Clint approached a small gate leading into a town. He noticed a sign by the door reading "Welcome to Grenvell!" Two large towers sprang from each side of the doors and guards poking their heads out and watching the dense forest below. He sees them call out to notify the others of Clint's approach. He approached two more guards, both dressed the same, stationed by the gate. Upon seeing him, both guards walk up to him, allowing Clint to make out the details of their armor. He recognized them as Salician Guards. That would surprise him because he wasn't within the boundaries of the kingdom but he knew that many towns and cities sent requests to the king, currently King Gregory II, for guards to defend their town. Salicia was located a bit farther south. Everyone considers them the most powerful state on the continent.

"Halt!" boomed one of the guards, with an overly authoritative voice. "State your business!" he ordered. Clint, annoyed, because the Salicians always did this when you got near them, answered, "I'm hungry," in a rhetorical tone. The guards looked at each other for a moment, then called out to the Gatekeeper to open the gate. Slowly the doors opened and Clint began walking into the town.

The first part of the town was the bustling market, right past the gates. A large crowd of people up and down the street, back and forth between different shop stands. All sorts of street stands were set up and held merchants attempting to call out to the crowd, alerting them of what was being sold. The clatter of people talking rang up in all directions. Clint continued down the street until he approached a pub, called Lucky Green, at the street's intersection. He pushes through the crowd and reaches for the door. He grabs the handle and pulls it open, revealing a dimly lit room. He walks in and finds a seat for a table to the right of the entrance. He noticed a bar at the other end of the pub, attended by a male bartender dressed with a green vest and tie. He wore black pants and shoes that seemed to be well shined. His hair was brown, but I was greying. He had a large nose that bent down sharply at the midsection, probably a recent bar fight that resulted in a broken nose. He caught wind of his name tag. John was his name.

Just then, a waitress, dressed in black and a green tie, walked up to him with a notepad in hand. She had brown hair and eyes and wore black high heels.

"May I take your order," she asked, with a soft and tender voice.
"Soup of the Day?" he asked her.
"Clam Chowder."

"I'll have that then," Clint said. The waitress scribbles it down in her notepad and turns to walk back into the kitchen. After she leaves, Clint kicks his feet up on the table. He didn't have to worry about manners in a pub like this. It was empty now, but several tables were broken at its edges and quite a few broken chairs were piled up in the corner of the pub, behind the bar. By the looks of it, putting your feet up on the table seemed like a minor thing. The waitress returned with a glass of water, dropped it off at his table and returned to the kitchen. Clint closed his eyes and began to contemplate his latest score.

He had taken down what seemed to be a zombie-like Orc. They were called Arkhens, and they are fairly difficult to kill. Clint had to practically destroy every part of its body because it wouldn't die. He got a nice pay out of it though. The nearby town had promised him 100 heks, the common currency. Compared to other towns, who could only afford little more than 15, this was more than sufficient. He thought to himself, This is enough for a few days of food and a whole night of rest at a local inn. He smiled at the thought of not having to hunt for his dinner for at least the next couple days.

"Here you go," the waitress said, bringing the clam chowder, and placing it on the table. Clint puts his feet back on the ground.

"Thank you," he said calmly, "The check when you get the chance." She nods and walks towards another table with her notepad to take another customer's order. He places a napkin on his lap and picks up his spoon. Clint begins taking sips of his soup. His tongue tasted the pale taste of clam. Creamy warmth filled his mouth as he delighted in the soup. He hadn't had a good meal since he left to take down that Arkhen. He takes his time and drinks the soup slowly.

Just as Clint puts his spoon down, the waitress approaches him with the check.

"Thank you," Clint says, and he place the money on the table. The waitress takes the check.
"Have a nice day," she says, and she turns to walk back into the kitchen. Clint stays at the table for a moment, taking deep breaths. He then gets up and begins making his way to the door. As he approaches the door he could hear shouting outside. Clint quickens his pace and swiftly opens the door. Outside there seems to be a fight going on. A group of men were yelling at a seemingly much more timid teenager at the intersection. The group pushed him back and forth yelling out at him insults like "Elitist scum!" and "Mayor's puppet!" By the looks of it, the teenager was blonde, and very well dressed in a blue uniform, well shined shoes, and neatly ironed pants. Whoever this kid was, he definitely had some money. One of the rioters grabs him and begins yelling in his face, spit flying from his mouth. He had dark, bushy eyebrows, and beady brown eyes. His entire complexion was contorted in anger and hatred. Clint laughed at the teenager's expression. He was utterly terrified at the whole situation. He walks up to the rioters and puts his hand on the man's shoulder. He turns around saying, "What the hell do you want?" in a booming voice. The teenager lets out a sigh of relief.
"Keep it down will ya?" Clint says, "It sounds like you're talking through a megaphone."

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do!" the rioter says.

"It'd be best if you listen before I decide to stop being nice," Clint says, with a sudden coolness in his voice.

"Is that a threat?" booms the rioter.

"You'd better believe it was a threat," Clint answers, wearing a sly smirk on his face. Man this guy is joke. He doesn't have a damn clue who he's messing with, he thought to himself. The rioter's face suddenly reddened and became contorted in rage. He suddenly swung his fist, aiming straight for the chin. Clint calmly leans slightly back and the rioter narrowly misses him. He grabs the rioter by the arm and twists it over his back. Now behind him, Clint kicks his knee and forces him down. Swiftly, Clint lets go of his arm and punches the part of the back where the kidneys are. The rioter grunts and falls forward, his back arched from the pain. The other rioters move forward to help him up.

