33rd of Ymiden, Arc 718
Beneath the earthen bricks and rot-interlaced beams of the Copper Prince's eaves, an influx of patrons hummed about their activities. The sound of bones rattling in the gambler's cup, or thrown against the table, resulting at turns in triumphal roars, calls of disbelief, and sometimes even shouts of anger. Drinking horns and tin cups clinked as they changed hands between refills of ale and beer, and Walsh busied himself about the establishment.
Rorom followed the old man with his gaze, and nodded in acknowledgement as he brought their order to his table. Mirq was fiddling with the bones idly, holding it up to the scant ambient light of the daylight filtering in. His pearlescent eyes shone as he looked at the marks at any point of the bone die, seeming to weight it with his gaze. Rorom sighed, supposing his friend was trying to figure out how to craft fixed dice.
"So, lunch has arrived, me lad." Rorom spoke in Rakahi, "Tell us what this is about?"
Mirq stared at his die just a trill longer, then gave a tight smile, tucking it away in his breast pocket. Without words, he began digging into the roast chicken dinner. He sloppily forked meat and potatoes and green beans, shoveling them into his mouth with speed that spoke to a man who probably hadn't eaten in days. Between mouthfuls, he took a swig of the drinking horn full of ale. Droplets of the amber liquid dripped onto the table below.
Rorom quirked an eyebrow, but shrugged, and began eating his own dinner of lamb skewers.
He'd been hanging around Mirq for a while now. It was a switch to have somebody to keep him company that could talk back in more than just squacks and caws. Fortuna, his albatross, made herself scarce in any event. Except in cases when he was making a trip to go fishing. The big bird seemed to have a sixth sense about his fishing schedule.
It didn't take long before Mirq finished his lunch, given the pace with which he was consuming it. He cleared his plate, and pushed it to the side, and then leaned in, beckoning that Rorom should conspire with him. Rorom sighed, and then leaned in kind.
"You have that little boat docked near the pier, still, right? Need help with it? Scraping off the barnacles, cleaning the briny weeds off the hull? Anything you need help with?"
Rorom inhaled a long breath, and then let it out, "What is it you want, Mirq?"
"Rorom, you wound me." Mirq said, appearing hurt, as only he was capable. "But since you asked, I'd be remiss not to relate my dire need..."
Mirq began whispering, "My cousin's ship ran afoul of the waves during last night's storm. You heard about how the lighthouse went dark for a few minutes?"
Rorom had heard about that. The incident was on the lips of many a sailor on his side of the docks, where he hung around plying his ferry business. Rorom said nothing, nodding.
"Well, he had a load of precious cargo that flew all over when the ship was struck by lightning, and then capsized as they ran up against a particularly violent wave. Thank Ilaren and U'frek the man survived to row to shore, but his belongings and entire life were on that ship..."
Rorom grumbled skeptically, "And you want me to take you near this wreck, to see what you can salvage." He sighed, "I can take you there, but whatever you take from it is your own business. And you will owe me a favor, mark my words, Mirq."
Mirq nodded with a smile. "Right, now let's have a game before we go. I need to test my luck..." So saying, the tramp rolled the bones.
A few breaks later, they were pushing off from the wharf and in toward Lake Lovalus. The seas were calm and the air was warm, not always a promising sign but it beat chilling his toes off in the Cylus weather he spent ferrying folk to and fro on the Lake. In truth, he'd come to appreciate Lovalus. While it wasn't the same as the salt seas, it was vast and deep enough to emulate the sense of enormity that struck him every time he sailed.
They rowed for another break, until they arrived at the spot that Mirk had told him about. All about them, flotsam bobbed in the waters, collecting foam and seaweed. Mirq's eyes were wide in eagerness, but Rorom sought to temper that eagerness with caution. He kept low in the boat, lest they attract attention from others who might've gotten to the salvage before they did.
"Hmph, not much here, is there?" Mirq complained as he beheld just a few crates ahead, a few of them seemingly opened.
"Aye." Rorom wasn't amused. He'd done his part in transporting his 'friend' to the site of the crash. Now it was...
Mirq stood up in the rowboat, unsettling it upon the waves. Rorom held to both ends of the bow, trying to stabilize it as Mirq leaped into the waters. Rorom ducked down again, staring after his companion. "Mirq, what are you doing?!"
But Mirq was too busy swimming to pay any mind to Rorom's complaints. So Rorom kept an eye out for patrols and salvagers, all while trying to keep tabs on Mirq as he swam through the waters. Mirq wasn't the best swimmer, it must be said, but he was able to float and splash his way toward the first unopened piece of flotsam. It was a medium-sized crate. This he held onto, while his feet paddled behind him. Rorom did his part, rowing off toward the rogue, and attempting to give him a hand with the crate into the boat. Once it was secure in what had been Mirq's seat, Rorom leaned back in the pilot's bench and held tightly onto each side of the bow, to stabilize it as Mirq crawled back in.
Rorom gave him a blank, gray stare as he entered the boat. "What now then Mirq? Shall we go back to the port..."
Mirq shook off the water, splattering it all over the small skiff and the crate they'd just hauled aboard. "Well, I thought we'd... Wait!" Mirq pointed off over Rorom's shoulder, which prompted the older man to duck beneath the edge of the boat. "Would you look at that, Rorom?!"
Rorom quirked a brow but spun in his seat to check what he'd been pointing out. When the fisherman had trouble spotting whatever it was, he stood on his feet to get a better vantage point. "I don't see anything. Mirq, what..."
But then, Mirqis pushed him into the water. He'd been had!
Mirqis sang a shanty as he rowed away. Rorom was trying to remain calm as he flailed in the waters. He knew well enough how to swim, but getting a mouth and nose full of water wasn't a pleasant experience. It was rough getting his bearings after that. Yet, when he managed to find his legs and kicked to the surface, he saw Mirq rowing away.
"Mirq, you villain! Come back with my skiff!"
"Oh Rorom, you're far too trusting. But I tell you, I'll have no use for your skiff when I get back. Meet me at the Copper Prince and I'll hand you back your oars!"
So as it happened, Mirq rowed out of earshot, and back toward Rharne, leaving Rorom to wallow in self-defeat. Rorom began swimming into shore and felt the oddest sensation. As if the water were helping him along... He dismissed it as a quirk of the currents, but before three breaks were done, he managed to swim back to land. Once he emerged from the water, remarkably the cold fluid merely sloughed off of his skin and clothes, leaving them dry within bits. He marveled at the way the water was cooperating but didn't have time to ponder it for long. He had a thief to punish.
He arrived at the Prince in the late hours of the evening and could hear the unmistakable signs of mirth from his so-called companion.
Mirq was at his old games, and apparently betting with their take. Rorom walked up behind him, his clothes remarkably dry for having swum quarter of the way across Lovalus. He tapped Mirq on the shoulder. Mirq, who was enjoying some success at his game, didn't dare turn his head. Rorom tapped again.
Finally, Mirq sighed, and folded his hand, allowing some small change to pass to his opponent. He stood up and turned around to face Rorom. "Well, Captain?"
"Well..." Rorom replied, and then punched him in the face. The resulting brawl that broke out that night in the Prince would be the talk of the Dust Quarter until the end of that Ymiden. Nobody was sure who won, but everyone that was anyone at the Prince got a bruise or a scar as a souvenir.
