Madrigo

Arthur stepped from the gently swaying deck of Osprey, and onto the wharfs of Madrigo. Docks and quays spiderwebbed out before him: great ripplings of wood and stone rising from the water. The lanterns that hung intermittently from rafters, beams and ship's prows lit the whole construction like thousands of swaying fireflies whose light reflected off the water creating an illusion of illumination, which was broken if you tried to peer into the obscurity around you. The soft sound of water lapping on wood was broken only by the occasional sounds of ships docking somewhere off in the dimly lit distance.

He grabbed his pack from where he had thrown it off the deck. Slinging it solidly over his left shoulder, he began his long walk toward the city of Madrigo. He could see it rising on a gentle incline from the beach, where it met the docks, up he gently rolling hills that eventually gave birth to a range of mountainous peaks, on which few lights shone, except the great watch fire at the pinnacle.

Progress was slow. The dock twisted and turned at irregular intervals, sending you back  in directions you had just come from, and forcing you to choose from as many as eight divergent paths.  The dock's growth in recent years, had outpaced any one person's ability to plan, so they had been constructed in the most haphazard way by individual merchants, nobles or captains that had purchased rights. The result was a maze with no walls that was difficult to navigate even during the day.

He was not alone out in the darkness. The sound of music and the smell of cook fires floated down from the decks of nearly every ship. Crew members who had decided to wait till the morning to make the trek into town spent the night singing, or dancing, or dicing. And drinking - obviously drinking. Constables walked up and down the docks in pairs or small groups. Most eyed him suspiciously, while a few gave him polite nods before ignoring him as a non-threat. Women, who claimed to be cooks, cleaners or musicians, walked from ship to ship selling their services. Others just stood in the corners waiting for lonely sailors with a few coins in their pocket. A few peddlers even hawked their wares as he strode past them. The wharf was like a small town, and at night, it had a character all it's own.

After dozens of detours and turns, Arthur found himself in an area of wider, more solid docks, that were laid out in much simpler - and more logical - patterns. Projections came off at nearly right angles on both sides of him, and nearly every one had a vessel anchored at it. The ships here were larger, the constables better-armed, and the "cooks" decidedly more attractive. These were the proper docks, that had been around for generations. Here, those captains with coin could pay to dock themselves a little closer to the city. Although the walk from here was still quite a distance.

Madrigo was not a huge city, at least not compared to the massive trade ports of the Inner Sea, but it was the only suitable port on the whole of the island that shared it's name. Which, in turn, was the only civilized island for at least five days sailing in any direction. It received more sea traffic than most cities three times its size, and with only a small part of it's surface suitable for landing ships, the docks had been forced further and further out into the sea. And they were always busy. If you were any kind of traveler, you had been to Madrigo at least once or twice. Arthur had been here more often than he could remember.

Soon, he found himself standing firmly on stone. The docks here were wide enough that the far side was lost in the darkness wherever it wasn't lit by increasingly frequent lamps, and was surrounded by a chest high wall. The ships moored here were impressive warships, or massive, low-hulled grain barges or the occasional sleek and slender pleasure barge of the rich. The constables wore iron breastplates polished until they sparkled in the lamplight. There were no cooks, or peddlers or music, just a calm silence, upheld by the might of Duke Leovaine, whose high-walled palace was visible now, staring down at the city below from a cliff-like hill that soared above Arthur, jutting out into the sea on his left.

His shoulder was starting to ache from the weight of his pack. He was a very light traveler, but his oiled leather armor, and the chain mail he wore over it, were both tightly rolled in his pack. Added to the odds and ends that he normally traveled with, and the fact the he was already bone-weary and exhausted, made a normally annoying shoulder ache nearly unbearable.

By the time he reached the streets, which blended seamlessly with the stone of the docks, so that you could not tell where one ended and the other began, he had to switch shoulders. He didn't like to incapacitate his sword arm, but he was probably safer here than he would be anywhere. He sighed and passed under the gate that signaled the start of the city.

Madrigo Street started as a large plaza dominated by a fountain. Across from him, the wide stone-paved street cut the city in half. Lining this were trading houses, palaces and inns where one night would cost more than some people could spend on food for an entire year. Even if Arthur had wanted the treatment that came with one of those places, the few loose coins rattling in his pocket wouldn't have even gotten him into the common room. And besides, he was here for work.

So he turned onto one of the side streets, and followed it for a while, before turning onto another side street. After several rounds of this, he found himself standing under a sign whose paint was so chipped and faded that it could barely be distinguished as blue, and if the word "Mara's" had been written in letters any smaller it would have been all but unreadable, even to someone that knew the name. The inn itself had seen better times. Half of it had once been covered in white paint that had peeled itself into almost nonexistence. It was impossible to see what had once covered the other half, because it was now covered in a thick, darkly-colored mossy growth.

On a barrel near the door, sat a man with arms as big as Arthur's legs, and a smile that probably could have killed the mold on the wall behind him - or at least scared it into submission. "Been 'while since I've seen you." He said in a voice the matched the body too perfectly.

"Had a lot of stuff to do, Hal. You know me, always keeping busy." As Arthur approached, the big man playfully punched him in the arm.

"Oh, I know you. You always got your hand in something." When Hal laughed, Arthur was reminded of what had happened to all the paint that had once been on the walls. It had left. Trying to get away from that sound.

"Anyone been looking for me recently?" Arthur asked while he opened the door.

"Someone's always asking 'bout you." Hal raised a massive hand to scratch the stubble on his chin. "But I seem to recall some people in there looking for you for the last couple o' days."

"Thanks, Hal." He said, and stepped into cacophony of sights, smells and sounds that made up Mara's Tavern.