[center][color=FFCE00][h2][u]Soft Haven: The North Gate[/u][/h2][/color][/center]

[center][sub]15th of the Full Autumn Moon, 1698 P.A.
Early Morning - Overcast Skies[/sub][/center]

The next dawn dawned cold and dreary, weak, watery sunlight filtering over the horizon. Rain seemed imminent later in the day but still, the sounds of the city rousing slowly filled the air. The smell of fresh baked bread just barely reached the northern gate and the shouting of early risers started to fill the town. The midnight guard was a tired lot, mostly leaning with heavy heads and heavier eyelids, as they waited for their relief to arrive. Few people used the northern gate at this hour and so the road was mostly empty, save for two speaking in hushed tones twenty paces outside the gate.

Cerric stood next to a large covered wagon, dressed far less elegantly than at the house. He opted for a simple set of canvas pants, a high collared long sleeve shirt tied up at the neck, and a hooded, heavy woolen traveling cloak all in sensible dark greens and browns. He carried two heavy water skins, hanging off a rope tied at the belt on each hip. Despite his bubbly and animated gestures he made as he conversed, it was clear the early hour took its toll, sluggishness evident in his movements and the downward droop of his mouth matched the droop in his shoulders. 

His conversation partner, a young woman who barely reached his shoulders, was an entirely different matter. Brown hair tied back in a neat braid that fell to the middle other back, she laughed cheerily in response to Cerric’s commentary. Dressed in similar attire for the trip ahead, she stood a head shorter than Cerric and was filled with an energy misplaced in the dreary morning hours. Her foot tapped with a restless energy in front of the covered wagon, piled high with red fern bundled in oil cloth, attached to a large brown horse.

[color=mediumspringgreen]“Honestly, Master Cerric. Each tale more outlandish than the last.”[/color] The woman shook her head with a giggle before gesturing at the water skins. [color=mediumspringgreen] “You certain you don’t wanna throw those in the wagon? Got a little space if we shuffle some supplies around. Won’t take but a second.”[/color] 

[color=skyblue]“Very gracious of you, Esvelee but I’ll decline once again. These are the tools of my trade and no self respecting tradesman would dare part with his tools, even for a minute!”[/color] Cerric denied dramatically, turning his nose up at the very notion.