As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the energy in Vilpamolan only intensified. The night brought on a rise, threatening to reach a fever pitch of the darker variety. It was through a particular early drunkard that he made his passage through. The man has barely fallen into the first cycle of sleep, but that was more than enough for The Dream Weaver, and he smiled and dusted off his arms as he seemingly appeared into thin air next to the slumped over man.

Ah… He gave him a quick once over and knelt down, tucking the person’s legs in so that they wouldn’t be a tripping hazard, and then he continued on his way. It was the first time since his awakening that he’d traveled to the pirate haven, and his mind raced with similarities. In his original home world there had been a place like this, and he wondered if all realms had their own town dedicated to debauchery. The last time he had been here it was to help a troubled young man, and he wondered listlessly where he took up residence on this night.

No matter, there would be time to follow up with him later. Awakened or not, he still had a promise to keep to Angela, even if Kale was more reluctant than most. His patience hadn’t dispersed with his former domain, but it wasn’t quite as soft anymore. He passed a hand over his face and his features became entirely different; paler skin, rough blue eyes that were nothing like the slender Ataiyan eyes he had naturally, and dirty blond hair; and with a quick exhale the white glowing marks on his skin blew out. Before, he wasn’t able to do this, but now he could hide them easily. Temporarily at least.

With all of the knowledge that had poured into his head, he had over a thousand years of experience under his belt as well. At times it was dizzying, but he tried not to think on things like that for too long. Since his awakening he was away from home more than he’d ever been before. If he thought about everything for more than five minutes his chest would tighten in panic, and he wasn’t keen on letting it become a habit.

For now though, the night was young, and he walked down one of the side streets of Vilpamolan without a single person looking in his direction. That was nice for a change. Usually his glow gave him away instantly, earning him a few sneers and even some spit in his direction when in a place such as this. But now? Now that he was able to conceal his markings along with changing his face and skin, it was like having a fresh start.

A round of shouts rang out in the distance, followed by the familiar and thunderous boom of an offshore magickal blast. In the distance he watched as, what used to be a tavern, shattered in a thousand splinters from the blast. His eyes widened, such was the risk when visiting a pirate city. Nonetheless, he was still him and still had a duty to uphold, and was instantly off in that direction.

It was unclear what exactly had drawn him to Vilpamolan. Maybe it was the sea in all its untamed beauty, or perhaps the sheer life of the place, packed to the brim with people. It might even be the criminal haze that fogged the crooked city, making every street and alley a potential score for thieves, or arena for brawlers. More than likely however, it was a combination of each of these facets, coming together to form a place not unlike one left behind in a distant past. Indeed, the lycan’s heart ached for a home to which he could never return.

The seaside cesspool known as “Minoc” had not been home to Olvar for long, but it had served as a sort of cradle for his independence from his family. It had been there that he and his last kin parted ways, with Cole taking to the waves under a pirate’s banner. The eldest survivor had fallen in with the other thieves, too stubborn to abandon his homeland. Little did he know that it would be wrenched from his grasp anyway in later years.

Truly the parallels were uncanny, but it still wasn’t perfect. The air here was a bit thicker. It carried a different sort of sourness. The accents of passing tongues weren’t quite right. Coming here may have been a mistake after all, for every tweaked detail only made the twist in his chest tighter. He gritted his teeth at the thought. Why he even ached for a place of such depressing memories he couldn’t imagine.

Glinting hazel eyes fell onto one of the many taverns dotting the coastal port. The best course of action may very well be to drink himself into oblivion and crawl out of town upon wakening. If he were lucky his mind would forget about the attempt at normalcy entirely. Then again, his life hadn’t been normal for very nearly a decade. Regardless, the thought of a drink was now too tempting to be put out of his head. The lycan started forward with resigned commitment, stepping over any puddles of who-knows-what in the streets.

As he neared the tavern, he shrugged the comforting weight of his overcoat on his shoulders, preparing to mount the short flight of steps to the door. A distant hum gave him pause. He turned his eyes seaward just in time to watch an explosive blast rip into the building, sending a shower of splinters and broken planks of wood in every direction. The magnitude of the impact threw Olvar back at least a dozen paces, the wet stone of the road greeting him harshly upon landing. Every fiber of his being tensed as he rose again, limbs stiff and head sore. Chaos had broken out in an instant, with some in the crowds scrambling for shelter while others armed themselves.

The shifter’s first instinct was to rush to the bones of the building, glancing quickly through the rubble. A small crowd had been inside at the time of the impact, and while none of them showed any signs of life, Olvar did pay them enough time to lighten their pockets. Was it really stealing if they weren’t going to use it anyway?

With no one to heroically drag to safety, he quickly abandoned the site, returning instead to the streets to find a better vantage point of what had caused the destruction. Even as he looked on, he could hear more blasts impacting the town around him. It wasn’t cannon fire, at least not from any cannons he’d ever experienced. A call of “Pirates!” rang through the trembling air. One hand swept his leather coat open, finding the hilt of his sword. The incoming attacks hummed over the water, making his ears ring softly and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Magic? During his training he had seen plenty of opposing forces use all manner of spells and incantations in their offensive, but from a pirate ship?

