Row, Row, Row your boat [27th of Chyril, morningtide]

[Marcello di Angelo]

The sound of rope softly ticking against spar mingled with the cries of seagulls circling above. It was the ever present sound of the Dusk Sea that dominated the docks, where as people making merry could be heard in the distance, from the many taverns and brothels that offered food and entertainment to the less than savoury citizens of Nether's Gate.

A very small natural harbor, Rande's Landing is nestled between a natural barrier to the north and low, soft beaches to the south, beaches cluttered with planks, spars, and cordage and often used for ship maintenance. The dock itself is a single, sturdy pier reaching out beyond the tide wash into the Dusk Sea's diurnal tide, large enough for two large vessels at most. A veritable flotilla of smaller island-hopping craft can be seen either pulled up on the beach or tied to the boardwalk, small ships capable of crossing the Dusk Sea in three tides.

To the west, the nearby Hangman's Noose forms the center of town flanked by a forest of small, low, wooden buildings that make up the villainous hive. The infamous Scarlet Hydra can be seen at the far side of the Hangman's Noose square even from here, a building that, like much of Nether's Gate, never slept.

It wasn't much of a boat. In fact it wasn't even a Yewl. It was quite simply a Jolly rowing boat, a dinghy that was not fitted for the open seas. To Marcello however it was his own personal Galleon. Filled with his meagre belongings in a chest, including what few coins he had left, this Jolly thing had lasted him the entire journey from the Lesser Rande waves, where the Sea Mistress had seen her last flickers. His arms ached from the effort.

Humming Marcello manoeuvred through the familiar harbour to end up at the boardwalk. He wore his customary white shirt, with a touch of lace for his vanity, but with the cravat safely hidden in the chest. His old pair of black leather breeches that fit so snugly ended in a pair of weathered leather boats. A tricorn hat, once stolen from one or other captain that had not survived the trip stood impishly on his head, slightly tipped up.

"Avast!" Marcello called out friendly to the folks that might be about. He moved his chest to the boardwalk, climbing after it. He resisted laughing out loud in triumph. He had done it again. He survived.

[Grant]

The islands of the Dusk Sea were little more than green triangles on the distant horizon floating over the calm, clear, blue waters of the Mer Bay that Marcello crossed on his way to the infamous Isle of Rande. Guided by little more than intuition and practice, he pulled his little boat northward, eventually reaching the emerald island from the south-southeast and pulling in to it's busy, eastern harbor where countless other launches and small boats could be seen attending to what ships were in port.

Today, there were two. The Fleche, a common sight in Nether's Gate, was tied up at the long, high, single pier, her gang plank angled down into the ship as the tide had yet to make fully for the morningtide. In addition, Roark's Revenge was pulled aground on the soft beaches just nearby, her crew busy scraping her bottom, shifting her ballast, and hauling plank, coop, spar and cord into her hull as she continued her refit. Regardless of what work they had yet to do, it was clear that the Revenge would not bend her yards for another couple days at least.

And for Nether's Gate, a tiny community that quite literally never slept, the morning was in full swing. Fishing boats to his right, both yawl and ketch, were pulled aground and unloaded with the same shouting camaraderie one might expect at the open sea. Straight ahead...and adjacent to the pier...was the central square for the town...a square known affectionately as the Hangman's Noose. And beyond that was the infamous Scarlet Hydra, the center of virtually all local affairs of interest. To Marcello's immediate left was Cappabar, a warehouse operation, with numerous crates, barrels, and sacks stacked in a haphazard fashion within the roughly-covered storage facility.

Of course, no one challenged...or even noticed...Marcello's arrival, save perhaps for the few sentries manning the harbor guns in the distance (assuming they were awake, which was rather unlikely). It wasn't until Marcello called that three of the nearby sailors...possibly from the Fleche or the Roark's Revenge...turned and attended to the rather scruffy and exposed Marcello first. "Hoy! You look like you been out too long, Jack," offered the tallest of the three who, like all of his comrades, were clad in simple duck trousers, headbands around their temples, and heavy boarding cutlasses hanging at their sides from side, weather-worn belts.

Despite their very martial appearance, all three men approached to help pull Marcello's boat higher up onto the strand, for the tide would continue to rise, and several boats had already been picked up and carried out to the center of Rande's Landing.

