Morgan began his usual rounds. While Gatley was a peaceful city, it still had its fair share of cut-purses and crooks. That the guard was present was usually enough to keep the worst offenders away, but Morgan kept a watchful eye out for some of the usual, petty offenders he’d come to know and recognize in his years as a watchman.
He’d be lying if he said his attention wasn’t elsewhere, however. Morgan had heard rumours that the old shop by the White Stag Inn had finally sold -- and too and elf, no less. He wasn’t sure if he believed that last bit, but he was curious nevertheless. Morgan liked to be on friendly terms with the local merchants. It made his job a lot easier, and besides, Morgan had always been a friendly enough fellow.
When he crossed the market towards the new shop, Morgan was immediately struck by the sight of white hair and blue robes. He’d thought, at first, that the man was very old, but as he grew closer, he realized how wrong he’d been. The man was young, striking, and most definitely not human.
“Ah, howdy,” the guard said, his eyes moving from the elven shopkeeper, to the sign at the door, then back to the shopkeep, “I heard there was a merchant in town.”