"Well, friend," Rothyr said, putting his hands on his hips, figuring if he drew on the lad any longer he might piss himself. A companion would help pass the time, and if his family line traced back through warriors he might get himself a stout Isur weapon, something to match his fierce Glassbeak war axe. Or, at least show him a fun trip, as he was unsure how the Isur of Sultros felt about outsiders, not to mention if they shared any sort of language.
"I hope you're word's good, 'cause you're looking at him," Rothyr held out his hand in greeting, hoping the Isur wouldn't break it in his grip, "I plan on making way to Sultros as soon as possible, and possibly further north after that. My full name's Rothyr Windbourne, of the Emerald clans of Drykas."
"I didn't mean to seem off-putting when you first approached me, this city gives me an odd feeling. Like I'm being watched, but not the kind of watched one wants in a port. By the way, I never caught your name, friend."