51st of Spring, 512 A.V.
Gaius woke in the morning with a small yawn, stretching and standing up from his bedroll. He stretched for several moments, working out the kinks and cramps that naturally accompany a night of sleeping in a tent on the ground. He smiled as he looked over the trees surrounding his campsite and began to prepare for the day.
He spread the ashes from the previous night's cook fire and turned the dirt under the fire to keep the earth fresh and not completely damaged. He grabbed his sword and clothes and headed to the nearby river, where he took a quick dip to wash off. He stepped out and shook off most of the excess water before slipping into his clothes and belting on his sword.
Gaius headed back to his camp and made sure everything was in order, before stepping onto the small, hidden path that led from his camp to the main path. Once on the path, he headed into town, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he walked. Syliras was, as it had always been, a living, breathing organism that always pulsed with life. Even now, in the early parts of the morning, people bustled here and there, running from place to place and hurrying to get to their jobs, their families, and their duties. Gaius smiled as he walked through the town, deciding to head towards the docks and see what was coming in and what was going out.