The sounds of the water were ever so calming to Chelle’s addled mind. In seclusion she thought best. The picturesque vista atop the lonesome crowsnest provided her some perspective. A literal endless sea of blue expanse, countered by another starry horizon opposite it. This time the moon made its glamorous appearance in the form of a waxing crescent, brightly aglow in the night sky. It’s radiance stretched across the bouncing, semi-tumultuous waves, giving a strip of it where it shone the brightest a crystalline appearance - as if gems floated across its tenuous surface. The perceived line where the stars ended and Guardian’s Sea began is where Chelle had focused her attention. Deftly agile, she stood atop the wooden balustrade meant to keep the Barrelman safe, balancing against the bobbing of the ship with no lack of grace or loss of footing - defeating its purpose in an ironic and dangerous fashion. Never did she worry if she might slip and plummet. Her courage was strong when feats of this caliber required such resolve, even her fear of the ocean had dissipated, but emotionally she was not so resolute. The nights previous to this one and this night, too, she wracked her brain - attempting to reconcile with herself. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Blurting something out without thinking, ruining her own self image, or perhaps the one she had conjured for herself to mask the real one? No, that couldn’t be it. She was a terrible person. All the things she had put Mica through...

She’d done that before. And the fallout was always similar. She’d spend plenty of time ruminating on something so infinitesimally insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. But in the moment and the moments following it weighed on her so much. The only thing that eased her frustrations with herself was the thought of that smile. Mica’s smile. It was a pleasant, warm feeling and an infectious one at that. Sitting before Mica she could only blush and shy away from it, but now she was almost grinning there by herself atop the mast. The smile faded quickly as her thoughts washed the momentary joy from her visage, once again concentrating on the median between the void above and the world beyond. Why did she always overthink these things? Chelle thought. Maybe it was nothing at all, just a friendly smile! She’d reason with herself. Her emotions made her heart thump heavy in her chest. A sensation most often felt when sharing space with Mica or thinking about her. There was no denying that she felt… Something… Why else would she act this way? In hindsight things were very clear but in those situations she struggled to convey things, speak how she wanted to, think straight and apply herself. She needed a distraction. This was too much.

An exhausted groan escaped Mica’s lips as her gloved hands unscrewed bolts to peel away at the panelling of her mining drill. This had been the second time she took this thing apart and it was getting on her last nerves, it was way too early for this. Never would she have thought she might be using this contraption as a weapon a few years ago. She never did possess the will of a fighter. But she had put up with it for the money. Even when it was handed over in fine leather pouches she couldn’t quite draw herself away from the allure of the next job. In reality it wasn’t the job at all that kept her coming. It was Chelle. Chelle was the more enthusiastic of the two when it came to things like this. Lazy? Absolutely. But she had always been that type, the adventurous type, enraptured with the spirit of thrill seeking. It was Chelle’s idea to take this job, she could never constrain herself to something so simple and mundane as mining like Mica could. She knew that much at least. Mica had her suspicions as to why Chelle wanted to, at the time she had thought differently than she did now. She wagered that it was because Chelle felt bad for the issues she caused prior to them growing together and wanted to show she could win bread and make it up to Mica. Chelle would never admit that, though. It was kind of adorable when she put it in that light.

“Hey.” A gentle voice grabbed at Mica’s attention, it’s suddenness forcing a sharp exhale as she spun to challenge the being who spoke it.

Her alertness died when she was confronted by the familiar form of her employer; Lois. She looked as if she was a tad bit sleep deprived… On second thought, she almost always looked that way. There was something different about her this time, though, she looked both exhausted and irritated. How that came to be was beyond Mica.

“Hey…” Mica gave a brief and lazy wave as she turned back to her drill. “Need something?”

“It’s less of a need and more of a want.” Lois stepped into Mica’s periphery as she spoke, looking down at Mica’s work-in-progress.

Mica gave a half-nod that confirmed she was ready to hear what Lois had to say. The lapse in concentration caused an errant wire to be placed where it wasn’t meant to be, producing a spark of electricity and a dull flash of light followed by thin smoke. Another low growl escaped the frustrated yordle as she slammed the paneling closed, providing Lois her undivided attention. Her anger wasn’t focused on Lois at all and she did her best to convey as much by softening her otherwise vexed expression.

“I may have assumed too much in thinking that you and Chelle were romantically involved?”

