Tap, tap, tap goes the long dragon-headed staff. Milora Lomasa grips this item fiercely in her fingers; it draws her a little attention, but no outright stares. Her silk dress is calculated to go; because of this same garment she looks rather out of place walking beneath the quaint little signs that line the straight rows of shops. It is a little past the dinner hour, and pleasant enough that the rather quiet riverside town bustles solemnly. A sleepy mist rises from the water and blankets the streets, providing an opportunity for small playing children and large dogs to frolic and catch colds.