Tarik's mention of sea beasties makes the pirate's booming laugh echo out once again. "Oh, that is far too true! There are some seriously odd things beneath the sea. When I was a lad, a friend of mine told me that sea urchins were edible. Funny for him, I don't doubt, but rather less so for me." He grimaces at the memory of pierced lips and throbbing tongue. Of course, there's magnificent creatures beneath the ocean waves as well - great whales, their size unthinkable to small creatures like horses, and fish of more sizes and colours than could possibly be imagined - and that's a large part of why Bart adores it so much. The sheer diversity, the unpredictability, the adventure of the sea and its denizens ensures that it holds a fond place within the stocky bay's heart.

His companion explains his own point of view, and the stallion nods sagely. "Gifts for little effort, hmm? Sounds perfect." He flashes a grin. He is, after all, a pirate, with a keen eye for a trinket and an even keener eye for a bargain. Looking back to the pile of driftwood, he muses over the fact that it's not exactly an easy task, but it's easier than some things Bartholomeo has done for coin in the past. He does not think himself a glutton, but he does have a weakness for beautiful things, whether they be objects or women. His magpie-like tendencies have driven him to do things he'd rather not dwell on, so by that measurement, moving some driftwood is practically free money.

The flask is offered again, and the stag doesn't think twice about accepting. This time, he takes the time to examine the taste and file it to memory, smacking his lips and humming his approval. "You are too kind, Tarik. I have little to offer in return save for the pleasure of my company and an invitation to work with me on this, so we may both earn Kisamoa's favour." Another grin, this one slightly more lopsided than the previous one due to the additional level of ale, is given as he gestures towards the driftwood. As he passes the flask back, it doesn't escape his notice that it seems no less full than it had been the first time, and he marvels at the magic that must lace the object. He will have to get himself one of those!

What brings you to these lands Bartholomeo? It's not exactly a secret, but normally the pirate would be a tad more reluctant to freely offer his life story to a complete stranger. As it is, the alcohol has loosened his lips. "It is dreadfully embarrassing, but I was ambushed by vagabonds just outside Helovia. Hard as it may be to believe, I was once captain of the most notorious herd around, feared and admired in equal measure and with more trinkets and weapons than any man could ever require. As you can see, I've come down in the world since then, and the bastards were able to take me by surprise and steal almost all my possessions." His jovial expression darkens, displaying the rough lines of his face and a distinct hardening of the warm green eyes. It isn't his weapons he misses so much as his more sentimental objects, like Carlisle's sash. That has no monetary value to anybody but himself, so to have lost that truly rankles with him.

"The thieves fled into Helovia and scattered to the four winds. I intend to hunt down each and every one of them, reclaim my items, and remind the scoundrels why they used to call me the Scimitar." He stomps a hoof decisively, flicking his wild mane and rolling his eyes. "What of you, Tarik? A shipwreck may have brought you here, but what has convinced you to remain?"