Gulliver warned me they'd be small. (Open)

[Glodthor Kathos]

glade 4oth 121

Leather Boots trudged forward backlit by a twilight sky. The Mortallen called Glodthor strode into the city of Kalzasi. The wariness of the cities inhabitants warranted considering his size and the rarity of his people. The bearded giant tried to force a grin that came off less than friendly. Wiping the unpracticed grimace from his face he cast his weary eyes for a sign of drink and rest. The cities ornate structures and dainty design ill served his bulk as people had to make special effort to avoid his path.


His ears were ill adjusted to the languages they spoke here and his common had only been used in the classes he'd been made to take back home. The dialects and accents were ill suited to his tongue and made him really have to think to understand. His ears failing him he turned his nose to the air and found the smell of cooking meat. Following that the giant began to make his way into Kalzasi. His long legs carrying him forward he peered easily over the heads of those around searching for the source of the smell.

Riverstone colored eyes alighted at last upon a stall on the side of the street, a pleasant tail of smoke betraying its location. The stall was attended by an elderly creature... peering at them he noted their rounded ears and pail skin and frail structure.... this small thing must be and elderly human? Leaning down so that he could peer under the small awning of the stall he peered at the small woman his bulk blocking all her sight of the street.

“Greetings human... How much for good smelling meats you cook?” His words fell from his mouth like boulders chewed by a mountain, guttural and poorly formed with ill practice. To her credit the small woman held her composure and stated that the shrimp kebabs he called meats were two coppers a stick. Counting those sitting on her grill he smiled and thought that all of them might be enough to call a snack at home. He'd counted a total of 31 sticks of speared shrimp creatures as she'd called them. Rounding up he handed the woman seven silver coins, her hands were frailer than a child of his kinds he noted when she plucked the coins from his hand.

Walking away from the wide eyed elder the giant delicately plucked the first of these so called shrimp from a skewer and flicked it into his maw. His eyes closed as he chewed the treat his maw making quick work of the savory salty shellfish. He didn't yet know it but this was his first taste of seafood. Finding the food as enjoyable as its scent had let on he began to eat the meal made for smaller hands with care. No seating for one such as him readily available he sat on a stone wall and observed the populace as he ate. This city the maps called Kalzasi was unlike anything his mountain hall home had prepared him for. He feared the prospect of using the small doors this city seemed to be filled with. Yet he was filled with enthusiasm his journey was beginning he'd made it to his first destination.

[Nok]

Glade 40th, 121. Low City, Kalzasi

The storm drain was a tight squeeze, but Nok had managed to climb his way to the surface and duck into an nearby alley. He looked about and was relieved to find that the tired crowds did not seem to notice and obscured him from any that might. A clump of hanging moss fell from the inside of his hood and he let out a huff, picking it back up and becoming more frustrated as it fell apart in his hands. It seemed as though his trip from the Midden had disheveled his disguise and he withdrew further into the alley to collect himself.

Taking out a small mirror, he inspected his appearance. The moss hair that he had carefully constructed had become a shredded mess, limply hanging out from his hood in pitiful strands. More upsetting was that he had apparently dropped his mask without realizing, the honey brown glimmer in his eyes now back to their original glassy black. He was concerned with how easily he had lost focus and considered going back down. Nok pulled his scarf further up his face and covered his nose and mouth. He had made it this far, might as well make the most of it. Gritting his teeth, he turned his focus to refining his persona.

Brown eyes. Brown eyes were friendly, trustworthy, but what about blue? Blue eyes were innocent, maybe even a little magical. He grinned to himself. Gazing into the mirror, he thought about the bluest blue he had ever seen. A few moments passed and a dull navy sheen slowly bloomed over his eyes, but it was so dark there was barely a difference between it and his original black. Pure blue is not a common color in the Midden and while he had seen it enough to conceptualize it, he found it difficult to imagine. It was a humbling thought, but one he did not linger on for long before going back to his first choice.

Coming to the surface during Glade had been advantageous, he thought, spying a bush at the far end of the alley full of fresh leaves. He snapped off a few branches, collected them into two generous bunches, and placed one in either side of his hood, smoothing down the foliage into proper locks.

“This Fae'ethalan will have leaves for hair”, he thought to himself, preening and appraising his work. He looked just like a character from his picture book, the kindly mage who hid the princess from her evil father. A hero and a gentleman, powerful and loved by all.

