The guards above spoke to one another in hushed whispers, though with their Elven ears both of them could hear them speaking of how they would need to report the late night entry to the Captain, inferring he isn't one to be displeased. However, moments later the one called down. "We'll let you in. Just keep out of trouble." He said. A shout was heard in the distance, and then the gate began to slowly open as if by some primitive mechanism. 

As the gate opened, Brogach stamped on the ground a bit from the vast noise of the moving timber. Before them, a torchlit scene unfolded. The buildings within were not large, most being one story with a few of them two stories. Lamp posts with torches and lamps hung every now and then down the road. A few human peasants and workmen sat on their porches or hastily walked across the street, some mingling. But most were inside now, warm within their homes. 

Snow caked the tops of the slanted, thatched roofs. They'd need to find an inn, of course. Hopefully it had a sign. Calanon patted Brogach's neck, and the Elk trotted forward through the opening. It took only a few seconds before the gate was closing once more. "The Inn is down two streets, take a left!" One man called to them. More quietly, another began to scold him for helping such strange outsiders. 

"You heard them, Brogach." Calanon said to his mount, and the Elk began a light gallop down the road. As men and women cloaked and wrapped in cloth watched them with curiosity and suspicion, Calanon turned to Rayadell. "Do you use that alias often?" He asked her, merely curious.