Wheeling Gull Isle i hate the air he breathes

Aquillius had noticed his hearing had gotten somewhat better since his eye had lost its sight. At least, came the bitter thought, he wasn't entirely useless on one side.

The approach was noted with a turned ear, and Aquillius would soon turn his head to the seeing side, peering over his shoulder with a blank, militant expression. The man approaching him was odd looking, but, he supposed, he shouldn't say that out loud. His tongue flashed, salmon pink, curving from his jaws and up over his nose, before he answered.

Aquillius. Aquillius Redsand. His hawkish eyes flicked over the man again, inhaling the sharp, bitter scent of salt on his coat, intertwined with that of his erstwhile caretaker.

You are of Sweetharbor?