(tweaking here and there)

SEBASTIAN TIBERIUS, SKY PIRATE EXTRAORDINAIRE, CONTRABAND PRINCE OF THE SKIES!

There is something in the air today that makes Sebastian uneasy. Normally his ship flies as smooth as melted chocolate, conquering even the most torrential skies with grace. As a pilot he is talented and refined, and at several ports around the globe his name is revered by many.

Today, however, the returning flight from the west coast was tumultuous, enough so to shake even the Ulysses. It has forced the contraband prince of the skies to dock at the port halfway between Leygnar and Apello, and has rightfully put him in a foul mood.

At first he inferred that there was something wrong with his ship, repairs that he could not afford to fix in his current fiscal stint. Once he had his pride and glory checked out by the onsite machinists, whom informed him there was absolutely nothing wrong with her, he welcomed the theory that it was the skies themselves that had turned against him.

Regardless of what the problem is, Sebastian is stranded here until is fixes itself. As a man of action, like all his fellow sky pirates, he does not bode well when his freedom is kept under lock and key. To keep himself from pacing and lashing out at the machinists who flit about the port, keeping tabs on the other aviators forced to make an emergency landing, he trudges towards the Whitecap, fully expecting to drown his sorrows in liquor.

The air is bitter and whips at his face in tendrils as he walks, and he is very grateful to be out of the brewing storm as the inn’s doors close behind him. It is louder than usual, bustling with a crowd of bellwethers no doubt in very similar positions. The tavern master looks flustered, darting between each belligerent customer. Sebastian decides to relieve him by picking a secluded corner away from everyone else to brood.

Surely enough, no one regards him, and for that he is grateful, taking instead to scouring the dozens of ads littering the walls. In known pirating locales such as Whitecap inns are used for communication, often surreptitiously and in the form of bills and notices. Of course, once the state takes heed the suspicious literature is removed, and official notices replace them, warning any vagabond that they will be punished severely if caught peddling goods.

Sebastian hopes that the state has yet to reach this particular post. If he can find something fetching a good price perhaps it will lift his mood, or even pay for a way out of here. If not, he can at least buy some company to ease the pain of being landlocked.

Instead of finding a decent bill however he lands upon a notice asking the public to take heed of a certain troupe of head-hunters. The same paper is scattered throughout the inn, as if it is of utmost importance that the message reaches all civilians. Apparently these particular vigilantes were brought to the attention of authorities by hunting the Aevis, an avian race known to the population mostly from lore. The notice states that it is their feathers they are after, and that their numbers are dropping like flies.

The warning makes Sebastian scoff. If his people were being hunted, surely he would be the first to know.

He is not quick to trust anything the state has to say, and this farce is no exception. He has not personally seen any decline in the Aevis’ numbers – after all, he is still standing – and it is a common fact that many Aevis take to the skies. For all he knows this is a cheap ploy to detain the pirates in the empire.

It is not as if it is easy to spot an Aevis, not when they appear so human. It is only their eyes -- stunning jade irises with startling pupils -- and their lithe, graceful bodies that give any hint to their lineage. Sebastian long ago gave up his wings in favour of the sleek metal of the Ulysses.

*

Outside the storm begins to rage. There is nothing for him to do but wait.