The gate itself was black stone, polished smooth enough that parts of it reflected light faintly when the sun hit at the right angle. Not plain black either, there were silver-colored patterns worked into the edges of the structure, thin engraved lines curling around the stone in deliberate designs that made the entrance look important before anyone even stepped through it.
It was the kind of gate built to impress visitors before they saw anything beyond it.
Comparing it to his own gate at Percvale, Darion almost laughed out loud. His gate was black too, once. But that had been years ago, before the rot set in.
Now it was rusted in patches, the metal flaking away at the edges where years of rain and neglect had eaten through. The left side didn't close all the way anymore, leaving a gap wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways.
One of the hinges had snapped not long ago, so the whole thing listed to the right like a drunkard trying to stand up straight.
