Wexford had spent several days walking almost endlessly (stopping only to sleep) when the Aquarine Bay Shipping Company docks finally came into view. He was banned from just about every carriage service in Astrea for the smell of horse stables that lingered about his rear everywhere he went, and he was carrying a bit too much luggage to fly, so hiking his way downtown the old-fashioned way was the only option he had. Needless to say, by the time he reached his destination after a week of trudging through swamps and mountains and eating nothing but pickled beans he got from an anonymous admirer in school, he already felt like he’d done enough adventuring for a lifetime. His hooves were caked with dust and mud (which felt deeply disgusting in ways Wexford had no words to describe), his stomach felt bloated and queasy, and nothing in his entire outfit was free from stains whose sources he’d long since forgotten.
Despite his myriad of discomforts, Wexford had gone far enough from his dorm room for the sunk cost fallacy to kick in, so he pressed on, shielding his eyes from the glaring seaside sun as he looked up at the journey ahead which, of course, was just beginning.
From where he was in the middle of the street, Wexford has three options: Heading straight for the docks to redeem his prepaid ship tickets, taking a break at a nearby tavern, or going to the store for some last-minute supplies.
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