Santa Noche Docks
A waxing crescent moon hung heavy against the inky black curtain of night, luminous even with the myriad of lights which dotted the maritime landscape. The scents which lingered on the air were far more pungent than he who stalked the shadowy bowels of Santa Noche's docks would have preferred, a permanent look of dissatisfaction marred his otherwise pristine visage, though despite this he walked closer to the source all the same.
Though the witching hour was upon them, the occasional caw of languid gulls spilled forth from the heavens, no doubt hidden within the rafters of boatyards and warehouses alike; in general the area was quiet, devoid of the sort of life known to the downtown regions. Waves lapped against the hulls of varying boats, one or two yachts stood proudly among a myriad of fishing vessels and hobbyists boats. All in all it was a peaceful evening, if one ignored the aforementioned smells.
Boots clacked against weathered wooden boards as he stepped unto the pier, seeking eyes curiously set toward the horizon. Nothing loomed in the waters there that the naked eye could see, yet he looked onward all the same with solemn intent. An unexpected breeze pulled the hood down from his head, forcing strands of fiery hair to billow uncontrolled as they were snatched within the wind. A heavy sigh escaped him then, and as though pulled from his ruminations he finally tore his gaze away from the abyss and moved to kneel upon the planks of greyed lumber.
The tide was high that evening, so much so that it sloshed just beneath his feet. Although the gaps in the walkway were hardly wide, peering downward afforded him a good enough sight of the inky, deep void all the same. Imperfect, but it could do in a pinch he supposed... He approached the edge of the walkway, and pulled forth a small vial from within the folds of his jacket. Leaning over the edge, he filled the container with as much sea water as it would hold, and then replaced the stopper. "Poutánas gios" he muttered beneath his breath, as he brought it up into his sightlines and stared at the muddied contents. Certainly this bore little similarity to the waters he knew back home.
But he was not home, and the only remnants he had of such now wetted the streets of Oldtown.
With further grumbles he turned and composed himself once more, taming the wayward hairs and pulling the hood back over his head. With his quarry successfully acquired, he turned his sights back toward the bustling city. One way or another he'd see his frustrations settled.