"Lond Daer? It was once a great and proud harbour of the Númenóreans, now it's a free port and a haven for all manner of seafaring outlaws, scoundrels, rogues, and smugglers. It's still mostly a crumbling ruin that's been abandoned to the ages, but near the docks it has been rebuilt, then that's rotted and been partly rebuilt again, and that bit is bustling with all the activity of a small town. Well, a small town in which every single inhabitant is drunk, armed and completely lacking of any kind of moral fibre, anyway.
It's not wholly lawless, there is some semblance of order due to the small army of mercenaries under the employ of Lond Daer's illustrious harbourmaster. But their job mostly involves ensuring that everyone pays the right tolls, bribes, and taxes to be allowed into the harbour. Once in you get to enjoy everything it has to offer, provided you have the coin and manage to hold on to your purse long enough to spend it.
Overlooking the docks is the glorious Mermaid's Bosom tavern, where they serve fifteen different kinds of swill that all pretty much taste the same, the food claws its way back up out of your gut, and you're about as likely to find a chair that's not been used to smash someone's head in as you are of finding a clean glass. Some brave merchants keep shop along the winding streets, and thanks to them there is as large a selection of wares as there is of whores in Lond Daer. Then you have the docks themselves, lined with ships of all different shapes and sizes. If you can stand the smell, sitting on those docks watching the ships come and go is a really nice pastime after a few days of drinking."
Ameren remembered thinking that the sailor must have been exaggerating or even making it all up when he'd told her about the harbour over a pint in the Prancing Pony. Now, standing there on the busy streets of Lond Daer and almost gagging on the smell of all kinds of human waste mingled with that of rotting wood, fish and probably a corpse or two baking in the sun, all she could think of was that he had been sugarcoating it. Everyone, from the pickpockets to the harbour officials, were in some stage of drunkenness, and they all seemed more than willing to cheat one another at the first chance they got. Once someone slumped down against a wall and passed out they were robbed of everything they had of the slightest value, even their shoes, and no one even batted an eye. One of the whores passing out was an even more disturbing sight.
I can't see the reason why any woman would choose to remain in this place.
Ameren frowned. They probably didn't have any other options to choose from. Outside the ruined city there was only wilderness for several days ride in any direction, and the only other way out was by ship. Ships crewed by the same lowlifes that crowded the streets.
"We should probably check the docks and see if the ship has arrived," said Havaldr as he stepped over to her. He'd just finished giving very clear instructions to the hillmen to ensure that the cart and the horses would still be there when he and Ameren returned.
He probably doesn't want them going around causing trouble either, not after he managed to talk his way out of paying that silly fee for having savages admitted.
"As you say, mister Holmwood. Stay close," said Ameren, leading him through the crowds and into the city, roughly shoving anyone who got too close to either of them out of the way.
He's worried, but these people are simple enough to understand and deal with. You can trust them to be loathsome and dishonest, only acting in self interest and caring for no one but themselves.
As they came around a bend in the street the docks came into view, and the deep blue, glistening ocean beyond them. Ameren felt her jaw drop ever so slightly as she saw the vastness of the sea for the first time in her life, and for a brief moment she forgot everything else around them.
There are no words that do it justice...
She was brought back as a man pushed past her, sending her stumbling forward a few steps before she found her footing again.
Damned fool you are! This is hardly the time or the place to stand around and gawk at the view.
They continued down onto the wooden walkways, but there were far too many ships tied to the docks for them to have a chance of finding the right one, if it was even there to begin with. A nearby harbour official was the safer bet, if they'd be able to tear him away from his current task, namely shouting his lungs out at a poor fisherman whose entire day's catch lay dumped across a large portion of the walkway, rotting away in the afternoon sun and worsening the stench of the city considerably.
"Crimson Sparrow... Crimson Sparrow..." mumbled the harbour official while he trailed a finger down along the carefully written rows of text in his ledger. Getting his attention had been easy enough, flashing one of his guards a few silver coins was all it took, and he appeared quite glad to turn his back on the fisherman after threatening to have him sunk along with his ship should the mess not be cleaned up within the hour. "I have a Crimson Wind, but she's captained by a 'Smith', not a 'Na'man'. It doesn't look like your ship is here yet."
