The Docks of Carnivale

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Late spring in Alaecia always brought crowds of ships from the far corners of Aerith, welcoming them to the cradle of the civilized world with the scents of gardenia and lilac nestled seamlessly among the lush emerald hills and quiet vineyards that dotted the eastern coast. The scene culminated in a nest of shimmering stone and marble towers stretching out from the surrounding verdant hills into a sky as rich and blue as the sea below. No matter where one came from, Alaecia always felt like home.   Tall ships from even the most distant parts of Aerith waited in the harbor, sometimes for days on end, to unload cargo and passengers into the city of Azura. Their fluttering sails and banners rippled with color, mimicking the churning sea beneath them. They gathered in tight clumps connected with planks and rope bridges, forming what seasoned sailors knew as Bridgetown—a constant celebration more than an actual town. Ships moored alongside others so passengers and crew could mingle, share food and drink, or exchange stories as they waited to dock.   The Stormrider bobbed lazily on the gentle current, away from the revelry of Bridgetown and even farther from the docks. A strange yet elegant vessel, the Stormrider had the lean, graceful lines of an elven-made ship. Built for speed and agility, it also incorporated human durability and dependability in its hard woods and steel-braced hull. Its sails and rigging drew both admiration and confusion. Its masts leaned steeply back over the quarterdeck and forecastle, pulling ultra-light sails of layered silk taut over the masts and rigging, giving the ship the appearance of a diving bird of prey. Smaller sails rose from the stern like a noblewoman’s fan, aiding in tight turns even under the most severe conditions.   Peering through a spyglass, Dartimen Silvernight sat hidden in the rigging, carefully scanning the harbor. He paused only to swat away strands of antique gold hair blown into his face by the wind. He scowled under the brim of his hat and rubbed his chin.   “Still at it, eh?” Brimstone Steelhammer trudged across the deck, watching Dartimen study the shoreline. Brimstone was something of an oddity among his dwarven kinsmen. Lean and lanky—at least by dwarf standards—he could easily have been mistaken for an average-looking, though short, human. Unlike other dwarves who took great pride in their beards, Brimstone kept a short-cropped patch of stubble that hardened the lines of his square-cut face and constantly furrowed brow. What clothes he wore that weren’t covered in dirt or grease had holes worn or torn into them. He pulled a short cigar from the center pocket of the leather apron that hung folded over itself around his waist, struck a match on the railing, and puffed away. Dartimen had been acting funny all morning, and it was finally starting to grate on his nerves.   “You don’t even know what I’m looking at.” Dartimen lowered the spyglass and pulled the hat from his head, fussing with the brilliant blue plumes that extended from the hat’s pinned-up brim. His human build and slender pointed ears belied his lineage. Half-elves were certainly not unheard of, but more often than not, half-breeds were looked upon with disdain, particularly when their elven blood ran to Iorill—the kingdom of the Wood Elves. But the old prejudice never seemed to bother him. Dartimen took the idea in stride. He was what he was, and that was good enough for him.   “You’re staring through that contraption hoping against hope that this is the first Carnivale where the Royal Guard neglects to check things like shipping manifests, or that they’ve stopped spot-checking crates altogether.” Brimstone blew a thick white plume of rich cherry-scented smoke over Dartimen’s field of vision. “You’re sittin’ there watching the same unloading process you watched yesterday and the day before that. Nothing’s changed, and in a matter of days, we’ll have to explain away our little problem down in the cargo hold to the Customs officer, where we’ll fail and ultimately be hung the following dawn. How’s that? Am I close?”   Dartimen stood up and stepped carefully through the web of ropes. Again, he peered through the spyglass without giving Brimstone a second glance. “Why would I be worried about that?”   “Why? Oh, no reason. We just happen to have a cargo hold filled with stolen antiques and an ugly painting that’s somehow worth more money than you or I will see if we live three lifetimes. If we run, we’ll have every privateer sailing under the flag of Avindor chasing us from one sea to the next. So, we have cutthroats to our back and the hangman’s noose in front of us. Fine work, captain—fine work.” Brimstone rolled his eyes and tipped his ash into the sea below.   Dartimen smirked. His sapphire almond eyes sparkled in the sun and hinted at the impending mischief that, for now, he thought was best kept to himself. “…and in a few hours, that’ll all be Rand’s problem.”   