"Oi, wispy! Get moving or I'll kick you off the damn boat!" Genyarus Brighteye stammered apologies at the boatswain, and gathered his meager things into his backpack, pulling it onto his shoulders with a groan. Even though he owned far less even than your average wandering wizard, it still made his slight frame groan and creak underneath the weight. "I-I-I'm so sorry, s-sir, I'm going, I p-promise." Hunched under the weight of both his pack and the condescending stare of the sailor, he trudged down the flimsy plank leading to the shore, scrunching up his eyes so he wouldn't have to look down at the water--which seemed much too far away to be reasonable. As his feet finally found dry land, the human breathed a sigh of relief. No longer the ever-pervasive sea-sickness, no longer the abusive sailors who had more than once beat him for perceived insolence, and, Genyarus hoped vainly, no longer the constant nightmares of his teacher's screams as he burned alive. The wizard shivered and cast those thoughts from his head, looking up at the busy dock around him. While most, perhaps, wouldn't have called it great city along the lines of those in the Empire, Genyarus stared in awe. Never had he seen so many people, of so many races, in one place, together. When he was young, Morgrym, his adopted father, had read him many tales of the great battles centuries past, and had told him of great cities with spires so high they seemed to pierce the very sky. Though he had listened with wide-eyed, childlike belief, there had always been a seed of doubt. No longer. This place was huge. He gulped, suddenly, from fear; how was he going to live in a place like this? Taking a breath to steel himself, he walked forward, towards the nearest inn. The name The Tipsy Mermaid struck him as rather irreverent, but he had nowhere else to go, he supposed. (OOC: I'm assuming the Tipsy Mermaid is an inn, of course)
