Time for some Shadow Wolf.
“Have you ever thought of just letting go?” Git’s question, direct and clear, cut through my thoughts.
“Letting go of what?” we were walking through a section of the Undercity markets dedicated to alchemy. My head swam with exotic scents and the conversation of the market goers. This section was far tamer than the outlying areas where The Rarest Reds was located, and far busier.
“The righteous vengeance thing,” said Git. “I admire your commitment to justice, but I fear that this city is not forgiving of those who stick so closely to their principles. Vampires are dangerous, Ragnar.”
“I am what I am, Git,” I said. “I don’t tell you to stop fooling with white spider venom, do I?”
In truth, I understood the goblin well enough. Curran was dead by my hand. Hunting down Cinder seemed like a step beyond avenging Delilah. I did not know what prodded me along the path. Mayhap I just wanted to send a message, or it could be that Curran merely wet my appetite.
Myrrhn has many slums. Zara’s list of Cinder’s activities extended to many of them. I decided to start with what I considered the worst of the lot: The Jetties.
A staggering number of ships pass through Myrrhn each year. Merchant houses with fleets bigger than most nation states ply every corner of the world for trade goods, while much of the traffic of the northern hemisphere must pass through the city by necessity. Not every ship that comes to Myrrhn is destined to leave. Hulls are broken. Parasites take a toll. Some are just outdated and due to be replaced. All of these end up in The Jetties, a ship graveyard grown so large that it rivals the larger islands that make up the city proper.
Real estate in Myrrhn is always at a premium, and so the adventurous and the desperate had settled the rotting hulks of The Jetties. It is a hazardous place to settle. Dangerous creatures live off the wastes shed by the city, and many of the ships are more fragile than they appear. Still, it was home to many people, and not without its charms.
While we aren’t all wave-seeking Sea Wolves, most Nordan have a fondness for ships, hence why I dislike the place.
The shadowy belly of an old cargo ship, patched so many times I half-doubted that any of the original wood remained provided the structure for one of the seediest ale-houses had been in, dubbed The Broken Whale. The place stank of cheap beer, sweat, and old wood, but it was filled to the brim with people and loud with the sounds of merriment.
I looked around, and decided to head over to the tired looking woman serving the drink. The prince was agreeable, only a single bit for an enormous flagon. It was stale and poor quality, but strong enough.
I was just beginning to enjoy myself when a trio of rough looking men, young and fit, settled in front of me, trying to look menacing.
“We don’t take kindly to your kind here,” said one of them.