Port Vane was a festering boil on the ass of the ocean, and Revas hated it immediately.
It was a free port in the Southern Archipelago, a lawless tangle of wooden docks, leaning shacks, and open-air markets that smelled of fish, curry, and unwashed pirates. It was humid, loud, and blindingly colorful—a stark contrast to the gray stone and cold winds of Sanctum.
"It's sticky," Revas complained, peeling his black shirt away from his chest as they walked down the gangplank of The Gilded Gull. "The air is actually chewing on me. I demand we leave."
"We leave when we have money for the long-haul liner," Mirabelle said, adjusting her boots. She wore her pirate ensemble with surprising comfort, a stolen bandana tying back her hair. "The gambling money bought us food, but the passage to the Cobalt Coast is expensive. We need real coin."
"So we steal it," Revas suggested, eyeing a fat merchant walking past with a gold chain.
