There was little reason as to why Damocles should call Magnemea a prized possession, even if he did only have unofficial control over its general management and overall direction. As it had been, there was a fashionably lucrative arrangement between him and that shithole’s mud witted, scatter-brained, amorphously bloated-bodied man that claimed command and mastery over the province. In accordance to their pact of responsibility, he would harbor maintenance and administration of all affairs military, defense and security, while that small, spineless man cowered in his palace by the mountains. Some might see this as a natural delegation of roles and duties, but to all that lived in that veritable hell-on-earth aside his nominal lord, it was apparent that an unofficial transfer of authority had been conducted. He kept his head held low and made sure to not make loud on his position, for there was little reason to be ostentation at display. To him, any lord, high or low, that had to assert his authority by means of titles was no true lord at all.

In contrast to his aloof and heavily removed overlord, Damocles spent his days by the masses that called the winding, labyrinthian streets of that province home. While he did not make abundant his position, it was clear that he was an unusually popular figure in that place, eliciting smiles and praises from many of those that had nothing but the sweat of their brow and the muscles on their back as their own. As military leader of the Damned, he had worked hard to crack-down on most forms of crimes and abuses firmly quelling the rule of criminals and thieves that had once roamed free and loosely inside that horrid, ghastly place. Of course, being tough on crime didn’t mean he had no reason to spare some, tiny forms of criminality to happen and occur still.

As far as he was concerned, piracy had been one of Magnemea’s chief existential problem, mostly due to the heavy presence of slavers and traders. Furthermore, despite his own personal opposition to the trafficking of fellow men, he did not shy away from his opinion that it too was a useless endeavor to curb stomp. No, this was a city of murderers and thieves, of criminals and vicious monsters, and as such, in order to claim dominion over it, he had to be the king of monsters. In his years as master of its defense he had ordered his troops to enforce the rule of law through fear. It had become common knowledge that any who opposed his will, or rather, his baron’s will, would meet their end by quick Thanatos’s fast descent. As captain, he had not shied from dishing out punishment in as ruthless a way as he saw fit. Of course, those that did not break the king, highlord or lord’s laws had nothing to fear. As a general policy he had kept his hand at a distance concerning most innocents. Still, he didn’t particularly hesitate when he felt his old fingers pressed against relatives of those he secured down.

Was his industry and craft particularly honorable? No. Was it one that would make him stand as one of the more gentle-minded leaders of Colchis? No. Did he care that his actions had basically resulted in the installment of a reign of terror in the province? No. He had done his part and secured his place. His people, the ones that mattered, the virtuous mothers and humble fathers that worked for a better tomorrow for their children and themselves, they had no reason to fear his viciousness. It was ruthless, and cynical, with a bit touch of cruelty and blackheartedness to it, but not entirely an act of savage rage. He still respected the rites of old and made well the requests for heeds of a particular God or Goddess’s call. And when Hades had opened his gates to welcome a newcomer, he had always placed the coins on his felled victim’s eyes. And if by chance, he had forgotten to this common courtesy and deliver on that most basic principle of humanity, he would consult the priests and oracles so as to remedy his mistakes, mindful that he too would one day meet his end by either a blade’s swift fall or a conspiracy enacted.

Currently as it were, he had made a point of letting his eyes wayward for brief upon awaited notice of past knowledge granted to him. He was at that nebulous port, supervising most of the exchanges and duties that had to be collected as means of entry. Though he was aware that most would prefer to tend to other, more dramatic and fascinating events, certain events had inspired the Colchian to look into this matter personally. Thus, he stood, proud and dauntless, with the crisp air surrounding him darkening by his overwhelmingly grim presence. As his silver eyes scanned the dock, he came upon a figure he could have sworn he had seen before. He was clearly a man of the sea, based off his overall outfit and appearance, but he was rather fair of features, and handsome of visage, with dark hair that rose against the clashing wind and eyes that had seen just as much terror as his own silver ones. His gut told him that something was off about this individual, and if his career had taught him anything, it was to always obey his gut.

With wide, stroked strides, Damocles came upon the man in red. Compared to the more elaborate and fanciful outfits he wore at Midas, he dressed in slightly less impressive clothes, donning a long blue robe with buttons down the front, leather sandals, a black cape, a guard on his muscular forearms and shoulders, and a blue silk shawl around his hips attached to a strap that crossed his chest. Upon arriving towards the man, his silver eyes halted his steady steps, keeping his features serious and resolute as he prepared to examine the man arriving at port.

