A tall, grey-clad man with ash-blonde hair bound in a tight braid is just stepping into the bath-house as she calls out, and his lips thin at the words, suppressing his reaction. He wears a dagger on either hip, and a half-and-half sword slung over his shoulder, and he bows slightly as he meets her eye, all cool courtesy.

"Forgive him, donna," he says as he straightens. "He means no insult. If you're familiar, think of the first card in a Tarokka deck. A traveler, just setting out."