Welcome to Gaia! ::

Welcome to the Grand Port. The Worlds largest shipping city near and far. Here is a cresent cove that streaches farther than a hawk could see. Ships from around the globe pull in to make trade, and stop by the countless inns, and bars for a good time. The City stands on platforms that climb up the hillside between the two gardian mountains at it's sides. The Grand Port Takes one and all Poor or Rich, Pirate or Kingsmen. Welcome

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- The Docks (Vast docks which spread out seemingly to the horizon and make up nearly half the city)
- Scarab's Tent
- The Bad Fisher (Inn)

The sea seemed calm, the waters no longer churning from the storm which they had passed not so long ago. Gulls flew above, soaring through the sky like leaves caught in the wind. Each short wave had not the energy to even throw the salty spray upon the crew at the rails, and the wind carried the Iron Bow smoothly into the crescent of the Grand Port.

"All is well captain," A member of the crew spoke. "The sea is quiet and the crew relieved to be returning to land." He assured. A man with a thick brown beard turned to face he who had addressed him, a single eye seeming to gaze upon him while the other remained pale and motionless. His attire showed that he was less than royalty, though not by far to be certain. He wore a long blue coat, and an embellished hat upon his thick long hair.

"It is good to see that we may be at ease. Few pirates would dare thieve here at the port itself." The captain smiled, but not a moment passed before an amount of ruckus began to rise among the crew. Shouts of warning and discontent could be heard over the entirety of the deck as the men pointed towards another vessel, sailing the waters towards their own ship. "What blasted captain thinks it a good idea ta be cutting waters towards us?!" He questioned loudly, for the other ship seemed to be aimed to cut them off. As the two ships came closer to one another, the captain of the trade vessel rolled the wheel to the side, turning the ship as quickly as he could and hoping that the other captain would spy his own error and make haste to correct. Instead it appeared that the vessel continued to make a collusion course with their own, following towards them and turning just the same. The captain's eyes widened and shock fell over his features.

"Prepare for impact!" The captain roared, for just a few moments passed before the ships collided, the head of the charging vessel striking directly into the side of the fleeing traders. The blow shook both vessels violently, and tipped the victim over, many of the crew hanging tightly upon the railing as the sides were lifted above the sea continually, raising the deck until is was vertical to all upon it. Aboard the ship which had collided with the crew's boat one could see only a single man, and he was now charging for the sinking vessel which had been tipped.

Leaping from the safety of his own acquired ship, Cross slipped into the hole within the side of the sinking vessel, created when the two boats had clashed. It was dark for the most part within, and as he dropped into the depths of the sideways rooms , he landed upon a hammock, which had thrown it's previous passenger out to the wall which now acted as a floor. Water dripped in from the hole, and through a few small cracks elsewhere in the ship, falling into the corridors as it rolled further, dipping a bit into the sea. The mercenary jumped up, removing himself from the hammock, but unlike the crew, he did not touch ground upon landing. A burst of air seemed to cover his back rippling his clothing, pressing him forwards and launching his form through the air. His body soared through the tight corridors of the crew's bunk, several burst of air creating flight behind him as he weaved through the many hanging hammocks and posts down through the vicinity of the sleeping quarters. The beds swayed and items slid or fell as the vessel turned over. Dodging the falling debris and adjusting to the rotation of the ship was difficult, but manageable. Eventually he made it to the stares, as the ship finally made its final turn over, slapping down against the water as the deck struck the sea. Crew members cried in horror, many running about trying to find escape. Some could not even yet swim, while others found it impossible to swim well enough to reach safety.

The mercenary had found the stair way, and witnessed as the water rose within the passage, filling the corridors. With a deep breath the rogue dived into the depths, boarding the deck which was now beneath the waves of the calm sea. He could not see where he was, nor where he could go, only the memory of the vessel before it had capsized guided his path now. Enveloped in the salty waters, his eyes shut tight and his breath held fast, Rokairo grasped any item he could to pull himself along. Slowly but surely making his way to the captain's quarters. The door was shut tight, and he felt the air of his lungs burning, wishing dearly to escape and take flight among the air. Pulling with all his might, the rogue tried and tried to break free the door, locked by the pressure of water. Beginning to become dizzy, Cross gave one final heave, managing to tear open a single door for just a moment. As he did so, water rushed in, carrying the mercenary in with it.

