"Those who deny the righteous path should not be granted the honor of redemption."
~Tasmiya Shaik
SOUTHERN COASTS OF ARANDUIL
PORT CITY OF DURENHAL
The Eastern Wall
Saturday
2:55 a.m
If malice were to be crafted into a physical being, then no doubt the port master himself would have qualified for the requirements. At a mere glance, he was no more than an aristocratic asharra that often displayed a soft, yet sly smile. His voice, a gentle appeal to those who were ignorant of what hid beneath, but his words to the ears of a true warrior was no better than wicked. He sat astride the black stallion that brushed its hooves on the cobble-stoned ground. He was clad in a white undershirt with a black chevalier doublet over it, and black leather pants. A sword rested within the sheath at the side of his waist.