Straight to the point like that? Mica thought. The question at first didn’t resonate with her, but its gravity was quick to set in, forcing her timid nature to bubble out of her. “No!” Mica nearly shouted, back-tracking with a palm over her mouth to shut herself up. A gloved palm that was slickened with machine oil. Her eyes went wide as the realization of her mistake registered overtly on her visage. Shit…

“Fuck…” Mica spat, using the cleaner back side of her gloves to wipe at her blackened mouth and cheeks. This had gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. She sought to salvage the situation by grabbing the rag she kept nearby for just such a mishap, making sure to remove one glove before picking it up.

Lois had never been easily amused so it came as a surprise to hear her dull chuckle and see her weak smile. Mica felt the embarrassment course through her like a viral toxin, corrupting her and forcing her further into her introversion.

“Oh, I see…” Lois murmured through a knowing smile.

Now Mica knew how it felt to be on the other end of one of those. Definitely not pleasant. She wanted to protest but the truth was more than evident now.

“Your heart has that honeymoon thump to it.” Lois admitted, so casual and relaxed leaned up against that nearby barrel.

“Honeymoon thump?” Mica’s brow furrowed.

Lois brought a palm to her chest, placing it against her own heart. Her index finger lightly tapped at the fabric surrounding it in a sporadic rhythm. Mica was only more confused by the gesture until she realized the tapping of her finger synced near perfectly to the beat of her own heart. This was unsettling. She knew Lois was strange, alien even, but this was almost creepy.

Mica’s understanding became apparent and was readable. “You haven’t said anything.” Lois said, flatly.

So boldly had she declared something she didn’t know. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A statement Mica struggled to refute. “Not overtly.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She thought on that question for longer than she realized. Why hadn’t she said anything? She knew why. She just couldn’t muster the courage to be that forward with Chelle. Plus she didn’t quite know how she felt. She was also afraid of rejection, though that was something she only just thought about. “...I don’t know.”

The words spoken didn’t mirror the conflict presented. And Lois was quick to pick up on that, as with most other things. “Afraid?”

“Stop doing that!” Mica snapped.

Lois smirked. “Doing what?”

“Reading me like that...” She could only sigh in a defeated manner. “You’re right, I don’t know what to say or how to say it. I’m just… Hoping the right moment will present itself.”

“The world never waited for anyone, why would it wait for you?” Lois, lacking nuance, was the bane of Mica, Chelle and other procrastinators like them. Bombarding her opposition with reality when their minds sought only to relegate themselves to fantasy and wishful thinking.

“You’re not helping.” Mica grunted.

“Maybe not now…” Lois leaned into her speech as if hinting at something greater. “I just wanted to remind you that complacency is the enemy of progress. You’d think that’d be self-evident, but you’d be surprised how often we forget. I speak from experience.”

Sensing a chance to move the conversation off herself, Mica leapt at the opportunity to inquire further. “Like what?”

“I knew someone. I waited too long and the…” A ragged exhale brought pause to Lois’ speech. “...Opportunity got away from me. That’s all.”

There was some measure of pain left over in her voice from that unforgotten soul. Mica could sense that much, at least. It still failed to open that closed inner-eye that would let her see herself from an exterior perspective, but overtime, perhaps… She didn’t dare dig further, unlike Lois she wasn’t as aware of how others felt, but she was more conscious of emotion. It was a strange dichotomous anomaly in two things that should go hand in hand. How did Lois read others with such accuracy but fail to see the effect it would have on them? A question that certainly piqued Mica’s interest.

“Just- Be smart about it.” Lois concluded, making brief eye contact before she started off.

“Thanks.” Mica whispered.

The utterance of that word froze Lois for a heartbeat before she continued on her way.

The ringing of an old bell came down from on high as the distant and comically unserious voice of Enzo could be heard squawking in the Crow’s Nest much like the gulls that flew overhead from time to time. “Land Ho! Land Ho!”

A series of mountain cliffs and crags loomed over the evening sea fog, the tops of which were sparingly sheeted with green foliage of varying density. A paradise tropical rainforest danced around rock and jagged stone. Sailing forth revealed each monolith of natural stone was backed by another tier, many of them arching over and over like the curved limb of a bow stretched to varying lengths. Falls of clear water trickled down through the network of topography as the cliffs climbed ever steeper. Arising out of the thinnest heights of the fog were structures. Though that wasn’t the most apt description for the shoddy and precarious architecture that barely clung to the cliffs they were conceived upon. The city, which again, didn’t deserve the descriptor, was cobbled together from the remains of ships and ancient temples that came before the first pirates laid claim to these straits and cliffs.

