Dawn comes quickly to the city of Lahearth, a thick fog rolling in through the cool night, like a cloud sliding down from the mountain tops. It casts the city of monochrome, dimming even further the darkened alleyways and muffling the sounds of footsteps as the city guard patrols. Here and there small lanterns bloom brightly against the mist, casting sections of the street in a warm orange glow, offering a pittance of warmth to those out in the damp and cold.<br/><br/>Most of the city remains sleeping, wringing last minutes of warmth and comfort from their covers before setting out to face the day. A few men and women, the last dregs of the night shift, peel away from their work with bleary eyes, and stumble towards their homes, mingling in with the occasional drunk with nowhere to go. All in all, the city is quiet, almost reverent as the sun begins to peak over the horizon and burn away the clinging mists.<br/><br/>Marquis Elspeth, clad in her full set of polished armor, stands at attention near the front gate. Several guards stand by her, close enough to be respectful, but far enough to not intrude upon her space. They don't speak, either to her or each other, merely wait to open the gates. It is unusual, but not uncommon, for the gates to open so early, but orders are orders. For her own part, the Marquis does not show any sign of boredom or fatigue, standing patiently as the sun begins to rise.<br/><br/>Though her soft hair clings to her head with moisture, and the occasional droplet of water runs down her face, she barely blinks. Her armor, too, is coated in a fine layer of cool moisture, but such things will dry off on the road with the sunrise. She ignores all of that, instead keeping her eyes on the main road, waiting for her new travelling companions to arrive, the barest hint of a song humming on her lips. One her father once sung to her, as she sat with him before their fireplace. A song of warmer times, to bring comfort in the dismal weather.