Francisco de la Cal Delgado
Francisco approached the Citadel with some trepidation, though not nearly as much as he had four days before hand. His journey had been carried by favourable winds and a skilled crew who carried him first from the Island of Majorca, then to Corsica, onward to Athens, and finally into Nicomedia. Looking back on the journey as he walked into the great stone fortress he found himself glad that the journey had taken the better part of three weeks. The shock of civilization bigger than his little village had come in slightly larger doses until he arrived in Athens and had been firmly overwhelmed. Thankfully, with such a massive Empire to maintain, the ancient tradition of using symbols to guide new comers had not been done away with. On several occasions he had been forced to ask Priests to read the document he carried with him so that he didn't falter or end up somewhere he did not wish to be.
His arrival in Nicomedia had been a trying experience, the crush of the populace, the thousands, maybe ten of thousands of people, and the ever moving, sweating mass of humanity had been a new and horrifying experience. Thankfully he had managed to stay above some of it as he rode his fathers horse through the city, constantly guided on his way by various friendly soldiers who wished him lucky. Like every citizen of the empire he could speak Latin, though only a gutter version, but was delighted to find that Spanish was still very much common throughout the Merchant class.
He had used the past four days to explore the city. His horse had been welcomed into the Garrison stables to be held until such time as training commenced and he had been given a simple bed with foot locker in the long low room he was to share with his fellow recruits when they arrived. He had not seen the Captain but several of the senior cavalrymen had assured him that his early arrival was welcome and then attempted to get him horrendously drunk. It was impossible not to like Francisco. He was friendly, out going, and always smiled, no matter what. The grizzled veterans who had welcomed him wasted no time in including him where they could and taken the time to acquaint him with the Garrison and Citadel.
Now, after four days of exploring, drinking, carousing, and womanizing, he was seated outside the Captains door on a marble bench. He was clad in simple black riding pants and white shirt that he had brought from home, the finest clothes he owned. The cavalryman he had met had taken pity on his bare feet and he now wore a well used but fine pair of riding boots they had given him as a good luck gift. He had never been prouder of something in his life and polished them to a high shine. His papers were neatly folded in one hand, his other tapping along on his knee to some tune that only he could hear. He was on an adventure.