So obvious was it’s piratical influence that whole bowing hulls could be recognized within the scape of warped wood, scaffolding and mountainside housing. The literal carcasses of ships once meant to voyage upon these very seas festoon the length of arching earth where ropes hung and masts flying flags marked territories not to be challenged. Cutting through the fog unveiled the inlet beneath the largest of the curling arches.

A large sign hung down from waterworn ropes that read, “Welcome to Bilgewater Bay”,in unrefined scrawlings of black paint accompanied by a foreboding bone-crossed skull.

On either side of the narrow passage were houses built upon rickety stilts held out of the shark-infested canals below, some of them were on the verge of structural collapse, alongside some that had already succumbed to their age and caved into the water completely. The poor and the destitute gathered, fishing away their lives with pitiful rods and fraying lines that were disrupted by the arrival of another massive vessel. Unsafe bridging circulated feet above the water, connecting from house to house to provide pathways upon which these unfortunate souls traversed.

As eyes wandered up and above, the city grew, ascending upon stairs either built of wood or time-consumingly carved into the stone of the nearest rockface. More housing, some left to teeter on the brink of plummeting, sat jumbled upon any available space of outcropping the island cliffs provided. Some of these houses, warmly lit by dying candlelight and fish oil lamps, were more than just houses built from wreckage - they were ship estates featuring gabled windows and arched roofing with many fine additions made to expand the living space of some well-off pirate lords and their crew. The aesthetic really came into its own, becoming less hastily crafted and more deliberate. It was its own style of architecture, the marriage of the buccaneers lifestyle and the homes they once used to inhabit upon far away continents like countryside Demacia or Plitover. More scaffolding led into rope and wood suspension bridges over gaps between platforms that buildings were constructed around and atop of, creating another system of tiers that was fast becoming a staple of Bilgewater. Up and up it went with pulley systems implemented to hoist cargo, the remains of shrouds creating netting for impatient pirates to clamber up and down and feet of dangling rope most often used by the simian primates who swung to and fro in search of gunpowder.

Upon further investigation the careful eye revealed that much of the stone Bilgewater Bay’s Infrastructure populated was doctored. Strange symbols, shapes and the vague likenesses of sea creatures with gaping maws and peering eyes were carved into the cliff faces. They were primitive in their design, evoking thoughts of tribal artistry. There was something off-putting about them, though. A nebulous and indescribable feeling that made the stomach sink when one of these sculpted visages was looked upon for long enough. The feeling made more than a few crew members of the commandeered Golden Memorabilia turn away with unsettled eyes. And they were everywhere. What was this place before it was a haven for pirates? One could only wonder.

Enzo slid down the ladder to rejoin his party who had gathered around the helm, his totem in tow. The group was in awe of their surroundings more than anything, listening to the sounds of hustle and bustle. Bilgewater was foreign to every member of their group. Pirateering itself was a foreign concept, really.

“Okay! We're here!...” Enzo clapped his hands with an excited smile that faded fast into thought. “What’s the plan?”

At once all three of his companions were pulled back into focus. Lois was the first to receive curious eyes. Even the fellow they had instructed to replace their own captain after his death during the boarding was looking at her for answers.

“Well… We’re definitely going to draw attention here.” Lois placed a pondering finger to her chin only to be interrupted a moment later.

“I think we already have.” Chelle flicked her head upwards in that moment to clue them in on a few curious figures that looked down upon their stolen ship and the four stout figures sailing on it.

“We kind of just sailed right in on his ship. There’s no way he doesn’t have some sort of look out.” Mica added.

“Here. Since Chelle and I are the fastest we’ll climb out and investigate, see if we can’t find some sort of tip. You two stay with the ship and dock it. Fain is proud, I’m sure it’ll get the best of him eventually and he’ll reveal himself.” Lois explained.

“Yaaaay…” Enzo droned. “Guard duty…”

“Just shut up and keep an eye out, cry baby.” Chelle said with a condescending wink, pulling a chuckle out of Mica in the process.

With a billowing of hair and fine Ionian cloth Lois and Chelle leapt off one side of the ship nearest to the cliffs, finding hand and foot holds to begin scaling up like a pair of rock climbers. Chelle would often use strands of her hair as tendrils to leverage her way up the steep, carved rock, punching and pulling whilst she did the same with her hands, and pushed with her feet. Lois had always been an experienced climber, it was oft a required skill when artifact hunting in treacherous ruins. They clung to the shadows cast by the surrounding plateaus as best they could, using their stature to hopefully avoid any half-observant denizens.

