Quoted By:
You were born under the Steed, a constellation typically associated with impatience and the desire for freedom. When you left the wastes of Dak'fron behind, your tribe blamed the stars that were born under. They claimed that your happiness would always be fleeting, that the Steed and your desire for a better life would always leave you unsatisfied with any home that you would find.
As much as you adhere to the traditions of the Na-Totambu, you struggle to believe this particular superstition. All you know for certain is that you possess the strength and swiftness that is commonly associated with the speed. You do not tire easily, nor does your armour weigh you down when you run. You're a workhorse who always gets the job done, which is why you were able rise to the rank of sergeant, in spite of your heritage and beliefs
Once you are through the threshold, you have left behind the austerity of the Vault and entered the city proper. Sandstone structures line the cobbled streets, with colourful horse hair canopies hanging overhead to provide protection from the rising sun. Craftsmen are already hard at work, while vendors hawk their wares – dates, melons and citrus grown throughout the Goldmoor, as well as plenty of produce imported from Cyrodiil. Even the bleating of goats and squealing of swine can be heard, ready to be sold off and slaughtered. Never let it be said that Taneth is not a lively place.
However, your duty demands that you leave behind the safety of the city's heart, in favour of its outskirts. A short walk down the bustling streets leads you to the southern gate of the city and then through it, out to the waterfront. Each time you step into this district, you are struck by the beauty of Hew's Bay. A vast blue ocean shining beneath the sun dominates your vision, with wharfs and piers lining the edges of it, yet there are almost no ships to seen. The largest vessels are simple fishing boats, yet to set out in search of their daily catch. From what you've heard, it's been like this for over a week. Idle dockworkers sit on crates and chatter among themselves while impatient merchants tap their feet as they stare into the distance, with their arms crossed and scowls etched into their usually smiling faces.
“Must be a hurricane over the Abecean,” Janos mutters. “It's not like Anvil to leave us high and dry.”
“Rihad is much closer, it's right next to the Imperial border. Perhaps it's just not economical to trade with Taneth any longer?” Radan's efforts to come up with an excuse earn nothing more than a glare from Janos, which causes the Lhotunic to cringe.
