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A mecca of industry, Halain was a city of dull, gray stone and black iron, where chimneys belched thick, black smoke into the sky, day and night. It was a dark, misshapen blotch upon the verdant land, tethered to the mountain range by numerous railways and beaten roads that led from the countless mines down to the many smiths, masons, jewelers, and the companies that supplied them. If there was business to be made on what could be pulled up from the depths of the earth, one could find it in Halain. Sheep-face had driven the cart right up into the thick of it, stopping his wagon on one of the side streets just beyond the town square, yet alive with traders and guildsmen even though the last vestiges of sunlight had long since disappeared. Built in a circle around the middle of the town were the guild houses that had residences in the mining town, each topped with a tower that stood tall and glinted with decoration, as if competing with each other to be the most beautiful of the cityscape. Sheep-face was part of the Venture Guild, more colloquially known as the 'Broken-Back' Guild, a house of laborers. In Halain they were the guild that did the actual mining, harvesting raw ore, coal and stone from the mountains and bringing them down to the other guilds who couldn't be bothered with such menial work. Then, once the crafting guilds were done, the finished products were sold back to Venture guild for transportation and distribution across the lands. Just a small, traveling merchant, Sheep-face was hardly a person of note, but the guilds offered housing for all their members, but no their guests.

"So you'll hafta find your own bedding for the night." The bushy-bearded man explained, climbing down from his seat and stretching out the kinks of a day on the road. "Nothing personal, just rules." "I get it." The passenger acknowledged, unwillingly plying himself from his niche in the wagon, and easing himself down upon the smooth, stone street. "There's plenty of inns. I'd suggest the Smoky Peak, right down the way. The beer is cold, the food and bedding is warm, and women are warmer." With a deep chuckle and a knowing wink, Sheep-face gestured down towards the residential district. "Be here come sun-up, I'm moving on bright and early." With that he turned his attention to a guild representative that appeared at his side and began a different conversation.

The air was heavy and cloying, as Gray-hair strolled off in the direction his driver had pointed, made all the more so by the heavy, brown, cloth robe he wore over his clothes. It was the usual sort of thing you'd see an older person wear to fight off the cold of age, but it was warm around him. Hope that the night would bring cooler weather vanished in this tight, clustered place. The sun had been down for yet an hour but, still, the sky was alight, the city covered in a veil of smoke that reflected the glow of hundreds of furnaces. All the buildings were squat, made of stone and metal that absorbed and radiated massive amounts of heat ceaselessly. Not to mention the constant press of bodies; Halain was the sort of place where time seemed to have no bearing. Where the whims of the sun and moon did not dictate business or pleasure, as the roads, pubs, and inns teemed with people at all times. Gray-hair wondered idly just how they could live like this, as he led his gaze over everything he passed, finally spying the sign adorned with a black mountain surrounded by a ring of dark clouds. Light, music and voices spilled forth from the place, as well as the smell of roasting pork and strong spirits. It certainly appeared as welcoming as Sheep-face had said... Maybe a little too lively for a particularly tired traveler, but Gray-hair wasn't in any mood to be picky.

Pushing through the open doorway, the scene within was a odd reflection of the city without. Smoke hung up in the rafters, while broad, squat citizens huddled close together, the air thick with heat and sweat. He managed to push through the sea of humanity and find a place at the bar where he haggled a room for the night and a quick meal of whatever was on hand, quickly retiring to the latter with the former. To the inn's credit, the walls were thick so that one could barely hear the din down below, and the rooms were high enough that an open window could catch a hint of a breeze, making it not entirely unpleasant. Gray-hair sat by that window as he chewed on the tender pork and bit of bread he was given, looking always north and to the west where, somewhere, his destination lay. It was always nice to think he'd get to where he was going quickly, that he'd finish his little 'missions' in little time, that he may be afforded a little time off in the between... Every man deserves his fantasies. Tarrensford would be there for him whenever he got there, and Sheep-face would see him on his way in the morning, but there was business yet to be done before then. Plate and mind now empty, the man collapsed on his low bed, which smelled strangely of horses. Yes, business to be done, but he would wake with plenty of time. Sleep was not one to hold him captive for long these days, yet it did welcome him into its arms once again, and when he dreamed, it was of deep green eyes.