The pockets of Murko Muelton felt awfully light after he and his crew-of-the-day split their shares. However, the galdor had a good reason to be short. He'd just made his last payment on his ship, making the cataraman finally his to keep. Of course, ambition colored the Mugrobi's cheeks, and he knew he'd need another job very soon or he'd grow... antsy.
It's getting tougher and tougher to work out which ships have the right squeeze. It ain't worth it to stop everyone, either, he thought to himself as he moved along the pier. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vermillion light that stretched from the horizon to flicker over the sea. The dazzling display threw its glare forth, catching the side of Murko's eye as he wove through the sparse crowds. The frigid air and sparse sheen of white snowfall deterred many from wandering in the evening, and Murko Muelton was glad for it.
Too many lubbers to weave past ain't good, after all, he mused, feeling the wobble in his legs from the pints he'd thrown down his throat in the afternoon. Resources were scant, but Murko Muelton made sure to have his... expenditures accounted for before spreading the loot across his temporary mates. A chuckle melded with a hiccup as, at last, he wandered past the pier and out of port. Old Rose Harbor had its share of troubles, but with his fellow Bad Brothers walking around... there was hardly a struggle in sight.
The galdor found a compatriot, clasping at his hand before being pulled into a conversation he didn't really want.
"Oi, Murko, the loot good on that last take? The boys n' me tried some of the poppy. Clockin' damn good shit, boyo."
Murko flashed him a grin, shrugging his shoulders as he answered,
"I wouldn' know mate. Me take's eatn' up by payin' off me new boat. Gotta throw together some boys for another pretty soon."
"Damn! We've got an ambitious gollyboy, don't we?"
"Aye." And with that, Murko let his brother-in-arms go, making his way further out of the pier. It was maybe a hundred paces before the galdor spotted something he hadn't seen in his last venture out of the pier.
A wick's kint? he mused as he saw the wild colors thrown together onto a horse-drawn carriage. The thing wasn't tiny by any means, but it looked to only hold one person. Amusement mustered within the galdor as his gaze shifted towards the sign, a wordless endeavor splayed with crystal balls and a deck of tarot cards.
A fortune teller? Hmmm... I wonder what the 'fates' have in store for me...
Before he made his move towards the kint, he checked his pockets and found enough for the cause. Perhaps he could strong arm his way into a free fortune, though?
Being a Bad Brother does have its benefits. Besides, she's probably an old 'un. No skin off me nose to push a little.
The galdor climbed up the few steps that led into the kint, stopped by the door. He knocked on it thrice, then waited for whatever fortune-telling abomination might come out to greet him.