Arven would've been far more content tramping the shores of the Baltic or exploring the dark woodlands beyond the city. But instead he was trapped within four walls, ornate and wide-apart though they were. At least the architecture was imposing and a number of the people were interesting, but Arven was not suited to society functions at all. He was only here because it was implied he would have a further three journal texts published (and paid for) if he attended. And so he did, clad in the finery expected of him, but a little off in numerous ways — a shirt button loose, a scruff to his jaw, a certain wildness to his hair. He did not belong. But at least it was easy to identify him as one of the invited explorers and not mistaken for a fancy socialite.

He was introduced most curtly to a young lady who, despite her well-kept appearance, looked hardly more at home here than he did. "Miss Kozlova", he inclined his head politely. "Arven Fisk, at your service. And only too happy to regale you with an adventure story. What sort of subject are you after? Danger, mystery, discovery? Perhaps something local?"