After Zahir’s successful job find at the Knife’s Edge, the Ra’Sheek spent the next couple of days preparing for the voyage. There really wasn’t much to do other than seek out a smith to sharpen his Jadepyre Tooth, and pick herbs out in the meadows for his alchemy. On the last night, he drank with Geris, the old fisherman that nursed Zahir back to health after washing ashore that fateful night… 

Geris was an honorable man. Despite wanting nothing in return for his good deed, Zahir insisted, paying the fisherman back by working alongside him on the fishing cog. Alone, Geris was raking in a modest sum. With Zahir, the man hauled in nearly thrice his usual catch, tiding him over for a season’s worth in earnings. While Zahir’s extra pair of hands contributed to this bounty, it was his intimidating presence that truly made the difference. With the Ra'Sheek at his side, competing fishermen thought twice about bullying Geris from the better fishing routes. So yes, there was plenty to celebrate for: Zahir’s employment aboard the Sea Reaver, Geris’ bountiful fish harvest, and, of course, their friendship.     

Zahir and Geris perused through all the taverns in the city, adding a random drunkard here and there to their growing entourage, and eventually ended up at one of Seacliffe’s private beaches. Some of the memories Zahir has of that night are of Geris finally beating him at arm wrestling, and a glazed Elf jumping into the fire pit. The Elf apparently fancied himself as some kind of Ember Mage, impervious to heat, but the long-eared bloke quickly found out that that was not the case. The elf rolled all over the floor like a flea-stricken hound, and the party goers quickly threw sand on him to extinguish the flames. Though the fires had perished, the laughs and the sand shoveling didn’t stop, until all but his head disappeared into a large mound; Artisans among the group wasted no time in sculpting a rather large sandcastle out of it. The half-finished castle glistened as the sun rose from the ocean horizon behind it. Save the elf’s snoring head, it was truly a beautiful sight.

Zahir surveyed the Sea Reaver, half-nodding to the Quartermaster’s speech as his attention was more focused on the caravel’s fine craftsmanship. The ropes and chains tying everything together looked sturdy and new. The sails were bright and exuberant, and the overall cleanliness of the deck was decent for buccaneering standards. Zahir then observed the crew. Galen and his diverse companions seemed like a capable group. They reminded him of the Emerald Merit, but he did not dwell on this thought for long. Instead, he focused on the new hires like himself.  

The healing mage, if competent, would prove to be a worthy asset. Should Zahir overstep his alchemic boundaries, he’ll be needing her spell-craft to keep his faculties in check. Then there was Ed, the handsomest man Zahir has ever seen, who standing oddly close to him. The male Praelior was small and peculiar, and he did not wield a spear, something fighters of his kind are known for carrying. Yes, something was off about him. Zahir watched as Ed shot a flirtatious gesture at Vaia, and the Ra’Sheek couldn’t help but grin himself. She was a beautiful reminder of his homeland. And she was assigned as the cook? Zahir’s mouth watered at the thought of having Ra’Sheek cuisine again.

"Ah, Ra'Sheek women. Beautiful, yes?" Zahir said, playfully elbowing at Ed's shoulder. "Perhaps I speak to her for you? I can be your [i]winged-man[/i], as they say."