“You must be joking…”

A flurry of footsteps caught his attention. Everyone was rushing about, many toward the shore, but one man, a blond with a fighter's slender build, had fixed determined blue eyes on the tavern. Olvar had beaten him to a good portion of the easy looting to be done, so the lycan called out instead for information. “You there! What defenses does Vilpamolan have against a pirate onslaught?”

Just as he’d made it to the gutted remains of the tavern, he heard someone call out to him. He looked in surprise, but only briefly, before returning his sights to the remains themselves. The auras here were so weak, it was astonishing to think of how many had perished so quickly. Even so, he answered back, “You would think their abilities would be great, but unfortunately, outcasts come here for debauchery: not war.”

He looked back to him, his eyes giving him a quick but subtle once over before continuing, “Whatever preparations they have, it’s nothing in comparison to the power these newcomers are bringing.” His eyes moved past him towards the unseen shoreline. The last time he’d had to deal with pirates they had come by airship, but this blast was too low, its angle not steep enough to have come from above. That and there were no vessels on the skyline.

“I wouldn’t suggest staying in one place for too long-” Before he could even finish his statement, a high whistle soared through the air and he quickly disappeared from view only to reappear in a silent ray of light at the top of a neighboring building. He did this just in time for the second cannon ball to massacre the building adjacent to the already destroyed tavern. Well this was exciting. He waved away the flurry of dust and debris that managed to cloud up even to how high he currently was.

“Are you all right down there?!” he called down to the man. This was no good, he wasn’t speaking like the usual company that walked these streets, but in times of emergency he couldn’t just pretend to be another person in attitude. Not for the sake of going unnoticed at least. His eyes narrowed and he tried to zero in on the man’s aura. A lot of good it would do him since he hadn’t had a chance to scope it out previously. It would take a great deal of magick to send so many rounds in succession. Why would someone bother in a place like Vilpamolan?

A pirate invasion with no means of defense from the city? “What sort of Haven has no way of defending the peace?” he scoffed in answer. The buildings were too clustered to properly search for a vessel or fleet in the distance, so Olvar searched instead for higher ground. The skeleton of the tavern was destroyed beyond recognition that it had once been a real structure, and he preferred not to enter another in case it was blasted away by another attack. A stack of crates leaned against a wall might offer a small vantage point. As he started toward them, the air seemed to tremble, stopping the lycan short. He heard the strain of a thin whistle rising steadily. With a curse, Olvar threw himself forward, barely reaching the gutted tavern before the blast tore another hole in the city.

Debris and splinters of wood were sent flying in every direction, the shifter laying flat with his hands protecting his head. His leather coat protected him to some degree, but a few minor cuts and abrasions still found their way to any exposed flesh. Luckily, with his healing ability they would be gone in a matter of minutes. He waited a moment in case of a second volly, standing only when confident of a brief respite. Blinking dust from his eyes, he turned to the man calling him… But the stranger wasn’t there. Olvar had to turn his gaze skyward to see the man perched atop a nearby roof, either very agile or bearing an unseen gift. Just his luck to find a magic user. “How in the gods’ names did you get up there?” he asked, a small growl accenting the question, unintended, but not insincere.

Magic had never been a favored aspect of the world, despite its role in Olvar’s life. Every new moon he felt its effects, and to a degree it likely fueled the rage already dwelling in his other half. This was not the source of the animosity, however. In fact, the lycan had become somewhat fond of the power he gained on such nights. But the circumstances of the curse falling upon him in the first place were remembered with much deep-rooted anger, and in his mind, it was magic to blame.

Personal vendettas could wait until later though. For now, Vilpamolan was in sorry need of defending. The first step was to identify the source of the attacks. “Can you see the water from there? What does the enemy look like?” he called up to the strange man. His hand gripped the hilt of Caracticus. He hadn’t come to the Pirate Haven for any more than a tavern brawl or two, but the thrill of a battle had his heart alight with excitement.

Seeing that the man was clearly all right, as he was able to call up to him in an irritated tone, he looked out towards what he could see of the water line. His view was limited even from here, as this was not a particularly tall building, but it would do. Please be restricted to water, please be restricted to water. He thought this over and over to himself, remembering all too well the airship attack he and Kat had fought their way through, what felt like so long ago.

While he felt more than capable to handle an enemy from the sky, he knew that the number of casualties would be much greater that way. In the distance he was just able to make out the shape of sails, masts, the cut of bows through lazy mist. He called down what he saw, “Ships, sturdy, at least…” he counted them, “Five.” His eyes narrowed down, trying to focus in more from such a distance,

“There’s a high residue of magick lingering about all of them, that’s how their blasts come so frequently.” Men jumped down from the boats, filling the beaches like scurrying ants. They clashed with those of Vilpamolan that had already made their way to the shore, “And they’re coming this way. Well then,” he looked down at him from his higher ground, “I’d say we have about ten minutes until they’re upon us. Let’s give ourselves a head start towards them.”

His fingers moved to Torinasu, untying the blade from his hip. Already it was pulsing hungrily from all of the negativity in the air, and he’d have more than enough power to use from that alone. As soon as his fingers wrapped around it’s hilt, he dashed forward along the rooftop, making his way towards the beach with each leap from roof to roof.