The crowd was watching as strangers enter the town. Some of them have seen such processions before and were hiding in their houses, before the eyes of the newcomers land of them. But most of the villagers from the town have never encountered the Praetor's messangers and his army men.
Not that it was a bad thing. Not knowing Praetor or his envoys was a blessing for all whoever had contact or even was closed with people using magic, the cursed one, the filth of the Avras.
The procession passed through in complete silence. The guards, armed both in pistols and swords, just in case, were marching next to a white horse on which a young man was sitting, looking coldly around. His eyes were piercing and dark and his expression seemed to be made of stone. Such people never bring good news. They say that one never should judge by the look but even if the man didn't look like made of marble, the armored men in a peaceful town were enough to be allowed to judge. But if that wasn't enough, the