Night had yet to fall across East Port, the colours still bright and vivid as Jurot trekked through the city. Most of the people wore a hat of some sort, in a myriad of colours. Those who wore little colour, their clothing ragged and almost colourless, wore small, ft hats, whereas those adorned in finer clothing, full of colour, wer hats, with multiple accessories of plimentary colours.

  As Jurot approached the docks, he weaved through the various side alleys, dug under clothing lines and around barrels and crates, before finding a rge wooden building. A giant sign board was nailed crudely to one side, threatening to fall if it wasn’t for the tiny piece of wood whiailed it to the roof.

  The Iyrman stepped into the The Salty River, noting the tavern was as lively as he expected, with at least thirty different dock workers all eating and drinking together, small groups tossing dice, cards, and coppers. The smell of the workers permeated the air, true to the tavern’s hough Jurot stepped through it, towards the young woman at the ter, no older than thirteen.

  Her hair was dark, cut short, up to her ears. Her dark eyes sed the Iyrman quickly, and she reached for something beside her, behind the ter. He heard the crossbow shift beside her leg.

  As Jurot stopped at the ter, he reached in to his pocket, and pced down a gold onto the ter. “I am here for Bill.”

  “Ain’t heard of no Bill,” the girl said, leaning her head back slightly. Her skin shifted in such a way that Jurot could see part of a tattoo peek out from her tunic. It was near bck, with lines curling all about her neck. Jurot knew of the tattoo, for the curling lines were the tentacles of a creature of nightmares which lived deep in the sea.

  Jurot pced a sed gold on the ter. “Bill has debts to pay.”

  “Ain’t never done no business with no savage folk like yourself,” the young girl said. She began to hoist the crossbow from behind the ter, but Jurot slid Phantom out, the edge of the axe caught on the ter.

  The voices in the inn began to quieten down as the dockworkers looked to the Iyrman, some of the rougher hands reag fs, and rabbing for open stools.

  “Baktu is a just God,” Jurot said, staring into the girl’s eyes, seeing himself within her pupils. “He does not discriminate. Men. Women. Children.”

  The girl slowly pced the crossbow bader the ter. “Now that you mention. I do know a Bill. Pops! Savage man here for you.”

  A short, but stocky man, bsted through the doors, axe in hand. His eyes were dark from hallowed knowledge, and his entire body was covered in dark tattoos. Two of his fingers bore silver rings, and at his neck dangled another ring, once bronze, but now green with patina.

  “No business with Iyrmen,” Bill said.

  “Debts to pay,” Jurot said.

  “What debts be they, boy?”

  “Fifteen years ago, on the White Sea,” Jurot said. “You saw crimson, blood.”

  Bill swallowed, lig his lower lip quickly. He slowly lowered his axe. “Aye. I remember.”

  “The debt must be paid.”

  Bill gnced around to the other dockworkers. He slowly owards the Iyrman. “Aye. e to the back.” He turned and stepped into the back, and Jurot followed him. Mugs were pced down, and stools were righted.

  “Boy Gee, head around back, make sure he don’t take no barrel of piss,” the girl said, while a young sailor, with his tunic half open to reveal his bare chest, and the tattoo of the nightmare uhe sea half on dispy, stepped into the back, hand firmly grasped against the shaft of his scimitar. He stepped with great urgency, wanting to get to the pair quickly.

  He opehe door to find the spshing water, which fell onto the floor, and drained away between the cracks of the tiles.

  Boy Gee sighed. “I never get to go.” He let go of his scimitar, and paced around the area.

  “It must be dire if you’re ing during daylight,” Bill said, opening his eyes to find themselves deep within a mountain. The area was dimly lit with small lights embedded within the domed ceiling, signalling the time of day outside.

  Jurot gnced around, noting the carvings on the wall, that of the creature the cult worshipped. He had been withiavern one moment, taken to a ba, where Bill had spshed water against them with a dle.

  Bill walked up to the statue, which was hidden in the shadow, save for a rge circle, which Bill pressed, instantly drying himself. “Don’t want you getting sick, Iyrman.”

  Jurot pressed the button, and warm air surrounded him for a moment, magically drying him instantly.

  “We don’t have much time,” Bill said, grabbing a torch whistantly lit, and he began to lead Jurot out of, seemingly, the only pathway out.

  Jurot could hear distant ting as they marched through the hallway, heading straight ahead. Many other paths led elsewhere, but Jurot did not think anything of them.

  They eventually arrived at a wall, which was etched with all manner of symbols, as well as the giant sea creature the cult prayed to. Bill k, dipping his fingers into a crevice filled with water, before tapping his forehead. He muttered a prayer, before pg his hands on the wall, which shuddered, and opened for them, revealing a small area, with an underground ke, and two statues, with a ed tome between them. One of a woman, another of a man, both sitting opposite one another casually.

