Msaka leaned against the ship's rail as it rounded the southern tip of the island of Marete. While he'd overcome the seasickness which had plagued him during the first leg of the sea voyage, the ship's constant rocking still left him feeling ill at ease. It only worsened during the periods in which it was far from land. He knew how to swim, at least to a rudimentary degree, but certainly didn't trust that to be enough to get him to land if anything untoward happened to the sailing vessel on which he'd booked passage.

There was also the possibility things might happen during the voyage. Apart from the ever-present danger of storms and other natural hazards, a cargo vessel such as this one could easily become a target for pirates as well. Still, the captain had assured him that piracy was rare this close to Marete, owing both to the newfound vigor of the small but growing navy of Silmaria, and the diligence of the tritons patrolling the waters around it.

Msaka was disappointed by the fact that no tritons had shown themselves thus far; it might have saved him a great deal of effort if he'd been able to bargain with one so soon. As things stood, he'd still have to find local transportation to the island the tritons were said to make their homes around. That in itself might not be easy, as the captain also claimed that the new regime in Silmaria had, as part of the new alliance between the island nation and the undersea one, agreed to forbid ship traffic in the immediate vicinity of the tritons' home.

The captain had briefly described the matter of rulership as well. The year before, not so long after the troubles that had beset Tarna were concluded, the previous king of the land had been assassinated. A series of tests had been held to determine who the new ruler would be, as well as to solve the matter of the murder. Things became far more complicated, however, when it turned out that the one behind the assassination - and a host of other troubles afflicting Silmaria at the same time - was attempting to release a dragon formed of fire and blood magic that had been bound within the volcano that rose at the center of the island, ages ago. Several of the contestants had been killed, but eventually the traitor behind the schemes was uncovered, and the dragon itself destroyed. Then, to confound everyone's expectations, the champion who had won the Rites of Rulership declined to accept the crown, passing it instead to the only other remaining competitor before departing for other lands in pursuit, so it was said, of other wrongs to right.

Msaka shook his head, squinting at the shoreline to the north. Passing up an opportunity like that seemed foolish, particularly after having gone to so much trouble to gain the right to it. Still, even though the new ruler had come second in the contest, she had apparently earned a fair reputation, not only for setting existing matters in order, but for having taken several initiatives to bolster the small nation's fortunes. The addition of the navy was the most notable of the the latter measures.

As the city finally came into view on the horizon, Msaka reflected that the stability in the area would probably make his task easier, so perhaps it was for the best that things had turned out as they did. All he needed to do was find some way to get around the ban on approaching the tritons' territory, and obtain some hair from one of them. The latter, at least, didn't seem like it would be too difficult, unless perhaps they were inordinately vain.

The trip from Shapier had been relatively uneventful, which was another fortunate turn of events since it had spared him from any significant delays. He'd left his initial caravan and turned west with another one, earning a fair sum of coin in the process. Those proceeds had easily covered the cost of travelling aboard the cargo vessel. Still, he was looking forward to getting back onto dry land. The rocking was bad enough, but the tiny cabin he'd been putting up with could hardly be considered luxurious. He'd taken to summoning food from home, unable to stand the bland biscuits and ridiculously heavily salted dry meats that seemed to comprise the majority of the crew's meals.

"No matter, it will be over soon." he thought, watching the city and its prominent docks grow steadily nearer. Hopefully whatever inn he found would have rooms large enough to actually stretch out in. That, and tolerable food.