The late morning rays of the sun beat down upon the village, stronger now than before as you turn to leave the opening of the sunless alley. The cobblestone roads and unpaved streets are teeming with dozens of merchants, prowling the illuminated streets near you and calling out the names of their wares. You notice that nearly every merchant wears a simple sash, rust-orange in color. Across a large paved area of town where a multitude of merchants have now situated themselves lies the building assumed to be Town Hall.
The buildings that line the main stretch of town are decorated in a fashion that is alien to you; ornate festooning in wood and brass and copper is laid across the expanses of the homes. The homes are in few ways extravagant, but it would seem that each holds its own façade.
Carts carrying various sellables pass through the main roads take up most of the space for travel, until they enter the courtyard before the Town hall, where they are met by the gobs of other carts delivering parcels and packages to their soon-to-be owners. You cross these carts and are now standing not too far off from the large, bizarre building.
The large wood and stone complex is of an older design when compared to the rest of the village. It is three stories tall with large square, gabled towers jutting out of its body in irregular locations, in fact, the building as a whole looks like a large amalgamation of other, random buildings. It's interesting, yet hard on the eyes. Two large, rounded wooden doors mark the entrance to the building. The doors are situated upon a stone porch that is built above ground-level. To one side of the building, on an angled wall, is an opened portcullis from which people and horses exit. Other folk, whom you believe to be bureaucratic clerks, pour in and out of the building carrying large documents and rolls of parchment to others sections of the town. At least a dozen hitching posts are lined up in the front of the building; four are occupied by vehicles ranging from a mule-drawn cart to a large Carriage pulled by four mahogany stallions.
A strange new feeling comes over you; this is the first time in a while that no one has taken notice of you. The multitude of goings on around you have left any potential observers little time to do so. The most prejudice that you have experienced is a few double-takes followed by a widened eye or a quizzical stare. As you walk up the steps leading to the front doors, you see a golden placard emblazoned with…
CLYDE FLAGSTONE: MAYOR EXTRORDINAIRE
Underneath which is scratched, “Phineus Blackroot, Auxiliary Mayor”. The door has been left ajar from the comings and goings of clerks, a cacophony can be heard from within.