“Good evening my friend!" he called by means of his deep, booming voice, garnishing his pronunciation by means of a slight rasping growl that bordered between threatening and captivating. “It appears you are lost.” Examined Damocles as he took notice of the ship that seemed to be under connection to the man. “Might I make bold on this occasion and aid you through this city? As you may notice it is not the most handsome of metropoles."  he joked, forming a simple grin so as to reduce any potential tensions that may have been reserved by the man opposite him. “Surely, for a Son of Poseidon as yourself, land comes across as uncharted territory." 

Upon hearing the words of the other man, Damocles felt his face upturn towards intrigued amusement. It seemed that this man knew his way around a good conversation or two. Yet, the prospect of having his invitation for a drink be confused for one of debaunched pleasure made the towering man laugh boisterously with gusto in his voice. Once he settled down, the silver-eyed man turned his attention towards the obvious sailor and began to explain himself in a better way.

“Just as I have you confused, I believe you too have me confused friend!” he snickered, smiling sardonically as he kept examining the man in a rather lazy way. Never one to really dismiss one for good appearance however, Damocles has to admit that even if his intention had not been to seduce the man, this mariner was quite striking. His own orbs were deep brown, the color of sea-dried sand upon continuous use, while his rich dark locks were unruly and messy, reflecting a certain disdain for self-hygiene that most nobles would find unappealing. His features were sharply harsh, unyielding in their form as the sea he had clearly called home. Yet, rather than being dismissively unassuming, he was ruggedly handsome, visibly tested in the harshness of Poseidon’s domain with a particular luster in his dark eyes. A dark, stubbled beard clasped his jaw, while his build was athletic, manifestly stronger than the average man, albeit still somewhat less muscular than a war-wearied officer of the military. “I fear that your face, for as pretty as it is, too does not inspire any interest in me aside friendship!” laughed the titanous militant as he re-assured the sailor that he was not, despite his looks, interesting in laying with him…yet.

Much to his delight however, instead of being angered or embittered by the bandy words of the scraggly sea-dog, the towering officer only bellowed one more laugh, furthermore amused by the observation on his wardrobe. Whilst it was true that he had dressed to impress on more than one occasion, deep down, Damocles was still a man of the sword and the shield, not some mud-brain noble that couldn’t even be bothered to wipe his own shit away from ass. “Once more you misunderstand me friend! Do not count me amongst those mud-brained, spineless, amorphously, misshapen, ill-birthed, inbred, so-called highborn nobles, for doing so would be a gross injustice to me! I am but a humble man of lowbirth that through work and merit earned my place in the world. A fate I feel you would know too well, champion of the sea.” He flattered once more, realizing that his prior words of praise had earned him the attention of this slanderous sailor. “Judging by your words, and by your fondness to this vessel, I would wager you are the captain of this here ship? Furthermore, if my eyes don’t deceive me, I would continue to bet that you’re no ordinary sailor, but master of fate, lord of your sail and captain of your crew.” Ascertained the muscle-bound militant as he crossed his arms over his chest and kept his own snarky presence.

“Ah!” he exclaimed after being told that he was from Magnemea. Then by trade and birthplace, we are brothers then!” cheered the towering figure as he laughed a thick laugh that could invite anyone to calmed naughtiness. “In that case, come brother! Join me in a feast of whores, wine and other, questionable substances!” he once more invited, masking his curiosity and inquisitive nature with his naturally gregarious and friendly attitude. “Let us partake in a banquet of debauchery that will make Dionysius himself blush with shame!” His own dark features turned to captivating eagerness, feigning his alluring charm as a means to learn more about this oddly intriguing fellow. He had little reason to truly wage such an event with a stranger, but then again, he had done wilder things with others before. Furthermore, it wasn’t as if he was particularly occupied right now. As it was, the ports themselves were rather void of activity. “What do you say, countryman? From the looks of things, you’re going to stay here for a few hours. Besides, as you mentioned, this shithole can be quite boring, unless you know the right people.” He suggested, grinning securely as he exuded his swaying confidence as if trying to win the company of this odd stranger. “Oh, and worry not. If you wish to bring any of your fellow friends, they too are welcomed company. The more the merrier I say!”