His confidence back, Nok weaved into the foot traffic and matched its pace. He was fortunate that Kalzasi was a tolerant city as few took little notice of his exotic appearance and those that did paused for only a moment before returning to their business. “Places to go, people to see”, he repeated to himself. As to where to go and who to see he had no clue, but walking with purpose made him feel like he belonged in the crowd. Now at ease, the Grackle was truly able to experience his first time on the surface.

The sky was clear and calm, more vast than any cavern he had ever seen, with wispy white clouds that glowed faintly in the waning light. Any want for blue was now satisfied in the hues of the evening and he marveled at how the castle skyline of Kalzasi was framed against the coming sunset. It was more vibrant than he could possibly have imagined. He knew it was no fanfare, he could see that much from the rough tunics and worn carts, but the yellow of the budding flowers, the red of the tents that hung over stalls, and the green in the leaves of his own costume were all so marvelously sublime. Crisp air filled his lungs. It was pure, free of the putrid stench of waste and rot that permeated the Midden. The ripe odors of the Low City were lost to his dulled palate and he savored each breath like a dying man drinking at an oasis. In all of this a savory scent soon caught his attention and made his mouth water.

It was grilled meat, seafood perhaps, but whatever the aroma was it felt like he was smelling it for the first time. Nok spotted the stall cooking this food but his focus quickly shifted to the Half-Giant sitting on the wall across from it. The Grackle took a double take and hopped out of foot traffic to observe this stranger. He could not have been too dangerous, having been let into the city in the first place, and looked rather peaceful enjoying his shrimp. Nok had never seen a giant in real life before and he thought to all stories of them in his book. There was the earth giant miner who punched a raging bull into the sky, the sea giant who ferried the knight on the back of a whale, but also the terrifying fire giant who bit the heads off 40 Goblins. A powerful ally or a fearsome foe, one that could benefit him greatly as the former.
Nok straightened his hood, smoothed his leaves, and strode over to the stall, rolling several coppers in his hand. A bed of freshly skewered shrimp were sizzling on the grill and an old human was occupied with stirring some kind of sauce. Nok gave a tentative wave and the woman finally noticed him. She looked down at him with some bewilderment, her eyes flashing up at the Moratallen sitting on the wall before returning to him. The disguised Grackle gave the woman a polite nod and motioned over to the huge man.

“Anyotha rownda fressh skoowahs foh mah new fwend heeyah!”. How Nok hated his voice in Common, but he had to be as loud and clear as possible if he wanted the Half-Giant to hear him.

The old woman's face twisted, “I'm sorry, what--”

Nok placed his fist on the stall to lay out his coins but instantly pulled it back with a pained and feral screech. He knew better than to touch a hot grill but the heat had spread through the metal counter and burned his hand. Coppers flew in every direction. The old woman clutched her chest in shock and stumbled into the back of her stall, knocking over several bowls and utensils with a tremendous crash. The sound startled a nearby horse who broke loose from the young man leading it and rushed off, taking along the terrified little girl on its back. The young man cried out for help and ran after the horse, along with a few other bystanders.

Nok held his injured hand and looked at the confused and angry people surrounding him. A rough looking laborer separated from the crowd and seized him by the cloak. It was barely evening but the man's breath already reeked of alcohol and it clearly helped to inflame his temper.

The enraged man's fist was tight, his arm cocked back as if about to strike. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Look at what you've done!”.

[Glodthor Kathos]

Having lost himself in his dinner the Mortallen paid little heed to the goings on around him as he plucked the shrimp from their skewers. It wasn’t until a foul shriek shook him from the enjoyment of his meal was he able to take stock of the situation unfolding before him. Bangs and clatters sounded out as the elderly cook toppled backwards slowly in a way that only old people knew how to do. Beyond the stall a horse whinnied in panic along with the child on its back as it reared.

Using his proximity to his advantage, the Mortallen reached out a large hand and caught the elderly cook by the small of her back his large hand easily stabilizing her. After the old woman was steady he stood to his full height from the wall behind the stall where the chaos began. Already the horse was beyond his reach galloping at a frightened gait. What few authority figures the slums seemed to have were already mobilizing and the child had yet to fall. Accepting that such a situation was already beyond him he looked back to the source of the scream. What he saw was something he couldn’t condone. There was a man before him, at least what was considered a man by human standards. He had the look of a laborer about him, dirty and calloused. From Glodthor’s perspective the man had seized the cloak of an obviously pained child still clutching its hand, the man no bigger than a child when compared to him held an even smaller creature of whose race Glodthor had never seen.