Inside was a peculiar sight, for the ship he had tipped over had been mediocre at best, and would not show such a grand display of wealth. The captains quarters were filled with drapes of fine cloth, and furniture though tipped over which were clearly crafted by skilled hands. The shattered glass of a chandelier covered the floor...or ceiling you could say. It neither interested or surprised the mercenary however, for he knew exactly what he had come to take. Picking himself up from the flow of water, coughing from the pain of his withheld breath and dripping from the salty depths, the rogue rushed forth to the turned over chest sitting in the back of the room.

The glass which separated the quarters and the sea began to crack, and time was not in favor of the crafty warrior. As Cross drew his blade, the crack seemed to spread, and upon striking a blow at it's lock...more so. The sound was like the hands of a clock, taking away from the time which he had left to find what he had come for. Within the chest lay many items of value, a number of which he placed within a soaked sack with coarse cloth. Within was a crown from a south western hemisphere empire, a decorated dagger from the city of goblins, but most importantly....a map. The metal case he lifted from the chest was engraved in runes, and a language that no man of this day could understand. It pictured a mountain troll, a dragon, and a titan all portions of a larger engraving which in itself seemed to tell a tale. It struck the mercenary with awe as he gazed upon it, but as the crackling window shattered, he realized he had not the time to examine it here. The sea rushed to join him glass cutting at his body as it too passed him by, as the mercenary grabbed the last of the treasure which he could hold. Items of great value filling his store.

Pushed back by the rush of water, the room was soon filled entirely with the Gallows Sea, save a pocket of air above the warrior. Swimming as swiftly as he could, Rokairo made his way to the small pocket, striving to reach it before the air left the quarters as well. Pushing the water to his sides, and swimming towards the last of the pocket, the rogue reached it just in time to take a single faint breath. The vessel began to sink once more, falling deeper and deeper into the sea. Grabbing onto the edge of the shattered window, he then moved to pull himself through the opening, moving into the open sea. The water was dark, and his ears ached from the depth alone, the pressure was clear and then and there the rogue knew he had not been swift enough. He was too deep, and it would be far too long before he could take another breath.

He wished that he had air about him, so that he could utilize the silver ring upon his finger, which had allowed him to burst through the air with ease and appear to fly. Thinking as quickly as he could, the rogue seemed doomed as he swam the seemingly endless expanse between him and the surface. It felt as if his lungs were filled with daggers as he launched himself with his arms over and over to try and break the water's shining waves. It almost seemed suiting that the Gallows Sea would be choking a criminal. Things began to become dark, the waters absorbing the light around him, all the while he struggled for a breath of air. In that single moment, before he would have had nothing left to give, nothing left to carry him upward, inspiration struck him. With his final effort, the rogue breathed outwards all that he could, sticking his hand with the ring into the rising bubbles. In that moment he created one final air burst, launching his body upwards...

The surface of the calm sea broke once more, though many of the surviving crew that could swim had already made their distance between them and the sinking vessel. A single man, gasping for air. With deep breaths, the man was relieved, for he had lived yet again to complete his task, and all that remained was to swim ashore.

Dripping from all of his clothing, Cross walked through the docks of the port casually, as if he had not just capsized a vessel of great fortune and robbed it of its valuables. Over his drenched shoulder, the warrior carried a sack filled to nearly the brim with numerous items of great worth, one of which had peaked his interests. For now however he had the trouble of returning the requested item to he who had hired him, a greedy fellow with greasy fat fingers and beady eyes. A man known as Scarab.

His clothes letting loose a great number of droplets still, the mercenary began to walk upon the streets of the city where he passed a fair young woman, as well as countless fish merchants and thieves. Grand Port was of course the safest of all havens for sailors and their supplies, but it was not pure of the small time thefts that occurred about the globe. A pair of goblins argued over a sale price for a rather small fish, though to their 3 foot height it was clearly a bountiful catch indeed. Elvin folk as well passed through, some with the typical appearance of the high society elves, their noses held high as their pockets were emptied bellow. Others appeared as they should, locals of the area who were more brutish and thug like than anything. All kinds filled the markets here at the Grand port, all the more troublesome when attempting to find just a single greedy fellow.