Wyldfyre takes back the form and gives the harbormaster a brief curtsey. "Thank you, kind sir. I'm as good at putting out fires as starting them, but I'm sorry if I startled you. Do you have a spare rack for me to bunk tonight, or is the Dawn Roger in port that I could report now?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today? Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Sorry, I ain't got any bunks here," the harbormaster explains to Wyldfyre. "The ship is in port, so it probably has a lot space. You'll have to get used to the bunks for the next while as you sail down." He leans forward, draping his arms on the desk. "Tell Sean that ol' Wiley sent you over. The captains a good friend 'o mine. He usually doesn't go far from the ship. That thing is his life."
"And don't worry too much about the fire. Caught me by surprise is all," he adds. "Just be careful you don't burn anything on the ship, you hear."
"Aye, my good sir, I will be very careful not to burn anything, unless it needs burning," she winks at the harbormaster, "and thank you for the tip! I owe you one if the fates ever bring me back this way." With another quick curtsey, she picks up her bundle of 'rags' and slings it on her shoulder as the stock of a crossbow slides into the open. She heads for the docks, looking for the Dawn Roger and a bunk for the night.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today? Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Oi there, slow and breath little one. The ship doesn't leave until morning," the harbormaster says, looking straight at you from his seat behind the desk. "Snigbovlin, you say, of the Balzimian family. So you a researcher? A crafter? Not that it matters to me much. Don't see too many artificers. Guess its spreading from inland." He marks down your information onto the form with a quill pen. Pulling out a stamp from a drawer under the desk, he slams it onto the form. "Making maps will be a big help over there. There isn't much known about most of the continent yet."
Snigbovlin frowns at the news, "The morning, you say? Well that won't do..." he trails off, eyes a little unfocused, clearly considering his options.
I can't want to go back to that pestilential putrescence that they call an inn! Nonnono. "Perhaps I could board the ship today? It is such a long way back to my inn...", he wheezes unconvincingly and theatrically. "Sea air! Sea air is what I need. And to settle into my accomodations."
His attention returns to the man behind the desk, "Might that be a possibility good sir?"
Coming into the office behind Wyldfyre is a tough-looking man, a sizeable number of scars adorning his face and chest. His tunic looks rough and frayed; A bit of a tattoo peeks out just above the neckline on his back, looking like the top of a set of numbers. He makes note of their conversation about the ship being in dock - and the possibility of bunking there - before introducing himself to the Harbormaster. "Five six f-...Ah, I mean...Lattimer Davo. Lattimer the Penitent they call me now, what being one of the Merciful Hand." He rubs his neck self-consciously, his voice weary yet eager. "They say the sins of the old world'll be washed away on the shores of the new. I wonder..." he sighs, and rubs his knuckles. "I work with my hands, no need for the fine steel or rust-prone armor of more civilized climes. Old school. Can raise a house if need be, but I figure you'll be needing help with more lethal threats. And you'll find my fists more lethal'n any sword." He pulls out a flattened scroll with an official seal, passing it over. "Magistrate's given a conditional pardon, if you care about that sorta thing. I guess if you don't take me, it'll be straight back to lockup." He shrugs, seeming oddly neutral about this last possibility.
"In the morning you say..." Helena says as she takes the stamped document back. She looks it over then shrugs. "I'll make sure I am there in plenty of time then." Seeing others coming inside, she steps aside and then skuttles out the door. Her mousy hair flutters in the slight breeze as she heads back to her dingy little room, wanting to make sure she is packed and has time for some sleep before rising really early the next day.
Flumfurkin takes his document back and says "I'll be back tomorrow. I'm looking forward to this trip." With a twitch of his tail, the tabaxi turns and wanders off to find a place to stay for the night.
Natton waits for the hubbub to die down and slings his lute across his back. When everyone eventually files out of the room, he approaches the harbormaster and says, "Looks like your boys could use some help." He gestures to the men moving around crates and such. "Could you use an extra hand till evening falls? "
While Natton does want to help, he has an underlying motive. If the harbormaster allows him to stay and help, he does just that. While helping, he strikes casual conversation with the two workers. He starts with some basic ice breakers and eventually transitions into questions about this new continent they are going to. He tries to gather some basic information like the terrain, climate, politics, and any news they have heard without trying to seem suspiciously curious.