Dartimen and Brimstone were not brave. Nor did they really need the money; this particular job was just bad luck. A last-minute proposition to avoid the penalty for winning one too many games of King’s Gambit against an unsavory crime boss from Avindor. Normally they liked to keep clear of lesser scoundrels, but when the cards called, it was hard for them not to answer. Stealing from the Stratforde Museum of Natural History had been easier than they suspected, but as they both knew, stealing something was only half the challenge. The biggest headaches always seemed to come in unloading the merchandise.   With a heavy sigh, Brimstone closed his eyes and craned his head skyward, enjoying some sun on his face. “How long ya think?”   Dartimen snapped the spyglass shut with a frustrated clack. He rapped his thumb against the brass tube as he made some mental calculations. “Any other time of year I’d say two days, but with the loads they’re trying to move—five easy.”   Brimstone huffed and picked at a nick in the wood. “Good, good—five days should be plenty of time for you to come up with a forged manifest or a reason why the cargo hold is filled with museum property.”   “I’ll think of something.” Dartimen grinned and flipped the spyglass end over end in his hand. “Opportunity has a way of turning up when you need it the most, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”   Brimstone shook his head and turned away. “Great!” he began with a nod. “I’ll be below deck coming up with an alibi. Let me know if you figure out how to explain to all those customs agents why it’s perfectly alright that our ship is full of stolen antiques.”   “They don’t know they’re stolen, at least not yet. Stratforde is four weeks behind us, and that’s assuming favorable wind. We have plenty of time before word gets all the way out here.”   The dwarf sniffed the rising smoke. “Whatever you say. But all the fast talking in the world isn’t going to work on those customs officers. They know you, and moreover, they know anything you’re hauling isn’t well…” Brimstone chuckled to himself. “Isn’t always yours now is it?”   Dartimen smiled as he focused on the spyglass. “I’m not saying it won’t be fun.” But the smile quickly faded from his face.   “So why are you still watching them unload?” Brimstone barked over his shoulder.   “Something’s… .” Dartimen’s voice crept out slowly as he tried to decode what he was seeing. He adjusted the view and focused in on one of the carved stone docking slips. At the midway point in the harbor were slips reserved for the sloops of larger vessels that risked grounding themselves in the shallows of the docks and had to remain anchored in the deeper water of the harbor. One slip stood out from the rest. Unused, during the peak docking hours.   “What’s wrong?” The dwarf opened a single curious eye, but Dartimen waved off his concerns.   “It’s probably nothing.”   Brimstone glared at the half-elf. “Don’t give me that, what is it?”   “Something’s not right.” He muttered as he slowly shook his head. Dartimen lowered the spyglass, tapping it thoughtfully against his open palm. He felt a flutter in his stomach and his head itched—there was definitely something wrong.   “What is it?” Brimstone leaned over the railing of the Stormrider, squinting for a moment, straining to see the shore. He dismissed his friend’s surveillance with a wave, tired of looking for something he couldn’t see.   Dartimen handed him the spyglass. “Take a look at the docks and tell me if you see anything unusual.”   The dwarf glanced at his friend curiously but opened the spyglass and scoured the distant shore.   The harbor was alive with the movement of merchants, shoppers, and travelers. Brilliantly colored tents dotted the city's shoreline as flags, banners, and pennants wavering in the sweet, gentle breeze of the coming summer ascended along the heights of gleaming marble towers and castles high above the city, marking the homes of nobility and the exceedingly wealthy. At their base, the docks stretched into the harbor like bleached, boney fingers. There was the usual hustle and bustle of a busy seaport except for an obvious spot of inactivity. Where Brimstone expected to see a laden merchant ship crawling with longshoremen and grumpy customs officers, there was nothing. Nothing at all.   “There’s an empty slip!” Brimstone’s jaw dropped and for a moment all he could do was stare. “There’s no way…” Again he raised the spyglass to his eye, peering frantically across the scope of the docks.   Dartimen grabbed and steadied the end, and pushed the lens to the center of the docks, pointing him directly at the end of the empty slip. A small contingent of formally dressed Vassian Royal Guard stood at attention.   “They’re just standing there.” Dartimen couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. The lack of space for docking and unloading was the whole reason ships had to wait out in Bridgetown.   Dartimen hopped onto the deck and leaned against the rail, taking in the panorama. “Somebody’s still expected.” He said matter-of-factly. “The Council of Saints is still set to meet in a day or two, right?”   Brimstone lowered the spyglass, and nodded at Dartimen. “Aye, but any Cathedral Ambassador would have been in the city for at least two weeks already. Nobody ever comes the day before. Not to a Council meeting. I mean sure it’s defunct, but it’s a private audience with the Hierophant. No noble in his right mind would pass that up.”   