When the sun rose over Lothian City, it quickly burned away the lingering rain clouds from the previous night's storm, casting brilliant rays that glittered off the lingering dew and illuminated the golden spires of the temple at the center of the city.
In the office of Marquis Bors Lothian, however, the mood was dark and cold, as though the burly lord had drawn in the previous evening's storm clouds and stuffed them into his majestic chambers.
Bors himself had begun the day in high spirits with news that the first spring tributes had arrived from the western barons. At the very edge of the border between civilization and the demon infested wilderness, attacks from the demons could devastate a barony badly enough that they would be unable to send their tribute for the season, placing an even greater burden on the eastern barons.
