Meanwhile, at the docks in the next port of call....

(Written to show what a blind samurai 'sees'. The visual references are for the sighted. If you have scent you notice some of these no visual clues.)


The expensive smelling, but actually cheap for you get it in Manama, spiced tobacco and Jasmine calone of the ship's master.

The cheap local pipe weed, cheaper rotgut, muscle ointment of the sweaty longshore men unloading the spice cargo.

The ship smelled like Manama. Their particular dates, dust, perfume, and furtively cooked pork.

That ship left a week ago, but it hasn't rained since. It will today though. The scent of impending rain mixes with the salt and rotting fishbones.

The weathered wood of this now empy pier is sticky in places with pitch and years various spilt cargos. Small wake waves from ships in the harbor lap at the pilings. Disant calls from sailers to loaders and the cresks of rope carry from docking operations a few hundred feet away.

There are no gull cries. Or dove coos. Or even rat skitters. There isn't as much 'human' activity as there should be for this time of year. The omens seem to have everyone spooked.

The sea is a greenish brown, and the sky's overcast.

You are waiting at the pier for your ship. It is due anytime, but could be a while as the weather at sea seems worse than in the harbor. The pub that normally serves the area is closed, so hear you are, travel papers already stamped, waiting.

There is one middle aged local human fishing from the pier. Seems to be a merchant, though dressed in old "work" clothes. He smells too good to be fishing for subsistence, and his clothes aren't dirty enough to be a laborer. His bait is fresh chicken hearts. If he were poor enough to need to fish, he would let have just fried up his bait.

(New characters may talk to each other while waiting. They will have their own combat in a bit)