A brilliant sun glistened on deep blue waves as salty sea air moved gently across shifting sands. In the bustling city of Dravensport, the sounds of cawing gulls were simply part of the backdrop of everyday life. Their cacophony of hunger ravaged the ears of those who’d pay them mind, and many a piece of bread was snatched from the hands of the unwary. Some would call them rats with wings, but they would be quickly corrected, for many in Dravensport had heard the tales of the hordes of literal rats with wings that descended on the town some forty years prior.

Despite the aggression of the local fauna, Dravensport had made a name of itself as a place of opportunity among the aphuanians. Merchant ships, loaded with cargo, beckoned travelers and would-be-sailors with promises of gold and drink, while taverns flourished with tempting rumors of wealthy men looking for hired work. The Knights of Sevis, known as The Jurors, were actively recruiting to keep the kingdom safe, and the town had no shortage of shops and merchants eager to keep the coin flowing. It was a city of greatness, a place where travelers from all walks of life could make their fortunes.

It was the most amazing port in the entire world.

“This place sucks.”

The bottle kicked back, its owner taking a deep swig before slamming it down with a heavy sigh. She was slumped against the alley wall, her legs stretched out along the ground while her brother sat on a wooden crate, feeding a line through a fishing rod.

“You should practice patience, dear sister," the man hummed with a soft smile, “Perhaps you would like to join me fishing?”

“Fishing’s not going to put food in our-” the woman started but furrowed her brows as her brother smirked slightly, “Fishing’s not going to put a roof over our heads!”

“It will if we’re lucky,” he informed her.

“I need to get back out there,” the woman staggered to her feet, swishing her bottle, “I need to find a nice job, and get some nice coin, and then you and me...” she swayed the bottle between them, “We’re gonna get a nice fucking ship.”

“And I’ll be expected to call you captain, then,” her brother mused.

“Yes!” she shoved the bottle in his face, and he gently pushed it to the side before the woman flopped back onto her rear.

“We will need a crew,” he hummed.

“You kiddin’? We’ll be having to beat people away with your fishing rod,” she waved him off.

“Why not use a sword instead?” her brother laughed softly.

“That’s another thing!” the woman held up a finger, “Do you know how many of the guards around here got uneasy seeing me with my sword on my belt?” she drew the saber from her hip, “I mean, it's not like they give anyone else shit for having a sword!”

“What is in this bottle?” her brother pressed, looking the bottle over, “Eighty proof. I see.”

“Eat a dick, Takir,” she waved him off.

“Cheri...” he sighed, shaking his head as he lowered her sword, “Let us get you cleaned up. I have no doubt you will do well,” he winced as she let out a deep sigh in his face, “But perhaps you would do better if you did not smell of drink.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cheri relented, and he helped her to her feet, “I just...”

“You want your worth to be seen,” Takir nodded with a smile, “Do not fret, sister. It will be.”