Entering Llanfon on worn, tough paws, the Akir Strife Shaman named Sanchron Flearus trained his golden eyes on the populace of the city.<span style="color: #FFFF80"><span style="font-style: italic">Living apart from nature's ways, yet mired in more filth than a piglet coming home from play,</span></span>he thought, looking upon the races of the city with mild disgust. With a low growl, he looked around, finding a small man yelling something about Dark Magi.<span style="color: #FFFF80"><span style="font-style: italic">A town crier, hm? Perhaps...</span></span>Sanchron went over to the crier, pushing aside the smaller creatures as he approached. Finally, he stood but two feet away from the crier, who by now had fallen silent in the face of the large Akir warrior. Sanchron spoke gruffly.<span style="color: #FFFF80">"Where should I go if I wish to hear more, little man?"</span>The crier pointed at a tavern nearby, and Sanchron turns and heads over there, offering not a word of thanks or the slightest hint of recognition whatsoever.<br/><br/>Reaching the pub, he was surprised to see an odd creature leave the establishment. He chuckled a bit, hailing the man.<span style="color: #FFFF80">"Greetings. What brings a Fae to this cesspit of a human town, hm?"</span>Sanchron looked at Orin with a big grin on his face, turning his usually threatening and sour warrior-like face into a far merrier, grandfatherly one. The transformation was of course completely lost on him.