Storm Corner.
An ocean-going ship from the Vena Ice-Free Port docked at the makeshift harbor.
The tribunal squad, disguised in clerical robes, dragged a giant wooden crate off the ship, joining several caravans among the bustling crowd.
They chose a caravan with the loosest inspections. But when paying the fare, a caravan attendant circled behind them and kicked the wooden crate with dirty boots.
The caravan attendant ignored the angry glare of the nearly two-meter-tall guy and raised his chin, asking, "What's inside?"
The squad leader Hogte's hood turned toward the caravan attendant standing too close to the crate: "Goods for a client."
"Open it for inspection."
He patted the crate again, intending to return to the caravan.
A burly figure, barely concealed by the clerical robe, blocked his way.
The caravan attendant fearlessly reached out to push the burly figure: "You want to cause trouble on our turf? Commoner—"
