Orphan's Crossing. It was a relatively small town built of stone, wood and thatch, and serving as one of the many production hubs of the empire of Riemar. Though the gnoll was not originally from this town, rather from another town called Winterhaven, he had found a quiet enough existence among the outskirts of Orphan's Crossing where he might farm a plot of land, tend to a coop of chickens and sit beneath the shade of his front yard tree in a relative peace. Sure enough that the townsfolk were wary of a gnoll in their midst, but he could not blame them in the least for keeping an eye trained on him when he walked through the marketplace; his kind were often dangerous and there were few exceptions. Though he happened to be an exception and held no measure of love for unneeded violence, he still understood the largely human population of The Crossing. His own land, once owned by his adoptive father's uncle and given to Merrick so that he might have a chance at a life outside of Winterhaven, lay at the northern end of the road running through Orphan's Crossing. The road ran next to a little river, both of them cutting the town in two parts. Merrick's land was situated easterly of that calm little river. Looking up at the sun, the gnoll noted midday and stood from his work. His small, fairly paltry plot of wheat had been sown some months before in the spring. The cool, temperate weather let it grow through the summer so that he might work at the harvest now, in the middle part of the fall. It was enough that he could cut and bundle it on his own. Even if he had needed help, he held no real friendly ties in the town and had hardly enough coin to hire any workers. He gave a huffing sigh and stretched. “...about time for lunch, I'd say,” he muttered to himself quietly. He looked to the forest behind his field, his ears dishing slightly. Shaking his head, he dismissed any odd feelings he had as hunger and began to walk to his humble, one-room home.