port scene

Walking down the pier and into the seaside quarter proper, Talwen cast his gaze about for whoever he was supposed to meet. With little information to go on, he decided he would just find anyone who seemed to be affiliated with the military and go from there. Now that he stood in the cobbled square, with a mass of strange, unwashed foreigners teeming about him, that plan seemed rather naive. To the left, a team of fishermen were hauling freshly caught fish. Beside them, a neatly dressed family who had arrived from Lyoness alongside Talwen browsed the overpriced wares of detached looking merchant, whose gaze stayed on them seemingly only to keep an eye out for shoplifting. A passing group of metal-armed dockworkers thundered by, their raucous laughter and jeering catcalls echoing briefly above the din of the port. The rest of the thronging crowds seemed to blur into a mix of fluttering fabric and different skin tones, faces moving into one another before disappearing only to resolve again from the spaces in between bodies. Talwen felt a tightness in his chest, his breathing constricted as though through a straw. Forcing his gaze to the ground, he slowly walked his way to the side of the square, dipping off into a side courtyard to get a moment away from the suffocating mass of humanity flooding the port. He had rarely seen so many people before, and even then they had been seated for some momentous event or festive occasion. The grass center of the courtyard’s peristyle gave him something familiar to focus on, to slow his breathing. He leaned gently against one of the columns to steady himself. He felt his face getting warm, embarrassment creeping into his heart. Hardly even off the boat, and here he was struggling to the point of being overwhelmed by the simple task of searching a crowd. Perhaps this was all just a mistake, maybe his father was right. Maybe he was ill-suited for this endeavour, doomed to mediocrity by his own damned nerves. In Moravec, when he found whichever military contact he sought, maybe he could plead his case to them. Let them know that he wasn’t whatever skilled engineer they had mistaken him for, that he was just a weak civilian, he was sorry for wasting their time and that he would return to Lyoness immediately.

As he was contemplating just how he might word his admission of defeat, he noticed an ostentatiously dressed figure in the far corner of the courtyard eyeing him. The man stood out from the general crowd he had been overcome by just minutes before, where they were dressed in simple yet reliable clothing, unadorned save for the stitches holding them together, he was draped in finery adorned by glittering gold and a few glittering gems. A dark cape draped over his left shoulder, as though he obscured himself with a cloak wrought from the shadows themselves. Talwen made brief eye contact with the man, who motioned to him to approach, an invitation different from the solicitations of a merchant but more akin to a colleague with important news to share. Curious if he had found his man, Talwen skirted around the edge of the sun soaked garden and approached the gaudy stranger.

“Hello?” said Talwen, “Are you the one I’m supposed to meet?”

The stranger raised his thick eyebrows, apparently taken off guard by such a question, yet only for a moment. Quickly, like an agile spider skittering about it’s web, his face softened into an amiable smile, his numerous and too-small teeth shining like pebbles in a stream.
“You have met me now, yes?” the stranger said in the almost theatrical accent of Mora, an exaggerated version of the Vecian dialect, “Surely this means we were supposed to meet! How maybe I help you, boy?”

Talwen blinked, resisted the urge to frown, both at being spoken to in riddles and for being called “boy”.

“I’m here on… official military business. I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but I’m not entirely sure who.”

The stranger took a drag of his pipe, smiling as genuinely as any merchant might.

“Well, that is a surprise! A boy like you,” said the merchant, his eyes moving up and down Talwen’s body, “does not seem fit for the military. Indeed, you are so handsome that at first I thought you were a woman! And yet, such… eh, pardon the word, but such incompetence is sadly too characteristic for me to think you are lying.”

Something about the man’s gaze made Talwen’s skin crawl. Hugging his cloak a little tighter around himself, he decided continuing to talk would likely yield little other continued lecherous looks.

“Well, thank you, but if you aren’t the man I’m supposed to meet, I should take my leave so that I might find him elsewhere.”

“A moment before you do,” the man said, slipping his words in like a snake darting through the grass. “I may not be this man you seek, and yet I likely know where you may find him. You see, I do a lot of business with the military, your man is quite possibly one of my customers.”

Talwen paused.

“Customers?”

The man nodded his head, thinking. “Eeeh… my clientele perhaps. You see, I am Appius Fortius, owner and proprietor of the Lion’s Den, the premier parlour of Moravec, with clientele from both sides of the city and foreigners alike.” He smiled, lightly doffing his hat. “The military, naturally, or its men rather, make frequent use of our services. If we were to go to my establishment, I’m sure you would find your man in no time.”

“I appreciate the idea, however I’m not sure leaving this area is the right idea. It was said I would find him at the port, and if he were to fail to find me here but rather at a… parlour… it might look a bit like I had deserted the military in favour of… well… you know…”

Talwen blushed a little. He had never been comfortable discussing more intimate activities with anyone, let alone total strangers.

Grinning, Appius took another drag of his pipe.

