O.K., here is one possibility. I will throw a few more out tonight, or tomorrow, or soonish.
The soldiers were swarming the gates out of Knotshire. The red and black of Duke Erlington was everywhere. Donald almost expected to see a dog walk past, wearing the duke's colors. They were set up outside the enormous west gate, under white canopies. The men were all kitted out, with chain mail hauberks, short swords and dangerous looking spears. These spears were plunged into suspicious looking bags and hay loads, without regard for station.
Donald knew that his traveling wagon was going to attract their interest. It was a solid bow-top affair, with fancy carvings and more colors than a child could dream of. The top itself was covered with a tan tarp, strapped down, to help protect the wood of the cart from the elements. His trustworthy ponies were tired from four long days walking, and needed a stable and a good oat mash.
Donald pulled his wide brimmed, floppy hat down over his face. He had the distinctive looks a foreigner and that would not help. His features were as sharp as a knife and a light burnt umber. His hair was black, thick and long. He kept it twisted in the long braid common among his folk. His eyes were a startling pale blue in his dark face; a gift of some distant ancestor. His body was well formed, though not overly large, with nimble fingers, lean muscles and the reflexes of a cat.
The people here were all fair of hair and broad of face. Their language was guttural and harsh to his ears. They lumbered around like cows, chewing their cud and ramming into things. Still, a rube was a rube, and he needed to make some coin.
The Duke's pet sorceress Mathilda was even at the gate, casting her gaze over every cart, pack and traveler. Donald shuddered to look at her. She was quite a beauty, with pale clear skin, corn flower hair and ruby red lips. Still, her eyes were ancient and cold, like a frozen lake with hidden depths. Her emerald gown clung tightly to her slender body, but it did little inflame his passions. She was a pretty poison. He had heard the stories of her abnormal passions and evil rituals.