Once you've finished packing up, you continue on your path eastwards. You notice an unusual chill in the air, a stark contrast to the heat of the days before, and some of the leaves are already fully turned. Autumn has arrived, far sooner than you would have expected.

It's day eastwards to exit the forest, and then two days north upon the road in order to reach the city. Observing it as it slowly builds upon your horizon sees a great wealth of buildings that stretch along the river's edge and fill your vision as far as it will go - Baldur's Gate is a sprawling, bustling metropolis, choking with people. At a distance, the narrowed streets and orderly building, crested by a great keep here, a tower there, look beautiful to behold, a true vision of civilisation, though the veneer of glory begins to lose its sheen as you get closer, with the buildings appearing dirtier, the harbour clearly in dire need of repairs, and you feel a general sense of malaise hanging over the city. Great walls that at a distance seemed pinnacles of engineering now loom, encircling the city as a restriction as much of a protection.

The city proper stands across the river, cut off from the south except by way of a great stone bridge easily a mile long, with multiple portcullises at regular intervals along the path to hold back any would be invaders. The gates are open, at least, but a long queue of wagons, animals, and merchants stretching the length of the bridge indicates all is still not well within the city. The queue is being actively policed by Flaming Fist, who patrol up and down its length to keep people from skipping or causing trouble with one another during the long wait. Even just observing it as you make your approach you note that its processions is exceedingly slow, and it could be hours upon hours of waiting if you were to proceed as everyone else is.