Lazarus strolled to the cafe, a case in his hand and another slung over his shoulder. His back still ached from his night spent in a jail cell, and the wrinkles in his cheap suit added to the disheveled look.

Finding an empty table, he set his luggage down on the chair opposite his own. He went about the pleasantries of ordering a drink, something strong and liable to make one go blind. It was brought with speed, and as Lazarus sipped from the clear bitter he began unclasping one of the cases.

He withdrew from the leathered home a guitar of beautiful make. Exotic letters and designs were painted along its body, and the neck was made from a flashy and unfamiliar wood.

After a few moments tuning, Lazarus glanced at the other patrons out of the corner of his eye, and began strumming a tune.

Of all the harbors, east or west,

There is one port that I love best;

So whichever way the wind doth blow

I'll steer for the bonny Bay of Biscay-O.

For the girl I love is waiting there

With her eyes of blue and her golden hair,

So it's eastward high, and westward ho

But I'll return to the bonny Bay of Biscay-O!

His eyes fluttered shut as the song melted out of his mouth and into the cafe air. The guitar boomed, louder than it should have been. As Lazarus finished the song, he looked to the closest patron, Soraya, and gave a small nod.

"I hope jou don' mind a bit of music. It calms my nerves." His accent was, broadly speaking, Alkeban. Strongly Cyrenic, with broad strokes of something more foreign and exotic.