Edwin nodded to Rarden with courtesy. "Good day to you, as well." He watched the ship's crew's scrambling about the deck and the dock and fastening the ship down, and he acquainted himself with the ship's captain whom he studied carefully for those first seconds crucial to impressions. "Greetings. Edwin Tubigan at your service." He pulled a pen from his chest pocket and held up his notepad to it, blatantly obvious that he intended on cataloging the ship and its crew. "Our dock workers will clean the boat and inspect it for possible illegal cargo, if that's alright with you." Casually he examined the boat over its captain's shoulders. "Your name, sir?" Simply 'Caesar' wouldn't do, and for legal purposes, he needed to record the man's actual name, not a moniker or an alias. He prepared his hand to deliver information to the paper.

Dameon sighed and flexed his injured hand. It was stiff and painful, but nothing was broken. "The sun still grants me small favors, I suppose" He said quietly. His flight from Sappir had been messier than he would have liked, but there was very little in his life that was not a bit of a mess at this point. A spume of freezing salt water crashed over the side of the boat he was on, soaking the gray, homespun cloak that disguised his intricate armor. It mattered not however, for the Immortal power of the sun was more than enough to keep him warm.

He sighed deeply and went over the past night's event in his head. He had meant to slip out to the docks of Sappir unmolested, with his last pieces of dignity and equipment still intact, however clearly god had to test his fortitude further. As he reached the docks he saw the glittering golden armor that was bestowed upon the army of the sun on two soldiers, who were clearly waiting to accost him.

He drew up his horse about ten feet from them, and stood, glaring at them, his gaze unwavering. Finally one spoke. "Dameon, my friend, it's good to see that you're so eager to begin your banishment before the council has even bestowed it upon you, but I am afraid we must relieve you of your sword, armor, and amulet before you go, seeing sa you are no longer welcome by Solarus." His tone was conversational almost friendly, but his eyes spit venom, and he and his companion both drew their wickedly sharp blades.

"I mean no dishonor to the Great Tribune, of course. I will come quietly" Dameon said. He dismounted his horse and stepped forward, his arms outstretched, his mighty blade, Whom he had named Helios, sheathed upon his back. The guards approached warily, one with his sword raised, the other with a length of chain.

Dameon struck out fast as lighting, these soldiers were good, but he was one of the King's Clerics, or at least, he was. He smashed his gauntlet into the man with the sword's face so hard that even his own hand had a bolt of pain run through it, he then turned his body and lowered his stance, letting the other man's sword whistle just above his gray hair. He then shot upwards, driving his pauldron hard into the underside of the soldier's chin. Both fell to the ground unconscious, but he merely climbed onto his horse again. He felt no need to slay his brethren, even if they had cast him out. He kicked hard into the sides of his horse and continued onto the docks.

He had bartered his horse for passage on the first boat heading out, which turned out to be a swift merchant vessel headed for Wortgott. The town sounded terribly provincial to Dameon, but he really had no other choice. Wortgott it was.

His eyes shot open, The great sun had once again dawned upon the dark world, bathing it in her divine light. He said his morning prayers on the bow of the ship, facing ever towards the sun.

"Hey" a gruff voice called out. It was the captain of the ship. "We'll be in Wortgott in about an hour" Dameon sighed. Wartgott wasn't in Sappir, but there would still probably be spies of the Great Tribune hunting him. He needed to find another boat, one that would'nt ask questions, that could take him far away and hide him. When the boat arrived he stepped out onto the docks, breathed in the fresh salty air, and started looking for a suitable vessel.

Louis frowned at Edwin's demand that Caesar wouldn't do, "Very well, Mister Tubigan. I'm Captain Caesar Clegg." He said, with a frown. It seemed his alias was already starting to fail a little bit, "Aye, you and your lads made check me boat, and clean it all you like. Mister Fitch makes quiet the mess, and I'm glad some man is brave enough to tackle his chum." Louis smiled, reaching out and patting Edwin on the back in a friendly matter. Louis then cocked his head back to look at his two crewmen, "Let's get to it, you seaweed knuckles, we've gotta go get grub!" Louis shouted, trying his best to take on a gruff voice, and clapping his hands together as he did so to excite more movement.

Edwin raised a brow, but his smile was steadfast as he listened to Clegg and scribbled down the name, with quotes around Caesar. In his typical, business-like, gruff voice, he responded, "Very well, Mister Clegg. Welcome to Wortgott. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around later." He closed his notepad with the paperwork in it and slipped it and the pen away, then Tubigan's feet turned away after a bow of departure. Down the dock he went again to survey more ships and document nautical traffic, him remarking on Louis's attempt to seem experienced and hardened as quite comedic with mental laughter, while deep-beaked gulls flew off his path. By then a few street vendors and performers had gathered along the edges of the city square, and a few paperboys sold the daily news at the corners of roads.

