Sinjin, at his most accurate description, was a jack of all trades. In his short history he had dabbled in increasingly darker careers: prostitution, mob courier, thief, hitman, explosive expert -- the list went on and on. Eventually, he settled comfortably into the niche of the man they needed to do something. All the jobs, all the little things, that everyone else refused or could not do.


For the past two weeks, he was hired to follow a string of illegal goods from a curious employer in the West End. All his employers were somehow based there; he didn't question it, though he did enjoy how much simpler it made his life. In this particular case, Sinjin's orders were loose: do not let those goods leave Rhy'din. There was no how, or when, or subtly involved -- so, for the past two weeks, the sinner watched the docks, waited and thought for the best route of action.


The best route of action, in Sin's mind, was the most direct.


Shortly after midnight on the twenty-first of November, the crew of the Kesling were shuttling large crates inside the ship's belly. Like the crew itself, the ship was ugly and unkept; in her day she might have been a fine vessel, but now she was nothing but an eyesore.


It was shortly after two in the morning when the docks shook and the Kesling erupted in bright flames. The explosive went off without a hitch, tearing apart the ship's innards and sending shards of wood and metal in every direction; it took less than an hour for the ship to sink just a few hundred yards away from the docks. In the morning, the crates were still floating there in the water, but the 'goods' were lost and wasted away.


Whatever they were and whoever they were for was now a secret between Sinjin and the bottom of the sea.