You pull your cloak a little tighter as you step off the ship, crisp winds nipping heat from you. A crumpled flier in one hand depicting a large tree, the boughs and roots of it reach wide and touch the rim of a circle in all directions. Your last hope, found the night before you boarded a ship leaving the Empire, bound for realms afar.

Unsure of what you'd expected, this small port town seems to be the right place, not that you have any idea what the right place *is*, exactly.

Looking around, you see a tall elven man, dressed kind of like a cool uncle, absently staring out to sea as an attendant stands near his elbow, feverishly taking notes while the elf talks at him.

Gold rimmed sunglasses with a dark purple tinted lenses, flowing silk robes of purple, black and gold, a make fit for high nobility, long dark hair in a braid hanging over one of his shoulders - He pauses mid sentence as he sees you for the first time.

"Salutations, Traveller. You must be part of the new recruits from the Empire. You may call me Mr Sullivan. Come come, let's get you a meal and a bed."

You follow Mr Sullivan, making your way fairly easily through the town, until you are beyond the wall.

He continues rattling off a list to the attendant who hovers nearby as you walk, and within about 20 minutes, you find yourself beyond the walls of the busy port town.

You pass some stables, which seem oddly placed as they are rather detached from the rest of the burgeoning compound, and find yourself in a dirt and grass courtyard, with a few buildings scattered about.

"Welcome to SINCCA. It's not much, now. But it's four walls and a roof, with a warm bed. More then I'm sure you have seen in recent months.

We're a busy bunch here, so an attendant will be around tomorrow to walk you through the stuff I've no time to cover."

He pats your shoulder, rather firmly for a man who you watched float through town (quite literally, his feet never touched the ground).

You note that he isn't wrong, though.

Two barn doors on a building that is for sure not a barn, open as a group of attendants struggle to move an unanimated stone golem out of what looks to be a teleport circle.

A massive minotaur is talking to a young girl, who is sitting in a ring of mushrooms talking to - possibly the smallest myconoid you have ever seen.

A half-orc with a blood red hawk sitting on his shoulder is carrying a deer carcass to a tree to begin processing it.
A Goliath heaves crates of alcohol onto the back of a wagon, smiling as he talks happily with the dark haired elven man who is helping him.

And the faint sound of shouting can be heard as, off to your right, a group of the most chaotic looking adventurers is shouting about a knocking box.

You smile. Relieved.

It's been a while since anything quite felt like home. And though you're fresh from the boat, you get the feeling you will settle in rather well here.

Mr Sullivan reaches into a pocket, shaking your shoulder as he dangles am amulet that looks much like the symbol on the flier you hold, in front of you.

"Here, you'll need this. But, try to remember the magic is powerful and takes time to recharge."

You take it, feel the tingle of arcana as you put the leather strap of the amulet around your neck, and another attendant shows up with a bowl of hearty venison stew and a bundle of bread rolls.

"Follow the lad, will you? Bunkhouse is across the way, and my office is here if you need anything.

And please, if nothing else, try not to burn a hole through the tables like someone else already has."