They found the inn easily enough, a relatively small building with some exotic beast’s tusks tethered above the entrance. Inside the room was domed, that fact hidden by the exterior, with a counter in the centre of the room and tables and chairs all about it upon a sandstone floor that felt hard on the foot. An interesting place to be sure, but these types of inns were common on the coasts of Victum, as Simeon knew well. He’d raided some of them in his youth.
            His crew mingled with the steady number of patrons enjoying drinks after work, or so it seemed.
            Simeon caught the man behind the bar staring at him expectedly. He tried to avoid the look and instead moved about to find a likely candidate. What he needed was somebody he might know, or somebody who might be able to help. On coastal towns these types were common, especially when a person had gotten around the world as much as himself. Simeon considered himself a good judge of character, an adept at determining the backstabbers from the gullible fools and could act on all.
            It was when he neared the back of the room that he found somebody. He could not be sure, but the weatherbeaten skin and the wisdom behind the eye betrayed  the man. He was downing a cup, arms leaning on a table whilst being stood up. When he saw Simeon approach, he watched Simeon approach with one eye, the other being sunken and shut, a cross of scars atop it. The rest of his face seemed smothered in coarse black beard set ready to strangle him.
            “Which way you flit, lad?” Simeon called out.
            “Whichever way the sails fly—“ he parried, holding out his arm.
            “Aye—“ Simeon held the man’s arm with his own. He felt he’d seen him before, yet couldn’t place it.
            “Aye, an’ I’d be careful round here mind,” The man broke apart from the grasp and motioned the seat opposite from the one he began to sit on. “They’re a mite less friendly to pirates, even less so Louenites.” He warned, as Simeon took the seat offered.
            He kept his own voice as low as his companion’s. “Any idea as to what’s going on?”
            “Change.” The man leaned back on his seat, a comfortable affair of softly tanned leather.
            “Change?” He echoed, waiting for more. He wasn’t getting any. “Want to be a bit more specific like?”
            “Mayhaps I do, but I don’t really know you now, do I?” One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.
            “You know what I am, that’s enough I’d say.” Simeon did not like games, not right now.
            “Give me a name and I’d consider it. A token of friendship is giving names. Or some shit like that.” The man’s finger circled the top of his mug.
            Simeon thought for a while. Names where dangerous, especially when you were known. In Aenon, words of a corsair’s deeds got around, people knew you better than your crew did, so they knew what you were capable of and what weaknesses you owned. He could lie, aye, but he had also quite the reputation.

The End

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