The line of thunderstorms which had rolled through the night before were painted in shades of orange and ochre by the rising sun as they rolled out over the Moonsea.  The reflected light bathed the ramshackle buildings near the gate to Old Phlan in warm, almost unnatural colors.  Here, this close to the Wall, the only new construction was the Wall itself; the buildings that it passed through or abutted were of secondary importance, left largely in the condition they had been in after the Great Wave.<br/><br/>Much of the city was not yet awake.  The warm days of late summer were lazy days, comparatively speaking, between the kettlefish and salmon runs.  The docks were already coming to life, but much of the rest of the city would take another hour to fully awaken, for shops to open and the day's activities to begin in earnest.  But the Gate, the only one connecting New Phlan to Old Phlan, was already manned.  Two guards manned the post atop the Wall, and two more milled around near the Gate.  Another sat at a table about ten paces from the old iron and wood portal.  He was obviously a few years past the prime for a military man.  A sheaf of papers sat on the table, quill and pen next to it.  A banner hung behind him: the emblem of the City Council of Phlan.<br/><br/>Every child in Phlan old enough to pick up a wooden sword or a junior hunting bow knew the setup.  Anyone of age could go monster-hunting in Old Phlan.  For five gold apiece, an adventurer could buy a Letter of Marque, backed by the Council.  The system had been created a century ago to help the Council fend off the occasional pirate or brigand...but after the Wave, the whole notion of the City Council paying others to take care of its problems had been expanded to encompass the land-lubbing enemies of the City: the monsters, pests and other vermin who had taken up residence in the Old Phlan ruins.  After signing a paper indemnifying the Council of all liability for injuries or death (and naming one's next of kin), acknowledging the assumption of all risks involved, and confirming understanding that no assistance would be provided, no matter how dire the situation a would-be hero found himself in, the Letter was granted, and the Gate opened.<br/><br/>Of those who went through the Gate, of course, few returned.  The Council either didn't know, or wouldn't tell, what the percentages were.  As a new adventurer, or group, approached, the guards would chatter among themselves.  Was it admiration for would-be heroes?  Disbelief that anyone could be so foolish?  Wagers being placed on which adventurers (if any?) would come back through the Gate alive?<br/><br/>No one knew.<br/>