Coldly wrapping his stony fingers around the wrist of the man that had yet to see him he lowered his head to the man’s level. As the man turned his head and looked up he paled, his booze wicked breath puffing in Glodthor’s face. Now level with the man whose arm he held captive he looked him dead in the eyes and let more words tumble forth with a barely restrained disgust. Through teeth clenched like a stone gate he spoke “Whatever you do to child man spawn… I will return ten times over” Tightening his grip as the man began to test his strength Glodthor made it evident no small effort would jerk him free. As the chaos of the runaway horse faded into the distance a small ring formed around the three wondering what was about to unfold. Glodthor for his part dimly kissed any dreams of a good first impression in this city goodbye.

[Nok]

Glade 40th, 121. Low City, Kalzasi

The hand clenching Nok's cloak released him and he scrambled out of reach, pressing himself against the front of the stall. The shadow of the Moratallen stretched over the laborer who had accosted him and created a menacing silhouette across the ground.

The drunken man looked at the crowd of spectators and straightened his back, the color returning to his face. He clenched his fist tightly and flexed the arm that the Half-Giant held in his grip, his eyes glazed but burning with indignation.

“That so? Well, lemme tell you this: This may be Kalzasi but we don't cotton to freaks out here in the Low City. Especially those that cause a ruckus and nearly get people killed.”

The laborer turned back and gave Nok a disdainful look. He spat at his feet and Nok jumped out of the way, rattling the side of the stall as he bumped against it. The old cook noticed this and spoke up, clearly fatigued.

“Oh, Come off it, Rothgar, we cotton to freaks all the time, especially you.” She wiped the sweat from her brow with a dingy cloth. “It was an accident. Let it go so we can all get on with our lives.”

“Yesh! An axcedent! I did knat mean to!”, Nok pleaded, clapsing his hands and giving a slight bow. Bowing was polite, he knew that much, but a few snickers from the spectators made him straighten up self-consciously. He looked up at the old woman and she glared back at him, unamused. It was difficult to tell whether or not she was on his side or just wanted the conflict to end.

The man known as Rothgar shook his head, confused. “'M'what?' I can't understand half the things you're saying, you little terror!”. He jerked towards Nok but could not budge from the Moratallen's stoney grasp.

“Let go of me now”, Rothgar growled, his voice low. He grasped his opponent's forearm with his free hand, attempting to pull himself out from the stranger's grip.

Nok watched this stuggle and could not help but feel like this was somehow all his fault. He rooted around in his pocket and grabbed his last copper piece. Applying an mask, he slid his thumb over both faces until the coin turned a bright, shiny gold.

He pulled out the newly gold coin and stretched his hand over the stall's counter, lowering his head in contrition. “Puhleese, maam, I aym sawrry foh da trubbuh I haff cawzed. I will take caradah otha dyamages but wisch to vexk you no longah.”

The old woman's eyes widened and she took the coin with some hestitation. Squinting, she inspected it briefly before raising her eyebrows, almost impressed, and dropped the coin into her apron pocket. She locked eyes with Grodthor and gave a curt nod, watching Rothdar struggle in his grip with some disappointment.

[Pahoran]

Gulliver warned me they'd be small.
Glade 40th, 121

Pahoran walked through the low city his ice blue eyes taking in everything around him. Others of the guard didn’t always care to come to these parts but Pah and his family often interacted with these people helping where they could. So it was that while Pah did wear the armor of the Sky Guard he wasn’t unknown. He paused and helped a merchant finish loading his wagon.

It was while he was doing that when he heard the screams of pain coming from a street or so over. He looked apologetically at the merchant who waved that he understood and Pah began to jog in the direction of the scream. Moving any faster just wasn’t possible in this crowd and taking off would smack a number of people in the face. Pah came onto the street. While he was to far to hear what was going on he was tall enough to see.

He could see the half giant sitting there minding his own business. He could also see a commotion going on around a food stall. The white winged Avialae while not as tall as the half giant still stood a good head over the crowd. Pah moved forward carefully getting people’s attention by touching their shoulder and a polite. “Can I get by.”