"Anyone else?" Clint said, testing them to see if they were daring enough to try him again. When he saw that no one made any move to attack him, he dismissively said, "Go home. There are more important things you men should be doing." One of the rioters slings the man's arm over his shoulders and they walk away.
Clint turns around and offers his hand to the seemingly rich teenager. Still breathing heavily, he takes it and hoists himself up.

"Now how'd you get yourself in a situation like that?" Clint questions.
"Oh they don't like us much," the teenager responded, dusting himself off.
"They don't like who much?"
"Us, I'm the mayor's messenger," he replied. They began to walk down the street a little further into the town.
"Why?" Clint asked.

"Well... lately the town's been getting attacked and they blame us for being unable to provide proper security," he said. He started to nervously fiddle with his fingers.

"Attacked by who? Or should I say what?" Clint inquired.
"An ogre," he answered, "But not just any ogre, a massive one. Three heads, six arms." Clint raised an eyebrow. Not any ogre he's seen or heard of lately. Must've been rising up the hit list fairly recently. His interest was peaked.
"How often does he come," Clint asked.
"I'd say once every other night. He rarely comes during the day."

"Is he armed? How much damage has he done?" Clint asked. He wanted to get as much information about this monster so he could take it down should the time arrive. He was planning on staying the night here to get some rest and if this ogre showed up at his door, he wanted to beat to stuffing out of him.

"He's got three axes. By the looks of his combat behavior, we assumed that each head controls two arms. That means that each head has an axe for themself. As for damage, the west side of town has taken most of it...and it's pretty bad," the teenager explained. He wore a worried look on his face. Clint noticed that he was reaching into his pocket and saw him pull out a envelope. The teenager stared at it in dismay.

"I was supposed to deliver this to someone. I was told that he had just arrived in town and that he was a very skillful monster hunter."
"What was his name?" Clint asked, curiously. The teenager turned the letter to see who it was addressed to.
"Uh...Clint Weathers. Why? Do you know where I might find him?" he asked, hopefully. Clint paused for a moment.

"You're looking at him," he said with a grin. The teen's jaw dropped and he stopped for a moment. Clint laughed as the teen raised a fist into the air.

"Oh my god, no way!" he exclaimed," Man, you're a life-saver! Phew!" He let out a sigh of relief. "Follow me! The mayor wanted to meet you," the teen said excitedly. He turned and began to joyfully walk in the direction of the town hall. He pumps his fists into the air again and Clint smiled.

The teen spent the entire walk enthusiastically feeding Clint information that they've learned about the ogre. His name was Gorax and he loves using fire as a combat tactic. According to the teenager, he would start the fire and use that to corner his victims. He said that the Salician guards were no match against the ogre and that between maintenance costs and reparations, the mayor couldn't afford to pay more Salician mercenaries.

"The name's Douglas by the way. I never told you," he said. Clint nodded and shook his hand. Douglas lead him to a long building at the top of a small hill in the city. He pushed open a pair of large brown doors leading inside. He noticed the knockers were held by a delicately engraved lion on it. The floor was a dark and rusty brown while the walls were covered in portraits of, what Clint assumed to be, previous mayors. Douglas lead Clint to the right and down a long hallway with glass wall and doors leading to a porch over looking the street leading back down the hill. At the end of the hallway there was a door to the left and a door in front of them. Douglas took to the left and opened it. He held it open, indicating that Clint should go in first.

When Clint stepped in he saw a large dark desk with a name post saying 'Mayor Frederick'. Behind the desk was a black chair facing away from him and was occupied by a balding man with dark brown hair. He seemed to be observing the enormous portrait of a man in a suit and tie, sitting upright on a similar chair and had much fuller hair than the observer. Douglas, still by the door, cleared his throat to notify the mayor that he had a guest. The mayor wheeled around, his pudgy face gleaming with joy and his arms raised. He wore a vest with a red tie and black pants. His shoes were recently polished. The mayor had a round belly and large arms. He had a greying handlebar mustache and his hair was combed neatly to the side.

"Alas! Our monster hunter has arrived!" he exclaimed, rushing over to Clint. The mayor grabbed his hand and shook it fervently. Clint raised his eyebrow at the mayor's enthusiasm. He wasn't that popular or quite nearly as famous as other monster hunters on the continent. "The entire town has been anticipating your arrival! I'm Mayor Frederick."
"How'd you know I was coming?" Clint asked.
"Why we had sent for you. This fine boy did a splendid job getting the message across, now didn't he?" he said, indicating Douglas. The timid boy smiled nervously, then quickly distracted himself, taking his eyes off of the mayor.
"Yes he did," Clint affirmed. The mayor dismissed Douglas and sat back down in his chair. His cheerful expression suddenly turned somewhat somber.

"I am sure Douglas has told you of our dilemma?" he asked. Clint nodded, sitting down in one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. "Ok. So yes, we have been having a lot of trouble dealing with this particular beast who goes by the name of Gorax. Our townspeople are frightened and indeed the western section is very nearly entirely destroyed." He looked up with pleading eyes. "I trust that you can take care of this monster?" He asked. Clint steeled himself. If this monster was as dangerous as Mayor Frederick and Douglas said he was, he was going to have a jolly good time.
"Consider it done," Clint told him.