Dartimen stared at the open ocean and though he couldn’t say why for certain, he was starting to get a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing about today had felt right, and for a moment he considered taking his chances against privateers from Avindor. He glanced over at Brimstone who must have begun to share his apprehension as he was now the one searching through the spyglass, looking in vain for the solution to their predicament.   “Boss, let’s get out of here.” Brimstone said quietly. “I don’t like this.” But Dartimen sighed and shook his head.   “I’d like nothing more, but Rand owes us a ton of money, and I don’t want this junk on my ship any longer than it has to be.”   “When’s Jessa getting back?” Brimstone muttered impatiently.   Dartimen sat down on the railing and folded his arms across his chest. “She went to Bridgetown to do some shopping. Should be back soon.” He paused for a moment, catching a ship approaching out of the corner of his eye.   Brimstone suddenly felt Dartimen gently push the spyglass to his right, landing his focus on the far end of Bridge Town. An elven style clipper rolled lazily on the churning sea.   “Ahhh… The Hammershark.” That’s Rand’s boat isn’t it?   “Yeah and he’s hosting a game of king’s gambit tonight.” A voice, gilded with a hint of a Louve accent interrupted them.   Jessa Andis climbed up the rope ladder that dangled off the side of the ship and onto the deck. She was tall, pretty and no more than 25 summers old, her dark auburn tresses swayed in the sea breeze partially hiding her smiling face behind a sea of curls. She wore a hand stitched pair of leather pants that stopped at her knees where a pair of well worn thigh high boots with exposed heels and toes covered her legs. A pair of steel plated pads covered her elbows and matched her form fitted cuirass adorned with scraps of plate armor and chainmail. On her back was slung an old but well loved broadsword adorned with the feathers of exotic birds.   Behind her a young sea elf girl, maybe 50 years old, but barely a teenager by elf standards, leapt onto the deck holding a small crate of provisions as well as a few incidental odds and ends. Her hair, bleached blonde by the sun, was held in a dizzying array of buns and looped braids adorned with shells, beads, feathers and other tiny gifts of the sea. She wore just as eclectic a collection of clothes as Jessa. Leather leggings stitched up the length of her legs, an oversized silk shirt, tied off at the bottom and proudly revealing a gold belly ring. Her coat was nothing more than an old captain's jacket with the sleeves unceremoniously torn off. She trotted across the deck and coldly glanced over her shoulder at Dartimen.   “Rilian – you said you’d be reading in your bunk.” He momentarily ignored Jessa and fixed his attention on the young girl.   She responded by sticking her tongue out at him. “At least somebody is teaching me something useful.” Rilian glanced at Jessa, beaming. “Thanks Jessa!” she said venomously at Dartimen before disappearing below deck.   Jessa smiled, shaking her head. Dartimen could only stare in disbelief.   “Anyway, Rand’s having this…”   Dartimen cut her off. “Teach her what?”   Jessa sighed. In no mood to go into this again. “I know you promised her father you’d look after her, but you’re not going to be able to keep her out of trouble forever. At the very least show her how to protect herself.”   Dartimen looked away, his heart suddenly heavy. “If Riven knew I’m letting her tag along he’d never forgive me.” He looked back to the stairs. Rilian emerged again, making a production of ignoring him. She climbed high into the rigging, found a comfortable spot and began to read.   Jessa smiled warmly, pretending not to notice him staring up at the sea elf. Dartimen just stood there with his arms folded across his chest. He wore a flowing white silk shirt popular with gentleman brigands, and with it a black silk vest where he kept a dagger in a hidden sheathe on his lower back and numerous lock picks sewn into the lining. He also wore a pair of custom fitted black leather pants tucked into matching boots which he kept meticulous care of. On his head he always wore the same wide brimmed captain’s hat with its bright blue ostrich and pheasant feathers. In a way it had become his trademark and his nemesis. His desire to be seen at all times had landed him in more dire predicaments than any of them cared to think about and yet he always managed to persevere.   Dartimen was different from the scoundrels he was often found with, especially in moments like this. He took his vow seriously, and watched over the only child of his friend and mentor like his own sister. He wanted so much to be a villain, but Jessa knew he simply didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t be a bad man if he tried, which was the biggest reason she had agreed to serve as a deck mage on the Stormrider. “I know Riven wanted you to keep her safe, but you can’t expect her not to get interested in this life, not aboard this ship.”   Dartimen’s sad eyes remained fixed on Rilian. “A few pointers here and there won’t make a difference I suppose. Guess I owe them both that much.” Dartimen nodded and walked to the ship's railing, staring back out to sea and shaking off thoughts that were dangerously close to stinging his eyes. “Now… What’s this about a game?”   