In his time over the sea, Adrian had seen a great deal of things. Magic used freely, that he hadn't even glimpsed as a child, craftsmen, hordes of elves, all of the weird and wonderful things you expect from foreigners. But he had soon realised that he himself was a foreigner in these lands.
His skin was pale and hair strawberry blonde when he had arrived at the port of Graea at seventeen. He had been a brash lad who didn't think before he acted, and in these lands, that could be someone's last mistake. It hadn't at all been like in the stories, where the people who lived here were barbarians who consorted with vampires and had children with witches.
It was incredibly colourful, to start. The entire desert that these people lived in was red. Their clothes were made of a light material, that Adrian soon got very attached to, and were also beautiful, made of reds, golds, and blues, mostly. Back in his home of Akela, it was muddy and bland. The environment, the weather, their food, even most people were bland back home. He could almost thank his father for sending him out here to do business with these people. But then he remembered that he was completely alone here.
But he would have to make do. He was almost an adult now. This was better than joining the suicide mission that was known as being a ranger. However, he was stuck in a port in a foreign land, where he didn't speak much of the language. There weren't many books on the place back home.
He now took time to actually look around, rather than just focusing on the fact that it was incredibly sunny, and everything was made of a pinkish-red stone.
He was but a few metres away from the dock, the ship he had arrived on bustling as if they were to cast sail again any minute now. He had on sturdy boots and heavy armour, both of which had been gifted to him by his father, although neither would do him any good in this land. He could already feel the heat boiling him alive in his armour.
The young man quickly made his way towards the rising dune of red sand, spotting that the shops, houses, and presumably the inn was built into the red rock cliffs that rose sixty feet above him, a semi-circle of these cliffs was the port, save for a large tunnel that stood ten feet tall, flanked by guards and lit with torches. That must be the way out of town. This wasn't the place where he would find his businessman, but it was midday, and he understood that guides only travelled at dusk, to avoid being burned to a crisp.
Maybe the people here spoke the tongue of the Covenant. Maybe, just maybe, he could trade his armour for some native clothes, and still have a little extra gold for a drink at the tavern, wherever that might be located in the warrens that the native people had dug into the cliff face.