The market in Cannaris was full of voices and colors, a constant stream of rumors and news that traveled faster than any official messenger. Two merchants argued over a handful of nuts among the stalls of spices and fabrics.
"I tell you, Arkan, those from Purgatory are looking to burn down the entire continent," said one, a burly man with a gray beard, gesturing with a handful of nuts, adding, "How do you explain the attack on Cannes?"
Arkan, a younger man in clean but worn tunics, shook his head. "They say it was retaliation. Something about a betrayal in the city council. But attacking with such violence? The walls of Cannes didn't fall by themselves, eh? Someone inside helped."
"And that's not all," a woman tending a nearby stall chimed in, her voice low but laden with urgency. "News came in this morning that the western port is closed. No ships dare sail that sea."
