The small skiff shook and trembled in the early morning waters, the crew of two lashing at the sails and keeping a wary eye to the cliff-adorned coastline they so carefuly kept close to.
All but one of the five passengers kept themselves huddled in long oiled leather cloaks, shaking from side to side whereas the fifth stood cocksure at the mast, silver mask glinting and grinning in the faint light given by the moon.
---
His missive found Jim the Thumb in good time, that rainswept morning in Westport. Along with the heavy, solid gold tradebars.
"I need to find a man, we'll be setting down the following dawn, have everything prepared.
Desert Mouse."
Him, coming here? That usually meant good gold to be earned but a fair share of trouble on the side. His nest of likeminded Goodmen were growing, too, as was support for their work in Westport. The Good work was always prolific in Westport, the clergy always more intent on the Dead and the Armed Millitia looking outside of the walls rather than in but as of late the secret wars that waged for control of the streets had gotten out of hand.
It was the Desert Mouse who arrived, some say many days, moons, perhaps even years ago, to spread his word. Good work to be had, just like the old days, available to those versed in the trade of Honest Men. All they had to do was heed his word and opt out of the little fights and scraps over the precious commidity being the "turf" of the city. Innitialy it caused an uproar and backlash from those well positioned and hidden in the shadows of the city but being such a slippery entity, his word simply outlasted those looking to remove him from the picture.
A manhunt, was it? Thumb tucked the folded letter into his apron and went about clearing the tables of the inn, mind set on whether or not he'll have need to change his name again come the end of the day...
---
They made good time, the five slipping over the city walls come the break of day, black hoods pulled high, cloaks trailing the cobblestone pavements, looking like a group of dark agents from any chosen popular fantastical stories.
With a nod from the lead, two dispersed into the streets leaving three walking, aiming for the docks.
_________________ Leocanta Ravelle - The Hero of Time ----
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