45 Vhalar, Arc 715
His visit home had been short but necessary, a refreshing moment with his family after a long, difficult arc he’d mostly spent sailing from port to port to ease the nagging sense of loss he still felt after parting ways with Ari’nne almost exactly an arc before. He’d spent enough time alone on the Orm’del sea that it was finally the right moment to wash up at the port of Ne’Haer and find his father and a few cousins still building ships in his family’s shipyard. A few weeks of working with his hands, of holding some new niece or nephew, and of eating the comfort foods of his mother and uncle … and he felt himself again. More of himself than he had in several seasons.
Refreshed and mended like some weathered sloop in need of repair, Pash knew when it was time to slip away again. No fuss, just a few fare-the-wells and he was back at sea, this time following the trade route current south toward Bayward for the sheer thrill of finding a bit of adventure after so much rest and calm. He was well aware of what he could get into in the swarthy, pirate-laden city, knowing some of the seedy taverns and enjoying a bit of the risk for a seafaring minstrel who was far from a seasoned warrior himself.
The weather was crisp and the skies clear, promising a chilly evening as the suns set while he tucked his sloop into an unassuming spot on the docks and made his way into town. Lute over his shoulder and daggers at his hip, he had no real purpose other than to find something to do, whether that meant playing some good tunes, drinking far too much, or something else entirely. He left the choice up to Zanik, really, praying as he wandered the streets toward familiar tavern haunts that whatever direction the evening took him—strength, seduction, or music—the activities of the night would surely be an offering for his favor.
Even after darkness settled in the alleyways and street lamps had been set alight by fire, some of the market places were still bustling with activity, lingering farmers still hawking crops from this year’s harvest before heading home and vendors selling food and drink to the night crowd of more unsavory folks … and, well, anything else you were looking for if you knew who and how to ask.
Pash enjoyed the crowd, both watching what they were up to and feeling in the middle of things. Since he really was without purpose this evening, he slowly meandered his way through a small bazaar, eyeing food vendors and considering a meal. He pressed his way through a long line toward another stall selling various meats on a stick. Deciding that was as good a queue as any, the Biqaj took his place in line behind a few others.
It wasn't until he was the next to order and reaching for coins that he realized he'd been fiddling with something in his calloused hands the whole time, something he was mostly certain wasn't his a few bits ago.
Refreshed and mended like some weathered sloop in need of repair, Pash knew when it was time to slip away again. No fuss, just a few fare-the-wells and he was back at sea, this time following the trade route current south toward Bayward for the sheer thrill of finding a bit of adventure after so much rest and calm. He was well aware of what he could get into in the swarthy, pirate-laden city, knowing some of the seedy taverns and enjoying a bit of the risk for a seafaring minstrel who was far from a seasoned warrior himself.
The weather was crisp and the skies clear, promising a chilly evening as the suns set while he tucked his sloop into an unassuming spot on the docks and made his way into town. Lute over his shoulder and daggers at his hip, he had no real purpose other than to find something to do, whether that meant playing some good tunes, drinking far too much, or something else entirely. He left the choice up to Zanik, really, praying as he wandered the streets toward familiar tavern haunts that whatever direction the evening took him—strength, seduction, or music—the activities of the night would surely be an offering for his favor.
Even after darkness settled in the alleyways and street lamps had been set alight by fire, some of the market places were still bustling with activity, lingering farmers still hawking crops from this year’s harvest before heading home and vendors selling food and drink to the night crowd of more unsavory folks … and, well, anything else you were looking for if you knew who and how to ask.
Pash enjoyed the crowd, both watching what they were up to and feeling in the middle of things. Since he really was without purpose this evening, he slowly meandered his way through a small bazaar, eyeing food vendors and considering a meal. He pressed his way through a long line toward another stall selling various meats on a stick. Deciding that was as good a queue as any, the Biqaj took his place in line behind a few others.
It wasn't until he was the next to order and reaching for coins that he realized he'd been fiddling with something in his calloused hands the whole time, something he was mostly certain wasn't his a few bits ago.
