Outskirt

The wagon tracks give way to a paved road that cuts through the high grain fields. Countless smells invade your senses: manure, smoke, and rotting vegetables, but also freshly baked bread and grilled meat.

The road leads to a settlement surrounded by a palisade, with lots of small houses with smoking chimneys visible beyond its sharpened logs.

The village gate is closed and flanked by two low but sturdy towers of stone with crenelations and pointed wooden roofs. Drawing closer, you hear the stern voice of a man barking at you from one of the towers:

“Halt, strangers! State your names and business or turn back to the forest – this is a place of peace and decency.”