Two eye-catching riders on horseback rode through the dirt road before ten others on foot who were soldiers.
One was a male with jet-black hair and a sharp, angular face, the kind that looked carved from stone. He was garbed entirely in a fitted black gambeson stitched with silver threading, black pants tucked neatly into high leather boots, and black gloves that looked barely worn. The texture of his clothing, smooth, layered, and reinforced was clearly beyond what anyone in the rustic Redwood Town could afford.
A slender sword with a violet hilt dangled at his waist as his horse trotted with steady grace. Beside him rode a woman in a flowing black gown that clung tightly to her torso, emphasizing her curves, before spilling loosely from the waist down like dark silk, trailing lightly over the flanks of her grey mare. Her hair was tied in a simple braid, but her bearing was unmistakably that of someone important.
