Pausing only long enough to pass a few copper pieces to a vendor at the market and to ask, politely, for directions to the council quarters, Dara makes a path to the stone archway at the courthouse gate.  The wrought iron stands open, but attended by a couple of solitary militia men.<br/><br/>They stop her smartly with halberds in hand, asking her business and questioning the outsider thoroughly... the younger of the two seems a little leery of the stranger, his wariness perhaps mixed with a spark of appreciative admiration of her face and features.  They do order her to open her cloak and draw back her hood, and her appearance thus draws a few stares-- a petite young woman, dark of hair and eye, skin a faint russet hue betraying nomad blood... even a passing wolf-whistle from a ruddy-faced whelp across the street.<br/><br/>After this momentary distraction, she'd admitted with direction to the council chamber.