Zi’da 1, 717
It had taken the Avriel an astounding amount of time to finally realize where he was, or to even begin to contemplate what had occurred. His thoughts flickered to and fro the maze, the labyrinthine construction which had supposedly sealed the fate of several. He thought back to the accursed Gamekeeper and her words, the condemning crimson she had splashed across his eyes, the message which had sent him into a spiral of vengeful hatred, the accusation that had finally broken the camel's back. He was many things, but to think that he could ever become a murderer of children? The thought was too cruel to bear, and so he had exacted revenge on the Gamekeeper for having forced him into confrontation with the young girl, and he had taught her what it felt like to be privy to such atrocities. He remembered briefly that the world had buckled and coiled underneath the weight of the Null Gauntlet, that it had shaken and crumbled as its foundation was torn away. There had been the briefest instance of struggle, and he had been cast away like a pariah from that shattered and broken realm, awakening in some far off place to the gentle breeze of tradewinds, and the rustle of the ocean. He had awoken to a prize, a gem of unparalleled beauty which he had raised to his eyes, examining intently before storing it within his pack, and beginning some attempt at ascertaining where he had landed.
It soon became apparent.
It was hard to say that things were ever really completely done away with, or that a facet of anything was ever entirely eradicated from it. It was true of the terrain, a footstep in a murky mire left a footprint, a reaching grasp snapped a twig. Eventually, such marks on the land would fade, certainly, but they were never gone entirely. The twig was never replaced upon the tree, the mud never fell into the exact same pattern as it had once been. That was true of civilization and society as well, of people and places affected by cultures that had once been prevalent, but which now had sunken below the public notice, presumed to have been done away with in their entirety.
Scalvoris had more than its fair share of cultural relics, and whilst it displayed them publically, proudly proclaimed that it had once been a nation of pirates, thieves, criminals, brigands, and ne’er-do-wells, it seemed likely that the common perception was that the entire island continent had cleaned up its act, and that everything was as safe here as anywhere else in the world. Maybe they were aware that the stain still remained, and had decided long ago to simply forego any mention of it in the hopes that it would vanish.
In the end, it didn’t entirely matter why every remnant of the pirate nation hadn’t been eradicated by those proclaiming civility and pronouncing that Scalvoris was a safer place than it had been in the past. No, the twilight hybrid could care less about the affairs of a foreign nation so far from his homeland, especially given that they were neither a particularly hefty trade partner of the city, nor a rivalling force. As far as he could tell, standings between Etzos and Scalvoris were entirely neutral, a sort of apathetic recognition that the other existed, and little more beyond that.
They’d learn of one another soon enough.
Surprisingly little effort had been required to inquire as to where he might locate the nearest batch of scum. People were quick to speak about their issues, quick to complain about how they had been wronged by so-and-so, and how he or she and their friends always hung around hither or thither. Even dressed as a specter of death, armor coating his body, adamantite mace clinking gently at his side, wicked talons gleaming in the moonlight; even then people wanted to complain, wanted to ease their minds of whatever troublesome souls had bothered them so that they might convict and condemn them.
It was a short walk to the Scalvoris Sapphire Inn, and Noth immediately recognized why it was regarded as a far seedier establishment than many of the others he had observed. It seemed as though it were right upon the edge of the class border, that unspoken locality where the rich had tossed away the licentious crowds and beggardom so that they might not be bothered by their mewling cries when the nights grew too cold to suffer, and the crimes grew too fierce to avoid. The signpost nearby made it clear why the place had been named the Sapphire, and whilst it was an impressive gem, he wondered whether or not it could possibly have come from his home where many such jewels were torn free from the dirt and stone.
The scent of lavender and roasting meat was strong enough that the twilight hybrid could scent it even before he had chosen to stride within the building, and he paused, enjoying the savory sensation for an instance before abandoning it to his subconscious and forcing himself to enter. People talked with one another, bragging about their accomplishments, checking up on friends, assisting one another as was the common nature of social interaction. There was the gentle click and clack of drinking glasses occasionally bumping into one another in mock imitation of a toast, or of the dull thuds of glasses being settled back down upon hardwood tables.
