The sawmill still. Jeez, I just told you.

Prancing through the center of town with a little pep in your step now, you pass by a general store, spying a small constable's office sitting across the street. Given that you spent a couple of your kitten years as a market thief, you can tell that there is at most a single cell inside and 3 of the kings men to defend the town.

'How quaint.' is the thought that comes to mind as you waltz towards the sounds and smells of the large Fel River.

A large wooden boardwalk becomes the first well-kept architecture you've seen so far as you step up. A wooden levy has been built up here and a couple small fishing vessels are secured tightly to two short docks jutting out into the brisk waters.

The Fel River is known for its ferocious rapids and waterfalls that make any long-distance travel along it a dubious prospect. Fed by the valleys of two massive mountains that dominate the northern horizon of your view from here, the river is inclined to rise massively in spring due to the snowmelt, washing massive coniferous trees downriver along with it.

Just up the boardwalk sits an impassive waterwheel, it's attached to a large open workshop but you don't see anyone around at the moment. The sound of clanking metal and twisting wood tells you that someone is definitely working though. You approach cautiously, peeking in through the dirty window.

Inside, you see a burly man wearing overalls and wielding a hammer and chisel. He's carving large chunks out of the middle of a log that is nearly as wide around as you are tall.