It was a bright, clear morning when Jonard Kast, his half-sister Ammanielle, and their war hound Ser Wrex arrived in Kirkwall. The air was heavy with promise and the twin aromas of sea spray and dogshit, and though the journey by sea had been long and unpleasant, Jonard couldn't help but feel optimistic. "Wake up, sis," he exhorted, gently nudging her with his foot. "We're almost there!"
"Sod off," she growled, clutching at their threadbare blanket as if it could give her another few minutes of sleep.
"Fine, be that way." He turned his attention to Ser Wrex, who was still snoozing in blissful oblivion. "C'mon, boy. Get up. We'll get some breakfast."
"Hrr?" Wrex opened his eyes, stretched out, rolled upright, and trotted off to take a piss right next to a hapless city elf nearby. Only after he relieved himself did he pay his master any heed, sitting on his hindquarters and looking up in the hope that his immediate future contained some sort of meat. Ammanielle finally gave up on trying to go back to sleep, and instead helped her brother gather up their meager possessions. When that was finished, the three of them went up on deck to watch the ship arrive in the harbor.