The ship was cleaned easily enough, corpse after corpse tossed over the side to be melted into the world below. They’d feed some fish, the ones that were scavengers, or carnivores, and perhaps, in their own way, even the sponges and sea cucumbers, too. 

Sarel had snuck below deck for a moment to claim one of the few private quarters below deck, there was another bed in the small room which Serge came down to claim. The two removed their armor, making jokes and sharing anecdotes as they did (it was a rather long and annoying process, unlatching all the straps and untying all the knots). Sarel had need to go into his bags for a moment, and he was reminded of something he wanted to do long ago. A shining circle in the darkness of the cabin called out to Sarel, and he smiled. He brought the ring from the bag and held it in his rough ashen-blue fingers, pointed it at Serge. 

“I presume this is yours.” The elf said. 

“Yes, by the divines!” Serge exclaimed in response, “how did you find it?”

“It was brought to me with my things. It seems like the thief involved in retrieving my possesions was not particularly well informed. He seemed to take every damn thing in the holding chest.” Sarel laughed as he dropped the piece of gold into Serge’s hands. The Breton laughed as well, distractedly, as he settled it on his finger. 

“Thank you, friend.” He said at last, a relieved sigh following his words. “This is very special to me.” 

When the boys, as they seemed to be children—giddy with the prospect of best-friendship—were done with their armor and had their casual attire on, they got back upstairs, where the festivities had begun. After a few sips of their brandy Serge had made his interest in Allaina known to his Elven friend. 

“If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed away from Sarel, “I’m going to see if I can embarrass the both of us.”

Sarel rolled his eyes but didn’t have much time to respond, the Breton was gone and an Orc had taken his place. To say the least it was a shocking exchange. The Orc asked about Sarel. The elf was happy enough to not feel the need to lie completely, so he told half-truths instead. 

“I was born and raised up north, in Solstheim. Before coming here, meeting Sharee, I was a bodyguard for a lowlife Imperial transplant, a duke who married into the Mede family in order to usurp control…” Sarel stopped for a moment to take another sip, “—not that he has much control of anything,” he added victoriously. “Not much to tell,” Sarel lied. “What about you? If you weren’t on this boat with me I’d say you’re from Orsinium. But you are, so I won’t.”