My Performance, Deception, and Persuasion are all the same: 21
Wyldfyre walks along the docks in search of her "Chariot to New Opportunities" as she has come to think of the upcoming venture. If the ship is obvious to her, she'll approach asking to board and bunk for the night. If not, she'll look first for a street kid then a dock worker to ask directions. Persuasion: 18
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today? Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Oi there, slow and breath little one. The ship doesn't leave until morning," the harbormaster says, looking straight at you from his seat behind the desk. "Snigbovlin, you say, of the Balzimian family. So you a researcher? A crafter? Not that it matters to me much. Don't see too many artificers. Guess its spreading from inland." He marks down your information onto the form with a quill pen. Pulling out a stamp from a drawer under the desk, he slams it onto the form. "Making maps will be a big help over there. There isn't much known about most of the continent yet."
Snigbovlin frowns at the news, "The morning, you say? Well that won't do..." he trails off, eyes a little unfocused, clearly considering his options.
I can't want to go back to that pestilential putrescence that they call an inn! Nonnono. "Perhaps I could board the ship today? It is such a long way back to my inn...", he wheezes unconvincingly and theatrically. "Sea air! Sea air is what I need. And to settle into my accomodations."
His attention returns to the man behind the desk, "Might that be a possibility good sir?"
"Ai, the ship is docked right now. I'm good friends with captain Sean, so you just let him know ol' Wiley sent you. I'm sure he can put you up for the night, if you don't mind a ship bunk. You'll need to get used to it for the voyage down," the harbormaster replies.
"Ah, Lattimer. The magistrate's men let me know you'd likely be coming." The harbormaster takes the scroll and reviews it before jotting down some information onto a form. "We'll go with Penitent, for official papers at least. You one of them monk types, aren't you. They could use a strong hand where you'll be headed." He hands back the scroll of parden. "Won't be up to me to decide your punishment if you fail to measure up. Though if that's the case, it'll be most likely some wild creature made you their dinner." He pulls out a stamp from the drawer under his desk and slams it onto the form.
"As I told the others, ship leaves at third bell (9:00am). Take your form and give it to the captain of the Dawn Roger. Passage down is covered, but you'll be food for the wild beasts with no passage back if you don't make it to the briefing when you get there." He hands over the form to Lattimer.
"Aura? Is that your name or what you are?" the harbormaster chuckles, a deep raspy laugh. "Don't mind me, you're just the second blue applicant today. No last name? I'll just put Scholar for now." He starts jotting the information onto a form. "You did close the door behind you, right? Got a bit of a shiver coming in. But if you can fight and hold your own in the wilderness, you'll do just fine." Pulling out a stamp from the drawer under his desk, he slams it down on the form."
"Ship leaves at third bell (9:00am). Best you be on it. Make sure you are packed and prepared, 'cause it's a long voyage down. Give your form to the captain of the Dawn Roger. Lord Pickering has covered passage for applicants. He'll have someone there to brief you when you arrive." He hands the form over.
"Ai, Natton was it?" the harbormaster looks him over. "Pays not great, but if you're willing to work you can give a hand to the boys in the back. There's always more supplies to haul in." The harbormaster points his thumb over his shoulder at the Human and the Half-Orc in the back of the warehouse.
As Natton introduces himself to the other two workers, they show him the basics of what they are doing. His job will be to sort out crates marked furs and animal goods into one corner, organized by the merchants brand on the crate itself. "I'm Martin, by the way," the Human says. He looks to be in his mid-thirties and has been working the docks his entire adult life. "That there, we call him Grunz. He's got a Human name, but hardly talks when he's working so it's easier this way," Martin explains.
As they get working, Natton manages to hear some information about Aikrela. It's a relatively small continent, only a couple hundred thousand square miles. If the weather is good, the voyage there is just shy of two weeks by sea heading west from Dawnwater on the Sea of Galdaic. Other than a few scouting voyages around the island continent, not much of it has been explored. Carlisle, and the few small villages near it, are all situated on the eastern central portion of the island, a district known as Laroand. The district and settled part covers a mere few hundred square miles. It is primarily grassland and is populated by a diverse range of races in it's residency of a couple thousand. Most of those are farmers or holding farm related occupations.
An offer was sent a few months back in the Spring to start settling the area since its discovery. The ruling lord is a small time noble of the Pickering family. They negotiated for some form of a stay-of-taxes for settlers for the first year to give them a chance to get their farms up and first harvest sold. There are only a few trained knights that directly serve Lord Pickering. The rest of the guardsmen and foresters barely more trained than militia-men, able to handle local wildlife at best.
