"Zivar! We are here." Barked Tyrin, as he brought the wagon to a stop outside the city. The middle aged Dwarf looked back at his Gnome passenger. "This, boy, is where you get off. Your father paid for you to tag along and we like doing business with him but we will be a while checking in. It would be quicker for you to go on without us and our business here is complete. Go make something of yourself, maybe then your father will buy us all a round." He chuckled.
Tyrin was a member of the Stonehands clan and a supplier of precious metal, gold and silver for Zazilvar's father. Transportation the Llast had been arranged when it came up over a few drinks that Tyrin was going to be in a wagon caravan bringing supplies from the Stonehands clan to Llast for some ship builder whose name escapes Zivar at the moment. No matter.
"Thank you and should I do well it will be I that buys you a round!" Zivar smiles as he climbs down from the wagon and double checks to make sure he has all this things before heading into the city. Business first he reminds himself as he inquires directions to two places in town to a guard on his way in. The Tower, and the tavern. He feels foolish as the guard simply grunts and points when asked about the tower, "Not off to a good start now are you Zivar" he thinks to himself as he looks at the tower looming over everything. His nerves need calming, his stomach needs food, and a chance to look around at the find bobbles the city folk are wearing might help him with his sketches, since he has been suffering from a bit of a creative block since finding out his father wanted him to go to the Academy.
A few minutes later he finds himself looking up in the air at a sign hanging from a post. The Little Spitter.
Zivar heads in, finds an open seat, preferably one at an empty table, and waits to see if someone is going to come and take an order.
Tyrin was a member of the Stonehands clan and a supplier of precious metal, gold and silver for Zazilvar's father. Transportation the Llast had been arranged when it came up over a few drinks that Tyrin was going to be in a wagon caravan bringing supplies from the Stonehands clan to Llast for some ship builder whose name escapes Zivar at the moment. No matter.
"Thank you and should I do well it will be I that buys you a round!" Zivar smiles as he climbs down from the wagon and double checks to make sure he has all this things before heading into the city. Business first he reminds himself as he inquires directions to two places in town to a guard on his way in. The Tower, and the tavern. He feels foolish as the guard simply grunts and points when asked about the tower, "Not off to a good start now are you Zivar" he thinks to himself as he looks at the tower looming over everything. His nerves need calming, his stomach needs food, and a chance to look around at the find bobbles the city folk are wearing might help him with his sketches, since he has been suffering from a bit of a creative block since finding out his father wanted him to go to the Academy.
A few minutes later he finds himself looking up in the air at a sign hanging from a post. The Little Spitter.
Zivar heads in, finds an open seat, preferably one at an empty table, and waits to see if someone is going to come and take an order.