[b]Pirate Lord Ambrose Mackin
20th of Second Seed
Castle Wayrest, Grand Meeting Hall[/b]

“And you mean to tell me that the local fishermen say that they’re Bretons? What fucking business is it of mine, Bretons, Nords and Redguard have been pirates since before I took this [i]fecking[/i] city.” Ambrose spat in disgust, feeling almost compelled to slap the goblet of wine off of the grand oak table in front of him. The strongest captains, or commodores as they had come to be distinguished, were arrayed before him like many times before and this was not the first time he’d called them in to make sure they kept their subordinate captains in line. The last thing any of them wanted was Northpoint or Daggerfall to strengthen their presence in the Iliac Bay; It was already hard enough to sneak out from the Bjoulsae River.

“You have to understand that any move made by any pirate in the Iliac reflects badly upon us. Now that they think that our Republic is making moves around Stros M’kai they’ll want answers, or even blood.” Commodore Hjalsten spoke up from the coin he was rolling over his knuckles.

“I can’t just keep hanging captains. I don’t know who is behind this or if they even belong to any of our fleets. They’re most likely rogues and will be dealt with accordingly. We’ll put a few vessels underway.” Ambrose frowned, standing up from his seat and waving off the Commodores.

“Mackin,” Ambrose turned to see Hjalsten, “don’t forget about the meeting, ye old seadog.”

Ambrose growled at his summoning, plus the prospect of seeing the others, “How could I? It’s such an exciting moment for me.”

“Still full of sarcasm after so much time as a ruler?” Hjalsten chuckled gruffly.

“What else am I to be in a world such as this? Elves seek to use us, our neighbors to kill us. We have no allies. My ship and my sarcasm are all I have left.” Ambrose said, disappearing into the hallway to his room to prepare for the voyage to the Isle of Balfiera.