The crimson hues of the setting sun bathed Mythralis in a warm, golden light as Marcellus stepped out of the chapel.
The feeling of being watched hung over him like a shadow, and he couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his chest, but Edwin's instructions echoed in his mind—do anything, but do not violate the law.
As he walked along the cobblestone streets of the island city, he couldn't help but reflect on the priest's words.
What does he mean by come back, come back to pray? or...
The sermon had stirred something within him, but for now, his immediate concern was the persistent feeling of being tailed.
Marcellus decided to follow Edwin's advice and headed toward a bustling marketplace, where people from all walks of life gathered.
The lively atmosphere and the presence of countless witnesses offered some solace so he would not be randomly attacked.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mythralis transformed into a city of lights. Oil Lanterns and Oil torches illuminated the streets, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with the flickering flames.
Mythralis was alive with activity even at night; vendors peddled their wares, sailors sang sea shanties in the taverns, and the scent of salt and adventure hung in the air.
Marcellus continued to stroll through the marketplace, keeping an eye out for any signs of his pursuer. The feeling of being watched had not abated, and he couldn't shake the paranoia that gripped him.
Suddenly, a voice from behind him broke through his thoughts. "Blackeye, is that you?"
He turned to see a familiar face, a fellow pirate from the Viper Crew. It was Finn, the same young man he had been training in the day.
Marcellus forced a smile and greeted him, "Finn, What are you doing here."
Finn's expression was a mix of stupefaction and thrill like it was obvious. "I came to drink. What brings you to this area, are you here for drinks too?"
Marcellus hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much he should proceed. "I... I've been on a stroll to the docks, Finn. But if you are offering how could I refuse."
Finn nodded understandingly while struggling to suppress a frown. "Well, you've been missed, come Doan has the good stuff."
As they talked, Marcellus couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He felt like a teacher mooching at his trainee while simultaneously putting him in danger.
Determined to blend in and throw off any potential pursuers, Marcellus decided to rekindle his old persona.
He and Finn headed towards one of the city's notorious establishments—a rowdy tavern known as "The Salty Siren." a notorious tavern known for its rowdy clientele and illicit activities.
The tavern, a dimly lit den of iniquity, was a whirlwind of activity. Smoke from the oil lamps hung heavy in the air, obscuring the faces of pirates, sailors, and all manner of shady characters.
The stench of stale beer and sweat mingled with the pungent aroma of Perpetual stew, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and repellent.
He noticed he could not use his abilities as a Hallowed to visualize the room the was too much noise, making him feel nauseous.
Marcellus squeezed his way through the throng of patrons, his visual senses on high alert. He found an empty stool at the bar, its surface sticky with spilt ale and signalled to the burly bartender, a man with a wild beard.
"Ale," Marcellus ordered, his voice raspy from disuse. He tried to project an air of nonchalance, but his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
As he nursed his ale and listened to the drunken ramblings of the sailors around him, Marcellus kept a wary eye on the entrance, scanning the dimly lit corners for any sign of pursuit.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, their face obscured by a dark cloak. The figure moved with a predatory grace, their eyes fixed on Marcellus.
A chill ran down Marcellus's spine; he knew he had been spotted.
Marcellus forced himself to remain calm, to avoid drawing attention to himself.
He continued to drink and engage in conversation with Finn and the rowdy patrons around him, his voice a casual blend of boisterousness and feigned indifference.
He knew he needed to be cautious with his words and actions.
Finn continued to chat about the crew's previous exploits and adventures, and Marcellus listened intently, trying to glean any information that might be relevant to his current situation.
The tension in the tavern was palpable. The stranger in the cloak maintained their distance, their eyes never leaving Marcellus, their presence a constant reminder of the danger that lurked.
As the night wore on, the tavern grew even rowdier. The air thickened with the smell of spilt ale and the smoke from countless odours.
Marcellus soon lost track of the number of tankards he had emptied, the alcohol a dulling agent against his mounting anxiety.
He knew he had to make his move soon. He couldn't stay in the tavern forever, not with the stranger in the cloak watching his every move.
With a boisterous laugh, Marcellus stood up from his stool and announced to the table, "I've had enough of men! I'm off to find some company for the night!"
His statement was met with cheers and laughter from the drunken crowd.
Marcellus made his way towards the exit, his eyes darting around, searching for any sign of the stranger in the cloak.
Marcellus stepped out of "The Salty Siren" and into the moonlit streets of Mythralis.
He took a moment to catch his breath and assess his surroundings.
The bustling chaos of the pirate city continued unabated, the sounds of revelry and debauchery echoing through the alleys.
He felt slightly lightheaded, am I Drunk? I did say I would stop drinking Son Of Sow!
As he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to blend into the alley, Marcellus felt a presence approaching him.
He tensed, ready to react if it turned out to be a threat.
But to his surprise, it was Ingrid, a woman he had encountered previously.
Ingrid was a striking figure, her auburn hair cascading down her shoulders and her emerald green eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
She was the figure watching him from the corner He could tell from her cloak, her cloak pulled tightly around her. She dropped the hood of her cloak and peeled it apart to reveal her form.
She wore a revealing green dress that left little to the imagination, a bold contrast to the rough and rugged attire of the pirates and sailors in the city.
The dress hugged her curves and flowed to the floor, pooling at her feet.
A single strap ran over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Her hair was styled in loose waves that fell around her face, and her lips were daubed a bright red.
She took a step forward, her eyes never leaving his. Her gaze was steady and unwavering, and he couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. There was something about her, something that made him feel both attracted and afraid.
In a familiar Gaulish accent, "Blackeye" she purred her voice like a siren's song. "Are you abandoning me?"
"Ingrid... Ginger," he replied, feigning casualness despite the tension still coursing through him. "A pleasant surprise."