Jordan finally stepped of of the ship he was on, into the large harbor of Taras. He immediatly noticed the smell of fish, and the hustle and bustle of the city. Jordan was not new to this area, but it had been several years since he had left this land. Jordan had many names. He was called Dragon Slayer in some parts of the world, Peter the Great in others. He could never know all of his nicknames, as he travelled too frequently. Of course, many of these were not true. He had never slain a dragon, and had never done anything that he thought would make him great. Of course, he had done many things, many evil things, yet many good things too, that no one knew about. Jordan was not his real name, no one except for a small few knew it. Jordan himself was a strong, burly man. He had no beard or facial hair, and did not have overly large muscles that would attract too much attention, but he was strong, and cunning. He knew the outdoors and how to survive in them better than most anyone. His sword had stains from the blood of innumerable creatures. He wore his long, black cloak up over his face, so that nobody would recognize him, hopefully.
As he walked along the large, wooden dock, he wondered where he would go next. The outdoors were his truest home, but he wanted a more civilized life. Of course, he only meant that instead of killing in the outdoors, he would kill in the city, but even so, it would be a large change of pace for him. As he walked into the city, he was lucky. No one had noticed him. Not yet, anyway.

Tralstin stood on the edge of a dock, his hands working methodically on stealing a fisher's lobster trabs from the murky depths. The fisher himself was somewhere floating in a keg of ale. He peered up from his work, checked for a nearby guard, then kept on watching for the lobster trap in the water. His sword was rammed into the rotting wood of the dock beside him, much like a poor man's excalibur. He whistled a small tune, as the lobster trap rose into sight.