Pick a late Saun Date of your choice
It was the twilight hours for Scalvoris. In any other season it might be dark, with the stars twinkling down upon the island, overlooking as families ate dinner, as children played, as soldiers patrolled, as couples made love. But this was Saun, there were no stars looking down upon everyone. There was just that annoying glow that caused children to not tire at bedtime, the light that distracted lovers during their romp, the shine that messed with night shift soldiers' sleep patterns. Saun was not a time for normalcy, it was the aberration in the arc.
But still, routines were kept to, mostly. Except when a few of the night shift dock guards overslept, and the day shift guards went home for the evening already. Normally no ships came in at night, because that meant waking up a harbormaster, and all sailors knew that harbormasters were grouchy tightasses on their best days. And so, with no guards, no harbormasters, no dock workers hard at it, the harbor was unattended. Which is why no one noticed the Brig with green and yellow striped sails coming into harbor.
Nor did anyone raise alarm as it continued its approach toward the cog ship known as The Thundering Plunderer. One drunk man raised his wine skin and pointed just as the brig came along side the ship, scraping along the entirety of the portside of the cog. But there was no one around to care about the random pointings of a drunkard. The cog crashed hard into the stone wall at the front of the harbor, and that thundering sound of splintering wood and crumbling rock finally got some attention.
Well, some attention, mainly for the patrons at the particularly rowdy bar known as the Smoking Barrel. It was brand new this season, and already had a reputation for being loud, out of control, full of brawls, lewdness, and a spicy ale that made most men weep. The noise drew a couple onlookers out the saloon style doors, and one topless lady upstairs flung open the window, so that she could scream at whoever just scared off her latest customer with all the destruction.
And there, halfway into the street, was The Squabbler.
There were no immediate signs of any crew on the deck, and the ship was clearly worse for wear. Her sails were tattered and worn, her rear mast had an awkward tilt to it, and her figurehead, an especially buxom Mer lass with tentacles in... particularly creative places was covered in barnacles and gull shit.
At the sight of the cause of the disturbance, the hooker huffed, slamming the window shut, breaking the glass, which fell upon the drunks that stepped out of the Smoking Barrel. They cursed and wandered off, to continue their barcrawl, and so it seemed, the wrecked ship was forgotten for more important matters. After all, this was Almund, not Scalvoris Town.
But still, routines were kept to, mostly. Except when a few of the night shift dock guards overslept, and the day shift guards went home for the evening already. Normally no ships came in at night, because that meant waking up a harbormaster, and all sailors knew that harbormasters were grouchy tightasses on their best days. And so, with no guards, no harbormasters, no dock workers hard at it, the harbor was unattended. Which is why no one noticed the Brig with green and yellow striped sails coming into harbor.
Nor did anyone raise alarm as it continued its approach toward the cog ship known as The Thundering Plunderer. One drunk man raised his wine skin and pointed just as the brig came along side the ship, scraping along the entirety of the portside of the cog. But there was no one around to care about the random pointings of a drunkard. The cog crashed hard into the stone wall at the front of the harbor, and that thundering sound of splintering wood and crumbling rock finally got some attention.
Well, some attention, mainly for the patrons at the particularly rowdy bar known as the Smoking Barrel. It was brand new this season, and already had a reputation for being loud, out of control, full of brawls, lewdness, and a spicy ale that made most men weep. The noise drew a couple onlookers out the saloon style doors, and one topless lady upstairs flung open the window, so that she could scream at whoever just scared off her latest customer with all the destruction.
And there, halfway into the street, was The Squabbler.
There were no immediate signs of any crew on the deck, and the ship was clearly worse for wear. Her sails were tattered and worn, her rear mast had an awkward tilt to it, and her figurehead, an especially buxom Mer lass with tentacles in... particularly creative places was covered in barnacles and gull shit.
At the sight of the cause of the disturbance, the hooker huffed, slamming the window shut, breaking the glass, which fell upon the drunks that stepped out of the Smoking Barrel. They cursed and wandered off, to continue their barcrawl, and so it seemed, the wrecked ship was forgotten for more important matters. After all, this was Almund, not Scalvoris Town.
