On the outskirts of Minas Tirith Port.
A party of over thirty people rode on horseback, moving slowly along a recently compacted gravel road.
Tristan rode at the very front.
He had changed into a gray hunting outfit, better suited for movement. He held a riding crop, occasionally pointing it toward the construction sites along the road.
Most of the group consisted of young men.
They were dressed in fine clothes, their expressions a mixture of reservation and curiosity.
They were the younger sons from the major commerce associations, guilds, and the noble families of the Ring Grey Sea Territory.
The family titles and the bulk of the inheritance went to the eldest sons. As for them, they either had to serve a higher-ranking noble, become priests in the church, or strike out on their own to find a path.
The Grey Marsh Territory had made a name for itself in the recent war, so their family elders had sent them over.
