Arn heads to the Oldtown

Arn's aching body begged for a rest and the weary soldier headed east towards the Oldtown. If memory served him right, one could find a decent bed for a reasonable price there. His legs were tired, but after a while, his nose caught the scent of the sea and started walking faster.

Soon he reached the point where the river parted in a delta and met the bay, forming the cluster of small islands that was Old Town. The city changed into densely built stone structures, ornamented with towers and arches above the narrow winding streets and canals. These parts formed a sharp contrast to the low wooden buildings of most of the rest of the city.

This peculiar settlement had survived countless wars and disasters over the years and acted as remnants of Zatkia's ancient past. According to the legend, elves were the originators behind many of the buildings. But Arn never did care much for fairytales. Or the finer points of architecture for that matter.

Nowadays the district was a run-down but charming mess of shadier merchants and smugglers, renegade nobles, sailors and mercenaries, thieves, drunkards and artists – as well as legions of whores plying their trade in the red light district. Arn strived onwards through the streets, keeping a watchful eye on the people around him.

He reached the waterfront where mighty sea opened before him. The rippled water seemed to stretch out into a dark eternity and the night breeze rattled the many lanterns lining the street, Arn stood there for a while, taking in the sounds and smells at the docks, with a hint of a smile. It was so long since he last saw the ocean.

Suddenly a man reeking of wine bumped into his shoulder. He was corpulent and dressed in the characteristic gaudy cloak of a nobleman.

”Look where you're going, beggar!” he snorted.

Arn was just about to teach this fool a well-deserved lesson, but he restrained himself with a muttering excuse and faulted himself for getting caught off guard like that.

He realized that he resembled a pauper. Better get out of these rags and into something new, he thought as he fixed his eyes upon a store at the side of the street. A sign above the entrance said ”Rohad's emporium of fine clothing, shoes and general items.”

And it was still open. Perfect.

Arn entered and had a look around the store, crammed with all sorts of wares. He knew this part of the city well enough to know that most of it was fenced goods. A fat merchant watched him with distrust from behind a counter. Next to him stood a rather beautiful and very buxom, blonde young woman. She was too well fed and dressed to be a **** or a hired hand and Arn guessed it must be the merchant's daughter. She bashfully looked down as Arn's eyes met hers.

”Go away beggar!” the shopkeeper said. ”Nothing for you here!”

Arn just sighed and detached a heavy purse of coins from his belt and dropped it on the counter. The merchant's face brightened noticeably.

”Welcome, traveller! How may I be of service?”

Without any pleasantries, Arn picked out a plain shirt, a pair of trousers, a sturdy pair of boots and a tunic. He also selected a few items that would come in handy for his mission: A rope, a grappling-iron, and a few picklocks.

”Hmm, let me see...” the merchant said, going through the piled items. ”That will be ten pieces of gold.”

Arn shook his head, ”No good, peddler. For that kind of money, I want to walk away with your daughter here.”

”How dare you?” The shopkeeper looked furious, ”Una is only 18 summers, and she's a respectable girl!”

”But... ” he lowered his voice.

”Throw in another five, and she's all yours for the night.”