"Of course you are pretty! look at those princess-y locks of winding hair! Those sea-blue eyes! Why, I’d go on to wager that I’ve bedded uglier women than you. Unwillingly of course!” He kept teasing, taking note of the rather long hairstyle that the seadog seemed so preferably fond of maintaining. He knew that his words would inspire humor amongst them, since from an objective point of view, neither of the two men would be classified as ‘pretty’ by any sane person who had but the slightest modicum of wordplay. Yet, that had been the purpose of his use of language. He wasn’t entirely certain of this man’s presence in what was otherwise his province of command and control, and so he would not let him wonder around the winding streets of Magnemea. Especially now that the times had turned plutonian black, making for ripe timing for some old-fashioned thievery.

“Well, in comparison to me, I’d wager you a veritable master of the sail and sea. Had I been thrown to the waves I fear I would but drown harder than a sack of boulders, a rather ungraceful, unsightly sack of boulders, haha!” he cheerfully mused, guffawing at his own joke as he let out a roar of a laugh that could have scared any slumbering soul to shuddering awareness. He kept his silver eyes fixated on the workings of the seaman, pausing for the briefest of moments to analyze his machinations and going about before making a silent judgement of his handiwork. It was true that he was no gifted mariner, but he was still a soldier at heart and understood some of the basics surrounding ships. Besides, he could at least conjure up one or two instances when Plaeguis begrudgingly made him read a book on the fundamentals of shipwrighting.

“I fear I must propose an amendment to that resolution…” Purposely said Damocles in an otherwise grim tone, maintaining a sense of deep, penetrating silence. His once jolly face turned intensely serious and resolute, channeling some otherwise unchanneled intensity that he rarely summoned upon a stranger. Only after a few seconds had passed, did he musterup a laugh of his own after looking at the other’s look. “Got you! Hahahaha!” he sprung up, revealing that it all had been a joke aimed at testing the other man’s temperament. Had he been quick to draw a weapon, his suspicions mayhaps would have been confirmed, but for now, it seemed he was in the clear. “You should see the look on your face, pretty boy! Ha! You looked as if I had made Hades himself come here and declare you dead!” he kept laughing, patting the other man on his back as a means to reassure him that it had all been done in apparently good faith.

“Anyways, I must confess that I am quite famished myself. Would you mind I pay for a small banquet amongst fellow countrymen?” inquired the towering, unofficial dictator of Magnemea as he led Lukos away from that frightfully unassuming port into what was otherwise a superficially miserable city. “I know just the place where we can get some decent food and drink! I hope you like sea food!” He dragged, basically hauling the seaman to a physically unassuming tavern just outside of the harbor’s general area.

From the outside, the sound of multiple people talking at the same time in an uproarious fashion could be easily made out, reflecting the busy nature of the tavern. Yet, upon entering the place, and the multitude of eyes immediately turning to Damocles, a chilling, sound-piercing silence took place, immediately robbing the place of any semblance of joy it had before he had walked in. As he made his way across, some of the men around him threw themselves away, with others clearing a path for him without so much as uttering a word. At the edges of the establishment, a few patrons could be seen eagerly packing their belongings as they hurriedly left indicating that something was not right with the presence of the towering man. Finally, a girl came over, quivering, shaking, before the musclebound militant whispered something in her ear, immediately resulting in her hauling two goblets and a cask of wine that could only be presumed to be quite expensive for a commoner. Meanwhile, Damocles remained outwardly friendly, pouring himself and his companion enough for them to start their evening as he sat by a corner.

“Oh! Please, do continue with your merriment! Don’t mind me and my friend!” he addressed the apparently frightened people as some action once more re-started, filling the room with some of its lost noise. “I hope you enjoy! She said it was fresh of the market! I took the liberty of ordering us some oysters, my treat.” Whatever it was that this mysteriously enigmatic man had done to scare the tavern half to death, it was but a mild indicator of what he really was.

Caring not one whit about the state of affairs of the frantic bar, Damocles only bellowed out another of his uproarious laughs, as he observed Lukos’s assesstment on himself. It was true that he was a bit too popular for his own well-being, especially in this shithole of a place, but that didn’t mean his reputation wasn’t unheard of. For the most part, the denizens of that most dark and tenebrous province were slaves or freedmen, rarely made men of proper status and clear pathways in life. Yet, it probably was for that exact same reason that many of them turned away their faces in hesitation to the seemingly innocuous, yet bewilderingly energetic man. To an outsider, it probably struck as an odd scene, a small hint of how really things were done in Magnemea, but to those that lived and breathed in the ridiculously sprawled city, all was a well-known shadow that lingered in secrets and deceptions.

