A middle-aged man with premature graying hair and brown eyes that sparkled with hope walked through the muddy cobblestoned streets of Bosky Neighborhood in Corvid Quarter.
He wore a simple white tunic that had become tattered at the edges from repeated use. Along with that, he wore plain trousers and shoes of the same color.
Around his shoulder, he hung a satchel that was stitched up from different colored fabrics. Clearly, it had been torn several times, yet the man used it nonetheless.
Although this middle-aged man wore old and torn clothing, his face was cleanly shaved and he looked neat and clean. His shoulders were broad and his back was straight, and he walked with confident footsteps.
If it weren't for the man's clothing, others would definitely feel that this man wasn't someone who belonged to the slums.
Rowan's brown eyes sparkled with anticipation as he made his way toward Dundee Harbor.