Up they went into the mess of the city proper, using hung ropes and stretches of wooden boarding to continue their ascent. The smell of fish which had been so prominent below morphed into salty air and then cooked foods as they tucked themselves into crevices and listened to the merry talk of sailors and pirates deep in their cups, hoping for some sort of hint as to where their quarry may lie. It was difficult to stay hidden at times, the pair of them skipping into backways to hide from an investigatory glance in their direction. Lois knew the flag Fain flew, trying again and again to cross-reference it with others that populated the tallest masts across Bilgewater. Though she came up empty handed. They had no leads after almost a half-hour and things didn’t seem to be getting better with regards to their search, only worse.

“We really didn’t think this through enough.” Chelle grumbled.

“I’m actually inclined to agree… I guess it’s time I call in that favor.” There was a stifled sigh that escaped Lois in that moment.

“Favor?”

Lois reached into her garments nearest her left breast to pluck something small and rectangular out from a hidden pocket. She spun it between her index and middle fingers. It was a… Playing card? A rather grandiose one, at that. One the backside it possessed a curious design, brown and edged with dull golden, angular filigree featuring lines that ran to the center of the back of the card, creating a compass-esque pattern, though far more ornate than any compass Chelle had ever seen. On the opposite side however the card’s graphic seemed to come alive and animate as if she were looking into a miniaturized portal of sorts. Whichever way the card angled more of the image was revealed in a three-dimensional tilt fashion. It depicted a single figure wearing a mask, hood and red robes surrounded by a gathering of other hooded and robed figures, all of which appeared to be kneeling and paying reverence to this singular masked male. In his shadow the silhouette of something immense stood and all along the top most edges of the card in the foreground red ichor dripped, dissipating out of sight once it sunk to the bottom of the card.

Lois ran the edge of the card along her open palm, it was apparently sharp as a single swipe drew blood. She placed the card face down into her bloodied hand and a red spark on the back side erupted without warning. A surge of unseen energy was translated into Lois’ body as her veins bulged spectacularly for a half-second, her pupils coming alight in an alien, blue-purple glow that seemed to erupted with a semi-translucent red haze trailing from the corner of either eye. She panned her head in a zombified manner as if looking through the alley walls that flanked them. Left to right and then around before her head snapped in one direction. A single blink dispelled the glow and a gasping inhale brought her back to reality.

Chelle was disturbed, confused and a little intrigued. “What was that?”

“Probably best if we keep that a secret. Let’s go.” Lois wasted no time with conversation, moving with extreme purpose.

As the night grew older Lois’ path brought them to one extreme of Bilgewater, higher up than they previously were with little chance of remaining completely undetected. That hardly mattered now, though. Where they were going, discretion wasn’t as important. The liveliness of Bilgewater Bay centered itself around a few key places. The taverns, the docks and the gambling tents. Foremost were the gambling tents where men and women far too drunk to invest in games of luck and numbers invested anyways. Nearby brothels provided courtesans, leaching off the high-rollers and men who’d lost it all at the tables, promising them a bosom to cry on if only they’d cough up a little more coin. It was a mutually beneficial relationship between businesses. Women often urged men to spend more at the tables, and the tables provided those women with victims who were sure to be rich or loose with their money.

The crowds were dense with dancing folk who had one too many, enjoying the live, bombastic tavern-esque music provided by whoever fancied a performance on that night. Tambourines, drums and strings played a bopping tune designed to lift the spirits and melt away inhibitions, a tune that was impossible not to nod your head or tap your foot to. Fights stirred as feelings were hurt and money was lost, the occasional shouting match spilling out into a brawl that patrons, gamblers and even the pair of yordles would have to avoid on occasion. The most violent of them would see one or both parties tripping off the high edge of one of the wooden walkways to either splash into the water and (possibly) be devoured by sharks or slam into someone’s stilted shack below, dying upon impact. Either way both results were met with laughter and cheering. More spectacle for the evening!

Hardly anyone had enough sense to be alarmed by the big-eared creatures. The most sloshed of the sailors commonly mistook Lois and Chelle for dogs. Which irked the both of them. “Which one ah’ye dressed these two dogs in’at fancy clothin’?!” They’d screech and laugh. How annoying.

