The two adventurers stumbled down the low grassy hills towards the settlement, nestled on the dividing line between lush emerald jungle and cerulean blue sea, the steep pitched roofs and smoking chimnies of the port seemed at once alien and out of place and the only reminder of something recognizable as civilization. Long moles reached out into the ocean constructed laboriously of stone which had been hacked from the nearby hills over the years, slowly replacing what must have initially been wooden versions created from the greenish jungle timber. A palisade wall with a stone foundation ringed the place with towers to twice or three times the height of the parapet at regular intervals. Beyond the walls were fields of crops that stretched from the town to where the base of the hills made the terrain too rocky, but beyond the occasional tool shed there were no permanent structures beyond the wall. Emmaline had to imagine this was because the settlers knew they weren't safe if they ventured out beyond their fortifications. Having just left the company of Lizardmen via a Skaven tunnel Emmaline could appreciate the feeling.

The gates of the port stood open although watchful men in the towers and on the walls kept an eye on them as they approached. The pair made quite a sight, scratched and filthy with dirt and blood and dressed in the tattered remains of sailors clothing. Never the less no comment was made as they entered the dirt streets beyond the walls. As expected from the number of ships in harbor the streets were crowded with sailors and traders from a dozen different nations. Bluff Imperials cried the virtues of barrels of ale from Middenheim, Tilean silversmiths hawked buttons of polished steel, Estalian bravos swaggered and drank on the verendahs of wine shops. There were even a few hooked nose Araybians peddling brasswares and candied dates. Sailors from every nation rolled drunkenly from taverns to brothels, good naturedly for the most part, though occasional drunken altercations were taking place. These impromptu displays of fisticuffs tended to attract gamblers more interested in betting on the outcome than joining in however. 

"Hey blondie, I got a gold florin for you if you are looking for a good time!" a slightly more prosperous looking sailor, perhaps a ships officer, called, staggering drunkenly towards Emmaline. Amal smoothly interposed himself and shoved the fellow away, though not before Emmaline caught a wiff of the sour wine on his breath. The Aryabian shoved the fellow away sending him staggering into one of the brothels none the worse for wear.

"I suppose we will need to sell one of our prizes for money," Emmaline mused looking around for a goldsmith or pawn shop that might do. Amal laughed and produced a leather purse he had lifted from the sailor.

"Whatever for?" he asked before taking a gold florin from the pouch and handing it to Emmaline.