The deft flap of wings carried a certain half dragon through the air, heading downwards towards the entryway into a certain town of Sunfire. Ansgar Staudinger mentally took a glance at his one side, a narrow blade pass having opened up a minor wound during that battle he had gotten caught up in. Some mad fellows, refused to do anything but fight to the last man, and one of them had gotten a sneaky shot in while the fellow was lying on the ground dying. Nothing deep, and it barely bled, but flying was exerting. Exertion opened up wounds if one wasn't careful, and even with his thicker than average blood, the last thing he needed was an open, oozing wound in the middle of the air. Apparently, from what the word was coming in from various places, this wasn't the only instance of battle mad folk running about, trying to loot, pillage, rape, the like, and that was not a good sign. It didn't take a soothsayer to see this was just the beginning, and he found himself muttering to, well, himself as he aimed to land a short walks away from the city entrance. No sense spooking anyone with an armed fellow like him literally falling from the sky. [color=a36209]"A wicked wind this way comes. Question is, will it be a breeze, or a gale..."[/color]

	Touching down just out of view of the main gate to Sunfire, not his usual visiting place but he could use a stiff drink while he recovered from his, albeit minor, injury, he proceeded forward. Hopefully, despite Sunfire cutting it rather close to Fotian territory, they would either not care for their criminals or, more likely, bounties, or not have ever caught wind or forgotten about such things. But approach the gates he would, requesting entry on grounds of seeking a place to rest after having gotten caught up in the fighting near Sunfire, which was likely treating the more badly injured. He had bandaged himself up well enough to suffice, so he wouldn't be wasting the healers time with a minor injury that would take care of itself. Not when there was likely far worse off folks more demanding of their attention. Assuming he was given access to the city, he would make his way to the [i]Rest Easy[/i], unimaginative name but hopefully true to its name. Walking in, he would remove his conical hat, out of respect for being indoors, and find a seat at the bar before producing several gold coins, the universally accepted ones minted on Fotia. [color=a36209]"A stiff ale, when you have the moment. Thank you kindly."[/color]