There were Six (Six of Crows one-shots)

Turmoiled Waves

He was a demon. A creature that belonged to the darkness. Born from the darkness. He found solace in corruption, and trickery was his tongue. Control the waves, manipulate the waves, shape the waves. Though be wary of the calm seas, there lurks the most dangerous of creatures. And in the darkest depths, a pair of glowing red eyes arched into amused crescents.

Kaz Brekker.

They say his heart was made of steel, and his eyes were the darkest of pearls. His hands, however, had many tales of their own. Some say Brekker has claws, some say Brekker's hands were always stained with blood. No matter which tale was whispered, he would always acknowledge, but never agree or deny.

Why would he? Those whispers built his legacy. He doesn't need to do anything else, people always enjoy grandiose tales over boring ones. Some say Brekker was never a child, some say he strangled his entire family to death in the dead of night. The further and further the tales go, the more farfetched and warped they become.

However, he welcomed those tales with open arms. Another piece to an infinite puzzle, another twisted shard added to his legend. A kingdom built on lies and legend may not be a stable one, but it certainly is an amusing one.

Build a castle, bash it down, burn the empire to the ground. Then rebuild it if he's in the mood. Ketterdam was his sandbox, and he was having plenty of fun.

-

Kaz Brekker was in a good mood. A relatively good mood, anyway. Even Ketterdam's weather seemed the clear up a little, leaving only traces of rain. The slick cobbled roads of the Barrel were still slippery nonetheless, though Kaz walked on as if he were blissfully unaware of the puddles on the ground, making soft splish splashes accompanying his walk. It was just past six bells; the skies were clearing up to show the sun leaning against the horizon. Silhouetted against the reds and yellows, Kaz was walking 'home'. The Slat was a decent place, though not at all pleasant. Just another place hosting the dregs of the world, bound together by a lust; whether for coin, for fame, or for fortune.

Nobody pledges anything in this place, it would be a waste of breath. Even a simple "I will" trumps an "I promise". To speak of action is better than to seal a pact.

Kaz was still in a good mood, even if the good mood was slightly dampened by a certain Jesper running to and fro. "Jesper." Kaz stared at the lean figure who had almost ran into him, "Perhaps you've heard of, let's see, not stumbling around like a drunkard". Though the syllables were the same, the tone of Kaz's voice almost sounded amused. "I'd say you'd had too much to drink yourself, Kaz". Who knows, maybe everyone needs a pint or two every now and again.

-

There was never really silence in the Barrel. Sure, night time still descended upon it like everything else, but the night bristled with energy. You can always hear the sound of a few kruge rolling on a table. Though if you do hear the demjin's footsteps, you best stay out of the alleyways.