<em>An evening in summer, to me it was taught,<br/>That a meeting took place here in poor Tollensport,<br/>‘Tween an exiled pirate – from Krespan, I’ll wage –<br/>And a cocky elf lass who called herself a mage.<br/>While the good folk of Arlesbay drank ale, wine and mead<br/>Did the little elf stroll in the door,<br/>And among us the pair soon to be in cahoots,<br/>Namely Hofarik Hook and the elf we called ‘Boots’.</em><br/><br/>The suspenseful first verse gives way to the lively strumming of the skald’s lute as he begins strolling between the tables of the Whiskered Squid. It is only a little after noon, yet already the tavern is well filled with louts, visitors from all over the world and day labourers who were not need today and so are spending yesterday’s wages. The bard continues his fantastical (and almost certainly apocryphal) tale while the rye-beer from the local brewery flows freely.<br/><br/>At the North Docks, the market stalls are selling exotic wares from across the sea; special textiles from Vathymia which are brilliant white, soft to the touch and have a strange pearlescent glisten to them; Jostaberry fruits from Masrya which look like grapes but are as big as a man’s head; Steaks cut from the eponymous giant lizards of Momtez which had smelled off when they’d first come off the ships and were now attracting flies by the swarm.<br/><br/>In the central market plaza the vendors are already starting to reduce their prices as the questionably fresh produce starts to spoil under the fierce midday sun. A horse drawn cart clops over the cobbled square with two people sat atop: a tall man wearing the quilted armour of a Temple Guard and a young woman with strawberry blonde hair. The woman has a solemn expression as the cart pulls up in front of the temple and the two of them begin to dismount. A large man with a black beard nearby laughs and remarks that he doesn’t know why the Temple Guard still exists. “It’s not like pirates have threatened them in years…but I suppose escorting pretty women around the land for the Rector is good business…”<br/><br/>In the guild district, several of the craftsmen emerge from their workshops to remark on the insufferable smell wafting its way down the street. Looking north, they groan that they ought to have know what it was. The alchemist – Mediocrates  as standing out his shop trying to disperse some noxious looking yellow-green fumes from his doorwal, coughing and cursing.<br/><br/>At the Governors manor, a group of irate citizens are demanding to talk to the Captain of the small military fleet currently moored. Among the angry shouting and din which passers by try to ignore, it sounds like they want to know what is going to be done to protect the town from ‘all these bad things coming up from the south’. Many of them don't even seem to really know what 'bad things' they are complaining about.<br/><br/>All in all, it's shaping up to be a fairly normal day in Tollmouth, although the perceptive traveller can sense that the humdrum atmosphere may soon be broken.