Further into the island there is an abundance of forests and rolling hills mixed in with the prairie grasslands. An unnamed mountain range runs through the center. Towards the southeast is a more swampy area. The southwest holds a cold, almost tundra-like terrain. Not much is known about the northwestern area, but it seems sparsely vegetated. The climate is overall pretty temperate, but has some odd fluctuations and strange weather patterns further inland, one of the reasons the settlers chose to start on the eastern coastline.
Apparently, they've been having trouble expanding further inland. Not a lot of people want to venture to an unexplored area with a bunch of untrained guardsmen as their only protection. Lord Pickering sent out the call for adventurers to address this issue. It will serve him both to provide safety for the new citizens, as well as explore a number of ruins that have been spotted by the foresters. As of now, there are no native residents, but it seems like there was in the past.
After they finish the work for the day, he leaves the workers on a good note and approaches the harbormaster if he is still there. "Thanks for letting me stay. You have some good employees." He chuckles before becoming more serious. "Is there a way I could stay on that boat tonight? I've been sleeping under the stairs of late, and a bed sounds awful nice. Plus, I want to get used to being on a boat overnight so I can rein in my stomach for the voyage."
"Ai, the ship is docked right now. I'm good friends with captain Sean, so you just let him know ol' Wiley sent you. I'm sure he can put you up for the night, if you don't mind a ship bunk. You'll need to get used to it for the voyage down," the harbormaster replies.
Snigbovlin positively beams, "Excellent, excellent, excellent!" he says, then hurriedly turns to leave, a broad smile on his face. "Well, that's settled, I can not turn back now. Death or liberty awaits!"
As he makes his way to the door, he pauses and turns back to the man behind the desk. Where am I going?
"This ship...the Dawn Roger..."Dawn Roger" indeed, hah!"
"I don't expect I'll ever come back, passage or no. But time will tell." Lattimer takes the paper, and considers Snigbovlin's query. He hadn't thought to ask for directions, even if he didn't know precisely where the ship was moored - that's something out-of-towners would do, and Snigbovlin evidently wasn't from around here. Still, wouldn't hurt to get to know the ones he'd be bunking with during the long journey, and likely exploring the New World beyond. And something the gnome said caught his ear.
Snigbovlin glances at the stranger and smiles broadly. "Liberty? Liberty? Well. That would be freedom from oppression by the wealthy and the powerful. The two go hand-in-hand of course, wealth and power. Well all three really, wealth, power, opression" he says. "We are all at their mercy, you know. Wealth and land will free us."
He looks more closely at the man standing before him, and offers his hand in greeting, "Snigbovlin. Lately ... well, until yesterday it seems...lately, adviser, factotum and artificer to the House Balzimian.", he stands a little taller as he introduces himself, all the while examining the man before him. "...Tall. Tall with tattoos. Veerrrry tall. Must make sure I get a lower bunk on the ship. No weapons. Hmm. Odd. He will probably walk faster than me."
Snigbovlin wears well-maintained but non-descript armour that looks recently waxed and polished, and carries a bulky backpack. The only visible weapons are a dagger at his side and a bow. Despite his small stature he looks remarkably robust.
"Mercy, huh? Mercy." He turns the word over in his mouth, as one who has practiced saying it many times before. "Yeah, I could use a load of that right about now. Great Guru says, mercy's the measure of the quality of our souls. Figure them nobles're mighty tarnished. Maybe folks in the New World're different. Or we can make 'em that way." He rubs one of his scars, a nasty gash on the side of his chin. "I'm Lattimer, the Penitent. Never advised no fancy houses, but I guess there ain't many of those where we're going. Careful, though, Great Guru says freedom's a double edged sword. Gotta make sure you don't become what you despise."
Snigbovlin frowns, "Despise, you say? Hmmm. Never considered that. Tarnished, hah! Yes, tarnished, especially her; but do I despise them?" His eyes seem to lose focus and settle on the crates in the background as he thinks, "Maybe. Maybe not. I despise the fact that my life can be turned upside down on a whim!"
"But, upside-down is relative: Now it's right-side up. Perspective is all. And there's always a nice view at the top!"
He glances back at Lattimer, "Penitent you say? You are a hermit or holy man. That would explain your unusual aspect..."