“Well, boy, here there is but one port; at the Den there are many more!” he quipped. “I can vouch for you, and believe me, my word is quite weighty with the military, if you still wish to pursue that path.”

Talwen cocked his head slightly.

“‘That path’? What do you mean?”

“Well, like I said earlier, you don’t seem like a soldier boy. It’s rough work for rough men, someone like you wouldn’t fit in well alongside the brutes they employ. I think you would fare much better if you were to come work for me.”

He smiled widely, showing a seemingly inhuman number of teeth. Talwen idly wondered if the man had a shark for a relative.

“Work for you? Why? If I wanted to abandon the military, I could just get back on that ship and go home.”

The man again looked up and down Talwen’s body, grinning in a way that made Talwen want to just shed his skin, and yet he felt rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“Because, you’re a very pretty boy. You would do very well working for me, I guarantee. Boys like you don’t come around very often, it would be a shame for you to waste your potential. Squandering it on the military, like some lowborn lout.” He shook his head. “That simply won’t do. If you come work for me, you’ll live a life of comfort and pleasure you would never know otherwise.”

Another smile, this one reminding Talwen of the wolves which roamed the deeper forests in Lyoness. Hungry.

Unsure of what to say, Talwen opened his mouth to say something, anything to get a moment’s break from the man’s lilting words, when Appius’ gaze shifted to something behind Talwen.
Confused, Talwen started to step back, only for a strong hand to clamp onto his shoulder.

“Here you are!” boomed a strangely familiar voice. “Didn’t think I’d find you consorting with the likes of him! Haha!”

Talwen turned, seeing the man behind him. Tall, with a face weathered by years of hard service, grey hair tumbling about his shoulders like a wild mane, stood Commander Grey, his father’s closest friend and former troop member.

“Uncle Grey!” Talwen yelped in surprise. “What are you doing here?! You’re who I’m supposed to meet?”

“‘Uncle Grey’?” chimed in Appius. “I didn’t know you had any children, Grey.”

“Yes,” said Grey, speaking to Talwen, “and no,” he said, speaking to Appius. “He is simply the son of a very close friend.”

“Now, Tally, this scoundrel wasn’t giving you any trouble, was he?”

Talwen shook his head.

“No, no, he was simply offering to help me find you. Nothing more.”

Appius smirked, looking Grey in the eyes mischievously.

“Well,” said Grey, “ it’s a good thing that’s all. I can’t imagine the hell that Command would raise if a common street pimp were found to be harassing the son of Dire Knight Gwion to work for him as a cheap whore. A war hero’s son, solicited by a certain Appius Fortius.”

Appius eyes shot open, disbelief knocking any playfulness from his expression.

“Gwion’s son?!” Appius’ eyes darted to Talwen, searching for confirmation.

Talwen looked at the ground, uncomfortable at the mention of his father. He had hoped that this far from home, he might escape the man’s shadow, and yet here it stood, as all encompassing as ever.

“Y-yes, Gwion is my father.” Talwen looked up at Grey, some glimmer of defiance shining in his eyes. “But that does not mean I need to rely on his name to save me at a moment’s notice. I am my own person, I can do things without invoking him to bludgeon people into doing what I want.”

Grey laughed.

Appius shook his head, taking a contemplative drag from his pipe.

“Gwion’s son, after all this time. And how unlike his father… Timid and bookish, too beautiful for a soldier… Yet that steel edge is in there somewhere…”

Suddenly, his countenance shifted.

“Well, Mr Glas, if you ever feel the need to partake of my parlour’s services, I would be most pleased to humbly accommodate whatever desires you find take you!” Under his breath, half to himself and half to Grey he mumbled, “Heavens know I did the same for your father and his tastes.”

Talwen shook his head, uncomfortable at the very thought of ever entering that place.

“No sir, you were right in saying I’m not like my father. Such a place does not appeal to me.” He turned his gaze to Grey. “Shouldn’t we be moving on? I wouldn’t want to delay the military any longer.”

Appius snorted.

“Ah well, I can tell when I am no longer needed. It was nice to meet you young master, and it’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr Grey. Shall I expect you tonight? Your tab has been waiting for you…”

Grey coughed awkwardly. “No, not tonight Fortius. I have official business to attend to. Your pockets are deep enough to handle being deprived of my hard earned coin for another spell.”

Appius rolled his eyes, holding up a hand in a brief farewell before slithering down a dark side corridor and out of sight.

“Nothing gets rid of a merchant,” Grey said, “than a lack of profit. Now, I would enjoy catching up with you but we have business we must attend first. I just returned from Vec with your papers, so now we must stop by the Mora office of the clerk, have them verified with you in person, and then we can set about boarding the train to our destination.”

“And? Where might that be?” Talwen asked.

“Rekava. A small mining town near the Union border with one of the states of the Empire, Lynka. It’s in the shadow of the Three Fingers, and has some of the best liquor I’ve had in years.”

Grey smiled, squeezing Talwen affectionately against him.

“Come on then, it’s time we set off.”