Rumors are the most powerful currency of all. Viktor knows that better than he knows most things, especially as he works to gain a foothold in this new world. The man is stolid, a sentry. Unassuming, unless you look closely enough. Too close. Too close. As long as he keeps moving, he'll draw no attention to himself. A few trinkets dug up from the nearby battlefield, a few pelts from trapped hares, draped around his shoulders... the man looks the part. A trader. Perhaps he's only dressing that way.

If he makes no trades in the market today, then it won't be any skin off his ass. He's already gleaned useful information, in the time since he arrived. It had been early when Viktor made fall within the Armada's market, the merchants largely still setting up their wares. Overhearing something about tunnels within the Shimmering Shore-- all good intelligence. It would have been enough to turn around right then, but ah, he'd already made the walk. Perhaps swayed by the promise of some of the finer things in life (a good drink? comforting herbs? a snack far more delicious than one he could make himself?), easily traded for some of his own wares (they were for trade, after all), he stays. There's no use in wasting a day.

Ears keen for new information, Viktor continues to explore. Continues to wander. Inconspicuous, and good at it.
"speech"

coded by NachoMumma

Basilisk moved among the market, searching for any new rumours that might have sprung into existence about the strange happenings in the land. He was trying to keep himself appraised so he could do what he needed to to protect his pack.

There were a few new faces amongst the traders today, wolves looking to trade both in items and in news. The Armada would have been isolated in the North, if it wasn’t for the wolves that travelled through the market. He stopped and checked the stock in one stall, and picked up some coats that had fallen by another. Never stopping for long as he moved among the wolves.

"Basilisk Fatalis"