To any who spent more than a week in the gigantic slave city, it would become abundantly clear that the towering man had more than just a solid military commission behind his name and title. It was long-rumored amongst the peasantry that following a great and bleak tragedy some years past, Damocles had grown to be master of the province, a baron-in-all-but name. Many spoke in hushed tones about empty shell of a man that held dominion over the land, how he had long secluded himself amongst the confines of his palatial demesne, how he had abandoned his role as lord and ruler, and how he had succumbed to the control of his ministers and advisors, chief of which had grown to become the silver-eyed man that sat on the tavern.

It was fear that had compelled those men to exit, fear of being returned back to the slaves under charges cruel and spurious. Those rumors and gossips may have been, for the most part, gross exaggerations of an invented reality, but a reality nonetheless. Sure, he held the baron’s ear, but for as much as he wished to reduce the man to a puppet that hung by a lonely string, the finely-dressed captain had not been entirely able to make that objective come to absolute fruition. Still, it mattered little whether or not he truly did command such level of control. In these Grecian isles there was only one truth to all that happened and conspired: power resided where men believed it resided. In other words, perception was everything, and if his perception was that he truly was the functioning administrator of the land, then who was Damocles to deny such allegations?

“I do not know what you are referring to, my good friend of the seas!” redirected the colossal man as he swigged a generous gallop of the highly aromatic, sweet black wine that had been brought forth as a virtual gift to the two men to enjoy. “I am but a man of no consequence, a mere, mischievous miscreant that rarely knows how to keep his mouth shut.” He self-deprecated, channeling some of his peculiar humor to lightened the mood between them so as to not give the brown-eyed man suspicion nor cause for doubt over his precipitously concealed words. “Though, I do confess that talking is not the only good use of my mouth, pretty boy.” He off-handedly flirted as another means by which to further obfuscate the secrets behind his web of shadows and conspiracies.

In time, by means of the quivering girl that had tended to them once, food had been brought over to the two men, though not before the half-giant of a man reached and pulled at the girl’s wrist, settling her on his lap as he sneaked a hand underneath her rear so as to casually take her as a small consolation prize. Immediately, a panic shriek escaped her, causing a number of patrons to turn their heads towards the brazen man that seemingly had taken the girl for no apparent reason other than mere capability. “Hmm, what do you say, sea king? Do you think my ugly face can convince this little bird to come with us for a bit of fun?” It was apparent that she was afraid, that she was frightened, that she wanted to leave behind and not have anything to do with the Silver-eyed man that snaked his hands against her warm, tender flesh. She tried to get away from his vice-grip, pushing against his chest as a devilish grin formed on his face, only to cause the silver-eyed man to grow further intrigued by the whole ordeal, resulting in his lecherous hands further seizing her against her will, with his teeth biting slowly against her exposed neck. "or should I be a good little scoundrel and let her go for the night?” continued to muse the mulling militant as he re-enforced his grip against her relatively dark, tender flesh, causing her to land against his shoulder, moaning lowly as he inspired a deprived sound to elicit her. “Hmm, seems she likes me!"

Though he was primarily an outgoing fellow, Damocles had to confess to himself that he was feigning all of this, conducting an elaborate puppet show so as to dissuade the other from thinking he was anything but harmful. So far, it all seemed to be going according to plan, given how superficially comfortable the other man appeared, what with his booted heels lain crassly on the table, and all else. Yet, he would not sit upon his laurels and call this deliberate sway of opinion rest. He still had work to do if he was going to convince the other man he was nothing but a fun-loving idiot.

Upon noticing the impact of his joke, Damocles let out a loud, bellowing guffaw, taking some form of mischievous delight in the other man’s otherwise humorous reaction. Clearly, his distraction had been successful. He was not at all interested in revealing the circumstances of his background amongst the people of the province, and he was certainly not interested in answering questions of that nature to someone he had just met. “Breath man! Breath! It was only a joke.” he teased between boisterous, hearty laughs. The silver-eyed man thought about patting the other man on the back in an attempt to help him recollect himself better, but that might have been a bad thing to do against a stranger. So he left him to his own, leaving the other to course his own return to stability while he tended to the oysters that had been lain.

“I wager not a lot flirt with you huh? Odd, given how handsome you are, but hey, I won’t judge.” he amusingly joked once more, apparently eying a random serving girl with predatory intent. In an instant, he pulled her to his lap, wrangling his hands around her with debauched interest in his grey eyes. Did he particularly care about the false protests and fake yells from the other? Not particularly. But in all reality he was not interested in doing anything perverse at this hour. More than anything, he just wanted to see what the other man’s reactions would be. And though he expected shock or surprise to overtake the dark-haired sailer across him, nothing of that sort happened. Instead, Lukos seemed to just continue on with his meal as if nothing had happened. Of course this all created an interesting set of information that the burly man compiled inside the confines of his mind.

