The Norðanvindurinn sailed for some time yet, passing over the water like a ghost. It was late into the night before any sign of civilization was seen. Nearing the port, Falkor kept his sights on the land as the helmsman steered the ship. Docking, Falkor and a few men made their way from the ship they had been stuck on for days, if not longer, and into the small town.<br/>"Rowdy bunch they are." Falkor said, his hand never far from his pistols.<br/>"Aye, though I hear that's how they are down this a ways." His helmsman said, following the captain through the crowds of pirates and woman performing various acts of drunkenness or similar.<br/><br/>They reached a saloon and the man, with the slightest of head nods from the captain, rushed in to drink and gamble without the fear of Falkor having them thrown overboard. Falkor himself calmly entered the overcrowded saloon, casting an eye around at the many occupants with a slight scowl on his face. This was not the sort of company he was used to, or at least not what he associated himself with. Choosing to remain standing, he moved towards the bar and ordered himself a strong beverage, not quite like back home, but close enough. Turning back to face the main area, he leaned against the bar, one arm resting on the tarnished wooden surface while the other hand clutched his drink as he watched the people of this land.