Pah got close enough that he could hear the person with a thick accent trying to apologies for what had happened and Rothgar cussing at the half giant who was holding him. Pah was aware of the drunkard, he was a nasty customer who normally people just worked around but he was one of the regulars the Guard would have to extract from a situation. Others might have leaped to the conclusion that the half giant was at fault, but being a large individual himself Pah recognized a restrain hold when he saw it.

“Rothgar.” Pah’s voice stretched across the distances. “It’s a little early for your drunken nuisances.” At that point the rest of the crowd parted for the slightly irritated guard. “I suggest you get yourself out of here before I decided you need a night in the tank.”

Pah approached and nodded to the stall vendor. He didn’t know her name but had greeted her while one this route. “Everything alright ma’am.”

After making sure she was okay he turned to the crowd. “Show’s over good people. I think we can handle this from here.” He said with a smile at the crowd. Most were good people who just caught up in the moment and began to disburse. A few were really enjoying the show but didn’t want to do it without back up. So slowly but surely the crowd began to move out. He then turned and looked at the two of them and said. “I am sorry about Rothgar, he is an ass.” He looked between the two of them. He looked at the man who was the center of the commotion. He could see him favoring his hand. “Did that idiot hurt you?”

[Tom Trite]

Glade 40th, 121

It was a small, ragtag unit of johns who’d crawled out of the murk, Tom among them. Those sewers didn’t cull themselves, and the spry fellow had a new new stitched-up gnashings on his arms--he was picking at the stitches. They itched to high heck.

So much for just investigating.

The group stopped, and Tom’s eyes crept up to the bumbling pair of Sky Guard in charge of him. One of them, he liked. Mars. A young fellow who was pretty nice to him; the other was Mr. Marrows, some guy from a wealthy family with rather fetid opinions about convicts.

“It’s been... weeks since I’ve been to a bar,” said Mars.

Marrows’ gaze shifted to Tom, before leering back at the other soldier. “If you want a night out on the town, do it on a night when we’re not pulling a leash,” replied Marrows.

“Oh come on, it’s just Tom. I never leave Mistreach without a Legionnaire these days, and he’s a pretty tame one--”

“I’m right here, you know,” piped up Tom, tugging on his collar. Abjinurium. Tom was a convict conscripted into the Dead Legion, and that together with the skull-marked bracers he wore made it rather obvious. The short, spry fellow kicked his chin up at Marrows. “Buy me a pint and I promise you, I’ll keep my head low, an’ I won’t cause a lick of trouble for ya, guy.”

It’d been nearly a season now since Tom had a drink, and only the gods seemed to know how badly he needed one.

Mars and Marrows argued in step, but Tom’s ears were turned towards the bar. His feet moved before either of his charges finished bickering, and he made the call for them by opening the door. “Look, lads. I won’t say anythin’ if you won’t.” The pair looked at each other, grumbled, and strode inside.

At least those two pretty boys brought me along for the bath house.
They can’t just leave me out of things they want to do... this investigative work isn’t so bad when things are going right.

Tom cradled the pint he was passed, but he was watching the lines. The odds that their peripheral picked him up were thin. He slid from the seat as the two Sky Guard seemed so focused on arguing--sure enough, they didn’t even notice as the becollared Oddsmaker quietly slipped away, out of the bar and into the street, where he sipped his booze in the quieter locale of the storefront.

He wouldn’t go far. Just enough to give his handlers a fright.

Well, until he picked up a scream, and leaned forward to see quite the sight. A Moratallen, and a throng of other unusuals--was that a Sky Guard?

Well, aiding the Sky Guard’s part-ah me job!

Grinning as the soothing swill greased his brain gears, Tom meandered up to Pah’s backside between-the-lines, stepping just out of his view. He appeared, in an instant, at Pah’s side in all his conscripted glory. Tom didn’t say a word, just sipping loudly at his mug on the sidelines, hangin’ out, watching the events transpire.

More than anything, he just wanted to josh Pah’s sensibilities. What the heck was a conscript doing in these parts unattended?

But that Moratallen. Tom couldn’t help but stare with those green eyes--that behemoth was more than twice his height. What big hands. He could squish me like a grapefruit. He didn't even notice the grackle, so used to looking up.

[Glodthor Kathos]

To the cities credit, authority did show. In the form of a tall human that appeared to have... a feathered cloak? Regardless the man was tall and had the look of a guard. Tall as he was it was hard for the Mortallen not to see him coming. Once he'd barked out the drunkards apparent name and caught the mans attention he released his grip on his wrist and straightened up. For his part the newcomer had done well to command the attention of the rabble away from him. Looking back to the wall he clicked his tongue in disappointment to see the remaining half of his skewers in the dirt.

