The wind and waves of this port city are like a constant thrumming pulse, one that its inhabitants come to know and trust and ignore completely, and among these inhabitants are the gawking eyes and gaping mouths of strangers and wanderers, from bumpkins to children to oath-sworn and faithful, the unfamiliar stare at the sweeping flocks of gulls that pepper the horizon of storm gray and ichorous green seas.  For every awestruck sucker there's a hundred city-dwellers-- hawkers and traders and yardmasters and deckhands, like a separate and more volatile ocean entire unto the land.<br/><br/>Through this crowd a motley pair cut a swath.  Gray plate clads the body of an imposing figure-- taller by a head that those around, with fine armor and a blade the size of a ship's oar-- some nordic noble, perhaps, separated from his entourage?  Peeking blond tendrils hint at the edge of its cloak's hood, and it's not until its face tilts up-- testing the air, perhaps, or chasing a trail on the horizon-- that one can see this mesomorphic warrior is, in fact, a young woman, all fair and blue-gemmed and innocently pretty.  She looks out of sorts, but confident, and she's not alone.<br/><br/>Completely absent of the the effort that the taller warrior must exert in order to skirt this crowd, a light-footed half-elf glides through it like a fish through water.  Her steps are graceful and deft, her movements preternaturally confident even among the throng of burly dock-workers and rattling hand-carts.  Her fiery hair makes her impossible not to notice, but her deft grace makes her impossible to tail.  She, too, is armored, but in the subtle leathers of her trade; alien and graceful and lovely like a fine blade, she seems to carry her own shadow overhead.<br/><br/>As strange a pair as they make, though, they move faster together than they would apart.  Some note the tall warrior and give way, or don't bother to pitch their wares at the skilfully-dodging fair woman in front of her, and there's always a path where Coral's insightful steps lead Hadrian.  Alone, they'd be detained here and there as one was stuck between two passing carts, the other was swept aside by a copse of arm-in-arm stonecutters; together, they're nigh unstoppable.<br/><br/>The daylight streams gold behind them, like an inverted shield of gold, as Coral and Hadrian make their entrance into the great hall of the Shining Tower.  Amidst mutters and gawking stares, Hadrian edges her way closer to the receiving table where their contact waves them closer.  Words are spoken, questions are asked.  The guardsman's thick finger gestures with his gauntleted hand and the tall woman nods in affirmation.  Thusly, Hadrian and Coral's turn arrives, and they present their ships' scripts-- testaments of their entrance and exit, hand-signed by a captain and endorsed with his personal affirmation of their character... evidently, they'd been of some assistance already, and he had tried to persuade them to stay on.