Among the Spires of East Fleet

Chapter 1: Oceans Apart

With every stir and roll of the ocean, the ship groaned and creaked as if speaking in some sort of uncommunicable harmony with the waters around it. It was here, in the damp, dark belly of this vessel, that a stranger found himself constantly shifting his weight while gathering his belongings into a worn leather sack. With only the bleak twinkling of a dying lantern to offer any light, he murmured quietly to himself as the all-consuming darkness growled around him, gently tossing and turning in the waves of an ocean that both connected and separated him from everything he had ever known.

This vessel was what landed him along this unfamiliar shore, but it was nothing short of fate that had guided him here. Though in all fairness, he wasn't aware of any of this at the time, nor would he be preview to it before his untimely death.

As he continued gathering his belongings, a voice pierced through the darkness. Thin and weathered, a deckhand stood in the stairwell, calling to him like an old friend.

"We're tied down, stranger. This is where you get off."

Waving his hand in silent acknowledgment, the stranger began cinching down the leather straps of his satchel, ensuring his short sword was secured and hidden away inside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plug of chewing tobacco and bit a piece off. Taking one last look around the shadowy abyss he found himself in, he slung his things over his shoulder and departed from that place.

"This way, lad," the deckhand gestured to the door leading above. "Welcome to Almaris."

As he exited the lower quarters, he was forced to squint as his eyes struggled to adjust to the light of the sun rising over the bay. Cupping one hand around his eyes so he could see, the stranger began making his way across the deck and over toward the dock steps. His hulking figure was a stark contrast to those of the deckhands that were busy tending to the ship's cargo. Standing nearly a full head above most of them, his thick brown hair had started turning grey in places and a stream of tobacco spit seemed to have permanently stained a portion of his beard. At one time or another, he was most likely a true mountain of a man. However, now he was just an aging foreigner about to step foot into a land he knew nothing about.

Finally adjusting to the sunlight, he began taking in his surroundings. The first and most obvious thing he noticed was the colorful brick buildings that were tightly packed together along the coastline. Each of them seemed to have been uniquely constructed, though they all did have one thing in common – that being that they were all painted a hodgepodge pallet of random colors that didn't seem to have any true rhyme or reason to it. Gazing past the harbor, his attention was then drawn to a cluster of jagged, black spires near the far end of the bay, well past the exterior of the township. Along the shore, a group of a dozen or so people were walking along the beach near where the spires jutted up out of the sand. Perhaps they were collecting shells, or maybe they were fishing among the shallow pools between the rocks. From where he was, it was hard for him to tell.

But then again, at the time, he really didn't care.

As he reached the edge of the ship, he stopped suddenly and reached into his pocket. Pulling out two gold coins, he turned back to the deckhand who had come to grab him earlier.

Waving his hand dismissively, the deckhand smiled. "No need. It's already been paid for. Courtesy of your friend back home."

The stranger's face churned a bit. Grumbling under his breath, he turned back towards the edge of the ship and began making his way down the stairs and onto the docks below. As he passed through the crowds of sailors, he flicked the two coins out into the water, letting them sink to the bottom of the bay.

Whether he liked it or not, this stranger had arrived at his destination – the trading port known simply as East Fleet.

It looked exactly like everything one might have been able to imagine, yet nothing like what could be described by someone who had never seen the ocean before. With its bustling markets and near endless sea of faces, the entire port seemed to move and sway like the ocean itself – a sea of busy people going about their busy lives and doing their busy little things. And it was in the very center of this crowd that the stranger among them found himself cursing under his breath.