Davrou understood his mistake by the noon of the next day. He didn’t kill anyone last night when he should have silenced every soul he met. He went to the harbor to secure passage, talking to several captains, and first mates who were simultaneously threatening and directing their crew as they loaded or unloaded cargo. Most, abruptly said no or completely refused to talk to him. Another, walked away as soon as Davrou came over. Small alarms began to sound in his head telling him to leave right away. He was aware of a couple of men that had kept with him, following clumsily as he went ship to ship. Thankfully, the would-be trackers were a pair of young dense thugs who barely knew how to handle a weapon properly. Guiding them to an empty area behind a stacks of barrels, they were taken care of easily, explaining Davrou’s situation after only a light incentive. The carousers he crippled may not have been much but apparently they were part of a larger group, which have taken offense to his actions. Rough looking individuals, were already combing through the area, asking for a sadistic doctor, with a deranged smile, cold blue eyes, ratty black coat, blood dyed bag and nasty flaming dagger. The description was laughably exaggerated, but it didn’t bold well if it was enough for simpletons to recognize him. To make matter’s worse, Rumors of a couple sentries being poisoned and killed by an herbalist were spreading quickly and, from the number of soldier patrolling the streets, more than likely true. The drug addled men more than likely used the leaves too excessively and killed themselves or each other, not that their accomplices would admit it.
His black coat was the first to go, thrown into the sea to be taken where ever the waves willed. He wasn’t willing to toss his bag however, he settled for slicing away at the hide that had doubled as a sleeping mat on his travels, wrapping it around the bag until just the belt showed. With that he left the mess behind a stack of crates, making sure not to repeat his mistake, and walk off through several back ways, before emerging onto a main street. He kept to crowds following the foot traffic as he maneuvered through the city that wanted him dead.
Watching cautiously for sign of the men hunting him, circumventing any guards long before he came near them, he arrived at the shopping district. Store fronts came row after row, filled with good of all kinds, for textiles, to furniture and carpentry, drapery, housewares, jewelry, trinkets and dozens of tailors. Davrou ducked into one at random to be met by the piercing gaze of an old man who, held himself more like a veteran of battle, then a tailor. Davrou almost walked out thinking he entered the wrong establishment but the collage of fabrics and garments told him otherwise. The tailor’s eyes, moved over, the new customer for a second before he stated the obvious.
“You need a new everything.”
He went back to adjusting a pair of trousers before adding. “If you have the coin.”
Davrou nodded, “2 set of everything, in the finest you have. White of light colored shirts” He told the man showing him a full pouch, thanks to the generous donation of his victims.
He figured it be best to look nothing like himself. The tailor raised an eye but eventually gave a nod, picking up measuring tape and motioning his client closer.
Davrou waved him off, “just a good estimate is fine: no need for a fitting, make sure their all long sleeves, and a belt will fix the rest.”
The request drew out a disapprove sigh from the man as he turned to the back. Fortunately the he had a good eyes returning a short while later with a wardrobe that fit Davrou almost perfectly, including a black circular metal hair clasp two finger wide and a pair of matching cuff links.
The price he paid was exuberantly higher than he ever paid for clothing, he almost felt cheated but twenty minutes and almost half his purse later he stepped out of the shop, looking arrogantly rich. Hair held back in a ponytail with the black ring instead of its usual messy tangle, he wore wearing handsome silk cloths and finely polished boots. His blade was still easily hidden in a loose sleeve, his sword at his hip and whether it was the man’s intention or not it was all comfortably loose. His reflection in the window looked nothing like it should: he felt a small sense of security in that and knowing it wouldn’t hinder his movement. He spent the next few days quietly in a small hotel, which was a palace compared to the Sharks Maw, keeping out of sight in the hopes of letting his pursuer lessen their focus on him. He divided his time between practicing sword form and reorganizing his poisons, herbs and other items to keep from going mad, even finding the time to treat the remaining Loki’s Joy with a strong spirit.
By the fifth day his patience reached its end, he was ready to leave his lavish confinement in search of a way out of the city once more. There was stilled scattered chat of the burning ship event but not much else. He planned to return to the harbor, looking to find a few new ships that may allow him to board. But less than a four streets down he knew nothing died down. A poster drawing very similar to him, stared back from a brick wall. The image was framed by the words Wanted, 4 Counts of Murder: Two City officials and Two citizen, 5 Counts Maiming and Disfigurement. Davrou moved away cautiously, confirming that no one was had seen him as he squeezing the hilt of his sword and pulled the thin hood of his shirt up to cover his face. He backtracked to the hotel wanting a place to breathe before he found his next move. It was too late. Several guards and obvious criminals stood outside, another group swiftly entering the building. He turned a corner rapidly and through away caution, running desperately as far as he could. He needed to disappear.