The queue leading up to the capital's gate extended all the way into the vast farmlands that surrounded the walled city. That queue though was for those who came with carriages and, in any way or form, more luggage than they could carry on their backs.
Thankfully, a group of three huge, burly mercenaries that escorted a limping old man could make use of the common gate. The queue over there was still quite sizeable, promising at least an hour or two of just waiting for their turn… But it was a far better option than waiting for an entire day in the other, main queue!
"Name and purpose?" the guard at the smaller, common gate asked out the question for the unkempt time in the day.
"Hasan," a relatively young farmer with a huge bag of some sort of grain thrown over his shoulder pulled out a seemingly simple stick before showing it to the guard.
