
Ashan 80 719
After the longest and arduous trip overseas where they narrowly avoided a chance of confrontation with pirates, Trevor and his mentor Phelix walked off the ship that had ported in the harbor close to Yaralon's gate. The massive and bustling community already created a sense of uneasiness for the Defier, the moment they walked off the ship and onto the docks of the city. "Yaralon, the city of mercenaries. A lot of interesting times ahead of us." The older man muttered lowly as though he weren't amused at all, while Trevor followed along after him curiously with eyes lost in the crowds.
As they reached the market of the harbor Phelix stopped though and turned to his apprentice, with green eyes heavily bearing down on his pupil. "Before we go anywhere you must know, Yaralon has a very loose and unrestrained culture unlike Ne'haer. I've done a bit of asking around with the sailors, and from what I can tell you don't want to be caught here without a weapon." Trevor's eyebrows folded as the muscles of his forehead tightened, since the apprentice could not help but look at the staff he carried. "A real weapon my boy, though staves may count you are certainly likely to attract... interesting prospects."
"So you're telling me that people here fight to woo their potential lovers?"
"In hindsight yes, that is why I'm getting you a blade. It is fitting that you perfect it's use, just as you perfect your Disciplines while we stay." Trevor could hardly show any real joy in the idea, but neither did he seem dissuaded from it either. "Wait here for now, I'll return after a few Bits."
"As you wish sir." Trevor agreed with a sigh as he watched his master march off into the crowd, sure enough leaving the Defier alone at the docks they'd just walked off from. The Defier tugged at the collar of his golden tunic a little as he felt a sweat break out, already the air here made it a little slightly uncomfortable to bear. Then again it never helped that his blood always seemed to boil on it's own, thanks to the damnable traits passed on from the asshole of a father that created him. Has he grew tired of the warmth already Trevor couldn't bear it any longer, thus he pulled down the black hood of his cloak; and promptly rested his bo staff across his shoulders with wrists lazily hanging over the wood.
"Trevor", "Follower", "NPC"