Some unknown musical narrative played itself out in the background much to the applaud of the crowds, and as it reached its final conclusion, there was a brief and raucous cheer for the performers who promptly shuffled down from their stage and took seats at the bar where they could entertain both questions and drinks.
The twilight hybrid moved swiftly throughout the building, directing himself towards the bar with a clearly defined purpose, talons playfully licking against the wooden floors as he moved. Eventually, the patrons began to clear away from the bar, a brief respite from the action as the crowds went back to their tables to slobber over their beverages.
“What’ll you have?” He was questioned by the young woman who was handing out drinks.
“Ms. Ceressa Reyes, I presume.” He answered, observing as she gave the subtlest hint of a nod, a quick glance back over to the corner of the room where he presumed someone else was observing their interchange, ready to send a swift boot into his back should he misbehave. For all of his typically murderous intent, however, the hybrid was not here for conflict, at least, not in the present.
“I’ve been told by many that you know things and people of less than reputable report. Is that true?”
“’Tis not a crime.” She defended, casting another glance back into the corner.
“You’re absolutely right. I’ll be blunt. I need someone intimate with the pirate crews of Scalvoris who could direct several ships down to Etzos.”
“Etzos? Why?” She seemed at least a bit taken aback by the strange choice of location, if not necessarily his desire to find pirates… he did rather look the part of a criminal.
“Etzos exports diamonds and gems in great quantity. Curious enough, they also have no navy to speak of, which means that they’re a prime target for intrepid privateers.” Privateers, State-mandated pirates. The word was probably not technically applicable given that he was not necessarily a government, but he desired to rule, and so he used it nonetheless.
“Seems risky telling me that. What if they just decide to hit the ships by themselves?”
“They might, but then, where would they land? They can hardly sail to and fro Scalvoris constantly. I’ll offer shelter and protection in exchange for a quarter of the loot they capture, and their obedience.”
“You think anyone will go for that?”
He chuckled briefly at that inquisitive statement. “The alternative is rotting away here reminiscing about the old trials.” He placed down twenty-five golden nels upon the bar counter. “I trust you can spread the message to the right people. Inform any interested that they are to meet me in Foster’s Landing at their earliest convenience and ask for the Prince of Eternal Mercies. Do you think you could do that?”
She considered for a moment before nodding.
“Good. Don’t fail.” He smiled wickedly, and departed from the place just as quickly as he had come, the scent of lavender fading until it had grown dim, overpowered by the churn of seawater. It took only a few moments for the sound of dock hands and other sailors to become audible, their mumbles and groans blending well with the gentle rush of ocean water.
He considered for several trills why he had decided it reasonable to attempt to flood the waters around Etzos with pirate crews. The answer was truly quite simple when one considered it, but it carried more complex connotations hidden within it as well. What he had spoken was true; Etzos genuinely did lack a formal navy, and had instead chosen to rely almost entirely on what he could only assume were independent contractors to work with them on any naval or aquatic missions. The fact that their primary export was an extremely valuable material to many, gems, diamonds, and the like, meant that even knocking out a couple of vessels contracted to transport such luxurious items would make the pirate's journey entirely worth it. Simultaneously, it would work to deprive the corrupt government some of the needed funding that they acquired from their trade, and harming the revenue of his enemy could only work in his favor. Having the pirates needs satisfied and their loyalty bought could be crucial for any future operations involving the accumulation of land, as well, because if he could orchestrate lightning-fast strikes carried from the water, then he could almost certainly avoid any defensive preparations that had been set to entrap or weaken his land-based opponents.
So then, the reason behind his secretive stratagem could be boiled down to eliminating hostile revenue, acquiring further income for his own forces, and increasing the mobility of allied forces. Naturally, there would be some difficulties logistically in ensuring that the pirates were satisfied enough to work with him as opposed to betraying him once they had taken their fill of gems, but... that would be a complication best resolved at a later date.
