Vlad wandered the streets fully armed. When he had first entered human lands he had abided by the customs and lodged himself in taverns, but that didn't last long. Vlad did not see the point in wasting coin on bed when the ground was perfectly fine. He'd been told it was for security of belongings, but Vlad felt plenty secure relying on the strength of his arm for protection.
In truth the Goliath was getting sick of the cowardice of this city, and of the soft races in general. He could stomach the dwarves he'd met for the most part, but by and large the other races operated on fear.
Vlad's stomach curls as he hears the elf's voice and her words force him to grit his teeth. The audacity of the elves is something that Vlad is familiar with, but not necessarily something he stomachs well. From the moment he hears the voice he draws his sword. Vlad learned at an early age not to trust sweet things. "I have not been called little in a long time and never by your kind. If you know my curse than you are either an ally or a corpse, Elf. Convince me I can trust you."