You do a lap of the market, noting the goods on display. There’s an old man selling what would best be described as junk, contrasted against another man buying and selling scrap metal from an old cart; the junk man would probably make more money if he sold his stuff as scrap.

There’s a man with two pots boiling over a cooking pit, and a woman nearby sitting in the entrance of a cloth tent with a few tattered items of clothing on display; she sits sewing an item while a young man sits on a stool nearby.

A small grocer is selling wonky fruits and vegetables, a boy is trying to earn a few fin by selling handmade wooden talismans, and, a couple of stalls sell bric-a-brac and household wares.

As you idly browse the items on display, avoiding the other shoppers as they bustle about, out of the corner of your eye, you notice a small figure near you who wasn’t there before. They’re close; too close.

You continue looking at the stall, feigning interest in the cheap tat on display, waiting. The figure inches closer, and as they do, you turn and grab them, managing to snag a handful of cloth. You just have enough time to see the face of a scrawny boy in ragged clothes as he jerks away from you, his movement simultaneously causing you to collide with the woman standing next to you; she whirls around angrily as you feel your grip on the boy’s shirt slipping.

“Leave off!” he yells, twisting and trying to wrench himself free. You grip as tightly as you can until he bites you; he immediately turns and sprints into the crowd. You yell at him to get back here but don’t bother to give chase. You’ll never catch or find him here.

You rub your hand; he didn’t break the skin, but he certainly left a mark. Little wretch…

You apologise to the woman; that would-be pickpocket was the real cause of the problem. She looks after him, muttering about ‘wet rats’, but returns to her shopping, after making sure her own pockets haven’t been picked.

As for you, the boy stood no chance of finding your valuables; you know better than to keep them in your easily accessible pockets. Still, it’s annoying that you were targeted. You don’t look any more well off than most of the people around here. Just a little cleaner, perhaps.

But, it doesn’t matter. Just keep your eyes peeled for any more troublemakers. 

Now, before that little interruption, you were looking around the area.

You glance around again. Surrounding the stalls, a couple of the buildings have their lower floors converted into more standard-looking shops; there’s a small smithy to the left, and a shabby drinking den to the far right. You notice a wrought iron cut-out on a bracket above the door; a crow perched on a branch. A path continues past this building; presumably, this is the one that the old man wanted you to take. You must’ve already passed the door he mentioned.

But, the path onwards can wait; you double back to the stalls in the centre and make your way to the cooking fire. There’s potatoes boiling in one pot, and some kind of suspicious stew in the other. You eye the pot apprehensively; it doesn’t smell too bad. Seeing you hovering, the vendor holds up a wooden bowl and asks if you want a bite to eat.

Alright, you’ll try some. It only costs 1 cog 45 for a hastily poured bowl of stew and a potato. Despite its thick, goopy texture and unsavoury greyish colour, it’s surprisingly good; a hearty vegetable stew made with a rich meat stock. The potato is a little over-cooked, but overall, you can’t complain; you have a full belly and at a fraction of the cost of a meal at Bane’s Way.

You return the bowl and spoon to the vendor; he tosses them both into a bucket of grey water. Then you pull up your hood as you make your way towards the Crow’s Perch; a light drizzle had started as you were finishing your meal. You follow the trail until you come to the aforementioned barrel stack, and by the time you come to the end of a long, winding path with no offshoots, the drizzle has turned into a downpour and you’re soaked through. Along the way, you had seen others duck back into cramped buildings and shut doors and windows to keep out the rain, but now, you find yourself standing out in the open, once again on a towpath alongside the canal. There are no trees or canopies to shelter under, and you wistfully think of your heavy, water-resistant travel cloak back at Slaryn House; useless to you now.

You look around; on this side of the canal, to the left and right, the buildings are the same, and across the canal, they look arguably worse, though maybe that’s because you have a relatively clear view of them (through the sheets of rain, that is) from a distance. Still, you notice one, an old, former factory by the looks of things, with several loading bays with large awnings; they’d make a good place to take shelter! About 100 feet away, a bridge spans the waterway.

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You shake yourself off as best you can as you stand under your new shelter, the cold starting to seep into you. Annoyingly, a few moments after you took shelter, the rain let up somewhat, but it continues steadily now, forming little rivulets among the cobblestones.

You look up at the sky; the clouds had been pale grey before, and this sudden shower had brought with it darker clouds, but in the distance you see paler clouds approaching. Hopefully, this is just a passing shower that stops soon.

You look around the factory grounds, wondering what they used to do here. Several of the bay doors have been bricked over, and the small inlet leading from the canal has long since been drained and sits empty, save for a few newly formed puddles.

A couple of the remaining bay doors are open, and you can hear raised voices coming from down an alley along the side of the building furthest from you. Sounds like a bunch of people, and from what you can tell, they do not sound harmonious.

You passively consider going to see what the fuss is, while a louder voice in your mind insists that you leave to avoid any trouble. Just as you’re having those thoughts, you hear something smash, and all at once, you hear yelling, a whistle, and the sound of several people running.

The unseen commotion escalates as five men burst out of the alleyway and scatter, with two running down the towpath away from you, and three running towards you; you can hear what sounds like fighting going on in the alley behind them. As the three men run around the corner of the building onto the towpath, the second in line slips on the wet stones and tumbles, falling face-first into the canal.

The man in front sprints away, unaware, and the man behind pauses, as though considering helping his companion, but decides against it and darts down the path as well. Meanwhile, the man in the water resurfaces, caked in green algae and muddy water, spluttering and gasping at the cold as he scrabbles for the wet ledge, calling for help. Someone cries out in pain down the alley, then, you hear heavy boots rapidly approaching.