Michael
In the middle of this flourishing city, walked an old man with a cane. He looked exhausted as a traveller might, with his various packs and belts, travelling with a sort of weary determination. He was headed towards the markets of the city, where his end goal lied. 

Rixet was here on business. He had been working his way through the world hunting former smugglers, but had hit a bit of a roadblock. The issue was, smugglers usually don't want to be found. The old ones get sloppy, so they went down first, but by now, these many years later, the others had heard of what had happened to the others and wisened up. His only hope was intercepting anyone involved currently in the smuggling business, and shaking them down for details. What better place to go for such things than here, a bustling city of a trade? Often smugglers would oversee trade in this area, dodging taxes on large quantities of minerals and making a handy sum of money. It wasn't as lucrative as some of the more dangerous types, but it was safe and reliable. 

Soon, Rixet had arrived by the markets. They had guards travelling all about, keeping watch for anyone up to no good. Unfortunately that wouldn't do well for Rixet. The folks he was after wouldn't be out on the streets. No, they would be handling the commerce itself at the gates. In order to find them though, he needed to find a merchant willing to lead him to smugglers. For now, that meant he would need to go about browsing wares and making allies of those in the area. When he did eventually strike out, he would want help of local guard, and likely a bounty posting to cash in on. It would be days before he made a move. 

Rixet approached a stall selling general knickknacks at an exorbitant price and began to make friendly conversation with the keeper of the stall, though with empty intentions of actually buying something.
Joel
Haashim, as per usual, had been on his patrol throughout the bustling city where the sun blared down fiercely upon, the air was blistering, one would not be fooled, but residents like himself had long grown to such conditions. Despite such heat, Jellandi was a popular hotspot for merchants of all types, and with them inevitably comes criminals hoping to strike it rich.

The hooves of his horse stomped down boldly on the near-parched earth, heading straight down to the market, where all types of people milled around. Haashim was pretty familiar with the place, having visited here countless of times either on a patrol, or spending his money on god-knows-what. A few recognized him as he went by on the back of his saddle, and several stallholders even cracked a few niche jokes to him, to which he reacted with corny jokes typical of his humor. All in all, the market was its customary self.

The market had its sunny and brilliant side, but it also had its faults, to which all types of outlaws gripped onto, selling prohibited goods that others would turn a blind eye to, in fear of their retaliation. Even a few guards felt that it was not worth getting involved with such activities, and unless explicitly pointed out by someone, wouldn't do a damned thing about it. He was different from others, and they knew it. It was not a rare sight to witness Haashim chasing down a few crooks along the street which would conclude either with them being sent to the slammers, or getting thrashed by him until he felt that everyone understood his message and sent them to jail. A few had sought to retaliate against him by gathering their numbers, only to progressively fail.
** **

As he was travelling throughout the market, his eyes specifically focused down on a stall that offered products at a very hefty price, to which he knew the owner of. His right leg lightly kicked the rear of his horse, resulting in its stoppage. Haashim, at the time, had his shield linked to his back, his sanguine scarf wrapping around his head, consequently only displaying his eyes. "I see you're out here selling items again at an unreasonable price, eh? " He couldn't help but let out a tiny joke at the owner, before fixating his gaze to the other individual, assessing their figure. "And seems like you've got yourself a victim here, a fairly tall one at that." He was, of course, speaking in Hombaxian, the primary language of Ie. "What brings you around here? " He spoke in Silnarian this time, accompanied with a strong Hombaxian intonation. Haashim assumed they were a foreigner, as he hadn't seen them any moment in the past.
Michael
The old man looked up at Haashim, gesturing with his cane in a dismissive motion. 

"Business. Making myself familiar with the local merchants, they'll be of use later."

Rixet didn't seem to have much of any accent, despite his old age and clearly foreign choice of clothes. His entire demeanour was slightly off putting, like he didn't belong here among the stalls of the market. It was more similar to that of the guards themselves, commanding a level of respectful distance from those around him. Rixet nods at Haashim in a polite manner. 

"I'll need to be in contact with you guards at some point anyway, so I suppose now is as good a time as any. Would you happen to have any tips on where I could find some less reputable vendors? My business dictates I go snooping about there, dangerous as it may be."

As much as the old man's demeanor was clearly that of someone who commands a level of respect, it would still seem like a poor decision for him to make his way there. He was an old man after all, and his only weapons were a cutlass at his hip and a rather basic knife that you would find on just about any passing traveler. When combined with his relatively simple prosthetic leg and lack of left arm, it made for a very harmless looking fellow.