Well, there were no warlocks or wizards or witches out there, but there was a pirate at least.
Ex-pirate for now, that is, because he had no ship to call home and no crew to work among, and for a very good reason. Namely because, ahem, he'd been left behind. He'd gotten a little occupied at the local tavern, gotten a little drunk, and when he woke up in the morning...the ship was gone. He'd slept in and the rule was that if you didn't show in time, you got left behind. Not only was that rule in place to encourage people to be punctual, but it was also served as a discreet way out for those who decided that piracy just wasn't for them anymore. If you wanted to quit, you simply didn't come back. It was a sort of unwritten law that allowed people an easy way out while preserving their pride and...preventing them from getting hazed by any of their old mates. In any case, they certainly didn't need anyone among their crew that wasn't into it--it was a dangerous trade, so you had to be able and willing.
But Quinn hadn't wanted to quit! He'd just...made a very, very stupid mistake, and he'd uttered ten million curses to try and sum up his feelings on the matter. The only thing that consoled him at the moment was that he wasn't the first person to make such an idiot blunder--not the first person among their crew as a matter of fact. Ugh. Oh well.
Nothing he could do about it now. All it meant was that he'd have to either wait out a few months in this city until they returned--and they would return; the port at Cerenis was safe for them for the time being as they were as of yet widely unknown on this side of the continent--or look around for another crew that would take him in.
Hah, as if.
He'd just have to wait. And he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around in that fishing town, with the ocean all around him, tantalizing him and reminding him of his stupid blunder. Nah. It would be a while, a long while, so instead he decided to head further inland. He loved the sea, it was why he was a sailor, but he wouldn't be able to stand living near it while knowing that he still had months and months to wait before he could finally be out on the open waters again. Inland it was, then, and back to his roots for a few months. If he couldn't live like a pirate on the seas, he'd live as a theif in the city--just like he'd started out.
Arca...his old motherland.
Of course, it wasn't like he was going to tell anyone that. As far as anyone else knew, he came from some exotic country across the sea that he dared not tell anyone the location to lest it be spoiled by the lusts of foreigners.
So, towards the main city he walked, deciding he really had nothing better to do for the day and figuring that the clouds above were simply the marine layer that would burn off by noon. Wrong. Much to his annoyance, as he headed back from the docks toward town to spend the night, wandering off the main roads and cutting across the wilderness as a shortcut, it started to rain.
Quinn heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes skyward.
Oh thank you. I really needed that, thanks, he thought wryly. If the Gods really did exist, they were certainly having fun with him today. It wouldn't have been so bad if the air wasn't so chilly.
The rain let off after his clothes were good and soaked through, his brown breeches clinging to his legs and his tunic and vest heavy with water. As the day wore on, they luckily started to dry out and his hair, wavy and black and held back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, began to frizz. Oh well. He really didn't care, he never had been the vain type and it showed in his rough and tumble looks. His skin, or what showed of it--which would be his face, neck, and hands--was tanned bronze and a bit on the weather-beaten, worn side from spending all his days out in the sun, and a few noticeable scars were etched into his skin, one stretching across his forehead over his left eyebrow, likely from being struck in the head during a brawl, and another thinner one on his right cheek running diagonally from the bridge of his nose, likely from a knife. There were more scars on his body, though, along his arms and torso. Some from fights, more from simple accidents on the ship.
Though it was obvious that he'd seen better days, he wasn't ugly. In fact, some people found him a bit too pretty as to be unnerving. Not pretty like a pampered noblewoman or pretty like someone who had good hygeine and the means of properly caring for themselves and hadn't spent months out in the salt and sun, but...just a wee bit on the feminine side. For a man, his face was a bit too soft, the jawline a bit too weak, and his throat just a bit too smooth. And his voice...well...even though he was a man of twenty-four, it didn't sound like his voice had cracked yet. It was soft and light, not deep like a man's.
Quinn just said it was because he was a eunuch, and that seemed to suffice. No one argued. A few cringed. And the subject was dropped. Besides, they also knew Quinn was half elf, as his lightly pointed ears revealed. Elves could come out looking pretty and smelling like a rose even after being dragged through a clothing wringer and buried in manure.
...Well, maybe not. Quinn was pretty sure he didn't smell like roses right now. He probably smelled like sweat and rain and salt.
Picking absently at his clothes as he walked, hating the feeling of the wet cloth clinging to him like a cold second skin and wishing the sun would come out, he was glad when he could finally see the city in the distance. Not much farther, and then he'd finally get to buy a change of clothes...and maybe have a bath and a mug of ale at the local inn.
Hey, he'd already been left behind. Wouldn't matter if he got plastered at this point.
However, that was when he heard it, a most unusual sound. Someone was crying out in the distance for help, it seemed. And asking for witches and warlocks and spellbinders, if he heard correctly? Odd. Curious, Quinn began to jog toward the sound but he picked up his pace when he suddenly heard a loud crack and a scream. The hell? His hand drifted to the pommel of his scimitar as he ran, but then he froze at what he finally came across.
A red-haired person laying sprawled out on the ground, a broken branch not far from him.
A winged person. Not that winged people were the craziest of things that Quinn had seen, especially considering his own heritage.
And that wing of his did not look good, and the boy appeared to be crying.
Well. That sucked for him.
Lettig his hand fall away from his scimitar, Quinn shook his head ruefully, a small smile on his lips, as he calmly strode across the remaining distance that separated them.
"Left th' nest too early didja? Eh, birdie?" he remarked calmly as he approached, stopping to stand near the boy's head before finally crouching down and watching him with dark green eyes, his face open and amused though his eyes revealed a little concern. A little. Quinn admittedly wasn't the most sympathetic of people.
"S'ppose yer lucky, though, 'cause I'm tha' spellbinger ye were yammerin' about. Might be able t' help ye if yer not already too bad off. Might have t' put ye down if not." A pause and a wink to show he was joking, and he shook his head. "Now, ye wanted help, no? Jus' outta curiosity...whatcha willin' t' give fer said help?"
Ah, no, he wasn't above weaseling some coin out of an injured boy. What could he say, it was his nature, and he rarely did something for nothing. Hey, he had to eat, too.
