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"Oy, what's wrong wit' yer ears?" a stinking human called, his voice well-lubricated by drink. He leaned casually against a brick wall, far too few teeth in his grin, bottle in hand. Zandron's eyes quickly noted the sword at his hip, and a long, narrow bulge in one boot. Dagger, balanced for throwing, armsmaster Seije intoned coldly. Zandron grimaced the voice of his long-dead training master, burned into his mind centuries ago.

"Poor grandpapy," another voice called. This one carried a belted hatchet. Zandron pivoted, stacking the men so that neither was behind him. "His hearin' ain't what it was," the pair chuckled, before the second man's face turned dark. "Answer my friend's question, before I gut you."

"I пot щапtiпg fight," the elf raised both hands in an attempt to supplicate the men. "шe frieпds, yes?" No need for this to turn violent; I've spilled enough blood.

The pair crept forward, pressing the distance. The weary elf took several steps back, scanning around for potential witnesses, allies or enemies. Finding none, he turned his attention to the men. If only I'd brought my sword, he mused. The magical blade had served him well as commodore of Haven's navy, but he had left the sword with acting-commodore Mahto, his fiercely dutiful first mate.

"A foreigner, eh?" Bottledrunk nudged lumberjack and giggled, before speaking slowly, exaggerating each syllable. "Give. Us. You. Money. Got it?" He drew the saber a few inches. Zandron's eyes narrowed.

"Ah, there you are my good man. I've been looking all over for you."

~: The voice came from a man who stepped from a doorway, not 10 paces behind the ruffians advancing on Zandron. The appearance was human, dressed in fine clothing, fabric as dark as starless night. Silver filigree and embroidery adorned the shirt. A necklace of silver rested a pendant set with an amethyst upon his chest.

This newcomer spread his hands, gloves of fine black leather matching his attire. His left wrist and forearm were clad in an ornate vambrace. Silver worked alongside a metal of light purple. A faint glow seemed to surround the man when he was in darkness, and he strode forward with an air of purpose.

"I'd like to thank you, kind gentlemen for finding my friend for me. Now if you'd be so kind as to run along, he and I have some catching up to do."

With his right gloved hand he made a shooing motion towards the armed men, a wry grin on his face. Zandron may note this man was completely devoid of weaponry. :~

The pair looked to each other nervously. It seemed that this man held some sway over the local ruffians, for they quickly scampered off without another word.

Cautiously, Zandron looked the man up and down, quickly scanning for any irregularities. Finding none, aside from the flamboyant costume--what Zandron would have given for his own commodore's hat--he locked eyes with the stranger once more.

"And you are...?"

"Well who I am is an interesting question. You see, I pride myself as a teacher of sorts."

~: The man ceased using his hands, simply tenting his fingers before himself, arms low as he strode towards Zandron. A smile shone upon his face, perhaps a man of middle age. His hair was still dark, a full moustache and goatee framing his ivory grin as he easily closed the gap between himself and the Commodore. His eyes never once left Zandron's, never even blinked as he began to speak once more.

"And I have a lesson for you. A lesson of the utmost importance. You see...it's about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A lesson you may be guilty of as we speak."

Despite his choice of words there was no malice, and the man had the body language of stone. If he was about to launch an attack he was certainly good at not choreographing it. He stood there, inert, immobile. Simply waiting for his words to sink into Zandron's mind. :~

"Wrong place?" Zandron cocked his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Your dress says the same for you."

Zandron's eyes glance over the man again, rechecking for some weapon or gathering energy. "What do you mean?"

~: There was a smile upon his face at that, the man looking down at himself as he spread his arms wide.

"Well I cannot argue with you on that. 'Tis true I look out of place here. But a teacher looks out of place anywhere except a classroom I suppose."

His arms came back in, hands folding before him as he looked to Zandron. Another glance revealed that there were no weapons upon this person, nor was he gathering energy as Zandron had witnessed others do. He was calm, collected. He looked to Zandron with respect and with care, as a teacher might look upon a student. When Zandron asked of him he replied, remaining where he was as he spoke with an air of knowledge and conviction.

"You're looking for something, Commodore. Something you won't find on land. But you aren't the only one looking. Your friends know what you seek, and unlike you I believe they were in the right place. But the right time has passed..but all is not lost."

The man swept his left hand through the air, and it appeared. From small twinkling lights of what might be magic, illuminated, outlined in red. A ship, built for speed and a cunning captain. Propelled by a red wind of lights as it cut through the air. Ultimately passing through Zandron, only to disappear into the darkness of the alley. :~

"The only question now...is whether you'll be here, in the wrong place. Or if you'll all find the right place...and make time your ally once more.."

Zandron's eyes widened. "My... My ship," he stammered, mouth falling open, for once losing his carefree façade. "After all this time."

So many questions flooded through the elf's mind. Who was this man? How did he know about Zandron's search, his friends, and his beloved ship? But only one word came tumbling, breathless from the commodore's lips: "Where?"

-With Zandron's question came delight on the man's face. He strode forward, closed the gap between himself and the Commodore. His hands came up, to be placed upon Zandron's shoulders as he beamed at him.

"That my boy. That is the right question. Head for the Wildlands. Rejoin your friends, and look not alone for that which you are all seeking."

Now there was something. It was dull, and difficult to see at first in the dim light. It started as a glow about this man, beginning at his shoulders and in his irises. It moved, spread across his frame and down his arms. Moved into Zandron. A dark orchid purple, warm to the touch. The temperature about them rising with it's appearance.

No sort of malicious magic. It was...power. It was energy. Strength and stamina. Clearing Zandron's head, imparting a sense of glorious purpose and the confidence to complete the task. The man just smiled, his hands leaving Zandron's shoulders as the glow dimmed and died away.-

"Now, off to the Wildlands with you. More questions to ask, more answers to find. And if you're lucky..all of the wrongs made right again."