Feeling grateful for the attention being away from him for a few precious moments he attempted to sidestep slowly away from the stall and find somewhere more inconspicuous to sit and wait for the heat to die down. Given the opportunity and if the guard looked to have the time Glodthor thought to ask him some directions, and opinions on the locale. It would be nice to talk to someone he didn't have to worry about knocking over the Mortallen thought.

As he tried to skulk back a prickling of his neck caught his attention. He looked down past the night to see a pair of bright green eyes surrounded by fur staring at him, he'd seen foxes in his occupation plenty of times, but never one that stood... or drank? Locking eyes briefly with the creature out of sheer bewilderment he wondered how many different types of civilized creatures there were, and what they were as well. Cursing his own lack of knowledge of the outer world the giant tore his gaze away playing it stoic to hide his sense of being a stranger in a strange land.

Stepping back the giant stood against a wall some yards back as inconspicuously as someone his size could and watched how things played out still not certain of his role in what had happened, or what had happened for that matter. He wasn't yet sure what to make of this city yet, the guard seemed competent but his.... backup appeared half soldier half prisoner itself. He pondered the collared creatures existence and the pint in it's hand as well. If there was one way to end a long day it was a hardy dose of ale. Now distracted and daydreaming about a drink the Mortallen waited to see what was to come of the small scene and weather he'd be able to briefly speak to the guard.

[Nok]

Glade 40th, 121. Low City, Kalzasi

Nok sighed in relief as the strapping winged guard broke up the fight, the miserable man stumbling away while shaking out the wrist that Grodthor had seized. The young Grackle considered himself lucky to have not one but two large allies on his side. The guard assessed the well being of the others before asking Nok if Rothgar had hurt him. It was then that he realized he was still holding his burnt hand.

“Oh?! Dis?”, He took pause. The skin was slightly raised and shiny, but there was no mistaking it for anything other than a burn. He decided it would be unwise to try blame it on him.

“Nyo, nyo, dis iz justa buhrn, suh, nuffin seerious. But oh, dat tyerribuh man! He graabbed meh by dah froat! He wooda shoorly choked da life outta meh if dat buh-rave man had nawt stahpped him. I owe him mah thyanks an' I thyank you az wehll, foh breakin up da fight. I asshure you dis wuz nawt how I wonted ta spend mah e-va-ning."

He looked over at the Half-Giant, who now had an expression nearly as stoney as the wall he leaned against. His skewers of shrimp were now scattered across the ground. Crushed and covered with a savory coating of dirt, Nok decided that most would not eat them in that state.

“I fink I awlso owe him a fressh dennah. Ahlow meh ta get you sumfin az well”

He bent down and began to search for the copper coins he had dropped. Initially there had been twelve but he could only find three, the rest seemingly lost to the crowd. It would have to do.

The old woman was organizing everything that had fallen during the commotion. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of Nok approaching her stall.

“What do you want now?”, she sighed.

“Ma'am, purhaps dis iz too much ta azk, but I buhleeve we coude stanta pay byack owr fwends foh awl deir help.” Nok motioned at the two men and the trampled skewers, “Now, I know dis iz nawt much, but puhleese, whuteva dis mite afford woude be mowst ap-preeshe-ayted”

The tired old cook gave a bitter laugh and shook her head at the absurdity of it all. She accepted the coppers and opened a fish barrel near the back of the stall. Dipping her arm elbow deep into brine, she pulled out a fish that was almost Nok's size.

“I guess I could spare a little something, not often we have strangers, much less Sky Guards, helping us over here. Besides, you nearly paid for it already with that gold piece.”

Nok flinched. He sorely hoped that she would not look in her pocket anytime soon. The woman began to filet the fish as he slunk away.

“I'll bring it out when its ready”

Playing his guilt for modesty, he nodded meekly and walked over to the two men. The Moratallen looked strangely concerned with something and Nok saw that it was a fox standing at the door of a bar, watching them with some interest. A little uncanny to see a Lycan Rathari, but what worried him more were the collar and bracers. All the sour encounters with Legionnaire deserters in Hahseu sprang to mind and distrust instantly impressed itself upon him.

