The port district outside Light City was quiet and languid.
A few old sailing ships were docked at the pier, their hulls covered in dense clusters of barnacles.
Sailors leaned against barrels in twos and threes, letting the sun bake their skin as they stared blankly out at the sea.
A lone crane stood idle, with no cargo to move and no workers waiting to load or unload.
Velin looked away.
It was only early spring, so it was normal for the shipping lanes to be quiet, but this was far too desolate.
The Golden Sail Commerce Association's nautical charts clearly showed that the deep-water port here was far superior to the one in the Grey Marsh Territory.
He followed the dirt road toward the white city wall.
At the city gate, two guards in chainmail leaned against the battlements, boredly tapping their scabbards against the stone, making a monotonous "TAP... TAP..." sound.
