In a small market street not far from the harbor of the lower district people were about their morning routines of opening their shops or setting up stands. The street was wide enough for two horse drawn carriages to pass each other without endangering the pedestrians buying fish, oysters, or crabs from the stalls on both sides.
The two story buildings on either side of the cobblestone road had store fronts one the ground floor with residential space upstairs, each of them with a pitched roof and smoking chimneys. Some buildings had balconies on the second floor the protruded into the street where elderly people could be seen smoking pipes as they watched the hustle and bustle below.
Some of the buildings were half timbered, the contrast between the dark timber frame and white plaster infill, although lessened by the accumulation of dust and soot, was beautiful. The rest were entirely made of wood, including the shingles on the roof.
Nobody paid particular attention to the young man carrying a sack that exited a nearby dark alley between two buildings. It was common to see all manner of people carrying their goods to sell, or bringing their newly purchased supplies home.
The young man was Finn. Taking a deep breath of air he savored the smell of freedom. Squinting de to the bright morning light, he blamed being kept underground for the past years in only dim artificial light for his sensitive eyes.
Taking in the scene around him he couldn't help but smile as he saw the familiar scene of people haggling over the price of goods of questionable quality. This was the kind of place he would frequent as a street kid, relieving the unfortunate targets of their coin pouch, or snatching a loaf or fish from a stall when the seller's back was turned.
Feeling nostalgic, Finn wondered what happened to the rest of his gang. The group of unwanted or orphaned children who gave him his name. They had always been careful to avoid the city guards, which wasn't very hard as they weren't very active in this part of town. The men who had broken into their hideout must have followed one of the others back. Since then they had been split up and sold to different groups. Saddened by his current thoughts, Finn shook his head to clear his head.
Looking around he realized he must have looked weird just standing there in a daze. A few people were looking at him with a questioning look. Finn tried to look confident as he turned a walked a bit further down the road.
Deciding to find a place to stay before dealing with anything else Finn stopped at a stall selling fish to ask for directions to the nearest inn. The man grumbled something about foreigners but pointed at a building at the next intersection.
Thanking the man, Finn made his way past a few more shops before arriving at the intersection. It was a T junction with the road he was on being perpendicular to the other.
The inn was across the road at the best location. It was positioned so it could be seen all the way down the market street and made good use of the opportunity. Its three story height elevated it above the surrounding buildings. It was still the same type of building, but it seemed sturdier, and one of the few with slate rock shingles on the roof.
Crossing the road while watching out for speeding carriages Finn stood in front of the inn. He could now read its name written in bold lettering, 'The Portly Peddler' with its logo, a coin purse over a bed.
Stepping into the establishment Finn was met with the smell of cheap ale. As he approached the bar, he noticed a few people glance at him before continuing to eat their breakfast.
Behind the bar, large bearded man was pouring a drink from the tap. When he had finished and sent the drink sliding down the bar to a customer who caught it, he turned to face Finn.
'What can I get for ya?'
'I need a place to stay' said Finn, reaching for his coin pouch.
'We have shared rooms on the second floor at 50 coppers a night or private rooms on the third for 2 silver.' The bartender pointed up and towards the staircase. 'If all you're looking for is a spot on the floor near the fire that'll be 10 coppers.' Gesturing with obvious disdain towards the fireplace where four sorry looking sailors were snoring.
Not wanting to share a room with some strangers or wake up with all his possessions stolen, Finn chose a single room on the third floor. 'I'll take a private room for two nights,' he said as he carefully counted out 4 silvers and put it on the counter. The coins were gone before Finn could blink.
'Room number 32, third floor, second door on your right' said the bartender, handing him a key. 'Oh! And breakfast is on the house for all private rooms. Served until 10 so don't miss it.'
Looking where the bartender was pointing, Finn noticed a large wooden disc hanging on the wall, there where twelve silver painted numbers arranged evenly around a magic stone. A thin silver rod protruded out of the stone pointing at a number. Currently it was pointing somewhere between 7 and 8.
Admiring the creative use of magic, Finn thanked the bartender before taking his key and belongings upstairs to his room.