The afternoon in Dragon Beast City was peaceful. Beastmen came and went through the streets while guards at the city gates watched everyone entering and leaving.
No one noticed the old man slowly approaching from the distance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of his crutch touching the ground echoed faintly across the road.
He looked incredibly old. His silver-white hair was tied into a loose braid hanging past his hips, and his long white beard was loosely woven into several smaller braids.
His face was covered in deep wrinkles, his body thin and frail. Barefoot, wearing old dust-covered clothes, he carried a loose cloth bag over his shoulder.
In his hand was a strange crutch made of twisted, dark bark from an ancient tree. He leant heavily against it, looking so weak that even a gentle breeze might knock him over.
At the city gate, a guard stepped forward and blocked his path. "Stop. Who are you, old man? No one enters without proper identification."
