Hadrian was quite pleased to have found Zantaric. From what little he's observed of the place they called Hyoite, he surmised that it was unlikely that he'd find any necromancer there. While there existed villages and communities, they were dispersed and focused extensively on survival. A very tightly-knit group would have noticed such a talent and, either put it to work to the point where it would be impossible to hide, or let their prejudices take over. He should search elsewhere.
Hid comfortably in his closed armour, he joined a trade caravan heading south as a guard. His appearance drew some questions, but there were enough magically gifted people among them that he could make an educated guess about it and take a risk when preparing an answer. He lied about having a skilled wizard grow metal plates on his skin, for protection reasons. It passed and no one seemed to suspect him.
He's heard about Zantaric from one of those guards. He joined the conversation and contributed carefully, making sure not to reveal his lack of knowledge. They described the place as founded and run on the principle of freedom rather than laws, a haven for those who had no other place to practice their art or indulge in their pleasures. Perhaps it would be the only place in this new world where he could conduct his search without having to account for laws and customs he had no way of knowing.
He took a calculated risk and buried his armour before stripping completely in some bushes near the village. He needed to make sure that he could return in disguise, should his attempt fail. He was not about to endanger his search for a stupid gamble. He felt quite naked without it, but he should be able to escape, barring extraordinary circumstances.
Luckily for him, it turned out his fellow one time guard was right. While some heads turned as he walked the streets, the overwhelming majority of people paid him little attention and went on their way. There were no torches and pitchforks, no howling mobs, no panic; while he was seen and noticed, he was not regarded as a threat. One small furry creature leaped from the roof of a nearby house and scratched at his skull with something he later deduced to be a pencil (people kept snickering behind his back, leading him to the conclusion that it has drawn/written something humorous, possibly insulting, on the surface). Some boys wagered who can kick the ball at him and knock the skull off his spine, they followed him for some streets before growing bored. One curious individual staggered out of a suspect establishment and proceeded to rant about what a perfectly shaped skull he had, perfect for drinking blood out of! She tried to buy the rights to own it after his death before slumping down on a street, overcome by some substance. While Hadrian could neither read nor write any of the modern languages, he memorized her face - perhaps it was something to consider later.
After making a round, he decided to return to his hiding place and put the armour back on. It made him easier to hit, but also provided protection and possibly made him look more professional. He decided against wearing a helmet - there was no advantage in hiding his nature here. He ended up holding it under his arm - probably a bait for strong pickpockets, but he was confident in his ability to procure a replacement.
The sun has already set, but it made little difference to him. After all, he had no limited organic eyes, his perception was not affected by illumination or lack thereof. During his first foray into Zantaric, he noticed few promising locations that appeared to be good places for him to begin. While it was mainly a test run, he also gathered additional information that provided some much-needed direction to his search.
As he walked towards a dilapidated building that functioned as a contract broker's office, a screech coming from a nearby alleyway. While Hadrian didn't have ears, he could still feel air vibrations through his bones and interpret them properly - a lot of the officers he answered to preferred to address their troops with their voices. While his reconnaissance trip provided him with a lot of interesting sounds to catalogue, and he had no foundations to believe that it was anything out of ordinary, gathering information was an always vital secondary goal. He glanced over to see a fascinating figure seemingly blending humanoid top with insectoid bottom, the largest he's ever seen. The screech seemed to be coming from the gaping chasm where the face should be - the chasm that quickly closed, rearranging itself. As functional a mouth as any other he's seen.
The source of the sound probably could see him staring, so there was no point pretending not to pay attention. Better to acknowledge his actions. During his brief stint as a caravan guard, he picked up a few greeting forms that hopefully would be appropriate.
"Good morning to you!"