Your name is Roderick: you are a 6'2" man of burly build, blonde hair and good looks. Your skin is nearly umblemished, you're complimented on your voice and jawline, and you enjoy a mildly noble heritage as the middle son of a minor lord. Even in a hardy medieval world troubled by strange monsters and full of magic, you lead a simple and comfortable life.

Far from home, your father has sent you abroad to travel through the desert city of Merkarah: you might be stationed here if you joined the knighthood, or if you decided to be a merchant, this wealthy albeit dry city would probably be important to your future.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you sip a mug of "coffee" -- it's a strange warm brew that Merkarans drink. The inn you're staying in provided to you for free, and though it's bitter and unpleasantly warm, the taste is smooth and invigorating...

You change clothes in your room and look out a small square window in the wall. You've got to roam the city and make some connections, maybe find a souvenir or two for your father... you stop to ponder where you'll go first.