The cloudy overcast light of early morning spreads over the square. The stagnant wind barely blows, lightly buffeting the cloaks and hats of merchants and the wealthy. The ground, covered in clockwork mosaic, is rough with the pebbles and mud of the other streets as leather boots step across it. The smell is bare - unlike the other districts of the city, the only smell is nothing. The sounds of the clock tower twisting and clanking are distant from the ground, and a few merchants set up stalls in the morning dawn, setting out wares.

  1. A fresh-faced young human boy hawks bread from his bakery, herbed and freshly baked.
  2. A preacher yells about the futility of the gods in this city - they must follow Moradin, lord of the Dwarves!
  3. Merchants hawk beautiful wares, fine silks and rare meats from faraway ancient and lost cities.


  1. A nobleman is riding through the square, nearly trampling citizens as he gallops past the market stalls.
  2. A pickpocket picks a party member's pocket.
  3. A stall is being held up, and the party glimpses a dagger held in the thieves' hand.