  Jurot tilted his head, staring at the male statue. He was then distracted by the shields on the floor, each made of stohe colour of sand.

  “Great Urkina’s sheddings,” Bill expined, chug as he stepped up to the tome. “They make wonderful shields, greater than typical shields made of steel. Not magical, but they protect better than other mundane shields.” He uned the book by simply pushing the metal aside. “So what news does the Iyr bring? Do you have need of our Priests? uardians?” Bill picked up the seastone quill, beginning to write down the meeting’s matters.

  “Elder Story has left the Iyr,” Jurot informed.

  Bill’s hand froze midway through the word. He pulled his hand away once he wrote the title of the Great Elder, before slowly turning. “Elder Story does not leave the Iyr.”

  “Emperor Hadda is dead.”

  Bill stared at the Iyrman, growing even paler. He turned back to the book, paused for a moment to pose himself, and then began to write. “It is a good thing mother patrols The Bck Zone, or we’d be in such great trouble. You must know of the stories.”

  “Your mother is dead too,” Jurot stated, as politely as he could.

  Bill froze. He pced the quill to the side, and turo face the Iyrman, reag to the axe at his side. “What?”

  “Emperor Hadda firmed the matter.”

  Bill remained silent for a long moment, blinking once he realised they had very little time. “Then who grants us our strength, Iyrman?” Everything had been going business as usual, as none of the Priests had lost any of their strength.

  “We must know what we must know,” Jurot replied simply.

  Bill swallowed. He turo the book, staring down at the here were very few times the Iyrmen came to the sanctuary, but none, in all of its histories, had informed them of such a disaster.

  “Gods be damned,” the Sea Priest whispered in the Iyr’s tongue.

  Jurot stepped out of the tavern, blinking rapidly. He noted he was out of the tavern, but he recalled that he had just followed Bill into the back. A vague sensation tickled the back of his mind, and his tattoo burned gently, letting him know he had pleted his task.

  Jurot made his way through the rge city, dodging and weaving through the crowd, tapping his pouch as he passed through the market, and passed an ur. He approached a familiar stall, where a Devilkin man was currently fixing the turban of his young son, and looked towards them, before his eyes drifted past them to the ledge behind.

  “Hoi, hoi, hoi, Iyrman,” Kalid called, his head floating from side to side as he pat his chest.

  His father grabbed his head, his voice low. “Do not bother Iyrmehey are making their rounds.”

  Since his father hadn’t called him a son of a cat, Kalid fell silent, his eyes passing by the Iyrman, before he checked on the rolls of yellow cloths they kept iall.

  Jurot passed the stall, noting the s which y behind the pair on their et, stacked left tht. Three copper s. Two silver s. One gold . They were only stacked that way for one reason. It should have been obvious that Yellow Turban came across them, but it hadn’t been explicitly stated to Jurot when he learned about him.

  Jurot turned, heading into another district. He stepped into the butcher’s shop, where a rge, older man currently worked on cutting a seapig in half. He eyed up the Iyrman, who pced down three gold s.

  “Right this way,” the butcher said, palming the s, before heading into the back. They tio head into the back, te area with sbs of stone, where carcasses were currently being processed by another butcher, who was built like Nobby.

  The butcher who had guided Jurot washed his hands, before drying them with a rag, holding out his scarred hands for it. Jurot reached into his robe, passing the letter to the butcher, who eyed up the texture and the colour of the paper, and the colour of the wax.

  “I’ll get your order,” the butcher said, heading towards the underground celr, leaving Jurot with his worker.

  Jurot’s eyes remained ocher’s back, watg him as he worked, listening to the sounds of him hag away at a carcass.

  “Are you still w?” Jurot asked, in a tongue which was almost the same as the Iyr’s.

  The remaining butcher smmed his knife down, cutting into the bone, and paused. He turned, revealing his greyish green skin, that of a Horc, like the Jin family. One of his eyes was white and scarred, the other was a dark blue. His tusks were broken, but Jurot’s eyes fell to his gloves, seeing the bck skin on his left arm.

  “I’m retired,” he said, his voice a low growl.

  Jurot bowed his head, and remained silent until the first butcher returned, carrying a small crate about the size of his head. Jurot opehe top, finding it was dried meat, liver specifically, covered in salt. He nodded, and carried the crate out. As he stepped towards the door, he stopped.

  “My grandfather is fighting in the war,” Jurot said.

  The Horc turo look over his shoulder at the Iyrman. He had seen the boy’s tattoo previously. A blue circle with three blue diamonds floating outwards on both sides. “I wish him the best of luck.”

  Jurot said no more, stepping out. If one of the world’s greatest assassin’s had retired, he had o worry about Adam while they were withiy. He recalled the s behind Yellow Turban, and wondered who had pced an order for assassination.

  ht. This is a fantasy world...