Four tie down points was a bit excessive for their tiny vessel, but it was professional. More-so, it was a guarantee against their ship drifting off or 'drifting off' at the hands of unscrupulous characters. With a grunt, he pulled the last mooring tight and stood away to see how the confrontation with the port authority was going. He overheard the man say that their ship was going to be inspected, but that wasn't out of the ordinary and they didn't even have the money to acquire contraband to ship. After the man had left, Louis began to call for food and Rarden agreed fully. They'd been surviving on close to nothing for quite some time, the idea of any portside meal no matter how cheap was intensely attractive to him. He stood beside the gangplank and waited for the rest of the crew to assemble so that they could head into town. "After you, captain," he said, trying to pick apart the pier district from where he stood and find a place cheap enough looking for the trio.

Fitch had listened to Louis' conversation with the man at the dock. It seemed their ship would be searched. That was fine, there was nothing on board that was questionable... unless they took his rum. He followed Rarden off of the gangplank, clutching his bottle tightly at his side. Louis had suggested they go find some food. The red-headed young man felt a rumble deep within his gut at the mention of food. They'd been just getting by, and a full meal sounded wonderful. He stood behind Rarden, a bright smile crossing his face. "Aye, aye Captain Caesar!" He adjusted his scarf and gave Edwin a nod and a grin before following his friends towards the town.

The city square, lined with all manner of shops and businesses catering to both the town's citizens and the town's visitors in almost equal volume, was not crowded, given its large amount of allotted space, but despite how sized it was, it still garnered much business. The bakery, the butcher, the shoemaker—here all the craftsmen gathered. And to top it all off, there were plenty of restaurants and inns and boutiques and all that people expected of such a congested area of a port city. They had an image of prestige and service to keep up, and the sellers there would be damned if they didn't. Lovers walked the streets, and small children played in them. Women hung their laundry at the side of the road, and the merchants headed on the north road to the market.

The streets were navigable, to be sure, but he kept a close eye on his shipmates as they roamed the streets like the awestruck tourists they were. He'd yet to spy an establishment that met his standards of cuisine but he was slowly coming to terms with the fact that the people ate differently in this corner of the world. The underbelly of the world was a constant, however, he knew that much. Unconsciously he worried of pickpockets despite knowing full well none of them were even remotely worth the trouble of robbing. "What do you make of that... Caesar?" He asked, stumbling over the new name as he final snapped and indicated a homely looking restaurant at the roadside. It was barely visible between the stalls and civility but the wooden structure held a certain humbleness that made him assume it was a place with a respect for individuals on a restricted budget. Knowing Louis, he dearly hoped the man intended to pay for his meal but knew that was betting on a particularly slow horse.

Arisu decided to wander the streets. She kept an eye open for the police. She did not want to get arrested today. Arisu avoided as many children as she could and made sure to tuck her wings closer to her body. She did not want to start an argument by accidentally smacking someone with her wing. So she wandered the streets, not going anywhere on particular, just walking.

"A fine eye you have there, Mister Rarden!" Louis exclaimed, patting Rarden on the back, before reaching up and adjusting his hat with both hands, making sure it fit snuggly, "C'mon, friends, meal will be on Caesar today!" He announced, marching up to the cozy looking restaurant. Before entering, he turned back to Fitch, and eyed him, "No drinking rum inside, and no breaking dishes, eh Mister Fitch?" Louis eyed down his clumsy friend, before his stoic face started to break up into a little bit of a smirk, and the sound of held back laughter could be made out coming from Louis' throat.

A glimmer filled Fitch's eyes when the restaurant came into view. Food, real, delicious, food. He looked towards Louis with a frown when he said no drinking rum or breaking dishes. To be fair, he did have a habit of shattering valuable things on a semi-regular basis. "Aye aye, Captain Caesar..." He spoke with a bit of joking contempt. As he followed his friends inside, he though. "But Captain, what if they serve rum inside?" He laughed and continued walking, a slight skip of excitement in his step. He could already smell the food being cooked inside. The harpoon on his back bobbed around on it's strap. Frankly, bringing such an implement in a restaurant was a terrible decision, but Fitch hadn't thought about that.

"Thankee captain," Rarden replied in a half-mocking attempt at Louis' assumed voice. His stomach dropped when the captain declared the meal would be on him, and his mind immediately put the pieces in place as to what the rest of their afternoon would look like. He resolved not to eat anything too heavy, just in case he had to run with it still sitting in his gut. Steeling himself for battle, Rarden followed his friends into the restaurant and stood behind them at the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the far darker interior. "Watch it with the harpoon, Fitch," He muttered, as the bobbing instrument nearly struck him on the way in. How did he even plan to find a seat with that thing? Was it okay to be carrying it around? Well, he supposed they did have a right to defend themselves and a harpoon wasn't exactly excessive in that regard. "We should, perhaps, wave down an attendant," he suggested from the rear, waiting for Louis' next move. Partly, he wanted someone else to make the group's first social blunder, but he mainly just wanted a cheap laugh at Louis' expense.