Jessa gestured towards the Hammershark. “While we were in Bridgetown, I ran into Caele Fessar, we got to talking and he mentioned that he’d heard a rumor that Rand was going to be hosting some high stakes game of King’s Gambit tonight, which I guess isn’t strange in and of itself.”   “He’s a card player; a bad one, but he likes it.” Dartimen glanced over his shoulder, casually regarding the ship of his former comrade before turning his thoughts and his eyes back to sea. “There’s something else isn’t there?”   Jessa noticed Dartimen’s distant focus, and knew he was only half listening. She sighed and continued anyway. “Word is there’s a lot of Black Sparrow guildsmen gathering in the city - have been all week.”   Brimstone wandered over to them rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The words groaned painfully from his mouth. “I seem to recall the last time you crossed paths with the good Captain Deepsea… I remember Rand screaming something about cutting off your hands if you ever set foot on his ship again.”   Dartimen chuckled to himself. “Yes! But I choose not to interpret that literally, in the sense that he’d cut off my hands if he ever found me on board his ship and in bed with his sister.”   Jessa’s eyes widened.   “Again.” Brimstone reminded him.   “Again.” Dartimen agreed.   “You’re both pigs.” Jessa commented, feigning insult.   The bay shimmered in the mid-morning sunlight, rolling and bobbing on the late spring currents and sending splashes of seawater into the crisp, fragrant ocean breeze. Gulls called to one another as they swooped and circled in the winds blowing off the Illusion Sea. Their squawks and calls echoed across the open ocean. Then just as suddenly as they began, they stopped, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.   Dartimen felt the wind change, unnaturally so. The air temperature dropped, and the once warm, refreshing sea breeze grew cold and chilled. There was a deck mage at work nearby.   “Jessa.” Dartimen said cautiously.   “I know.” Jessa’s eyes narrowed, sensing the disturbance in the otherwise placid sea.   Brimstone frowned as he scrambled up to the forecastle to scan the seas behind the ship. Dartimen grabbed the rigging and jumped up on the ship's railing, trying to get an idea of where the change in the wind was coming from as Jessa closed her eyes, concentrating on the unnatural shift in the air around them. Clouds gathered and hid the sun. Rilian managed to climb down before the last shreds of light slipped from an increasingly angry sky.   “What’s going on?!” she cried above the wind.   Dartimen scanned the horizon, but with the abundant sunlight now gone, he could see nothing. “I don’t know yet – get below deck!” The ship dipped and bobbed suddenly, and his grip on the rope nearly slipped. “Jessa…!” he called out.   Jessa heard nothing. The world around her had vanished, replaced by the void she had carefully crafted in her mind, allowing her to feel the presence of the arcane power that caused the sudden storm. Swirling tendrils of pulsing blue energy traced and highlighted the otherwise invisible path the wind took as it spilled across the sky, spinning and churning, the pulse of magical energy growing brighter and thicker with every passing moment.   “Whoever or whatever is doing this is getting closer!” Jessa yelled over the screaming wind as loud as she could. Her eyes opened to the stormy gray, false night, now vacant of the wondrous colors of magic she had seen behind her eyes.   Dartimen leapt off the railing and wrapped an arm around Rilian, pushing her toward the door to his cabin. “Stay here until I...”   “Boss!” Brimstone’s cry somehow managed to cut through the storm’s fury.   Rilian pulled from his grip and dashed up the stairs to the forecastle. Dartimen scrambled up behind her, followed closely by Jessa. They met Brimstone at the rear of the ship, where he stood motionless.   “What’s wrong?!” Dartimen yelled.   Brimstone merely pointed into the tempest.   From out of the darkened sea, a large galleon glided effortlessly through the churning white caps, pulled by sails of scarlet. The wood of the phoenix-shaped figurehead, as well as the ship’s hull, was dark and matted black. From a distance, it looked as if the entire vessel had been charred or burned.   Dartimen squinted against the wind as he traced the lines of the mast up the ship, past the mainsail and the crow’s nest. Then he saw it. The flag of stormy blue, white and black and below it, a flag bearing a family crest—the seal of a nation. A brilliant gold phoenix adorned the ship’s flag, its head staring coldly to its right through narrow, suspicious eyes, four thorny white roses held fast in its talons.   “I don’t believe it.” Dartimen said in bewhilderment.   Jessa could only stare in awe. Only Rilian dared speak up.   “Who is it? Who is that?” She hid behind Dartimen, gripping his shoulder out of a fear that she could not name but knew she was seeing with her own eyes.   “Baron Seinrill" Jessa choked.   Rilian felt Dartimen tense, and her fear doubled.   “Areeott.” Dartimen’s eyes widened as the ship slipped past them. “That ship is from Areeott.”