most of the guests would be gone and the regular evening crowd would not be present for some time. Still, a man leaned against the bar cleaning cups and a lone serving woman wiped down tables in the large room. It was quiet and calm, the polar opposite of what this room was meant to be. It felt strange to see the room so empty. Jormand waved to the serving staff as he made his way to the staircase in the corner near the bar. They knew him well enough to not ask questions though they gave him a variety of strange looks. The bartender hid a laugh and the woman cleaning tables rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. They probably knew about his nightly activities, they’d assume he’d lost his clothes betting. It didn’t really bother Jormad.

He climbed the narrow staircase slowly, still easing his sore muscles. At the landing he stretched lethargically, hearing a few pops as he twisted his spine. Sleeping on crates had done his wearied body no favors. The strange quiet of the tavern was broken as a door opened with a squeal and a disheveled woman exited it. She shaded her eyes against the dim light of the hallway and bore a pained frown. She still wore last night’s makeup and had the look of someone who had not expected to be spending the night at the Captain’s Cat. Jormand chuckled to himself. That was not an uncommon situation here, Galier kept a stock of the finest alcohol in the empire, people tended to overindulge.

As she passed him, he heard her grumbling softly. Hungover then, as expected. He did note however that she had left Galier’s room. That would make his visit a little less awkward at least. Dealing with his nightly visitors was one of the distinct downsides of his friendship.

Jormand’s hopes were dashed when he entered the room. He found his friend sitting on one of the two beds, fully dressed up to and including his boots and ornate jacket, while on the other was another of Galier’s guests, apparently still sleeping and barely covered by a sheet. Jormand paused in the door, looking to his friend for guidance who jovially motioned him into the room.

“Why, you look positively horrendous!” He exclaimed, giving no mind to the woman still sleeping. “What happened to you? I thought you never lost.” His expression did not hide his distaste.

“I didn’t lose.” Jormand replied in as confident a tone as he could muster in the state he was in. “This happened after.”

“Right, well at least sit down, you look like a corpse.” Galier motioned to the bed opposite himself. Its occupant had woken up now and was sitting with a confused expression on her bleary face, her sheet pulled up to her chin.

Jormand spared a pitiful glance for the lady but still took a seat, his legs were on the verge of collapse, it was welcomed.

“Um, are you going to introduce me?” He asked awkwardly, looking quickly between Galier and the stranger.

“Oh right, this is the lady Adelphine, and this is the lord Jormand Derran, no need to be concerned, he is a good friend.” He paused for a minute, giving Jormand’s present state another look. “Even if he doesn’t smell like it.”

Jormand could not help but be a little offended even though it was certainly true, the smells of the harbor district could be difficult to cover. At least it seemed to put Adelphine at ease. Galier carried on, oblivious to the tension in his little room.

“I assume your bouts light night did not go as planned then?” He did next to nothing to hide his condescension. “Or were you mugged making your way back from that dismal place.” Galier Caerest was nothing if not dramatic.

“A little of both, I guess.” Jormand responded with a grimace, becoming more aware of his poor state as time went on. His heart had not stopped pounding since he climbed the stairs and he was starting to feel woozy.

“I always tell you not to go, why don’t you go to proper tournaments, I’ve seen you fight, you could win good money there and you wouldn’t have to risk…” He gave another distasteful look and shook his head. He continued in a pleading voice. “Your image means something here my friend, people won't tolerate this kind of behavior for long.”

Jormand, tensed, bristling at the jab. He did not want an argument, especially not with a stranger in the room but it was unfair, Galier liked to corner people like this, in situations where they were uncomfortable. He knew Jormand would not want to confront him in front of this strange woman. So he decided it was time to be unpredictable.

“If you want to talk about image, maybe we should discuss this!” He pointed to Adelphine who was presently shrinking into a corner as she regarded them warily.

“You have a new woman in here every night and yet you still think no one notices! If you want to talk to me about decorum, how about you bother to show some yourself.”

He knew he had gone too far, he was all out of sorts from his morning and Galier did have a point but sometimes it was just easier to yell at the man than admit he was right, that smug grin and uppity attitude did not invite civil conversation.

His grin was certainly gone now, quickly replaced with a look of forced civility.

