Taking stock of the buildings here, he noticed the telltale orange glow of dusk reflecting off the windows. He had lost track of time, walking along the streets, mentally mapping out the path he took from the docks to get to this point. Failing utterly, Edward decided the first purchase he will make tomorrow is a map of the town.
Stifling a small yawn, the man figured his next task, finding a bed to sleep. He asked a passing man about the closest place to purchase a room for the night. He was pleased to find the man very helpful, and followed his instructions dutifully. Many very interesting shops are seen on his short walk, he made a mental note to see them some other time. He found himself back at the docks.
Arriving at the small tavern, he saw a welcome sight. A minstrel! Gods, he hadn't seen one plucking at the strings of a lute since he was a boy, before the years tore his homeland apart. He tried to mask his excitement as he walked up to the man, taking stock in his appearance.
He looked... tired. A man well weathered by the years. Yet, something else struck him. This man seemed younger than his visage would belie. That is something he had seen much of, in the older soldiers and knights of his country. Men in their thirties looking thirty years older, hair grayed and faces drawn and tired. That is something he saw in this man. Tired. That didn't stop him from approaching, and throwing a coin to join his pittance. "Bard," he began, "do you know of any rooms for rent in this tavern? I have just come to port today and need a good rest."
