Calliope didn’t venture any opinion of the crew, if Markus and the dwarf were confident in them then she had no choice to defer to their superior expertise. The navy of Calaverde was largely made up of privateers, ships furnished with a warrant from the Tyrant to perform some task or another in exchange for payment and for permission to use the harbor. There were a few more regularized naval ships that the tyrant owned and operated at the public expense these provides a convenient outlet for the sadistic and incompetent sons of powerful families, criminals of various stripes and a useful excuse for the Tyrant to raise taxes. None of this made Calliope feel particularly authoritative on the matter of actually seafaring.

“Are we supposed to call it ‘pirating’ are we?” she asked, lazily drawing her finger through the distinctly inferior wine that currently filled her carved wooden goblet. 

“I am sure what the good captain meant to say, was that he was eager to embark on a profitable career in commerce at some considerable distance from this fine city,” a rough masculine voice interjected. A stood in the doorway he was dressed in a navy blue coat with golden accents which he wore over a suit of immaculate but functional leather armor. A plain heavy cutlass, much at odds with the coat, hung from a weapons belt alongside the butt an elegant looking dwarven pistol. He was tall and weather beaten with dark blonde hair and heavily calloused palms.

“Because if that isn’t what he meant I’m afraid I’d have to hang him as a pirate,” the man concluded. Calliope glared at the man for a moment.

“Hello Rodrick,” she said finally her tone half amused and half resigned. The man put a hand to his chest in feigned surprise.

“Calli?! Can that really be you? I mean I had heard reports that Calliopie the Tyrant of Calaverde was in my city, but I dismissed it as sailors nonsense. Then, wouldn’t you know it, I get a pigeon from Calaverde claiming that some idiot named Sebastian Del Mondo was the new ‘First Citizen’ or something equally ridiculous, and it occured to me that maybe I should check it out.”
Rodrick Blackmoor, the Sea Lord of Stormsrest, stepped into the tavern. Behind him a dozen soldiers, each equipped with coats of navy blue and white pantaloons stood at attention, each carrying a long musket of plain but obvious functionality. 

“Doing, well for yourself I see,” Calliopie said with a hint of acid in her voice. Rodrick looked down at the coat and brushed off an imaginary speck of dust before dragging chair around to the table, he faced the back towards them and sat down legs astride, crossing his arms across the back of the chair.

“Markus, Sketti, this is Rodrick Blackmoor, or whatever new last name he has invented for himself,” Calliope said by way of introduction.

“Charmed I’m sure, and you have to admit that Blackmoor has more of a ring to it than some names I have had. Cant have Lord Whoreson running a city now can?” he asked before nodding deliberately to Markus.

“I must say Captain that the poster dosen’t do you justice,” he quipped making an offhand gesture to one of the recruiting posters hanging from a rusted nail.