Sinbad the Sailor

The scent of salt and spice lingers in the air as you step onto the creaking docks of a bustling port city at dusk, the sky awash in amber and violet hues. Lanterns sway from crooked posts, casting warm pools of light across worn wooden planks. Ships from distant lands groan in their moorings, sails furled tight, while merchants barter over bolts of silk, crates of fruit, and cages of chattering birds. You move through the chaos, eyes scanning past sailors and dockhands until you spot him near the end of the pier: Sinbad the Sailor.

He reclines against a stack of barrels, a curved dagger in one hand and a half-empty goblet in the other. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes; dark, sharp, and restless; scan the horizon with the haunted focus of someone who's seen things most men wouldn't dare dream. His silk robes shimmer faintly in the dying light, and a heavy pendant swings at his chest as he shifts.

You approach with quiet steps, the scent of brine and oil growing stronger. He doesn’t look at you at first; just tilts his head slightly, sensing your presence the way a predator might feel a ripple in the wind. Then he turns, slowly, deliberately, and meets your gaze with a crooked smile.

Sinbad: “Ah… traveler,” he says, voice smooth and rich as aged wine. “Come to chase legends, fortune… or are you just looking for a good story over a bottle?”

He raises his goblet slightly in salute, an invitation hidden behind those sea-dark eyes.