A hazy cloud of dust rose from the ground, small eddies that danced in the wind in front of Tristain as he walked. He was not ashamed to admit that he was scuffing the dirt on the wagon trail that he was following, taking out some small measure of his irritation as he strode along the trail. His irritation wasn't at the trail, nor the woods around him - even if he was getting sick and tired of the monotony of the path he was walking along.

No, the man was still agitated and upset about being tossed out of his troop with little warning, and only the command to “go make a name for yourself” to guide him. While Captain Edelven had prevented Tristain from actually feeling betrayed or abandoned - the fact that he let the younger man take his name proof of that - Tristain was still not happy with the turn of events. And so, he kicked at the ground as he walked, the toes of his leather boots sending up small plumes of dirt with each staccato beat.

It wasn't that he couldn't see where they were coming from either. Most of the members of the Danse had been, if not famous, at least known before they joined. He was the odd one out, considering he had joined as a runaway from a terrible parent, looking for anyone to give him a chance. That Captain Edelven had given him that chance, taking him on as a camp hand, had meant the world to Tristain when he was younger.

So the young man was left with no direction for his irritation, just a discontent that toiled in his stomach like an angry fire. He was forced to bite back a snarl as he realized that while he was thinking, he had reached a small town. A few people were walking along the road now, casually trying to ignore the tense visage of the armor clad man. So he choked down his anger, and plastered on an attempt at a pleasant smile as he walked past them. No need to scare people away - when he was told to make a name for himself, the intent hadn't been for him to make himself infamous.

As he moved through the small town’s streets, he paused with the wooden smile freezing in place as he grew confused. Ahead, there was a small cluster of people surrounding the side of a building, packed in close together in a loose arc as they stared inwards. Tristain’s puzzled frown became more pronounced as he approached, trying to figure out what was going on ahead of him. From what he knew, crowds of people didn't usually just cluster like this, not without some kind of cause - but the location was all wrong for some kind of street performer or someone making a speech. If anything, against the side of a building, somewhat out of the way, was more like where a street beggar would be. Why would people be there?