It was good to be walking in the sun again. Kasoria thought that for the first few trials whenever Cylus ended. Fifty arcs walking the world, and the relief was still palpable.
Especially when it was somewhere new, and bustling.
Not just because it was a fresh feast for the eyes (he'd always had a curious mind for the foreign and exotic, despite his homeland pride). People and races were everywhere now, crowding the streets, an entire season of dark and gloom scraping by and endured rather than enjoyed now gone. They had thirty trials to make up for, and they seemed to flood from their homes to compensate. The port town was alive and roaring with yelling, jabbering, laughing, negotiating, instructing, begging, seducing, inventive voices. Along with all the usual mechanical and animal furor that infested such bastions, as trade in all its forms was done and, in the town of Egilrun, the fruit of forests and dirt was sculpted into glorious gliding constructs.
"My word... that will be something fine, what?"
Fagan Manclin's wonder was infectious, but Kasoria had been inoculated by time. He looked over the skeletal structure a dozen builders were crawling over, beached now but set to be easily slid into the water. Wooden ribs curled up from a central spine, meat and flesh of decks and flanks being nailed into place. A dark-skinned woman jabbered orders in several languages, gesticulating wildly. On the dock, a man somehow holding three sets of papers seemed to be orchestrating the anarchy, frowning or nodding alternately as progress was slowly made.
This was how ships were born. Piece by piece. Plank by plank. Nail by nail.
"Aye. Big'un."
Manclin rolled his eyes and gave an aristocratic tut. Kasoria quirked a black eyebrow as the diplomat shook his head, continuing on down the street, knowing his bodyguard would keep pace.
"Don't tell me a mere season in the dark had numbed you to such industry, Kas? We are a land of craftsman! A city of miners and engineers! Molding such a vessel from the very ground itself would be just the sort of-"
"m'jus' no judge a' ships, is all. I see a big-un, I sez so." He looked the ship over again, pursing his lips as he strove for an additional comment. "Gonna be a hauler, I fink. Low inna water, ken? Built fer deep water. Not some riverboat."
Manclin nodded slowly, surprised and satisfied in equal measure. It was so damnably difficult getting Kasoria invested in anything other than how best filet someone wandering too close to him and his entourage. The rest of The Band were... well, not he same, actually. Miki was quite companiable. Vaul was a surprisingly good game player. Belial was a social creature through and through and Raand? Hmm. Well. Kasoria and he were cut from the same cloth, it seemed. Sometimes he was surprised they weren't related. Seeing them act and speak and almost think on concert could feel a man into thinking otherwise.
"I dare say you're right, Kas... ah, and look who also seems impressed."
Kasoria did just that. So did the hulking one-eye and the shaven-headed black who'd accompanied them to the docks. Kasoria had chosen his men well: nothing too intimidating (leaving Vaul had been a good call), but enough to warn off chancers and cutpurses. The children didn't qualify. He was sure he'd seen at least one of them before. Maybe relaying the invitation to this mysterious "inventor", that the Etzori delegation wished to... socialize with him.
Not negotiate. Not parlay. Not treat with. Keeping it neutral, ain't you? Well... don't assume he'll fall for it.
The short, hairy figure did something. A finger like a Blackguard truncheon tapped Kasoria's shoulder, and he turned to find Mikiros' hands making quick symbols in the air. After a moment he snorted softly and turned back to their new friend.
"Aye. Dat ferret is wavin' at us, Miki."