Nicholas stared into the raging flames, his thoughts trailing from him, fire had always been a hypnotic medium for the Duke. As a child he would make small fires in secluded places around Yorkpoint, with similar aged boys, he never saw the danger, it was just some harmless fun, they always put them out before they left. One day, however, changed his opinion from one of a harmless plaything to a deep respect for its power and if not a little fear; It had been nearing his twelfth anniversary and a year which had been surprisingly dry and warm, those weeks in particular, he revered it vividly, it had been the only time which the sea had been warm enough to actually swim in, the wind was still strong but with an absence of the familiar cold; it had been on one of those days, that Nicholas, along with a few of his childhood friends, visited one of their usual haunts, a secluded barn on one of the furthest islands which collectively made Port Yorkpoint. There they had started a small fire, burning small sticks, bits of paper and grass, anything the boys could get their hands on, when a strong gust of wind came and swept the flames against a pile of hay; flames quickly began to creep up the walls of the barn. Startled by what had happened, Nicholas and his friends fled the scene, it wasn't until later that evening did he learn that inside that barn were two young lovers and they had died due to his foolishness; that same night he admitted his crime to father and the following week, he was sent to sea, where his appreciation and fear for the element deepened, he saw it used to forge weapons, punishment and even executions; the screams of anguish and the smell of burning flesh, images which would stay with Nicholas until his final breath.
"Now, there ain’t many that know me by name, especially here. ‘specially no soldier or thug in some dingy inn.” Nicholas frowned, a expression which seemed permanently etched on his face "I have my ways" came his gruff reply to the scraping of a chair along the stone floor, the Duke turned his head to see Blackrain taking a seat opposite him. The hint of jest in Meleks voice was something that irritated Nicholas more than anything, he seemed like a cocky bastard, a man with little honour and probably less morals, a man who worked from profit and profit alone, a man who, in other circumstances, Nicholas would have refused to acknowledge.
"Now, if I killed yer son or nephew or sumthin’, I suggest you go turn ‘round and git, old man. Ye don’t look like a spring-chicken and I ain’t feelin’ much fer stabbin’ ye tonight.” The Duke scoffed at that statement, his hands coming to clasp in front of him on the small table "If ye did, I'd av to shake yer hand, not seek revenge" he replied, publicly acknowledging his disdain for his children, something he didn't usually do, especially with strangers but the remark seemed to fall to easily off his tongue, he didn't possess or want to possess the necessary filter to stop it. ”’course, maybe you just want a li’l talk with a youngster like meself?”
Nicholas nodded "Aye, I do want to talk to ye" he confirmed, reaching into his pocket and chucked a hefty sized leather pouch in front of the man, gold coins bursting from the constraints "I got a job for ye and yer men. There's this now then another if the jobs done good."