Gone Fishing

The first rays of dawn's light shone over the harbour. Few bodies were milling about the area of the docks, preparing for the day ahead. Verael was among them, going off to a quieter area, carrying a fishing pole and tackle box.

Voriel had a point. It wouldn't hurt to pursue something quieter, once in a while.

Sitting himself at the end of the dock, he opened up the tackle box, and fiddled with attaching a lure to the line. With a lazy cast, the lure arced through the air, and hit the water with a soft 'bloop', sinking into the water. He lay the rod across his lap and looked out over the water, letting his mind wander.

It is a refreshing change of pace, having Arawn somewhat focused, with the company. Keeps me from having to pull him out of the fire, so damned often. Though, he is keeping quieter than ever. Might have to press that with a shield upside his head.

He grabbed the rod from his lap and slowly moved it to and fro, causing the line and lure to move through the water, in a vain attempt to attract the attention of any fish.

And Voriel's been quite the interesting one. Perhaps I can figure just what Arawn's game is with her. She wouldn't say, but that kiss of his said plenty. It'll come out, though. He'll not keep quiet forever if he thinks I'm going to try bedding her. Just have to remember his blades.

Hard to imagine the sheltered life she's lived. So many odd questions. So many odd answers.

But she had insight.

Verael tugged up on the rod, noticing the line going tight for a moment. He reeled and pulled back trying to bring in whatever catch he may have snagged. And when he got it to the surface, all he found was a large clump of seaweed. Chuckling to himself, he removed the plant and tossed it back into the water with a splash. He took the time to switch the lure to a simpler hook, which he then worked some bait onto, taking care to ensure it was secure. Again, he gave a lazy cast of the line and it arced into the water.

Arawn has managed to wrangle up a fair number so far. A few that could be fun. A few that are.

And then Mal. That is something else. A different kind of fire. Cunning. And would likely set me ablaze for one misstep. Hard to believe the sheltered elf may have some better insight about this one, than I do. It will be interesting, seeing her reaction to her door.

He continued to fish, quietly, as the sun slowly rose in the sky. His mind wandered to and fro as the hours passed. When he finally rose from the dock, the sun was well above head, his tin of bait empty, and not a single fish was in sight.

The sun was nearing the peak of its path through the daytime sky when Verael made his way from the Craven. Atop his head sat a weathered hat with a wide brim, modified to fit his horns, his pants were rolled up to his knees and he carried fishing gear under one arm. He stopped at at one of the stalls between the tavern and the dock, and slid several coin to the fish monger.

"She's yours for the day. Just don't leave anything in it," the old man muttered as he scooped up the gold.

Verael tipped his hat to the man and continued on his way toward the beach, where a rowboat was resting on the sand. He tossed all the gear to the back of the boat, ensured the oars were properly secured and began to push it along the sand, into the water. Once the water was halfway up his calves, the Castanic swung one leg into the rowboat, and gave one last push with his other foot before settling into place to begin rowing.

Having rowed out to the open water, past Mistmoor, Verael lifted the oars from the water and carefully set them in place to his side. He picked up his gear, and using the oar lock, he set-up his fishing pole, dangling the line in the water.

Probably won't have much better luck, but at least the hustle and bustle are no where near, this time.

Verael stretched out over the seats in the boat, and pulled his hat over his face, letting out a sigh of contentment. He placed his hands under his head and enjoyed the heat of the sun.

Things certainly have become more interesting, as of late. Arawn making his deals. Voriel quizzing me on what I know about the shipping in the port. And then there would be Charka.

He shifted in the boat, his elbow knocking against his fishing pole. And his boat rocked with his movements.

I'm surprised she's being so patient trying to get a meeting with Arawn. It's hard enough to draw him away from all his work to get sparring in, I can only imagine how hard she's going to have to work for that meeting.

Verael lift the brim of his hat as he squinted out over the water, glancing in the direction of the island, frowning as he realized the distance the boat has drifted.

It would be frustrating, if it weren't so amusing. Understandably skeptical, even with her skills. I've to wonder if that sort of power is what catches my eye in the first place.

Malani wields similar, but the game is played differently between these two. With her it felt as though I was exchanging blow for blow, in attempts. Though it would seem business has stolen away that attention.

Charka. She tries a much different approach. Feigning an innocence, or something akin to it. It's obviously something that's worked for her previously, but it piques my interest as I find just what she hides behind that.

With the gentle rocking of the rowboat, in the motion of the sea, Verael drifted off to sleep. The hours pass, and the boat continues to drift further out in the water.

The sun was low in the sky by the time he woke from his nap. Mistmoor looked small on the horizon, and Cutthroat was hidden from sight, from below the brim of his hat. Verael groaned as he saw the fishing rod had come loose and apparently fallen into the water at some point. He quickly set to getting the oars into their locks and situated himself to row.

It was going to be a long evening.

"At least I'm paid up..."