One good thing about Lake Merrin—it is not hard to find your way around. I look down at the dead Dock Boy at my feet and the unconscious brute with his head up against the wall.

“You know, Ratface; you do bleed a lot.” Spying a water barrel, I wash off the worst of the blood. “If you had just ignored me in the bar, you would still be kicking.”

Once clean, I look at the unconscious half-breed. I pull my knife out; my hand is shaking. I haven’t committed blatant murder since the army. I did hate being a scout; taking out unsuspecting sentries was no fun.

Sheathing my knife, I tell the brute, “You are lucky today. I’ll not ruin my morning with an honourless murder.”

Following the smell of the smithy, I think that one jump of the fence will take me to the Craftsmen’s District and beyond that to the Bazaar. Then one little hop and I am at the Hall.

Looking back at my two fallen foes, I give them a salute. Stupid but brave, they were.

As I launch myself over the fence and head back towards the sounds of the crowd, I marvel at the industrious craftsmen. Workshops whirl and buzz with the sounds of different contraptions, with men and women perfecting their skills. If I had followed a different path in my youth, I might have become an Engineer, perhaps working with intricate clockworks or making new alloys, clockwork word-writers, picture-takers, calculations machines and much more.

Still, I would have to get used to the smell. Walking past a fabric factory, I can hear the clickety-clack of the loom inside or the hissing of molten metal in a local blacksmith for a new house frame. An apprentice-powered buzz saw; look at that seat with wooden pedals! It makes you think; there are not many carpenters around, but they do make a lot of money, with wood being so rare.

Not many traders in here at all, as most use this area to create and then take their wares to the shops in the Great Bazaar. Strolling through the district, passing shop after shop, the noise is soothing. Looking forward, I have reached the main Bazaar. Time to move to this place to the corner of Market and Coin.

The hustle and bustle of the late market day envelop me. The smells of baked goods, the fishmongers yelling out their wares and no Malik or Dock Boys. This is not their territory, it is for the Wilted Flower Gang, and they have a subtler approach to thievery. Pickpocketing and the like.

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I love seeing their teams in action. Four approach, then bump. Those pickpocketers always walk away with some poor sod’s wallet. Been on the end of that a couple of times, until I made them realise why I should not be messed with. Ratface and Dwarf-spawn found out the hard way.

What a beautiful day, looking up at the cloudless sky, the warmth of the afternoon sun and the slight breeze from the lake. Still, I don’t understand why the lake is named Lake Merrin as well. Was the town named after the lake or was the lake named after the city?

Besides that, living through that encounter with death, appreciating life, I’m now off to the Hall!

Is that a pie cart I spy? And it sells beer too! My luck continues. Lukewarm beer, a questionable meat pie, and if I can join a Charter today as well, it will be the most perfect day ever.

Looking over to the other side of the main Bazaar, I can see the substantial, browned-clay, bricked building that looks like a tiny fortress in the middle of the city, catching the afternoon sun: the Hall. That is where I will make my name, and I will not just be white-bred or a bastard. I will be an Adventurer.

For one of the smallest buildings in Lake Merrin, it reeks of history. This is where the first goblinoid ear was handed in! Where Saint Jara lived for ten years, protecting us from the monsters of the Wild Lands.

I should know about those lands, with their endless forests of trees. As a half-elf, they are part of my heritage. Yet having all those trees in one place just seems unnatural. Give me a little park or a plantation; clean, organised and safe.

Walking into the Hall on the corner of Market and Coin, I feel goosebumps prickle across my skin. It is the feeling of history seeping into me. The great heroes made their names here, and their money. Just being inside makes me think I could be one of them.

There is always a sight to see at the Hall: ancient banners, relics thought lost to time and bountiful chilled ale. A bare-chested man with a bald head and a massive beard and an armoured fighter with a long, flowing moustache are facing off against each other in the duelling pit. I like the look of the armoured one. His moves are crisp and precise, far more skilled than his opponent.

Maybe a bet is in order? But wait! Is that? No, the armoured fighter could not be of the Order of the Shield? The armour is a dead giveaway though, as is the way he moves around that fellow with the hammer—he has trained in their techniques. Why would a member of the Order stoop so low? I have only ever seen them on the battlefield. Once a prat, always a prat! Still ordering us mere soldiers around like we were nothing. Strange that he is here. When you join, it is for life.

Half-breeds and other scum like me never had that level of training. We were wall-fodder. As long as we could swing a sword and not die, commanders like Shield-Boy left us to it. But being a halfy gave me more opportunities than others. I know this now.

Nevertheless, I would still put some slips on him, no matter how much the Shields are up themselves. Their skill with a sword is always top-notch.

Now, a travelling Halfling Bard has arrived to share his talent—got to love free music!