From the northern wasteland road, Dalt Town could be seen in the distance, perched on a gently rising slope.
A ring of walls stood around it, their bases built from wasteland graystone. The gaps between the rough stones were plastered thick with dried, hardened mud. The upper half consisted of sharpened round-log palisades, their tips weathered by wind and sand until they resembled jagged broken teeth.
Simple watchtowers rose at intervals along the walls. Some of the timber still showed fresh-cut surfaces, clearly hastily erected not long ago in preparation for the spring hunt.
Atop the north gate's watchtower, a triangular flag bearing green leaves on a gray field whipped in the wasteland wind.
Two militiamen on watch leaned against the wooden railing. One tilted back his head to gulp down water, while the other stared listlessly down the official road.
Only when the distant carriage gradually grew larger in his sight did he straighten up and shout, "Another one's coming—!"
Creak—creak—
Amid the piercing scrape of wood against wood, the crude wooden door was pulled open to either side.
The gateway was not particularly wide, and Ulag had to draw in the reins slightly, guiding the carriage to slowly squeeze through along the base of the right-hand wall.
Once through the gate, the view suddenly opened up.
The gravel-paved main street stretched from the north gate to the very edge of sight, wide enough for two carriages to travel side by side.
The densely packed buildings on either side were mostly wooden structures, with a few built from wasteland graystone. Every roof was covered in thatch or slate tiles.
Blacksmiths, leather shops, general stores, an apothecary, and several taverns and inns of varying sizes lined the main street.
Perhaps because of the spring hunt, adventurers could be seen everywhere