It was an auspicious day in Haven. The noon sea breeze cooled the streets as hawkers and peddlers sold their trinkets and baubles. The smell of street food filled every single district. After all, today was special. The festivities and celebrations heralded the return of the Sea Wolves' merchant fleet. While the lands of Mistlund were rich, there were some things that you could only acquire back on the main continent. The fleet of ships carried enough opulent luxuries that even the richest man in Haven could barely afford them all. Such luxury was not reason for celebration, however. What made Haven turn to holiday was the arrival of people. The merchant fleet was one of the few boats that would take people to Mistlund. Hundreds of people with pockets full of coin would arrival. There was no better time for a merchant to sell.
One group in particular, however, was less enthused about the festivities: the adventurer's guild. The arrival of the ships meant that dozens, if not hundreds were coming in hopes of starting a new life. Mistlund was a land of opportunity, especially for those with no wealth. With a blade in the hand and enough willpower, one could earn unimaginable riches by exploring the land. The merchant fleet was the sole group that would carry anyone to Mistlund so long as they worked as a crewman. They were also the only group that wouldn't keelhaul stowaways. No, the captain of the Sea Wolves had a reputation. To those who spent their lives at the sea, he was practically a folk hero. An orphan that began as a stowaway, only to become a captain for the most dangerous mercenary group at sea. It was by his hand that the pirates that once stalked the channel between the two continents were stopped.
The Ports were no exception to the festivities. The ships docked and passengers finally got their first taste of solid land. The usual fishmongers that made the ports their home had been replaced by vendors looking to sell exactly what someone who spent weeks at sea needed. Fresh fruit, solid food, and enough booze to get an entire city wasted. On the other side of the docks, a swarm of merchants that impatiently waited for Erane's goods to be unloaded so they could purchase the wealth brought over.
While Mistlund was more diverse than any one nation on Erane, a certain figure seemed out of place. A wolfman outside the lead ship, sitting and resting against one of the dock's poles. He aimlessly stared at the sky, a dripping flask of liquor held within his bestial maw.
The Hillside District was filled to the brim with worshippers. While the residential streets had turned into a party spanning streets, the church and its surroundings were solemnly quiet with respect. More people than usual spent their day with prayer.
The Highland District was the same as it had always been. Only the richest of Haven's population explored its streets. The common people felt too out of place to make any sort of long venture inside of the highlands. Their opulent festivities were much tamer than the rest of the city, choosing to remain within their large mansions.
The Sunken Horns were remarkably more friendly. Strange races ensured that the crumbling infrastructure didn't break within by the adventurers who wished for the Iksal's blessings. Insect men guarded the rope bridges that lead down into the gaping pit of a district to ensure that they wouldn't snap from the weight. Craftsmen constantly repaired the railings that were hastily placed to ensure nobody fell off the footholds inside of the ravine. Small, mouse-like people guided the visitors through the cave for a single coin. But the Iksal were nowhere to be found on this day.
The Town Centre was an absolute hellscape. The streets had been filled to the brim with people. Rope had been stretched from rooftop to rooftop as they held banners and lanterns that would burn until the next morning. Town hall was filled with nobles wishing to purchase homes. The adventurer's guild was no exception. Thankfully, there was at least some kind of order for the guild. Outside the front door stood an extraordinarily large man. With white hair, thin beard, and scars along his face, he stood as the lone gatekeeper that prevented the guild from falling into chaos. He was more giant than man, really. He himself couldn't fit through the doors without ducking and turning his body at his man-and-a-half height. A long lineup had formed at the sign labelled "New Arrivals", the giant only letting one in once one left.