Graakt was now looking down at two winged people, one he'd bowled over, the other had nearly met the same fate. He didn't seem to recognize either of them, so he immediately assumed that they weren't locals, even if one knew him by name. If they weren't locals, and they weren't Knights, then that meant only one thing. Traders. Only merchants visited. Family and friends stayed away, no one came for vacation, so those looking for coin was the only answer.

Though why one knew him by name was beyond him. 

He saw some knights eyeballing their little grouping suspiciously. [color=39b54a][b]"Perhaps we should move somewhere a bit more... private. My shop is close."[/b][/color] He nodded in the direction of the docks, and started that way, shooting a casual glance at the Knights. Yes, they were definitely interested in them. [color=39b54a][b]"Don't run, we'll be fine."[/b][/color] 

Graakt was taking the lead, moving down the dirt road, hoping his companions would take the hint. The trio of knights were pushing through the crowd, eyes locked on the group. Once Graakt reached the dock road, he turned westward. If his companions joined him, he would pull them into the first door, which was a small smithy. He looked up at the proprietor, a large human man named Treton, [color=39b54a][b]"Tret, we have footsteps, mind if we stock some shelves?"[/b][/color] This was all local lingo for being followed by knights, and hanging out until they are gone. The smithy nodded, smiling, and gestured to the back of the office. Graakt went in and sat on a crate labeled horseshoes, looking at eyelevel at his companions, before settling on the man, [color=39b54a][b]"So how do you know my name, and what brings you here?"[/b][/color]