[Marcello di Angelo]

"Aye, that I have been," Marcello nodded, grateful for the assistance as they pulled up his dinghy "The tales I could tell you." His brown eyes noted the ships in the harbour. He needed a new crew to join. Preferably one where he could rise to captain quickly. Or some hairbrained get rich quick scheme so he could fit his own ship of course. It was not going to be the Revenge. The Fleche maybe. Information. He needed more information.

"I need to find me self some drink and a Lady of Expansive Sensibility," Marcello announced "The Scarlet Hydra will serve me fine. Will ye join me for a few? You can fill me in on the latest news and if I get drunk enough I might just tell the tale of the Sea Mistress." That it was just morningtide mattered not. Marcello was up for a drink and a whore any time of the day. "What captains are in port?" That of course was the most fundamental question of all.

[Grant]

"Aye, no Hydra fer the likes of us," replied the tallest...clearly the senior among the three. Jerking a thumb back towards the Fleche, he explained. "Me an the boys are supposed to be watchin' her till we ship out in a few marks. Packet work, ya know," he grumbled, clearly displeased that his ship...the notorious smuggling packet...would be pushing out before nightfall. The packet smugglers routinely moved quickly, and often touched at port for only very short stops to shift cargo. And for little Fleche...a tiny sloop-rigged bilander...that cargo was no doubt valuable.

"Roark's Revenge won't be shippin' out tonight. Prolly not tomorrow night, neither," continued the sentry, nodding in the direction of the heeled warship beached up on the soft sand for maintenance. "But Captain Dupre should be in 'fore nightfall. We passed him comin' round the neck," he proclaimed, as if Marcello should recognize the name. One way or another, it seemed that more ships were due in to Rande's Landing today.

The Sea Mistress? the other two exchanged a glance. Missing ships and single, surviving men rowing in with the making tide didn't signal anything good...but neither knew much of the ship, much less what might have become of her. There were the usual stories, of course...such as The Screaming Island or the Constable...but it seemed just as likely that the Mistress ran afoul of a reef and broke her back as anything else.

"Have a few drinks and rest a bit, mate. Come nightfall, it can get pretty crowded around here," promised the sentry, clearly oblivious of his fellow's curiosity. And nothing could be more true. With a population of perhaps two thousand souls, a few ships could almost double the number of people in town all at once.

[Marcello di Angelo]

"Aye, I know how it is," Marcello nodded, privately speculating what the ship was carrying "Some of my family is into packet work. Tell Bisby that Di Angelo said hello." Of course stealing from the Packet was a really, really bad idea, but it was an idea that had frequently tugged on his mind, seeing as how he had some inside knowledge on how these smugglers worked. Getting Rich. One of his three goals. Something to consider over a bottle of rum.

"Yes," Marcello said with a glance at the Revenge, which was obviously not going anywhere "That much is clear. Well, she's not really for me anyway, eh?" He laughed. His name was so obviously Mouthie that trying to muster would amount to suicide, even though he had not been in Worlds Mouth his entire life.

Upon the mention of Dupry he rubbed the two day beard on his chin "The Myrmidon? Now there be interesting news." Always hiring they were. After all Marcello could only afford being in Nether's Gate for a few days. He didn't want to be around if and when the true story of the Sea Mistress hit port. Perhaps with some luck he could even outsmart Dupre and maroon the man on some island or other.

"Well then mates. Time I bid ye goodbye. There is a bottle of rum with my name on it in the Scarlet Hydra. I'll be resting myself between two nice titties I'm thinking." Marcello gave the three a flamboyant bow, sweeping off his tricorn hat, before picking up his chest and throwing it on his shoulder.

[Grant]

Knuckling their temples in a sign of farewell, the packet sentries, turned their attention back to the town itself, clearly frustrated in their inability to enjoy themselves ashore a bit. Regardless, they might be able to kick up Jack's A-Dyin' in some other port, depending on where they were come Eveningtide. The Fleche was nothing if she weren't fast, and she could potentially make King's Court before Gravetide.

As for Marcello, he was left to Hangman's Noose alone with his sea chest on his shoulder. He knew from experience that the markets would be ahead and to the left, within the streets of the tiny town...but the real action would be in the Scarlet Hydra directly ahead. Even now, several pirates were moving in and out of the place, most of whom were adhiel, their small, boyish frames rather distinctive compared to the human and orc residents (Marcello could see examples of both everywhere he turned).

[Marcello di Angelo]

Marcello looked left and right, but he already knew his course. Swaggering a bit, for he always had to readjust to land, feeling like the sway of the waves continued on, he moved to the Scarlet Hydra. Beer, wenches and above all.. information.