Finishing his morning exercise, Joar Addam, oblivious to the minor argument of the women, slowly walks around the corner. Sweat hung on his brow and dampened his dark hair, black in the morning light. His shirt hung open and loose about his body, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his bare chest. His sword was sheathed and held in his hand. The dew clung to his bare feet.

Blinking slightly as he walked around the corner, he stopped. He nodded his head to Zera.

"Good morning, Zera."