A note had been sent to the Ark when she was in port: a polite request for Captain Jack Barclay to meet with Hadama, King of Torchline, at the Court of Stars.
In the Tidebreaker's usual laconic way there was little other information to be gleaned from the flowing, precise handwriting, including whether the meeting was intended to be business or personal, both or neither.
But whenever curiosity got the better of Torchline's foremost smuggler he would find Hadama in the Court, the King in mermanta form in the pool beside the Fountain. His pen moved with slow grace across a page of paper on a small, extremely short desk placed beside the pool, while a handful of clay tablets waited next in line for his attention. He worked with a calm, unhurried efficiency but with an intensity to his focus and his thoughts that did not indicate a particularly pleasant business being addressed in the missives he was replying to.
Which was a shame, really. It was a beautiful day in Torchline, with clear, sunny skies and only a few puffy white clouds out at sea casting their occasional shade over Haulani's floating islands. Hels called to each other in warning or in play, their raucous voices delightfully free of Void corruption, and even Torchline's King had a frozen, fruity drink near to hand - though the ice had half-melted from neglect as he worked away beneath the sunshine.
In the Tidebreaker's usual laconic way there was little other information to be gleaned from the flowing, precise handwriting, including whether the meeting was intended to be business or personal, both or neither.
But whenever curiosity got the better of Torchline's foremost smuggler he would find Hadama in the Court, the King in mermanta form in the pool beside the Fountain. His pen moved with slow grace across a page of paper on a small, extremely short desk placed beside the pool, while a handful of clay tablets waited next in line for his attention. He worked with a calm, unhurried efficiency but with an intensity to his focus and his thoughts that did not indicate a particularly pleasant business being addressed in the missives he was replying to.
Which was a shame, really. It was a beautiful day in Torchline, with clear, sunny skies and only a few puffy white clouds out at sea casting their occasional shade over Haulani's floating islands. Hels called to each other in warning or in play, their raucous voices delightfully free of Void corruption, and even Torchline's King had a frozen, fruity drink near to hand - though the ice had half-melted from neglect as he worked away beneath the sunshine.
