As the clock tower chimed the tenth hour, Mouse parked his cart near the fountain and strolled among the booths and stalls, calling greetings to vendors he saw every day. During his wanderings, where he ostensibly examined the wide assortment of goods offered for purchase, he deftly managed to palm and pocket a small silver key fob, a redwood wine bottle stopper carved to resemble the head of a boar, a corkscrew from the same vendor's table, and a silver serving spoon with a filigreed handle. He circled back to his cart and tucked the new acquisitions safely under a heavy, folded sweater with an unraveling collar.
Returning to the booths, he made his way to the section where vendors were selling food. He paid four coppers for some sliced bread, cheese and cured meat, and a silver for a pint of beer, then perched himself near his cart on the edge of the fountain to have his lunch and watch the crowd. As he ate he tallied up the morning's earnings. After the rent for the shed and lunch, he was still up twelve gold, sixteen silver and twenty three copper. Not a bad morning. He chewed contentedly and tipped his hat back to let the sun warm his face, closing his eyes and thinking about the city, his adopted home since he had arrived here from the capital city in his late teens.

Eldred's Cross, the rough jewel of the Imperium, the walled city guarding the northern frontier of the Empire. Located on the northern shore of the Inner Sea and at the edge of the Hardlands, it was the last civilization before travelers headed to the passes in the Alps or made the perilous journey towards Castille. It was also the primary staging and supply area for Imperial military operations in the Pass Wars, and thus a major recruiting and troop assembly area, the point of origin for all military supply and troop columns, and a primary port for both military vessels carrying men and materials, and merchantmen. The city had a distinct military feel, filled with armorers, blacksmiths, bowyer/fletchers, weapon makers, stables and saddlers, siege engineers and uniform tailors. Boasting 25,000 permanent residents, this number was inflated by another 5,000-10,000 on any given day due to arriving ships, fresh troops waiting for assembly, and the presence of trade ships and caravans. Customers, clients and marks, every one of them.

‘The Cross,' as it was called by the locals, was a major trade outpost with Castille, both as a port for merchantmen, and as a departure point/destination for trade caravans. Nowhere else in the Empire could one find so many Castillians mixing with Imperial subjects, and as a result most residents were bilingual, including Mouse, though it was a fact he found advantageous to keep to himself.

Despite its picturesque location on the edge of the deep blue waters of the Inner Sea, The Cross was far from the ideal resort location. Situated on the frontier, its residents were no strangers to monsters and attack. The city had high walls for a reason. Travelers outside the shelter of the defensive perimeter were almost immediately subject to ambush by trolls (the Hardlands were infested with them) and were well-advised to travel in large, heavily-armed groups. Enterprising hunters ventured into the wastes to hunt these trolls as well as other strange beasts, and it was not unusual to find armor, clothing and household adornments fashioned from the hides and claws of these creatures. The Hardlands Trolls appeared to have no organization, but on occasion they massed in large numbers to assault The Cross, scrambling bare-handed up the rough walls in hopes of dropping into the streets to feast on human flesh. Mouse had personally witnessed several such attacks over the years, and it was surreal to see a massive, gangly creature with flat black eyes, mottled yellow skin and lethal claws and teeth tearing wildly into the cultured patrons of an outdoor trattoria, plates of pasta and wine glasses flying, tables overturning, blood spattering across clean white tablecloths. The soldiers of the Guard were veterans of much combat, and were well-educated in handling Trolls, so mercifully these attacks were infrequent.
Enjoying your lunch, Michelo?" called a passing washer woman. Mouse smiled broadly and nodded, but didn't open his eyes. He was thoroughly enjoying the morning.

As it was a frontier city with an abundance of traders and travelers, and so many soldiers (many who would not be coming back from the wars), The Cross catered to its population by claiming the largest concentration of brothels and taverns of any city in either the Imperium or Castille. Any pleasure could be obtained for a price, be it flesh, gaming, drink or substance, poison or potion. All services were available, including those with a darker nature… precisely why the Facci was so strong in The Cross. It was a city of living-for-the-moment, and its residents provided the goods and services to promote that philosophy. The Watch had its hands full with brawlers and drunkards, especially when ships were in port (which was constantly, these days), and the revelry during the last days before a military column headed north was reason enough to call out the entire force to stand ready.