The fact that the man was unmoved by such vulgar actions indicated that this was perhaps not the first time he was used to seeing such an event play out before him. This would have suggested that his companion for the moment was far-less innocent than his label as a mere sailor suggested. This man had darkness, a clear darkness that not many would behold. As far as he was aware, a typical, upstanding Greek would have done the honorable thing and tried to diffuse the situation, but instead of doing so, Lukos just let him continue on as he was. Had he harbored any real intentions to do bad by the girl, it would have been the case that this handsome stranger would have simply done nothing, letting his torporous apathy win over whatever others projected as right and just. Fascinating…quite fascinating.

Pressing his lips to her ear, Damocles decided to whisper something inaudible to her ear, but a thing he wished the girl would follow through. “I’m going to let you go. Get as many girls as you can and tell them to leave. This man sitting next to me seems dangerous. Go and be with your own. Leave this man to me.” His words were barely hearable, though he still pretended that he was out saying filthy, disgusting, perverted things to her ear. “Thank you for acting so well. You did well. I’ll be sure to stop by your house and pay you handsomely later on. I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He continued to whisper, fulfilling his end of the deal he had struck with the beforehand.

Never one to let things go unplanned, Damocles had chosen this specific tavern for a multitude of reasons. Though the patrons were afraid of him, he had long struck a deal with the owner of the place. In exchange for his personal protection from anyone who so threatened to harm his business, Damocles had negotiated with the man so they could create a scenario that would prove just as advantageous to the captain. All of the girls in his employ were pretty much the same, daughters of miners and smiths, but the primary reason the Silver-eyed man had chosen this one tavern in particularly was because one of said girl, had been trained in the art of acting. The deal was simply: if at any day, Damocles had come to the place accompanied with another man that they did not recognize, the owner would send out his little actress to him personally. Naturally, he had given his word that he would not harm the girl in any way possible, though she would have to follow along his every move. In order to make this work best, Damocles and the girl practiced several times before, going over multiple scenarios where he would do apparently random things, which, in reality, were rehearsed over and over again.

“Oh, stop your fussing, you wench!” he loudly declared, once more maintaining the same boisterous behavior he had shown, dismissing the girl from his lap after attaining all the necessary information he needed to make a more concerted assessment of the other man. “Go back to the kitchens and hide away. I might yet have you for dessert…” he said flinging the falsely frightened girl away without much care for her. Just because he was out to learn about this man across him did not mean he himself was a cruel and twisted man to the people of his province.

After letting the girl go, Damocles turned his attention to the unmoved sailor and smirked. “Guess I’m hungrier for some random oysters than her little clam! Haha!” He joked once more, laughing at his own jest so as to not let the other man realize what exactly had happened here. “How is the food? Judging by the way you’re eating, it’s pretty good.” Perceived the military captain as he observed the man, containing his suspicions behind the jolly exterior of an obnoxious oaf. “Tell me, my sea-fish flipping, flippant friend, what tales do you have of the sea? Have you sailed to some interesting shores before, sea king?” he subtly interrogated by means of humorous alliteration and flattery, so as to keep up the same image he had shown the entire night.

Time had passed between them now, enough for the temperature that had been raised in the tavern by the colossal militant’s less-than-honorable actions. No doubt his little stint tonight would be the talk of town once the sun came up, as if that had been anything Damocles could not suppress and quell down with enough pressure from the men he commanded and readily deployed at every cornered and street of the hellish province that was Magnemea. He wasn’t going to let this incident reach his Baron’s ears, as had his previous acts of questionable morality in the past. Sure, he was aware that most people would not be happy with his wayward actions. Sure, he knew that many would not appreciate him possibly tormenting the same people he had sworn to protect and guard (which he did anyways). But quite frankly, he just didn’t care about it all. The Lord of the Province would quite possibly not bat an eyelash over such a small, trivial matter, and at worse he would be given the lightest of slaps against his wrist and softest of “don’t do it again” ever.

