The afternoon sun was on the head of the procession of the Royal Guards that was on it's way to the Northern Gates of Auravale.
Three heavy, iron-reinforced carriages rolled down the dirt road. They were flanked by twelve Royal Guards mounted on white warhorses.
Two of the guards in the front and the two at the back were holding banners that were flying high, with the Kingdom's mark of the "Elephant holding a Spector in its trunk."
These weren't your average city watchmen; these were men who had trained in the capital, wearing plate armour worth more than a peasant's life.
Inside the lead carriage sat the Royal Inspectors. Bureaucrats with the power to strip titles, seize lands, and order executions with a stroke of a quill.
They expected to find a ruin. They expected to find a city on its knees, begging for the Crown's aid after a catastrophic monster raid.
They expected sorrow, suffering and gloom everywhere. But what they found was totally different.
"Halt!"
