I promise you aren't missing much. The smell is unique, though.

[Repulsive, but unique.

For someone else to call it a wonder-- to even acknowledge Revachol might have wonder-- strums an odd chord in his heart. People who were open to seeing the good of his city, but only after the apocalypse; typical Revacholian luck. Another half smile crosses his face.]

From what I've been able to make out of this place, it's nothing like home. Primitive in some ways, but more advanced in others. Like a storybook, almost.

[There's been far less swashbuckling so far. He wouldn't mind a bit of that, at this point.]