Arriving at Taranto

Two guards clad in sturdy armor paced along the stone wall, their heavy boots echoing against the ancient stones of Taranto. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow on their vigilant forms. Torches flickered sporadically, painting shadows that danced along the battlements.

The taller of the two guards leaned casually against the parapet, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. His broad shoulders and weathered face spoke of years spent defending the fortress. Beside him stood Marco, a wiry figure with sharp eyes that gleamed with a mixture of mischief and triumph.

"Did you see the look on Gino's face when he realized he'd lost the pot ?" Marco chuckled, unable to contain his delight. "I swear, it was priceless!"

Rico let out a hearty laugh, a deep rumble that echoed across the wall. "Aye, it was. Never thought I'd see the day. That lad always fancies himself a gambling master and yet that day he went home with his pouch empty of any coin "