Another bribe ensured that Holmwood would be informed when the ship did turn up, and they headed back up the hill to see if there were any lodgings available in the city. Waiting around on the streets in a place like this for a ship that might not come at all was hardly wise, after all.
"I'll make sure to speak with some of the other captains, see if there are any heading where we want to go and if they'd take passengers," said Ameren. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared."
Finding a captain who will take us shouldn't be too difficult around here. Finding one who won't rob us blind and leave us stranded on a strip on land in the middle of the ocean, that's another thing entirely.
"Oh, pardon me, sir."
A red-headed whore in a tattered dress had walked into Havaldr and started fondling him, smiling as pleasantly as she could with a mouthful of rotting teeth. He had quickly shoved her off with an expression of pure disgust on his face, turning his gaze away while stating that he wasn't interested in anything she was selling. She was just about to turn and set off when Ameren calmly put the blade of a dagger against her throat, causing her to stop dead in her tracks.
Now that was just pathetic, even for a rat's nest like this.
"Give back what you took," said Ameren in a stern, cold tone, glaring darkly at the woman while letting the razor-like edge of the dagger scrape her skin. The whore gave a frightened gasp and immediately opened her hand, and there was the soft jingle of coins as Havaldr's stolen purse hit the ground. He appeared a bit shocked as he picked it up and put it away again, evidently not having noticed that she took it.
Wee lamb...
"Oh, I'm sorry, lovely, I shouldn't have done that, I see that now."
"I don't want your apology, filth. Point us toward the nearest inn and you're free to sod off and sell your twat elsewhere," growled Ameren, keeping true to her word and only removing the blade to let the whore go after she'd given them directions to a tavern that lay far above them.
"You know, Branson, I'm actually quite glad that I didn't bring my wife on this trip."
"I quite agree, mister Holmwood. This would hardly be a pleasant place for a woman."
They looked up at the infamous Mermaid's Bosom tavern, and, quite frankly, it made the Forsaken Inn appear to be one of the fanciest and most refined taverns in the whole of Arda. Half of the building was made up of the ancient ruins, and the other half of a wooden structure that had been patched and rebuilt countless times over the years after it rotted or burnt down, and every single window had been shattered and boarded up. Inside it looked even worse. The floor was almost covered in debris from smashed furniture, shattered glass, and discarded tankards, there wasn't a corner that hadn't been drenched in various bodily fluids, and the patrons were far from the only vermin crawling over the floorboards. The amount of brawling men was staggering, more than half of all the people in there seemed to either be throwing punches or cheering on those that did, the rest were too drunk to care for much of anything beyond their pints of swill. The one even remotely calm spot in the tavern was the bar itself.
Kept so by more of the mercenary guardsmen, by the looks of it. Even if they seem more interested in quenching their thirst than moving along rowdy patrons.
Branson looking the part of high-end mercenary made it surprisingly easy for them to make their way to the counter, since while the patrons took any excuse to start hitting one another, they were quite careful not to pick a fight with those who were heavily armed. Most of them, at least.
"Ey, beautiful! How much!?"
"How do you know she's beautiful? She's got a mask on."
"I wasn't lookin' at her face, mate."
A roar of drunken laughter came from a group of sailors near the bar, but Ameren paid them no mind. There were plenty of others she needed to keep an eye on while Havaldr spoke with the tavern keep.
And isn't he a strange fellow among all the rest. Polite, efficient, reasonably clean, and even sober. Whoever is in charge must be paying him a small fortune for doing this job, and he does it well.
He had quickly directed them toward another harbour official, a man standing at the far end of the bar, swaying from side to side as he held onto an half-empty tankard as if it were a flotsam and he a drowning man. Havaldr mumbled something under his breath, probably not too pleased with having to try and reason with the drunkard. But nevertheless he went about doing just that, starting with buying the man another pint.
"Come on, beautiful, don't give us the cold shoulder."
One of the sailors had left the group and came up behind Ameren. He was a large man, half a head taller than she was and with a build hardened by a life at sea, his speech slightly slurred from the drink.
