It was midmorning in Helmsbreach.  Whatever reason brought you to the edge of the wild is behind you.

The town square is bustling, a few vendors are selling fresh baked goods, meat pies and pastries.  The shops are open, and it looks to be a beautiful day.

A human male in chain mail leads his horse through the square, and the aroma of the meat pies is so tempting this morning that he buys two before remembering to dig an apple out of a saddlebag for his horse as well.

A silver holy symbol to Larry is obvious around the man's neck, and his choice of weapons suggest that he is a cleric. Once both meat pies are gone, the cleric looks for a nearby inn with a stable for his horse.

It was a fine morning and John was in good spirits. The soldier carried a bulging pack on his back and all the trappings of a campaigning soldier. A yew longbow, the weapon of his trade as an archer, slung over his back. At his hip swung a bastard sword of strange design, it’s hilt jagged and forked at the tip. There was a tale to origins and finding but that was for another day.

He whispered and hummed a merry tune as he wandered the town square. His eyes were as much on the goods for sale as the women who sold them. John was a big man, broad shouldered and strong. He was attractive, as a common man however he could be both rough and uncouth in his actions.

John laid down his pack by the bakery and with smile he bought bread whilst he asked for the whereabouts of an inn so he might go to slake his thirst. He made many offers to share his ale and companionship with any woman in earshot.

Sweat dripped down Wist's face as he entered the main square of Helmsbreach, struggling with the awkward package of weapons he had claimed in his battle with the orcs.

His pointed ears and fine features betrayed his elven heritage to anyone who saw him, even in his current dishevelled state.

Finally...Helmsbreach! he thought as he wiped his face with the edge of his cloak.

By Curly's Balls, I could use a drink. And one of those delicious-smelling meat pies. But first, I need to exchange my booty for some coin.

Wist will wander about the square looking for a weapons shop, a weapon smith, or an adventurer's provisioner.

Kerwich has no trouble finding the inn, the Blue Turnip is a one favored by adventurers and locals alike.  There are rooms for rent above, both private and larger common rooms.  A stable boy takes his horse by the lead.

The baker nods, taking the man's coin, gesturing down towards the western edge of town.  "Watch your tongue around Aunt Pol.  She is protective." She advises John. 

The elf marvels at the cacophony of the square.  But even at this hour, the ting of hammer on steel rings out.  Wist takes a short walk down a side street, and finds a small shop with the smoke of a forge at the back.  A young human is carrying a small bundle of wood staves towards the back of shop.  He stops and looks at the elf.  "Dad!" he calls, and after a few moments, and man in a thick leather apron steps around.  He nods curtly.

"Good morning, sir. I had a run-in with some orcs in the woods, on my way here. And I have acquired some items that I have no need for. I was hoping you might be interested in buying them and adding them to your wares for sale."

Wist places his bundle on the counter, and unties it, so the smith can examine the axe, sword, and shield.