As the group waited and watched, the darkness lit by the occasional flare of a pipe, the sun crept it's way over the horizon. A dull clonk sounded from somewhere in the direction of the guard house, and the gates were unbarred and pulled open, the expression of guards that of men who would rather be in their beds at this hour. The under officer in charge, a plume on his helm could be seen standing near the guard post, and his expression was not a pleased one. Perhaps the celebrations of the night before mean his relief have not yet arrived, or perhaps he has other troubles of his own that plague his mind.<br/><br/>Regardless of his feelings, the merchants begin to jostle forwards, the lowing of oxen and nasal braying of donkeys adding to the morning chorus of birdsong. The guards begin to check the travel papers of the merchants, and wave them on.<br/><br/>[[I'm going to handwave and say you all have suitable travel papers, enough to get you out of the city at least]]