"You sell your sword, and I'm willin' to bet your cunt has a price as well. How much? I'll be real nice to you."
What an absolutely charming proposition...
The sailor had gripped her by the shoulder and she let him drag her backward until she was up against him, spinning around when she felt his chest against her back and grabbing hold of his wrist in an iron grip, forcefully twisting it into an armlock. Ameren had pulled the dagger at her right hip from its scabbard with her free hand as she turned, swiftly jabbing the pommel into the sailor's abdomen and knocking the air out of him, her knee coming up to smash into his face as he bent over. She let go of the sailor's wrist as he collapsed on the floor, his nose broken and three teeth knocked out, calmly sheathing the dagger again and letting her hand rest on the hilt as she turned her gaze toward his
friends, the group staring back in stunned silence. Then they burst out laughing again, cheering loudly and one or two even clapping their hands, apparently having enjoyed the show and were not the least bit concerned for their friend as he rolled around on the floor, groaning in pain with his hands clasped over his face.
Drunken idiots.
Ameren stepped back to Havaldr's side, listening as Holmwood cheerfully explained to the somewhat confused harbour official that he wouldn't have hired her if he didn't think she could handle herself. The drunk man looked from Havaldr, to Ameren, to the sailor on the floor, and then back again, giving up on trying to understand what had just happened and returning to the matter of finding lodgings for them. Havaldr's friendly attitude had worked like a charm and for the price of two pints they were given access to a warehouse on the docks where they could keep the cart and the horses, as well as sleeping there themselves.
"Well, I suppose three and a half walls and a roof is better than being stuck on the streets," mumbled Ameren as she looked around while standing inside the warehouse. Two of those walls were solid stone, the rest made up out of rotting wood.
This whole city is just a pile of festering rot. The sooner we leave it behind the better.
It was now late in the evening and they had settled in as well as they could in the small building, Havaldr sleeping next to the cart, and two of the hillmen dozing off with their backs against the wall. The third sat on the crumbling stones by the hole in the wall, keeping his weapons close and watching the people walking by on the street just outside. The docks were a lot calmer now, but there was still plenty of movement out there, and the noise coming from the city above had grown almost tenfold.
If I didn't know better I'd say being here makes our dear savages a bit nervous. Still, having them along means I'll get the chance to sleep for a few hours later on. Have to appreciate that.
Ameren picked up her pack from the cart and slung it over her shoulder, then walked past the hillman and climbed up the side of the ruined wall. He'd watched her carefully as she went, and she couldn't help but smile faintly behind the mask.
Worried I'll leave you to keep watch alone? Goodness me, you're almost making me feel wanted. Am I growing on you, little savage?
Ameren didn't wander off, but rather went to sit on the roof instead, dropping her pack beside her as she lowered herself against an ancient block of stone and let her head fall back against it.
Hard to beat the view up here.
The moon had started to rise just over the horizon, casting its refection of deep orange light over the dark water and bringing forth the silhouettes of ships across it. A cool, salty breeze blowing in from the sea pushed away some of the city's stench, and then it was almost quite nice to sit up there.
And yet, what wouldn't I give to be back home instead?
She sighed and picked a roll of parchment from her pack, along with an inkwell and a goose feather quill, then set a piece of loose board from the roof against her thighs and the parchment on top of it. The quill rasped against the paper as Ameren swiftly wrote the short letter, informing the recipient of the progress they'd made over the past couple of weeks.
Cold and impersonal. Hardly a letter between lovers. I didn't write this.
She frowned down at the parchment and crumbled it up, stuffing it into her pack and picking up a new roll, letting it rest against the board as she looked back out over the sea.
Gods, Connwear... why aren't you with us?
Ameren knew the reason, but she didn't understand it. No matter how many times she'd gone over it in her head, it made no sense to her. It just cut deep and hurt like a bitch every time she stopped guarding her thoughts and they drifted to him. They did that a lot, and most times she didn't wish to tear them elsewhere. The memories themselves were more than pleasant, as were the hopes and dreams she'd finally dared to have.
I'd like to think I was truly happy then, for a time.
Ameren lowered her gaze, dipped the quill and set it against the paper, taking her time writing the letter, making sure to do it properly this time.