Eventually after peeking into every gambling tent Lois finally stumbled upon her “favor”. One man, sat at the central most table of the largest tent bided his time with a handful of cards splayed in his grasp, each one spaced near perfectly apart from the other. He had a wide brimmed, golden etched hat that came to a sharp prow at its front and a long coat fashioned of fine material, the insides of his lapel a silken crimson. The duster billowed vivaciously at the slightest sweep of an arm or roll of shoulder. It too was of immaculate design, expertly tailored just like his banker’s vest and collared button up. He sported a generous and full beard of straight black hair, almost as straight as the cascade of it that ran down his back, combed to perfection.

The men and women gathered around the table waited for him to make his move. All of their hands had been placed down, wearing their emotions on their faces. Nervousness, eagerness, confidence. The suspense mounted just before a victor’s smirk split the man’s lips. He casually laid out his hand. Their reactions said it all. An eruption of jeers and curses broke out around the table, the spectators who gathered around gasping and laughing and hollering.

“Looks like I win again.” He chuckled, his voice as rich as honey with a smooth and bass drawl. He turned to his dealer with a warm smile. “Hold onto my earnin’s for me, I have some business to take care of.” And then his eyes settled on the pair who had just entered, almost as if he’d foreseen their arrival.

With a swagger only heard of in fairy tales the gambler walked his way to the corner of the tent, finding an unoccupied table whilst motioning them with a hardly noticeable beckoning finger.

Lois seemed eager to come into contact with this man, almost breaking into a jog when he called them over. Chelle, not so much. If anything she was a little reluctant and suspicious of all this. Lois hadn’t explained anything at all, and while she hardly thought she was walking into a trap, it all seemed a bit too strange.

“Master.” Lois said in a breathy exhale.

She was in awe of this man, that much was clear. Chelle remained indifferent, though, watching the interaction from a healthy distance.

“If it isn’t my favorite little pupil. What brings you to my side of Runeterra? Artifact huntin’ again, I’ll bet.” He took his seat, shuffling his own deck of cards that he produced from a pocket kept close to his heart.

They appeared staggeringly similar to the one Lois had used not too long ago. Strange… Chelle thought.

“Yes, Master. Hunting again. I need your help in divining the location of a man.”

Master. Why did she keep calling him that? Chelle wondered. He didn’t have the tellings of a Master at all. He was just a mysterious High-Roller. She spoke to him with such respect, such adoration.

“A man?” His brow furrowed a moment.

Lois nodded. “The man holds the item I seek, Master. Captain Fain Toddbringer, I’m sure you’ve heard the name.”

“I have, I have… Well, then… Let’s see where Captain Fain Toddbringer has gone, shall we?” With a flick of his wrists the deck of cards shuffled and shuffled again.

He laid the cards out face down in an arc across the table simply by running the bulk of the deck in a semi-circle along it, once again each card was perfectly spaced from the other. He bowed his head for a moment and closed his eyes, wiggling his fingers in an almost comical fashion. With all ten fingers he sorted through his cards and pushed some out of the arc he’d created, gathering them into a stack before splaying that stack out above the majority of the deck, face up this time. He recaptured his deck, save for the one’s he’d just laid out, placing it down gently beside the others in a neat pile. He then opened his eyes and looked at the cards, rearranging them in a certain order.

Both Chelle and Lois were hard pressed to see any sort of story told by these cards, they weren’t tarots or anything of the sort. Just his own personal, animated playing cards. But he stared at them for a while and nodded, having come to some sort of conclusion.

“The island north of here across the strait. I sensed he was… Lookin’ for somethin’…” His smile returned as his divination was completed. He calmly stroked his beard for a moment, looking up and away as he got lost in thought.

“If I were you I’d take the path across the island, them native folk don’t like people sailin’ in their waters. They call all types of deep sea creatures to come feastin’ on ships and what not. Dangerous business. This way is safer, take it from Master.” He concluded with a cool stint of laughter.

“Yes, Master. Along the path and not the waters. Where is the path?” Lois inquired.

“Just head north outta’ the bay, you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Thank you, Master. This has been a great help.” Lois bowed deeply.

The gambler gave a nod of dismissal, making brief eye contact with Chelle before the pair of them turned away. “Oh, and Lois…”

She turned at once, drawn back by his word.

“Come and see me again after you’re done with that business. I wanna’... Catch up with you on a few things.” There was some sense of foreboding in his tone. Whatever it was didn’t seem to strike Lois as such, her reply was just as it had been.

“Yes, Master...”