[To be quite frank, Grejor finds the entirety of how landens celebrate their festivals to be revoltingly frivolous, noisy, and hedonistic. As he makes his way through the streets of the Old Town Bazaar, there only for the sake of appearance, he fights to keep a sneer of his face. He dabs his face with a scented handkerchief as he walks through the streets even though the only delicious scents of fried food fills the air.

He looks utterly out of place. Where the landens are dressed simply, Grejor looks like he'd be more at home at an opera or some fancy event in his black suit and white shirt; his only nod to color is a dark, violet scarf about his throat, hidden by the thick coat he wears buttoned halfway up his chest. He walks with a cane topped with black marble threaded with veins of red, perhaps a presumption or a statement of desire. He has never been satisfied with his Purple Dusk Jewel. Has always hungered for something more.

As he wends through the streets, he pauses beside a booth where children scream and shout. Their laughter splits the air and his ears, and he scowls, turning to the Stranger standing nearby.]

Landen festivals are always so... loud.

[He says "loud" but what he means is "uncultured."]

I apologize for their... absurdity. Our people are not all so frivolous and foolhardy.