Lattimer shrugs reflexively at Snigbovlin's suggestions, though his eyes betray a sense of excitement - this was rather more stimulating than most of the conversations he'd been having of late. "I guess it's more fair, despise the system rather than the people doing the oppression. Mebbe we'd all do the same, in their place. If justice is relative, relative to us, well, I guess you'd do anything to scramble up the top of that greasy pole. Still...Can't we be better? If'n we expect better of others when they're on top, oughta expect better when we get there, anyway."
He sighs, joining Snigbovlin on the crate while waiting for the Harbormaster's reply about where the ship is docked. "Yeah, I got a lot to be penitent about, for sure. More'n most. So I wouldn't say I'm holy, just a man lookin' for peace of mind. And soul."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Wyldfyre takes back the form and gives the harbormaster a brief curtsey. "Thank you, kind sir. I'm as good at putting out fires as starting them, but I'm sorry if I startled you. Do you have a spare rack for me to bunk tonight, or is the Dawn Roger in port that I could report now?"
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Sorry, I ain't got any bunks here," the harbormaster explains to Wyldfyre. "The ship is in port, so it probably has a lot space. You'll have to get used to the bunks for the next while as you sail down." He leans forward, draping his arms on the desk. "Tell Sean that ol' Wiley sent you over. The captains a good friend 'o mine. He usually doesn't go far from the ship. That thing is his life."
"And don't worry too much about the fire. Caught me by surprise is all," he adds. "Just be careful you don't burn anything on the ship, you hear."
"Aye, my good sir, I will be very careful not to burn anything, unless it needs burning," she winks at the harbormaster, "and thank you for the tip! I owe you one if the fates ever bring me back this way." With another quick curtsey, she picks up her bundle of 'rags' and slings it on her shoulder as the stock of a crossbow slides into the open. She heads for the docks, looking for the Dawn Roger and a bunk for the night.
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
Snigbovlin frowns at the news, "The morning, you say? Well that won't do..." he trails off, eyes a little unfocused, clearly considering his options.
I can't want to go back to that pestilential putrescence that they call an inn! Nonnono. "Perhaps I could board the ship today? It is such a long way back to my inn...", he wheezes unconvincingly and theatrically. "Sea air! Sea air is what I need. And to settle into my accomodations."
His attention returns to the man behind the desk, "Might that be a possibility good sir?"
Coming into the office behind Wyldfyre is a tough-looking man, a sizeable number of scars adorning his face and chest. His tunic looks rough and frayed; A bit of a tattoo peeks out just above the neckline on his back, looking like the top of a set of numbers. He makes note of their conversation about the ship being in dock - and the possibility of bunking there - before introducing himself to the Harbormaster. "Five six f-...Ah, I mean...Lattimer Davo. Lattimer the Penitent they call me now, what being one of the Merciful Hand." He rubs his neck self-consciously, his voice weary yet eager. "They say the sins of the old world'll be washed away on the shores of the new. I wonder..." he sighs, and rubs his knuckles. "I work with my hands, no need for the fine steel or rust-prone armor of more civilized climes. Old school. Can raise a house if need be, but I figure you'll be needing help with more lethal threats. And you'll find my fists more lethal'n any sword." He pulls out a flattened scroll with an official seal, passing it over. "Magistrate's given a conditional pardon, if you care about that sorta thing. I guess if you don't take me, it'll be straight back to lockup." He shrugs, seeming oddly neutral about this last possibility.
"In the morning you say..." Helena says as she takes the stamped document back. She looks it over then shrugs. "I'll make sure I am there in plenty of time then." Seeing others coming inside, she steps aside and then skuttles out the door. Her mousy hair flutters in the slight breeze as she heads back to her dingy little room, wanting to make sure she is packed and has time for some sleep before rising really early the next day.
Flumfurkin takes his document back and says "I'll be back tomorrow. I'm looking forward to this trip." With a twitch of his tail, the tabaxi turns and wanders off to find a place to stay for the night.
Natton waits for the hubbub to die down and slings his lute across his back. When everyone eventually files out of the room, he approaches the harbormaster and says, "Looks like your boys could use some help." He gestures to the men moving around crates and such. "Could you use an extra hand till evening falls? "
While Natton does want to help, he has an underlying motive. If the harbormaster allows him to stay and help, he does just that. While helping, he strikes casual conversation with the two workers. He starts with some basic ice breakers and eventually transitions into questions about this new continent they are going to. He tries to gather some basic information like the terrain, climate, politics, and any news they have heard without trying to seem suspiciously curious.
