Follow Panthor's will.

The customary farewell of the Order rang still within Ulrich's mind. Sent back out into the world to express the desires of the Goddess, the samurai knights and their protection was left far behind him, staying to protect knowledge and whatever small power the order holds, back in Akishima with his friends and mentors.

The air here was different too. For the last five years, Ulrich had grown accustomed to the smells of life in the small temple. Patrolling the grounds with another of the novice's or studying in the modest library, a crackling fire warming half of his face while he searched for new knowledge. The smells of forests and old books growing to become precious, safe.

The smells of this town were different. The harsh bite of the salty sea air was so different to him that it was jarring, and the unique smell of people living in close proximity, was almost reminiscent of his childhood. Ulrich was unsure how it all made him feel.

He needed to sit down.

He needed to process... how different it all was.

And more importantly: Ulrich craved direction. Panthor however, was silent.

His feet moved as he was lost in the haze of his own thoughts. Some un-confronted desire to move out and away from the centre of the town, further from the hard bite of the sea air and closer to the trees on the far edge. Pulled by a desire for what was normal to him and towards somewhere that was hopefully warm and sanitary. The Minister's alehouse shone to him like a beacon. A quiet night where the traveller could rest. Guiding his horse with rein and thigh he tied up outside the front door.

"I'll be back in a bit See-see. Best behaviour"

The horse whinnied in a potential affirmative and Ulrich tied the reigns to the post before pushing his way through the heavy wooden door.

And straight into his own personal Hell.

The bar was loud, roudy, and bordering on violent. His eyes moved over an orc on the ground, spread eagled, Dwarves in the corner were arguing over a dark dressed rouge, who was reaching for a knife. The packed tavern was building in tension. Eyes were narrowing. Weapons were being drawn. Ulrich was at the bar, his step slowing while his mind was questioning if this a good idea anymore. Keenly aware that he didn't have a weapon that would work in a confined space if everyone was working out frustration on each other.

So he did the only smart thing. Turned to leave, finding the door blocked by a two more drunken idiots, yelling at each other about how drinking at sea was better than drinking on land.

So he picked a stool, hunched over the bar and wished he could be invisible to all but the bartender.