Finally emerging from the mass of people, the traveler finds himself on a poorly cobbled street, more mud and muck than stone. Lining both sides are tri-storied, slightly leaning buildings. From some the sounds of drunken sailors can be heard, others clearly warehouses. Bods and doxies hang from occasional windows, promising sweet nothings, showing more flesh to some in hope of drawing a customer. Over it all though the metallic beat keeps on, the voice now clearly a female, carries on with what now sound like sermons yet also a battle hymn. Every so often a word can be made out, "Stand.... Hold strong.... Rise with...." The sounds seem to be coming from a square, though by its looks the square is the guts of a destroyed warehouse. Half a brick wall separates it from the street, blocking your view of all but some of the gathered crowd.