If you removed the rioters, the fires, and the raiders; Magincia during the day was nothing less than exquisite. The salt air skimmed and tickled at the corners the sand dunes. Pride surged through its proverbial veins etching its way across the flower laden grass. Inhaling and exhaling, the island lived and breathed its heritage with ever sunrise and sunset. The portrait colors of purple skirted by orange and pink dusted themselves across a dimming horizon. But nightfall on the Island of Pride was something else entirely. For every prudish modicum of ideal there was an equally extroverted degree of personal fetish. Magincia, catered to all. It was after all, entirely about who you knew. She knew the ship. She knew the Captain. She knew the crew. Everything could be rationalized beneath the right moon.
Mark felt he was getting old. Sleeping out on a bedroll no longer held any allure to him. This shipping trade was making more then he ever had on the highways. Since the last fatherhood claim was in the past maybe it was time to take up a more permanent place to hang up his sword at nights. All this trade with the city coming back to life. The lack of law. He would talk to his contact as soon as he got in. Maybe it was time for a brigand to get a home.
Yes it really is time to settle down some. It looks like now is the prefect time to use those forged papers I have laying around. Now if I can just remember where I put them...
