“We need fake identities. I’ll be Glint Zaphand! A powerful human sky mage. Eh?” Callum declares with a grin, his excitement contrasting sharply with the grim surroundings.

You both navigate the chaotic streets of Scumport, a place that seems to thrive on its own brand of filth and corruption. Vendors shout from their ramshackle stalls, hawking everything from rare plants to cursed artifacts and even living creatures, their cries competing with the murmur of shady deals. Others skulk in the shadows, their watchful glares promising trouble to anyone who lingers too long. The air is thick with dampness and the scent of decay, carrying faint whispers of schemes and betrayals. This was Scumport: a haven for the desperate, the dangerous, and the damned.

“Alright, so we’re here looking for Finnegrin,” he says, glancing around warily. “He’s the man in charge.”