Bugbear had managed to find work with a supply caravan, loading and unloading wagons, as well as providing a bit of security on the road. Their last stop was here in Halmaren a few days ago.

Since arriving, the caravan leader has been frustrated in his attempts to book another shipment. With the lack of trade with the swamp tribes, Halmaren doesn't have much to offer these days. In the meantime, Bugbear has been looking for work around town, but his luck hasn't been any better.

With the few coins he has managed to scrounge up arm-wrestling locals at the tavern, Bugbear did enjoy a decent meal and a few (too many) pints of ale last night. Groggily waking up on a too-small cot in a dusty room above the bar, he holds his throbbing head in his hands. Just then, the town crier walks past announcing the gathering in city square.

"Ugh, what in-Kord's-name time is it?"

Momentarily considering strangling the crier just to stop the noise, Bugbear instead pulled on his pants, pulled the larger chunks of sawdust out of his sideburns, and headed to the square. "Might be work, I guess. But if that little weasel is still ringing his bell by the time I get there..."