Two moons marked the night, one a ghostly blue and the other merely white. Other moons might grace the sky above on any given night, but the Elders and scholars kept all in sight. Master Nazeek took note, yet of it he rarely spoke. A weathered assassin watching the skies comparing his experience to their theories, their lies. And truth. Notes scribed fast, explanations built from the past. Nazeek wrote and showed how to use that special sight which explained all that might, above. Yet the master never spoke of stars. He stated as fact, expecting all to act, until just like that all the bravado and tact, stopped. Simeon left behind, still listening, following -- waiting under two moons that marked the night.

Sogna passed over the calm waves and prepared to dock. Night fell some time ago, longer these days as Autumn took hold of Léva, and the ship's crew worked silently. At the bow stood a tall, bearded man with a captain's cap which he held in a hand, waving toward whatever he ordered to be done. A hand fell on his shoulder. The owner drew close to his ear, shared a few words, and made his way down the steps. This man stood shorter than the captain with dark skin, like most of the crew, and countless dreadlocks tied back and spilling over his shoulders. Each step went without sound, each movement precise and intentional. He stepped up onto the rail of the ship with a hand gripping some taut rope rising toward the sails. As soon as the dock neared he stepped forward onto the mossy, wooden planks. The captain leaned against the rail and let a short and low whistle. 

"The ticket, uh," the captain fell quiet and cringed, a thin paper held out in hand. "No disrespect, Simeon. Just, what should call you?"

Simeon lowered his head and took the paper. Nearly six months since the passing and he hadn't claimed the title. A courtesy, not asking this long. Simeon smiled, and quietly replied, "My name. I'll see that the order is filled along with our return. Be ready to cast off in an hour?"

At the captain's nod, Simeon raised his hood and left. The moss covered docks made of weathered stone spoke to the very character of Annwn. An old region built up centuries upon centuries ago left to wither and to die and to rot. Structures of a variety of shapes appeared here and there, half crumbled, yet still liveable. Dwarves claimed that the surface had merely been an experiment. A thing of little value let go at the smallest risk. Their pride lie beneath the earth in the districts of the city below. And so were their mythos, their narratives of power and mastery over earth. Simeon knew the stories, but held no strong opinion. He chose this region for how its people lived. Most kept below and those who lived above were mostly hunters, smiths, and folk of the land in scattered villages -- nearly all jobs for the day. The village he walked through first started immediately off the dock. A line of wooden structures sprawled out from a taller, older ruin furthest from the sea. Very few stood in the streets and none by their windows. There were lights, but most seemed content in their homes, eateries, and taverns. He remembered the captain called the village [I]Arberth.[/I]

Simeon approached the only lamp unlit on the street. The black metal cage held glass walls, one a door, and a plate on which to set a candle or Lef-infused stone. From what he could tell his message had arrived. Every lamp glowed a bright blue akin to the larger moon above. Smiling at the sight, Simeon reached beneath his cloak and brought out a ball of thick cloth. He placed the thing in the lamp and took the cloth out along with his hand. Before Simeon could fully turn around a bright white appeared. By the time he stepped back into the center of the path others had emerged. No one gawked or investigated, they merely confirmed the light and changed their own. A few moments later and Arberth was cast in a harsh and surreal white. 

"I take it you're the customer," a woman roughly Simeon's height asked from a nearby building. She stood with a rag hung over her shoulder, her hair loosely tied into a bun. 

Simeon nodded and handed her the purchasing note. Raising a brow, she pursed her lips and continued, this time quieter, "When we received the order I thought it some royal banquet in the south, maybe Ludgate. Maybe sizeable orders all over to satisfy one big party. But royals spend wildly. Only pirates demand so much for so little. Only lords rouse the fear I've heard about this order. What manner of pirate are you, then? Hm?" 

At the word pirate, the barkeep had leaned so near Simeon tasted her on his breath. Her perfume a mix of gin, vermouth, and whiskey. Those eyes soft and determined for an answer. She leaned lower, her scoop-neck blouse revealing her breasts propped all too intentionally against an arm. She let her lips part a hair before she glanced down. "I think," she said softly, leaning even lower until Simeon could see a tattoo. "You're [I]him.[/I]" 

The barkeep raised and drew a knife with the propped arm. Before completing the slash Simeon caught her elbow, shoving her hand back toward her. That skinny knife, a black stiletto, cut deep until the hilt. She gasped and pulling her back into a lean, Simeon kissed her. Though her lips struggled he persisted. Eventually her little cries reduced to whimpers and to silence. He propped the body against the rail and retrieved his note. In the night and that dark blouse, the blood was invisible. 

When Simeon looked back to the road he spotted the first of this new sect some ways up the road. He stepped away from the propped corpse, gesturing a wave as if goodbye, and began his approach. Things were already amiss -- he would not daddle.