Turning aside, he now stood before the giant and gave a slight bow, being careful to not displace his disguise.

“Thyank you, suh! I owe you mah lyfe! Puhleese, allow meh ta help you howevah I can.”

[Pahoran]

Gulliver warned me they'd be small.
Glade 40th, 121

Pahoran gaze followed the drunkard as he quickly made his way out of the square. The ice blue eyes of that Avialea watched expressionless as the man walked holding his hand. Once he saw the man start muttering to himself Pah turned his focus back. There was much going on as the crowd parted going back to their regular evening. He looked around and took in the few people remaining. The first to catch his gaze was the fox standing their sipping some beer out of a pint. It wasn’t the fox or the pint, such creatures existed within the city, and as a Sky Guard how saw them often. No the primary thing was the collar around the creatures neck. The ice blue eyes grew cold as he saw that but only for a moment. The youth hadn’t ever like the use of collars for the dead Legion and after more recent events he was even less of a fan. His gaze grew curious as he saw that the fox lacked any handlers.

Pah was positive that they were about, the Fox looked to contented to be trying to escape. He felt a number of emotion but put them aside and smiled at the Legionnaire. He motioned him forward to join him as he turned to look at the others. The shorter man who had been at the center of the commotion now got his full attention. Their was something odd about the creature. Pah couldn’t exactly place it, but he listened, as he had to really focus to understand. It appeared the burn wasn’t from the confrontation but from touching a hot surface. Pah knelt down and looked at it. It wasn’t bad, but should be looked at and certainly treated so it didn’t turn bad.

He turned his attention at last to the half giant who clearly didn’t want to be in the way of attention and had moved back. He could see the scattered stick of food that had fallen to the ground and he guess they had been lost in the commotion. The handsome face turned back to stall keeper. “Thank you for you understanding.” Then he turned back to the three and smiled a sincere smile. “Well that was rather exciting.” He said and gave a small good humor laugh. “I am Pahoran. As I am sure you guessed on of the Skyguard. I was patrolling the area and glad I could help” He turned and looked at the fox. “This would be my back up.” He left it hanging for the fox to introduce himself, since honestly Pah had no clue. He was also curious to know more about why he was here before leaping to any conclusion, and figured being friendly was more helpful then yelling.

Turning he looked at the rest of the group and asked for everyone’s name. The guard wasn’t in any rush and allowed them to speak and ask anything they wished of him. After a bit he looked then at the illusioned grick. “I am really worried about that burned hand. We should get it treated before it gets worse.” He paused and then said. “I know a place with a decent healer a little ways away if you care to go.”

[Glodthor Kathos]

As the scene settled and the crowd of bystanders faded Glodthor watched warily as the knight addressed the wounded party, the small humanoid seemed fine enough for it's part, the knight for his part seemed to have a genuine concern for the denizens of his community.

Mildly flustered when the two turned their attention to him the Moratallen tried his best not to betray his hesitancy in dealing with people. Shakingh his head to discourage the aid the small creature was trying to shower him with the half giant choked out a response.

“No Thanks is necessary, accidents... are life yes?”

He said trying to translate moratallen idioms to common on the fly. He felt it would take some time before his mouth was used to making the shapes the common tongue required. However he would need to overcome such trivialities if he was to surpass his ancestors. When the night addressed him and introduced himself Glodthor noted and appreciated the lack of formality with which he spoke. Thumping his right arm against his chest above his heart Glodthor spoke.

“I am Glodthor, Moratallen of the Mountain clan Kathos... Well met Knight of the sky.”

The man did have the look of a knight who might call the sky's his domain, replete with a feathered cloak that must have been made from the feathers of countless winged beasts. He wondered what the military of this place must be like to have such a lofty title for their warriors. Looking back to the small creature that had yet to introduce itself. Glodthor found speaking to the much smaller creature farm more daunting. He'd been told that the smaller the humanoids got the more attitude and volitility was packed into them and the last thing he should ever do is actually call one small. Before he was forced to speak more the knight suggested that his momentary charge should have its hand looked over. Nodding his agreement towards the odd fellow grateful for the knights handling of them.

“I would accompany, if too see the city with ones who know it.” He spoke readying himself to follow the pair. He at the very least would appreciate getting to see what sites the knight point out on the way and what insights his company might give into the culture of the foreign world. For all of his preference for his own home it was difficult to not be impressed with the size and populace of Kalzasi.