"Move your stones!"
A loud shout reached my ears not that long after the ringing of the tower's bell stopped.
And it just had to happen pretty much right as I mentally prepared myself to spend several hours just standing around doing nothing but holding the straps of my charcoal-heavy backpack to keep it from sliding off my back.
"Move your stones!"
Before long, a young man appeared from beyond the corner of the street, carrying a huge, wooden pole with what could only be the sign of Greg's smithy poorly painted on it.
"Move your stones or lose your turn!"
Like ants swarming from under the ground, adventurers suddenly came from every corner, nook and cranny of the street, each quickly lining up by their personal queue stones and then waiting for the smithy's worker to reach the very end of the line.
