Stefano awoke to sweat and must and the steady careening of the galleon as it swept over water. He was confused to a great extent because he had proceeded through the events of the past twenty four hours with an all-encompassing yearn to start chasing the dragon - or whatever it was. Stefano, in the sea-smelling corner of the gun deck in which he lay, only now looked back over the day with a sane outlook. A man looking at his life from the outside must have seen an eccentric artist and nobleman, calmly travelling around the world fuelled by his wealth and spokesmanship. Then a firestorm ravages a coastal town in Portugal and the nobleman abandons everything with great impulsiveness and secures a place on a pirate-led ship destined for Africa.
Then again, one had not seen what Stefano had seen - and some stories of Ancient Greece stated that mythical and magical intrusions into often dull and melancholy lives could easily cause drastic actions to be taken.
Stefano did now regret some of his wild actions, and there was still a possibility that the trip to Morocco might simply be just a relief trip, but if there was any chance to see the majestic beast again, Stefano [i]had[/i] to take it. He had found after the speech in the courtyard a large sack full of the Portuguese real that he had hidden underneath other baggage in the partially destroyed penthouse. Stefano had not seen the owner of the building that he had persuaded to rent the upper floor of his house to him, and one of the only explanations would be that the owner had met his demise in the onslaught - along with many other residents of Sintra.  

The painting lay in plain sight of Stefano as he tried to sleep. He did not know how long he had lay in the corner of the deck, but three extractions out of his sack of money had been made by his makeshift guards, and the sun had indubitably dipped below the horizon. However, Stefano found the painting too intriguing to be simply turned away from and it was blocking his passage to slumber. He did not feel very tired, in truth, and some time he had spent asleep already during the day, yet he did not know what else to do. 
[i]Perhaps befriend some of my fellow passengers?[/i] He thought, turning over on his furnished cot. Stefano was rarely without a conversational partner on land, so why should it be different on water? And now that he had retreated from his state of mythical encapsulation he had several stories to tell of boat journeys around the coast of Candia and all around Europe.
Stefano propelled himself up, though he did fall back down on the sheets the first couple of times due to the lengthy time spent there and his not-so-ideal weight, and walked over to the sack of money just as one of the 'guards' sought to approach and presumably make another extraction.

"[i]Senhor[/i], you are up!" The Sintra native exclaimed in surprise. "[i]Como está[/i]?"

"[i]Bom[/i], friend. [i]Obrigado[/i]." Stefano could see plainly the 'guard' only wanted to take more money than he was promised for the job, and he cursed himself for foolishly leaving a sack full of money out for anyone to use. A dent had already been created in the top of the pile and Stefano did not know how he could prevent a strong-arm coming in and taking everything. He needed a trustworthy watchman like he had in most cities, a strong man of his own to look after his wealth and personal safety. Stefano might have considered the hired guard in front of him if he had not been stealing. He chose to get rid of him for the moment and begin to seek out a more appropriate source of aid.

"[i]Desculpe[/i], friend, but I have no further need of your services. You are dismissed, but I may require your help in the future." Stefano smiled as politely as he could, prompting a hard stare followed by a series of grumbles by the Portuguese man who trudged off into the inner area of the room.
Stefano looked at the sack and the half-destroyed canvas and hurriedly piled them on top of each other in his hands. There was nothing else of much value he thought a man so inclined might steal, so he patted down his slightly burnt waistcoat and breeches and left the obscured corner.



[center]---[/center]

Stefano hopped up the access stairs to the main deck, his sack re-tied and the painting turned into his chest as to not arouse any of the staff's suspicions if they glimpsed the dragon mural inscribed upon it. He reached the main deck as a couple of sailors barraged past him - outright fear on their faces. Stefano began to ask them what the problem is but they were gone before he could even begin. Stefano continued up the stairwell towards the bow end of the galleon, a new-found curiosity egging him on.
He creased the floor of the main deck and turned towards a tumultuous outbreak of shouting, shooting and the loud deflections of armour. Stefano was shocked that this event had not woken him before, but perhaps the action had not been long occurring. He saw the disembodied armour as it collapsed into one of the lower quarters below.
"[i]Me tous Theoús[/i]!" Stefano yelled in Greek. [i]By the Gods[/i], indeed, as it seemed between the dragon and the impossibly resilient suit of armour - Gods in one form or another had finally graced the world.