The inland sea sparkles in the morning air. You can see the storm only as a faint brown smudge on your left (south) horizon. Below, sails are unfurled and inspected, repaired or replaced, but even now several fishing vessels are making their way toward their chosen catches.
Blackwater is more or less straight west, with land to your right and the sea to your left. The hippogriffs, fierce, hot blooded energy burners that they are, fight your precise directions, preferring to fly over the sand where the morning sun quickly warms the beach sand, creating for thermals to ease their effort.
As the morning flight continues, the desert rock and sand moistens, giving way to grasslands and isolated forests. Thin threads of silver mark streams that wind lazily through the plain.
The tree cover grows denser and denser until soon it stretches as far as the eye can see. Across a large river, a vast temperate forest. A few rivers can be seen, and the smoke from unseen villages wisp into the air far to the north.
You take a midday rest on a grassy island in a bay. The hippogriffs make merry sport chasing seals, and tear apart a large sea crocodile too lazy to look up and see it's death coming. They feast on its flesh and nap in the sun as you stretch your saddle sore muscles. An abandoned lighthouse on the island gives you some interest and diversion, but it is long abandoned and yields only a view of the sea.
Later in the day, your flight comes upon Blackwater, nestled where a dark river flows into the sea. An industrious port, you see several massive armed galleys at anchor off an extensive dockworks. Hundreds of fishing boats, barges, merchant sailors, and skiffs ply the water. Millions of birds squawk their wars and battle for aerial dominion. They scatter before the snapping beaks of your mounts.
The city is dominated by mainly three story buildings that loom over shadowy narrow streets. Steep rooves tell of common rain and snow, though the day remains clear and bright. A score of tall towers dot the sprawling metropolis. Smoke from a thousand fires dapples the sky a grayish blue.
Most alarmingly, a guard unit mounted on griffins launches from a stone keep and intercepts you. Armed with very heavy crossbows, they don't overtly threaten you but signal you to follow them back to their base.
Qralloq sent a note to Machiabelly
OOC:
Tl;dr version: You fly all day and land at a guard tower in Blackwater. What do you do?
