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As the armoured warrior stepped off "The Mother's Curse” heads turned to examine the odd sight, tall and heavily muscled the male was physically perfect for his chosen profession but it was the deep amber scales, razor teeth, taloned hand and slated pupils that drew attention. Vordaal inhaled the scent of the cesspool known as Dyta harbour and let the sea breeze wash across his draconic features. "Humans...humph." The Dragonborn hefted his pack over his shoulder and walked calmly along the peer, each time his gaze met the stare of a human they quickly turned away bringing a wider and wider grin to his face. His jagged great sword clanking against his armour with each step, the mercenary quietly sought out an inn, stopping to ask no one for directions knowing full well the less than hospitable treatment he would receive. Eventually he paused in front of a run town shack of an inn and headed inside. A few gold coins and a subtle threat later, Vordaal was changing out of his armour into something more comfortable. “Now then… time to find some work.” He mused, wondering what this wretched land held in store for him.