Aranthion stops, feeling himself relax. By the Daemons, he hates boats. Another pause, this one to survey the city. Something different. Something new. A great fortress city, a myriad of sounds and smells hitting his senses like a wall. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back as he lets it all wash over him. Enjoys the tangled myriad of smells. Meat cooking. Sea air. Spices. The sounds. Men yelling, women talking, children running. His reverie is interrupted by the sounds of boots on the dock. He opens his eyes, noting the figure in front of him. Better dressed than Aranthion. Affable nature. It takes the Adunian a moment to register his question.
"Well. That's an excellent question." He says, faintest lilt of a rural accent filtering into his voice. "Adventure. I'm Aranthion Vareth, can you show me where I can find a mercenary company?"
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