Travelling isn't the hardest part of being an adventurer though. Not by far. The hardest part is surviving whatever challenge is thrown at you. Self-inflicted, or otherwise. Arkadius had a... Biological advantage over the majority of the populace in that he sports a pair of wings, which he uses to fly. "What else would you use wings for?", would be his witty retort if you were to ask their purpose.
Twice now they had gotten him into near fatal trouble, in the span of two months. Before he arrived in Kantas, he was fine. Healthy. Not in danger. Much. Actually, self-reflection might be the most dangerous thing for an adventurer.
"Well? Did you take that all in, did it make sense?" the Visitor asked, leaning back on the tavern chair,
"...Are you with me... Helloooo?", the Visitor quickly stopped leaning, slamming a hand into the table to grab Arkadius' attention back.
Arkadius remained staring at the Visitor for a few moments, before bobbing his head rapidly. "Yes. Sorry. I'm..." He was still processing the words, the story, the meaning. He was putting pieces together in his head he never thought would connect.
The Visitor started smiling.
"I can feel it within you. You want more. Deserve more. And I promise you, little one. Heed my words and my story, and you'll get more."
Arkadius stayed silent for a minute, before piping up.
"More what?"
Arkadius reflected on that day and his previous self on a near-daily basis. And he always felt the need to face palm. He had been such an absent-minded idiot back then, but everything is always clearer in hindsight. And eighteen years is plenty of time to learn the new gifts and strengths you'd acquired. He wasn't bored any more.
...Well. He had been as of late. He'd spent a month away from adventuring, which hurt so badly. He spent two weeks recovering from his adventure out at sea, then two weeks doing light work for Mace's venture. Seeing his friend's venture go from strength to strength was... Heart-warming. Knowing he was part of it, even more so. But he knew it was time to venture out again, into the world. His place wasn't at a desk, shuffling paper he barely knew the contents of. His place was out there, with his friend.
Which is why when his friend mentioned an old temple, Arkadius had his quarterstaff ready, and his horns polished. Sure, he still smelled of brimstone, but he'd made an effort. He was ready. He was confident.
He was dangerous. Ish.