Once they docked, Markus eyed the wharf with suspicion despite the apparent revelry. Drunk men stumbled about on the docks while hawk eyed men stood in direct contrast, seemingly looking for anyone they could steal from or extort. In order to get their 'letter of marque' from the Brethren of the Coast, he needed to make it to the court of Pirate Lords. After he called for his men to stay on the ship, he approached Emmaline. Morgan barked for the men to stay sharp and keep their weapons polished.

The golden woman watched the dock, looking so much like a lost maiden at sea. He draped a cloak around her shoulders, one hand gliding down her back to her waist as he said. "Cloak your form. The less eyes on you the better. And yes, you're coming with me." For a moment, Emmaline felt his hand sliding past her belt, but rather than anything lewd, she felt a pistol placed in her belt loop. "Don't shoot unless I tell you to." 

He looked her dead in the eye, before a smirk appeared on his face. "Morgan! Stay with the ship. Once we come back, we can haul this shit off and sell what we got. I'm sure dark elf hides and weapons sell a high price." He remarked. They would keep a few of their superb crossbows, and the armor was useful, but the men were too superstitious to ever accept wearing anything of druchii made. Markus, on the other hand... 

"Oi! I'm comin' with ye." A thick accented voice rose above the clamor of men speaking. The one handed slayer walked out of the crowd, thick muscled and covered in tattoos of khazalid. He smiled like a jackal. Markus saw six pistols stripped on baldrics across his meaty chest. "I've been here 'afore. Sketti Hammerhand'll see ye through."

Markus shrugged, not truly minding. The Dwarf might prove useful. The bridge to the dock was laid down, and Markus and Emmaline stepped off together, Markus holding her hand to keep her steady as the ship bobbed up and down. A dockmaster stood awaiting them, though he looked more like a renegade tax collector. Pock marks marred his face, and he had a smile full of ivory teeth. His wide brimmed hat looked worn and perpetually realigned so it flopped around him. 

"Whats yer business here, fella? And..." He looked at Emmaline up and down, unable to gauge her thanks to the cloak. "Lady?" 

"Why are they celebrating?" Markus asked him, not even deigning to look the man's way. He snorted, unused to the casual treatment except by men who knew him, like as not. 

"Celebrating the founding of the republic." He said, ostentatiously trying to sound learned in history. Markus nearly laughed, forgetting Sartosa pirates claimed to be a nation in and of themselves. It made sense they would try and appear more official than a collection of thieves and murderers on a godforsaken island. "And I need to know who you are, and fifty golden crowns for docking. A lack of payment will-" 

Markus held out a bag for the man, who's jaw dropped at the sight of such gold. Emmaline snickered when Markus dropped the bag into his awaiting hands. It was wet in his palms, and he opened the bag to see the severed head of a Dark Elf. He yelped, dropping the head and letting it roll fully out of the bag. Markus kicked it into the water. "There's more where that one came from, so we can afford to let a few go. We're here to join the Brethren. Now where do we go to see the lords?"

"Y-You uh uhm, you go through Market Street, a-and go past crown's row. Then the festival will be held on Sartosa keep!" 
[@Penny]