Evidently, though Damocles had acted as a boisterous bull, he wasn’t even remotely close to being the dim-witted fool he was portraying at this hour. And quite frankly, seeing as the man in front of him was of a cold-hearted disposition and apparently a callous heart of his own, Damocles had grown less-than-bored with the little stunt he had been pulling the entire night. So many had seen his loud and obnoxious side, his raving, gregarious and extroverted side that oftentimes had become the reputation he preferred to hide behind. It was rather ludicrous, for a man like him to play the act of a raging fool that knew nothing the sound and fury of his own voice. Yes, his anger and wrath had been something he was well-acquainted with, but what he had now demonstrated before the man across him was. Thus, once the wench had left his lap, the man turned his attention to the sea-farer and smirked…but in a different way than he had before.

It was a cold, heartless smirk, one that didn’t really denote any of the warmth of cordiality that the colossal man had exercised before. Oddly enough, there wasn’t any anger or rage to it either. No, it was a cold, friendly-ness smirk, one that signaled to all sort of danger and cruelty that the Captain of the Damned knew well he could enact on any who pissed him off. It wasn’t that Damocles was particularly outraged however. Deep down, beneath the deepest precipices of his mind, the man felt a certain degree of relief, a small, trivial amount of joy in the release that came when he channeled this, a mere momentary glimpse of his true, ulfiltered and honest self.

“That’s a shame…” he said, chillingly uttering his words without any of the outgoingness he had once made an effort to channel though honeyed words and simpering compliments. “Though, I guess now we can skip the pleasantries however. No point in pretending what we are not. Alright, let’s be honest with each other then.” Conditioned Damocles, relaxing his demeanor as he smirked widely, exposing his canines as he savored the opportunity to enjoy himself a bit more than usual.

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time with this little act of yours, about pretending to be  just another shitty sailor that came from whatever the fuck it is you call home?” he nonchalantly inquired, straightening his back against the back of his chair, causing the man to loom intimidatingly large, yet without much of an effort on his behalf. Some would have said it had been a tactic to cause a reaction on others, and that might very well be the case. Yet, in this time and period, he just simply wished to relax on the chair. Any impressions that came off that were just an added bonus. “Speak, sailor… I’m a very busy person, as I assume you are too. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we can go back to being friends, if you want.”

A sadistic grin formed across Damocles’s face one that betrayed his excited mood at the prospect of possibly having this entire evening grow even more fascinating than it had originally promised prior. He guessed that it was right to start talking in clear terms now, seeing as their had been agreements of sorts to start speaking openly right now. Perhaps, violence would not be his first tool at the moment, but though he changed his demeanor from the giant, gullible oaf that he pretended to being before to one that was more attune to his true self, Damocles was not going to resort to that last card when he still had more than a few aces up his sleeve.

“Well, now that we’re being honest with each other, I guess we should follow tradition and reveal our names, if we want to be cordial that is.” He said with mock affability to his tone, brandishing a devil-darling smirk that all but showed his own inflated sense of pride and self-being. “If my manners aren’t failing me, I believe the guest is first to offer up their identity first, correct?” he asked, changing his demeanor to a more calmed, subdued one that contrasted with his earlier, more boisterous persona. It was pointless to keep up appearances when things had failed earlier on. Though, he also supposed that the same thing could be said about names. The man across him could just as easily offer him up a fake name and he supposed, in most situations, he would have been unable to tell truth from deception.

Yet, this case was an exception. The man had docked in the ports of Magnemea, and provincial law stated that men needed a permit to dock at the harbor, even if it was for only a mere pitstop. Otherwise, Damocles was at liberty to arrest the man and take him to court for illegally docking by the pier. Moreover, as someone who had constantly had to deal with sailors and border agents to keep the peace in Magnemea, Damocles was acutely aware of the names that had been legally allowed to dock in the province. It had been how he had treated with illegal slavers and traders before after all. And, if by chance, the man offered up one of the names in the rolls of registry that he had memorized, then he would have to abide by the rules and apologize for his actions, but he doubted that would be the case. Regardless, things would grow interested, very interesting indeed.

Of course, if the man was in fact a pirate, he could have illegally forged the document and make one that bore his own personal signature in it. Yet, Damocles had been cunning before, and before issuing every permit, had jotted down the distinguishing features of people that had gained the permits in the first place. Sure, he would not be able to corroborate the man’s appearance with whatever he had recorded before in this exact moment, but if by the next morning’s rise the man’s documentation did not match up, then the Captain knew he had been lied to and would just issue an arrest warrant for the man, even if he had disappeared long in to the night. Yes, it meant losing in the short run, he supposed, but in terms of long-term strategy, it meant one more person to keep an eye out in case this sailor returned to Magnemea.

“Your name, my friend? You wouldn’t want to be rude to me now right? We’ve been getting along so well this far...”