Caelus Lock scowled. It was an expression that often marred his youthful face, twisting his handsome features into contorted ridges that lined his shiny forehead and crooked nose all the way down to his stiff jaw. His frame seemed perpetually tense, muscles clenched in apparent anticipation. His spine was perfectly straight, complimenting a defiant chin that jutted out contentiously at the city. His pupils, paranoiac and mistrusting, swung like pendulums in his eyes and shifted warily at each person that passed.
He stood on a unloading barge that was filled with people of all sorts and, by consequence, noises of all sorts. Groups of teenagers rushed past him, eagerly chattering about their planned adventures. They energetically sauntered across the floor of the boat, filled with juvenile arrogance and vigor. Next, there were there were the elderly, who walked dignantly, making their way through the throng of people with an air of assurance. Mothers with children in tow guided their families down to the dock, familial jabber drowned out by the harsh call of incoming vessels. The crowd's shape was sculpted by individuals that pushed past the crowds, swiftly navigating their way off the watercraft.
Caelus waited until the mob somewhat dispersed, then carefully made his way toward the exit. He slipped on his hood, then stepped over into the city streets. Center City. The metropolis of opportunity. He smirked wryly at the colloquialism. For his father, it had certainly proved true- he'd heard all the stories. As a boy, Caelus had often wished to travel here, to make his own fortune as others from the Storm tribe had. Though today, he was here for different reasons.
He spotted a nearby tavern well lit with festive colors. Lanterns hung in the windows and boisterous noises echoed from inside. Might as well try to blend in, he thought, and walked in to order a drink.