Brunseborough was the southernmost town in Hobart Kingdom. It’s fifteen-foot, rough stone and mortar walls encompassed nearly twenty square miles, divided into five sections.

The poorest residents lived off of the dark brown roads to the northeast. Most of the houses in this area, sometimes called “the Slums,” were made by hardening mud over a thatched reed frame. The brown igloos, looking as cheap as their construction, and a nine-inch lower grade than the rest of Brunseborough, turning almost two square miles of “the East Side” into a shallow pond when it rained, made it clear where it got the most accepted of its three nicknames, “the Mud Puddle.”

In the northwestern part of town, aristocrats spent piles of gold to build their mansions. With paved roads, spacious lots, and good public order, one of its taxpayers considered “Upton” to be “an island of civilization floating in a sea of savagery, made possible by its many well trained occupants vigilantly keeping undesirable degenerates from loitering.”

One Mud Puddle dweller referred to Upton as “the spread of insufferable snobbery planting its pompous flag on the farthest corner of civilization.”

North First Street was the northernmost portion of the main road that split the town in half hemispherically. With the poverty stricken Slums to the east and Upton to the west, N First became a symbol of disparity.

“The mud is so cold. Something precious I had sold. My stomach is empty. Across the street, there is plenty. I rejoice, for soon I will fill my stomach and warm my toes. The price is steep to cross the street. No more frozen mud beneath my feet, but the price is steep to cross the street. N First is wide, for a road. To cross it, one must be bold. Something precious I no longer own, but I can still use it, as a loan. Tomorrow won’t be so cold. To cross N First Street, myself I had sold,” the one Mud Muddle dweller once wrote.

“The Brunse District”’s ten-foot walls surrounded three square miles of fancy shops, stores, government facilities, and noblemen’s manors. The south gate was on the north side of the main road that split the town in half longitudinally, Main Street, leaving the whole southern half of Brunseborough zoned to its two remaining districts.

To the southeast, the majority of Bruseborough’s shops could be found. This five-square mile pie wedge, zoned for crafting and agriculture, was referred to by its formal name, “the Crafting District,” or by its informal one, “the Sweat Shop.” Carpenters, blacksmiths, ranchers, tanners, etc. set up shop there.

The Adventure Guild and no small number of businesses that pander to adventures, were located in “the Aventure District” to the southwest. Though it was named the Adventure District, four out of five-square miles of it was zoned for middle income residential neighborhoods. Some people called it “the Pit” while others called it home.

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“Am I getting wrinkles?” Samantha Higgins wondered as she studied her face in a small, gold plated hand mirror. “Maybe I have too many freckles.”

Samantha had never really thought of herself as an insecure person before, but lately she had been feeling impatient, or maybe she was anxious. She was feeling something out of the ordinary, but what it was, she was having a difficult time discerning. Perhaps the word she was looking for was restless, or eager. Yes, eager sounded like the right word to describe how she felt.

At least she hoped it was eagerness, but she couldn't help but worry that it might be resentment bubbling inside her. She sincerely did not want that to be the case. After all, she loved her life and had much to be thankful for. She shared a nice house with her boyfriend, Jim Davis, for whom she was deeply in love with and have been for a really long time, which is the reason she'd been so anxious lately, or was it eager?

“I hope I'm not being impatient,” she thought.

Whatever she was feeling had been growing inside of her for nearly two months now. Ever since she witnessed the blessings of her two closest friends newborn children, she had this nagging feeling that this lovely life she had wasn't enough. She wanted more. “Am I an ungrateful woman?” she worried, causing her eyebrows to crease, which caused her to worry about her wrinkles.

Frustrated, that word fit her mood well. For a couple of months now she’d been frustrated. She knew why she was feeling like this. Jim and her have been together for almost five years now and he had not once mentioned marriage or kids. “Maybe he doesn't want his kids to have freckles,” she thought, “but Jim always says my freckles are cute though,” so that probably wasn't it, because if there's one thing she knew about her beloved, it’s that Jim was an honest man. If there was something else she knew about him, it would be that he's strong, very handsome, charming, diligent, considerate and... “Crap, I’m doing it again,” she thought as she stared her non-existent wrinkles, “Maybe he really is too good for me,” and there it was again, that terrifying, sinking feeling she got in the pit of her stomach from thinking that way.

“That’s not the case. That is not the case,” she told herself, because if that were the case, it'd be something she didn't think she could fathom. She only knew that trying to imagine a life without Jim hurt far too much to be considered a reasonable thing to do. She should be happy with the life she had, the life Jim provided for her. Her home was a nice house located right on South First Street, not even a mile from the Brunse District, something some of the girls from her home might have killed for.

Her boyfriend owns and operates “Jim’s General Goods” attached to the house, so her lover was always near. He’s not rich by any means, and most of the revenue the store generates went towards paying debt, but he’s always been able to acquire nice things, because he deals with so many traders. Things that, by all means, should be far too expensive for someone of her upbringing to have, and not just this glamorous golden mirror she was currently using, everything she had was really nice. Jim would often ask her option about goods, and buy what she liked the for the store, except he would let her use the nicest goods before he sold them, and he would never sell anything until he was sure she was no longer using it, so everything she had was really nice, her hairbrush, her clothing, the cookware. Even the consumables like meats, cheeses, seasonings, soaps and perfumes she used had to be from the premium stock, that she had hand selected. It was a perk some of her old friends would definitely have killed for.

“I should be careful what I say if I ever see them again,” she thought.