The dock was alive with movement, as sailors moved from ship to ship, checking the security one last time for the evening. The smell of brine and sweat made the air thick and hard to breathe in. Hummed sea tunes coated the atmosphere, mingling to a unique rhythm that set the waves dancing. Broken dolls of women sat by the harbor, offering themselves up for a bit of alcohol, their grimy faces and matted hair sending out a seductive plea. Shouts and curses were deafening, and many ship-hands staggered away from a vicious cuff on the ear. Legends of the necklace were told at a dull murmur, yet it was not unheard. There was not a soul in the port or on the sea who hadn't heard it, or gone half mad at the idea of searching for it. It was something that had claimed the entire mind of any sea-bearing man.
A slim, tall figure stood half-leaning against the dirty, decrepit wall of an old church building. It was ironic, the placement of the structure, as it was located directly beside the pub. A wry smile touched his lips as he watched drunk men stagger out the door and towards the church to rid themselves of sin.
He had never been a strongly religious man, having seen too much in his short life of twenty three years, and found it difficult to believe that there was any god that watched out for him. But it was entertaining to hear the desperate pleas of sinners as they begged for repentance.
Thick black hair fell past his shoulders, pulled back at the nape of his neck with a thick blue ribbon. His clothes had the hint of a rich background, but had obviously seen the wear and tear of much travel. His eyes were an icy blue, and were slanted slightly upward. His face was narrow, and was deceptively feminine. Beneath the tailored cloth of his coat, his muscles were hard, and several scars broke the smooth skin of his arms. He stood at about six feet, and like the rest of the sick-hearted men here, he was searching for the rumored band.