On this Waneday, Camillia woke up to realize that she had fallen asleep at her own desk. The various papers of inventory, lists, her own notes and other paperwork scattered all over. Yawning, she rose from her chair and began straightening out the papers. “Ah, damn it.” Her neck did not enjoy the shut-eye. Continuing to rub her neck, she got ready to get to the docks. She wanted to see her first shipments in person. Refreshing herself and getting dressed, she set off to the docks.
The docks were simple piers where the boats moored. There were plenty of workers helping to unload the ships. Further down in the harbour, pleasure boats saw a whole different use of the docks.
Rising slowly from the village church to the city walls Roque d'Ancourt presented herself, further up to splendid houses shimmering in the last whiffs of the mist and disappearing in a line of trees at the highest levels. Clearly built on plateaux, the long forgotten but well visited city presented a picture of wealth and abundance...
If one was to forget the simple life of the workers down below.
Upon her arrival Camillia set off to find the ship carrying her selection of wines from Kislovan. Shading the sun with her hand, she looked out into the docks seeing the ship out on the farther end of the dock. Her brown hair swayed from the breeze and with each of her steps. In her right hand she clutched her book tightly to her chest as it carried the paperwork that she needed to check and claim the shipment. She approached one of the men from the ship. “Excuse me, is this the ship with the Kislovian goods?”