Welp, on with the turn.
The heat of the day is staggering. Dust fills your nose, and you're forced to sneeze every few minutes. After trudging through the semi-crowded streets, you finally arrive at the bustling series of shops, stalls, and peddlers that is the market district.
Most of the shops are just stands made in the street, ramshackle things that could be put away in a few hours. Gauzy linen and other fabrics are used to decorate them, add some skin to a skeleton, so to speak. Still, the lesser shops are dingy at best.
The sturdy, permanent stands, the ones that cost money, are the ones to look out for. You spot one now, manned by a shrewd looking woman. She's wearing simple enough clothes, but upon going nearer, the distinct jingle of coins on her person shows that she's good at her job.
You look around you. Looking behind, you see Fjord and his burly men trying, and failing, to look inconspicuous. He sees you, and gives a brief nod, before turning to look at something else. At least anyone trying to stop you would have to go through them.
Approaching the tradeswoman, you brandish a piece of paper. It was one of the few things that you brought with you. It's the standard Murtanian size and look, which makes it possible for you to pass it off as an official government document.
"Miss?"
She looks at you, bored.
"What do you want to buy?"
"I'm here on orders from the palace, my lady. I have been ordered to inform you that you must vacate your premises, on order of the Murtanian Court."
"On what grounds?"
I hope you guys planned this part. If you want to know anything about some basic laws of Murtan, ask and I will answer.