My Performance, Deception, and Persuasion are all the same: 21
Wyldfyre walks along the docks in search of her "Chariot to New Opportunities" as she has come to think of the upcoming venture. If the ship is obvious to her, she'll approach asking to board and bunk for the night. If not, she'll look first for a street kid then a dock worker to ask directions. Persuasion: 18
Welcome to the Emporium of Mayhem! What sort of mischief do you seek today?
Pyromaniac Wyldfyre searching for her place in the world.
"Ai, the ship is docked right now. I'm good friends with captain Sean, so you just let him know ol' Wiley sent you. I'm sure he can put you up for the night, if you don't mind a ship bunk. You'll need to get used to it for the voyage down," the harbormaster replies.
"Ah, Lattimer. The magistrate's men let me know you'd likely be coming." The harbormaster takes the scroll and reviews it before jotting down some information onto a form. "We'll go with Penitent, for official papers at least. You one of them monk types, aren't you. They could use a strong hand where you'll be headed." He hands back the scroll of parden. "Won't be up to me to decide your punishment if you fail to measure up. Though if that's the case, it'll be most likely some wild creature made you their dinner." He pulls out a stamp from the drawer under his desk and slams it onto the form.
"As I told the others, ship leaves at third bell (9:00am). Take your form and give it to the captain of the Dawn Roger. Passage down is covered, but you'll be food for the wild beasts with no passage back if you don't make it to the briefing when you get there." He hands over the form to Lattimer.
"Aura? Is that your name or what you are?" the harbormaster chuckles, a deep raspy laugh. "Don't mind me, you're just the second blue applicant today. No last name? I'll just put Scholar for now." He starts jotting the information onto a form. "You did close the door behind you, right? Got a bit of a shiver coming in. But if you can fight and hold your own in the wilderness, you'll do just fine." Pulling out a stamp from the drawer under his desk, he slams it down on the form."
"Ship leaves at third bell (9:00am). Best you be on it. Make sure you are packed and prepared, 'cause it's a long voyage down. Give your form to the captain of the Dawn Roger. Lord Pickering has covered passage for applicants. He'll have someone there to brief you when you arrive." He hands the form over.
"Ai, Natton was it?" the harbormaster looks him over. "Pays not great, but if you're willing to work you can give a hand to the boys in the back. There's always more supplies to haul in." The harbormaster points his thumb over his shoulder at the Human and the Half-Orc in the back of the warehouse.
As Natton introduces himself to the other two workers, they show him the basics of what they are doing. His job will be to sort out crates marked furs and animal goods into one corner, organized by the merchants brand on the crate itself. "I'm Martin, by the way," the Human says. He looks to be in his mid-thirties and has been working the docks his entire adult life. "That there, we call him Grunz. He's got a Human name, but hardly talks when he's working so it's easier this way," Martin explains.
As they get working, Natton manages to hear some information about Aikrela. It's a relatively small continent, only a couple hundred thousand square miles. If the weather is good, the voyage there is just shy of two weeks by sea heading west from Dawnwater on the Sea of Galdaic. Other than a few scouting voyages around the island continent, not much of it has been explored. Carlisle, and the few small villages near it, are all situated on the eastern central portion of the island, a district known as Laroand. The district and settled part covers a mere few hundred square miles. It is primarily grassland and is populated by a diverse range of races in it's residency of a couple thousand. Most of those are farmers or holding farm related occupations.
An offer was sent a few months back in the Spring to start settling the area since its discovery. The ruling lord is a small time noble of the Pickering family. They negotiated for some form of a stay-of-taxes for settlers for the first year to give them a chance to get their farms up and first harvest sold. There are only a few trained knights that directly serve Lord Pickering. The rest of the guardsmen and foresters barely more trained than militia-men, able to handle local wildlife at best.
Further into the island there is an abundance of forests and rolling hills mixed in with the prairie grasslands. An unnamed mountain range runs through the center. Towards the southeast is a more swampy area. The southwest holds a cold, almost tundra-like terrain. Not much is known about the northwestern area, but it seems sparsely vegetated. The climate is overall pretty temperate, but has some odd fluctuations and strange weather patterns further inland, one of the reasons the settlers chose to start on the eastern coastline.
