Altim took a gander as he stepped into the street out the shadows, and he found few men retiring to the safety of their homes as he was. Daror conjectured the darkness encompassed the city, so safety could be found in the light, away from Amaryth. Heading west wasn't ideal, but perhaps he could fetch a boat... Making his move, his feet pounded the ground as he ran in the direction of the lakes, the eastern gate, and beyond to the cities of Riarson and Fort Madaris. The two cities built near the mountains were a good escape, although Altim himself had never seen it—he imagined they'd be tightly guarded.

His heart raced, and time picked up the pace once the gates drew near. Weaving his way through the crowds like a talented seamstress, further he hurried on while avoiding attack by the black-clad women and using the throng as a buffer. Deep breaths heaved from his chest when he approached the docks through the gate, and a certain panic filled him as the race to get into a boat and paddle off presented itself as a challenge amidst the foes embattled on the pier. Was it required that he fight his way out? 'Shit,' he thought. He couldn't turn back; fighting was necessary even if he lacked weaponry.