Alaric’s leather boots dusted off the sand and soot that caked the planks of the dock, his short stature leaving him blind over the throng of humans that crowded the stalls in front of him. He gripped his book and hammer uncomfortably as he tried to push his way between them, feeling less like the mighty Dwarf fighter he was and more like a lost child as he was caught up in the wave of people that pushed and pulled him in a tide of traffic. He could feel the anger in him rising, silently the scarlet hue of his face becoming clear behind his masked helm, before he felt himself safely deposited across the gathering that blocked his passage and before a well-dressed gentleman. He heard his greeting, and removed his helmet with a soothing nod of his rage. “G’day, manling.” Alaric chimed as he cupped his helmet under elbow and greeted the stranger. “Lovely be one word for it.” The dwarf hissed under-breath in his churlish and curt report, though he tried to silence and hold his tongue as the words left his lips. “I just come to settle some... grudges.” His mailed hand patted the book that hung from a strap, the steel ringing on the leather and gold cover of the tome he carried.
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