Apparently, they've been having trouble expanding further inland. Not a lot of people want to venture to an unexplored area with a bunch of untrained guardsmen as their only protection. Lord Pickering sent out the call for adventurers to address this issue. It will serve him both to provide safety for the new citizens, as well as explore a number of ruins that have been spotted by the foresters. As of now, there are no native residents, but it seems like there was in the past.
After they finish the work for the day, he leaves the workers on a good note and approaches the harbormaster if he is still there. "Thanks for letting me stay. You have some good employees." He chuckles before becoming more serious. "Is there a way I could stay on that boat tonight? I've been sleeping under the stairs of late, and a bed sounds awful nice. Plus, I want to get used to being on a boat overnight so I can rein in my stomach for the voyage."
Snigbovlin positively beams, "Excellent, excellent, excellent!" he says, then hurriedly turns to leave, a broad smile on his face. "Well, that's settled, I can not turn back now. Death or liberty awaits!"
As he makes his way to the door, he pauses and turns back to the man behind the desk. Where am I going?
"This ship...the Dawn Roger..."Dawn Roger" indeed, hah!"
"Where is it?"
"I don't expect I'll ever come back, passage or no. But time will tell." Lattimer takes the paper, and considers Snigbovlin's query. He hadn't thought to ask for directions, even if he didn't know precisely where the ship was moored - that's something out-of-towners would do, and Snigbovlin evidently wasn't from around here. Still, wouldn't hurt to get to know the ones he'd be bunking with during the long journey, and likely exploring the New World beyond. And something the gnome said caught his ear.
"Liberty, you say? What do you mean by that?"
Snigbovlin glances at the stranger and smiles broadly. "Liberty? Liberty? Well. That would be freedom from oppression by the wealthy and the powerful. The two go hand-in-hand of course, wealth and power. Well all three really, wealth, power, opression" he says. "We are all at their mercy, you know. Wealth and land will free us."
He looks more closely at the man standing before him, and offers his hand in greeting, "Snigbovlin. Lately ... well, until yesterday it seems...lately, adviser, factotum and artificer to the House Balzimian.", he stands a little taller as he introduces himself, all the while examining the man before him. "...Tall. Tall with tattoos. Veerrrry tall. Must make sure I get a lower bunk on the ship. No weapons. Hmm. Odd. He will probably walk faster than me."
Snigbovlin wears well-maintained but non-descript armour that looks recently waxed and polished, and carries a bulky backpack. The only visible weapons are a dagger at his side and a bow. Despite his small stature he looks remarkably robust.
"And you are?" he asks.
"Mercy, huh? Mercy." He turns the word over in his mouth, as one who has practiced saying it many times before. "Yeah, I could use a load of that right about now. Great Guru says, mercy's the measure of the quality of our souls. Figure them nobles're mighty tarnished. Maybe folks in the New World're different. Or we can make 'em that way." He rubs one of his scars, a nasty gash on the side of his chin. "I'm Lattimer, the Penitent. Never advised no fancy houses, but I guess there ain't many of those where we're going. Careful, though, Great Guru says freedom's a double edged sword. Gotta make sure you don't become what you despise."
Snigbovlin frowns, "Despise, you say? Hmmm. Never considered that. Tarnished, hah! Yes, tarnished, especially her; but do I despise them?" His eyes seem to lose focus and settle on the crates in the background as he thinks, "Maybe. Maybe not. I despise the fact that my life can be turned upside down on a whim!"
"But, upside-down is relative: Now it's right-side up. Perspective is all. And there's always a nice view at the top!"
He glances back at Lattimer, "Penitent you say? You are a hermit or holy man. That would explain your unusual aspect..."
Lattimer shrugs reflexively at Snigbovlin's suggestions, though his eyes betray a sense of excitement - this was rather more stimulating than most of the conversations he'd been having of late. "I guess it's more fair, despise the system rather than the people doing the oppression. Mebbe we'd all do the same, in their place. If justice is relative, relative to us, well, I guess you'd do anything to scramble up the top of that greasy pole. Still...Can't we be better? If'n we expect better of others when they're on top, oughta expect better when we get there, anyway."
He sighs, joining Snigbovlin on the crate while waiting for the Harbormaster's reply about where the ship is docked. "Yeah, I got a lot to be penitent about, for sure. More'n most. So I wouldn't say I'm holy, just a man lookin' for peace of mind. And soul."