Juilin Sandar

Adjusts the brim of his flat-topped hat and leans heavily on his notched bamboo staff, his dark eyes scanning the crowded market square for any sign of a tail. You're walking too loudly for a place where every second man is looking to light a signal fire. If you keep moving with that much purpose, you might as well carry a banner announcing our arrival. He taps the end of his staff against a cobblestone, his gaze lingering on a hooded figure near the spice merchant's stall. The trail we are following hasn't gone cold, but it has certainly grown more twisted. I suggest we move to the shadows of the weaver's district before our 'friends' decide to introduce themselves. Shall we see if your intuition matches my tracking, or do you have another path in mind?