Waking up with Helena

Hal wakes up late the next morning, with the sun shining on his face through a small gap in the curtains. He rubs his eyes, glancing down when he feels something heavy resting on him. He smiles softly, realising it's a sleeping Helena, still naked from the night before. Hal gently lifts her off of him, careful not to wake her as he climbs out of bed. He pulls his breeches on, then his socks and boots. Next, he pulls on the new shirt Helena brought him, marvelling at how comfortable it is. Hal then straps his cuirass to his chest and buckles his belt, sheathing a few daggers and his axe. Finally, he straps his cloak to his pauldrons. He is about to leave when he stops, turning to glance at Helena. Hal walks back over to her, pulling the covers on her fully and kissing her forehead, before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

The tavern floor is fairly quiet, as it usually is at this time. Faldor is sat at the bar, writing in a large book, a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose.

"Good morning, Fal..." He hesitates, realising he's casually talking to the father of the girl he just slept with. He isn't sure whether Faldor knows or not, or how he will react when he does find out. Hal decides to remain confident "Morning, Faldor."

"Mornin', lad." He nods in greeting "If you want breakfast, you'll have to wait. Helena isn't in the kitchen." He turns, cocking his head slightly as he raises his eyebrows at Hal. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Hal scratches his neck nervously, unsure how best to answer "Well... I..."

Faldor chuckles "Calm down, lad, I know what you two did."

"You do?"

"Aye, Helena is old enough to make her own decisions, and if she chose you, then that's fine by me. I think you're a decent bloke."

"Thank you, Faldor. This wasn't how I expected last night, or this morning, to go."

The barkeep chuckles once again, before his expression turns serious. "Just don't break her heart."

Hal nods "Wasn't planning on it. I might go to the market, get some breakfast there, maybe find some work."

Faldor thinks for a moment "Try the port, maybe, there's bound to be work around there somewhere."

"Mercenary work, or just manual labour?"

"Both, probably. Why do you ask?"

"Manual labour is fine, but I need an actual contract soon."

Faldor nods "Good luck, lad. You'll be back soon, I take it?"

"Aye. My bow and spear are up there anyway, I won't go out on a contract without them. It's akin to being naked for a Ranger." With that, Hal leaves Faldor's tavern, stepping on the cobbled streets of Wardhurst.

He smiles, looking around at the city as he recalls it's history. Wardhurst is the capital of Atria, and home of the Royal House of Valenhyrd, and of course, the King. Allegedly, the Crown Prince runs the day to day processes in the city, and often deals with mercenaries, but Hal knows he has too little reputation for a meeting with a royal, even if the contracts they give would be exceptionally well paid. The city itself is split into two parts, the Upper and Lower City districts, with minimal merging of the two. Hal walks in the direction of the large port, keeping an eye out for any work, danger, or anything in between.

He arrives undisturbed at the Salt Market, named so for the large amount of fish and salt traded there. Amongst the stalls are few that catch his eye. One belongs to a blacksmith, one to a travelling mage, and one to a rather wealthy looking merchant. He stops, trying to decide which stall to visit. As he waits, he sees a young woman dressed in very little clothing, seemingly a dockside whore.