“Perhaps we ought to have this discussion some other time, in less company,” Galier hissed through his teeth. “My lady, I think lord Jormand and I have some business that needs discussing, if you don’t mind my being so rude I think we will take our leave.” He stood and gave a flourishing bow that did little to slow the cloud of anger beginning to shadow Adelphine’s face. Galier quickly swung open the door and with swift, long strides began to make his way down the hall, further away from the staircase. Jormand gave the lady an apologetic glance as he speedily followed. He was glad to get away from that particular situation, even if it had to be through rather unpleasant means.

When Jormand entered the hall, Galier was already out of sight but Jormand knew where to go. At the end of the corridor was a very narrow door on his left, squeezed into a narrow gap between the end of the previous room and the rough wooden wall. He stood a moment outside, hesitant to enter and confront Galier now. With a sigh he gripped the handle and pushed in, turning sideways to clear the small door frame. Inside, Galier stood with arms folded, facing the far wall, his foot tapping quickly on the floor. At the sound of the door, he turned his head to look over the shoulder of his elegantly stitched coat.

“What was that?” Galier practically shouted across the small distance between himself and Jormand. “Have you lost your mind?” He took a step closer to Jormand, closing the distance effectively so that he stood only a pace away. “I understand you have no interest in the world of politics but I will not have you drag me down with you, not all of us have someone to smooth everything over!” Jormand grimaced, reminded that he would have to explain yet another loss of clothing to his father. He felt hot shame claw its way onto his cheeks but anger came to replace it in an instant. I will not be manipulated like this! He thought to himself.

“Oh, was it supposed to be a secret that you’re sleeping with half the city? My apologies, I thought you were trying to advertise!” Jormand hadn’t meant to yell but when he heard the words leave his mouth, he was surprised, and unable to calm himself.

Galier’s jaw worked angrily but no sound came out. His shoulders were squared and his chest puffed out haughtily but even though his breath was coming fast in his anger, he said nothing else. Then, to Jormand’s surprise, he let out a long sigh and his shoulders slumped down. “Is it really that obvious?” He asked in a pitiful voice.

Surprised by Galier’s sudden shift, Jormand paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. His anger faded quickly however and soon he began to feel shame creeping back. “No, not really…” He said, unsure of how to respond. “I’m just too close is all.” He hoped he sounded convincing but he feared he did not. “Really, it's not so obvious. Half the nobles in the city couldn’t find their own rear if they tried, I can surely say they have not noticed.”

Galier gave him a skeptical look and shook his head ruefully. “You underestimate them. They see a lot more than you give them credit for… Still, maybe you’re right.” He did not seem particularly convinced however.

Jormand sighed heavily, feeling guilty for his friend’s soured mood. “Maybe I am. Really, you play their games perfectly. I can vouch for that. All the parties we’ve been to together, you make them look clumsy.”

That caused Galier to perk up a bit although he quickly wilted again. “Yes well it's been so long since you’ve come to one with me. Maybe things have changed and I’ve not noticed.” Then his eyes lit up again and a grin pulled at his dour expression. “Actually, there is a feast at Ealhold manor tonight, I was planning to find someone to bring with me but you rather handily got rid of my best prospect.” He said it very pointedly, showing he perhaps wasn’t quite so passed it as he had seemed. “You could come instead, give society a bit of a surprise!”

Jormand cringed slightly at the thought. He had been avoiding such events since the last one he had attended months ago at Ealhold manor at his father’s behest. It was an allied house supposedly but the forced smiles and veiled compliments certainly did not make it seem that way.

Noticing Jormand’s apprehension, Galier gave him a friendly slap on his shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be interesting at least, I hear they have some big games planned. Apparently they’ve built quite the new theatre. Who knows, maybe they’ll have something you’ll enjoy.”

Jormand snorted derisively and raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “I doubt that. These southern lords don’t exactly share my tastes.” From what he had seen, they preferred dances and plays over anything interesting. Even their duels were supposed to be elegant. It had been a long while since he’d seen any boxing or war games.

Galier widened his eyes and seemed genuinely surprised at the comment. “You really haven’t been out in a while have you? Times change my friend and the newest trends have brought back certain things I think you’ll enjoy.” He said mysteriously but after that he refused to go further.

They continued to talk about lighter things and slowly, the effects of that day’s strange beginning began to ebb away for Jormand.