A keen set of ears heard the bell hanging over the door, and a disembodied voice replied to the bell's jingle, as if on cue, "Hello, boys, welcome to the Salted Chicken! What can I do you for?" A short blonde broad with green eyes like emerald gems and a honeyed tone like a mother's called at the crew as she trod over with a skip in her step. The waitress, Lyria Blutwald, was a Dorthan, and although she lacked the horns, her height certainly implied Thantori ancestry, being only four feet and eleven inches tall. One could assume from her appearance though that she had at least 20 years on her body. A small scratch pad and a pen were in her hands, ready to take orders.

Louis smiled as a waitress hurriedly came to them, ready to take their orders, "The three of us will have yer finest salted chicken!" Louis replied, as he cocked his head to smile at his two compatriots, before turning back to the waiter, "And yer strongest drinks you have!" He added, with a boisterous smile. Louis reached up to his head, and pulled off his hair, attempting to be somewhat civilized, "And where can we find a place to sit, fine missy?" He asked, trying now to be as polite as possible with his tone, and mannerisms. He almost forgot he was in public space, what with trying to keep up his persona.

Fitch watched as the waitress approached them, a faint smile crossing his face. The smile widened when Louis ordered the salted chicken, and he lost all control and lept for joy when the Captain mentioned the drinks. They deserved such a meal, after all, they had just completed their first voyage. They were well on their way to fame and fortune, as far as he could see. He wrapped an arm around Rarden's shoulders, slapping his friend on the back with a grin. "Did you hear that? Salted chicken! And drinks!" He slapped the man on the back again with the mention of the drinks, his excitement blazing out like a roaring flame.

After a while of walking Arisu heard her stomach growl. She headed towards a restaurant, a slight bounce in her step at the thought of food. Arisu walked into the Salted Chicken. She was hungry and wanted food. She tucked her wings in when she entered the restaurant, to avoid hitting the door. Arisu wondered what they served there. Probably salted chicken.

Lyria diligently scratched their order down on the paper and tore the sheet, which she left between her fingers. Clutching the pad in that hand, she used the other to point to an empty table. "There is a free table just over there. Your order comes to a total of..." The blonde paused to do the mental math. 'Five each for the chicken, three each for the drinks...' "24 pieces of copper." It definitely came cheap, being a casual diner and all, but the people loved the food, and it was perfect for visitors and people without food at home. "It'll be right out." She turned away and waddled over to the girl with fiery hair that Blutwald knew she couldn't forget. The detail would stick in her mind for ages—how the girl had hair so long bewildered him, the red hair she could explain. "What can I do you for, little miss?"

"I would like a table, and some fried chicken," Arisu told Blutwald, taking note of her short stature. She must have been a Dorthan. Arisu let out a little giggle at the thought at how weird it would look. The waitress was short and Arisu was quite tall. In order not to hit anything Arisu folded her wings up to her body. Previously she had just pulled them closer to her, but this time Arisu folded them so that they lay across her back.

"5 pieces of copper, please, have a seat anywhere you wish." Lyria gestured around the room, indicating some emptied tables along the walls and a few in the center of the restaurant. She tore off that sheet of paper as well and strode away, into the kitchen. Through the briefly-open doors of the kitchen, one could hear the rumbling of plates, the sizzling of meat over a fire, the clashing of metal, and the running of water while the workers and chefs scrambled around the kitchen's tiled floor filling orders. A waiter came out and delivered food to a table or two before running back into the kitchen. There inside, Blutwald tacked up the orders above the head chef's head and called out the order to the rest of the kitchen.

Dameon needed to find a ship as fast as he possibly could. Although he had gotten the jump on his pursuers, Himaya was on the same continent as Sappir, and that the Great Tribune's soldiers could be swarming the port cities like Wartgott within days, or even hours. He needed to find a ship with a crew that were either too crooked to want the attention of the authorities, or too stupid to understand that he was being chased. He disembarked the small merchant vessel without so much as a goodbye to the captain. He stood still for a moment, thinking over his options. The easiest place to find a ship would be the docks, obviously, but those would be swarming with authorities and prying eyes. What he needed to do was find a crew willing to take him, and possibly, smuggle him to safety. Where did sailors go when not at sea? Dameon mused to himself. "Brothels or taverns" he said quietly, and started striding down the cobbled streets into town. Soon enough, he came upon a tavern that looked stately, but had clearly seen better days, called the "Salted Chicken". He snorted at the provincial name and walked in.

The smell of stale beer hit his nose, and he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He swept over to the corner of the room without waiting to be seated and assessed his fellow patrons. A few soiled looking drunks were slumped over the bar, early in the day as it was. A fiery headed individual huddled nervously.near the entrance. Her height led him to beleive she was Upsin, but if she was, her wings were very well hidden. There were also three young men laughing jovially at a table, talking with the short but buxom waitress. Dameon sighed, it seemed that no one here could be of use to him...

Wait... was one of those kids wearing a tricone hat? The style was a bit outdated but they used to be very popular with ship captains. The kids didn't look shady in the least, but if they did have a ship then they looked like they might be just dumb enough to take on a fugitive for the right price...

He tuned his ears in on their conversation. He needed to be sure that they did in fact have a ship before he made his next move.