A glimmering, bustling jewel, Brookes Eye, or to the locals, Port Adventure.
Sailing in from open waters the bay encloses you in its embrace, the only point on the isle not surrounded in trechereous reefs and sandbanks, the portal into Maelbrooke, the island of adventure and danger, these days an ever increasing danger.
Sailing inwards two mighty cliffs either side welcome you in as a scorpion welcomes a beetle. Inside the bay, regardless of the weather the water is calm and oars are required to keep a ship moving. Often a heavy mist sheilds the town from seaward onlookers.
At the far end of the bay, where the cliffs diminish to ground level she lays, sailing into port you are immediately confronted by the hustle and bustle of port life, spanning as far as the eye can see left or right lays endless piers, with or without ships, before you there is a vast expance, filled with crates of cargo, squabbling merchents, hard working sailors and, most importantly, a wide array of Adventurers, looking to make their mark.
Welcome traveller, destiny await's...
Stepping from a ship the figure looked around. He was set appart from the rest, striding up the pier the figure remarked at the sight before him. Even in a place such as this the figure stood out like gold among brass, skin white as alabastor, tinged with blue, dark hair neatly pulled back into a ponytail, his clothes were foreign and distinctive yet obviously those of a Wizard, with a long flowing open robe with full loose sleeves, black, with blue embroidery, below which he wore loose fitting black breeches, ending at the ankles, covering large black boots, and a white sleeveless shirt, laced at the neck, and at his belt hung two large heavy belts bearing all manner of pouches and, at the left hip, a long ornate Rapier.
"My oh my," said the figure in a slow, rich tone, "what a wonderfull place I have come too." And with that he nodded to the captain of the trading ship, the 'North Star', and walked off into the crowd, in serch of pleasent lodgings, adventurous company and a good mead.
Bartholomew pondered over his past as he downed yet another tankard of Ale.He had had a good time of it really, back in his days as a Noble. He was set to become quite high in the Hierarchy, until he made one small mistake of killing his soon to be father-in-law. He was forced into exile by the others, and chose to become a sea captain. With what little money he had left he had bought a ship and crew, and roamed the seas in search of plunder and riches, a pirate. After a year of this they came to this island. Then his crew abandoned his island when he refused to allow them to attack the isle, as they were running low on plunder. Now his knife was his only company, used for killing anything that could possibly carry gold out in the wilderness, most of which was spent on lodgings and alcohol.
"I need something to keep me from going insane!" he thought to himself, as he ran his hands over his obsidian hair, pushing it back across his head.. "There's no interesting people here yet, it seems. Well not in this tavern, at least." as he continued to remember his past, whilst playing with his frilled shirt.
Walking into the sea of activity on all sides he passed hardy sailors and merchant stalls, small markets seemed to spring up amidst crates and barrels. *This place must be rich pickings for thieves and cutpurses.* Thought Nadril, smiling inwardly, no ragchild would dare pick the purse of someone so obviously a wizard, but just the same he kept his robe close to his body over his pouches, just in case.
Finally after much weaving and wandering he made it out of the docks, and into the city propper, relitively large roads branched off into narrow streets no more than two or three carts wide, everywhere houses, shops, crafthouses and, mainly due to his proximity to the docks, a fair few inns and taverns. So, choosing one that looked small and quaint, he stepped inside.
**
On the other side of the room a creak was heard and the door to the tavern opened, the pale figure stepped in and strode over to the bar, seemingly unaware of the looks he was getting from the other patrons. Setting himself down he adressed the tavernkeep.
"Good sir, do you, perchance, have room for the night?" He asked in his slow, even voice. "I havnt slept in a bed that hasnt rocked for weeks." And then, eyeing the bottles behind him he added. "And a good sweet mead if you will."
"i think i may just have had enough to drink" Barhtolomew announced to no-one in particular, laughing to himself, getting a few queer glances. He thought to himself "i'm going to sober up" and began the walk to his room at the inn, to splash water upon his face. However, on his way, an extraordinary sight caught his eye. Who was this man of strange pale skin and clothing? Obviously a wizard, he could tell by the fashion sense. Forgetting that he was drunk and that anything could happen, he tried to get the odd man's attention. "but, is he a man?" he thought, as he pointed at the man and shouted, loudly enough for all to hear in the small tavern, "Wizard! You don't resemble any of these commoners here in the slightest! Just who or what are you?! I won't accept Silence, For I am -was- the nobleman, Bartholomew Belaris!"
The tavernowner looks up from wiping a mug around with a rather dirty looking peice of rag.
Interupted in his talking with the tavernkeep the figure narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the drunkard, then a wry smile graced his pale lips, getting off his stool he stood at his full height, and looked the human eye to eye.
"Now now mister... Belaris," he began, his voice even and reserved, with more than a hint of sarcasm, "I am not accustomed to being accosted in such a manner, prehaps, if your temper cools and you loose the pretentiousness we may speak on even ground, if not... then your loss." Though his tone kept even throughout, there was the slightest taint of malice in his words and the rest of the patrons knew it, smiles or looks of worry on their faces, expecting a fight.
"why you... how very dare you! Me?! Pretentious! That's just not right! I ought to kill you, just for that!" Thought Bartholomew, realising that had he said that to the wizard, he'd be dead right now. He may have been drunk, but it wasn't as if he had no self control at all! "How about this, Wizard. I shall go to my room, and sober up a little, and when i come back in here, i'll be in the right state to talk to you, perhaps. I'll not fight you like some peasant or thug. I'll never lower myself to such a level. Please, carry on your conversation, and i'll leave you be for a while." And with that he continued his walk to his room.
And all throughout this the pale stranger's smile broadened untill he was practically showing teeth. *Oh I like this man* he thought to himself as the man walked away. "Well covered, and eloquently spoken." He said, to himself more than anyone else as the man, Bartholomew, dissapeared. Sitting back down to face the barkeep, he continued his prior line of inquiry, "So then, good tavernkeep, can you spare a mug of meed and a room for one such as I?"
The tavernkeep looks the pale skinned man up and down. Continuing to wipe mugs and tankards out with a heavily soiled piece of cloth
“As long as I get no trouble I have a room aye, you have the coin to pay?”