The gates of Yartar are not too far from where the windmill is. Following the dirt road, which gradually gives way to cobblestone, then a paved street, Moira and Bartimus eventually arrive upon Yartar itself.
Throughout the city a soft wind blows, carrying with it the pungent smell of the riverfish mixds with the bitter tang of metal and the heavy scent of smoke. The sweat and toil of countless laborers is overlayed with the hot musk of various animals and the occasional sweetness of flowers and perfume. Unlike Triboar, Yartar's gates are clearly geared towards business - large arcs to allow for easy traffic, low walls made of thick granite layered with numerous tapestries and flags, each representing a different guild or noblehouse. Even the guards here are considerably spruced up, with heavy splint armor festooned with rich red capes and bright orange plumes upon their helmets. Bartimus waves at the nearest sentry as he approaches, receiving an acknowledging nod and something of a casual salute.
"Sir Bartimus, welcome back! Is the rest of your party...?" the sentry hedges, sounding worried;
"Oh gods no, they're fine," the dragonborn waves,
"just cleaning up while I bring evidence to the Waterbaron. The giant has been..." Bartimus pauses, clearly remembering Moira and Ethgar's presence,
"handled. These here are Moira and Ethgar - they assisted as with the battle at a timely moment, and bring important news from the West."
"...both of them?" the guard looks...particularly put off by Ethgar, noting his clear tattoos and rugged appearance,
"if they're not citizens, they need to pay a to-"
The guard quietens as Bartimus places two silver pieces in his hands, then gestures for Moira and Ethgar to enter.
"Very well Sir. And have a good day. You two uh, Madam. Sir."