94th of Vhalar 722
Preamble
Rorom was in Hopetoun by happenstance, having decided to sail for Scalvoris waters for a less stuffy and regimented existence than he was used to under the laws and yoke of the Videnese. Not to mention warmer weather for the wintering. While he enjoyed the Videnese for various aspects of their culture and society, he had to admit there was something about the freedom of life on the Hollow Sea, and the islands it was set upon that called to Rorom's sense as a fisher and a mariner. And also, part of him was dreading the prospect of a Videnese winter, trapped in a fortress.
Anyway, he was at Hopetoun docks, having known by reputation that the place was run by Darius Baer. Things had changed since last Rorom met the young pup. No longer a pup he'd say, but an important person in Scalvoris society. A Baron, and a settlement governor. Rorom wasn't sure if when he met with him, he ought to call him 'Excellency' or 'Your Grace' or some such. But Rorom was hardly one to stand on ceremony, so he'd just talk to him the same way he did with everyone he met in the open.
Rorom and his crew put his Onyx Cascade the black-painted sloop to dock near the harbor of Hopetoun. From there, he made his way to a place of hospitality, the Inn that was recommended by all of the people there. He had a silver nel in hand, which he slipped to a younger lad, if he'd fetch Darius to him.
Letting him to off to find the Mayor, Governor… whatever, Rorom and his mate Mastrel sat down to a pint each of Baron’s Brew at the tavern and inn. There, they’d wait to see Darius, and introductions would be made.
Anyway, he was at Hopetoun docks, having known by reputation that the place was run by Darius Baer. Things had changed since last Rorom met the young pup. No longer a pup he'd say, but an important person in Scalvoris society. A Baron, and a settlement governor. Rorom wasn't sure if when he met with him, he ought to call him 'Excellency' or 'Your Grace' or some such. But Rorom was hardly one to stand on ceremony, so he'd just talk to him the same way he did with everyone he met in the open.
Rorom and his crew put his Onyx Cascade the black-painted sloop to dock near the harbor of Hopetoun. From there, he made his way to a place of hospitality, the Inn that was recommended by all of the people there. He had a silver nel in hand, which he slipped to a younger lad, if he'd fetch Darius to him.
Letting him to off to find the Mayor, Governor… whatever, Rorom and his mate Mastrel sat down to a pint each of Baron’s Brew at the tavern and inn. There, they’d wait to see Darius, and introductions would be made.
That wasn't to say that Rorom hadn't pined in his time, but this latest expedition, from Scalvoris, to Rharne, back to Viden and then Scalvoris again had seen him through some strange happenings. Tales that were notable enough to deserve retelling. And there was but one in Hopetoun that Rorom was sure would appreciate them. Perhaps more, but Rorom was not yet acquainted with them. Mastrel led the way to the tavern, having himself something of a sixth sense about the location of the nearest watering hole. Sure enough, they found their way to the Inn, the name to which Rorom couldn't quite place, but he was knackered enough not to worry about it.
Plus there was the weird feeling, of returning to the shores of Scalvoris. A place that had swept him up like a Tempest, barely prepared for the secrets and dangers that it had to offer, and then landing him flat on the ocean floor, or so it felt. The Sea Witch was out there, he could just about sense her, smell the stench of her magic even from Faldrass.
He rubbed his nose as he entered the Inn, determined more or less not to let her proximity ruin the occasion, but taking in the sweet smells of Baron's Brew, and fresh food.
Mastrel bellowed his arrival, shouting for a round of drinks on Rorom. The one-legged sailor was generous with his captain's coin, but then Rorom allowed the old salt those discretionary spendings. Mastrel wasn't the most frugal, but he knew how to keep the spirits of sailors up, so gave him that much slack.
Rorom and Mastrel settled down at a table in the middle of the Tavern, against Rorom's inclination. He'd prefer something in the corner, but it appeared occupied. Thus, they waited for the lad from before to fetch the Mayor of Hopetoun. Or founder, or whatever they'd call him. Rorom called him a good friend, at least, even through his somber mood.