The Northern Pass [POST HERE FIRST]

Late in the day, from a small distance up the northern road, a tiny pink speck could be seen. As the ominous speck grew closer, the border guard would find that it was a fairy. Small, even for a fairy, Plague Fly did not quite reach the height of two inches. A barely audible buzz could be heard from the creature's wings as they beat quickly like that of a humming bird, propelling the fairy along a bit slower than walking speed, at an altitude of approximately four feet. As soon as Plague Fly was within shouting range, he began to do just that; shout.

"FEAR ME HUMANS! RUN NOW OR YOU MAY NEVER HAVE THE CHANCE AGAIN! IT IS I, PLAGUE FLY, THE DESTROYER! STAND ASIDE OR I SHALL LAY YOU DOWN WITH MINE OWN HAND! CHAOS HAS COME TO THE FREE CITY! EMPTY MOUTHS SHALL HAVE ONLY SPOONFULS OF PESTILENCE! I PRECEDE THE DARKNESS THE FREE CITY IS SO RIGHTFULLY DUE! - "

He took a breath. It appeared as if the fairy was winding up for another long and turbulent string of rantings.

Randal would find the road leading through the mountains to narrow, but well trodden - for a mountain road. As it winds its way between mountains, down into and up from valleys, he may notice signs of civilization. Up higher in the cliffs, towers, placed to watch over the road.

Soon enough, he would likely find himself at a checkpoint. The road ahead passes under an arch, through a gate much like the sort one might find on a fortified wall. On either end, stubby towers rise to look down on the road. The fort is flying the flag of the Isran Empire proudly atop each tower, and the soldiers stationed upon and within bear its colors.

At present, the gate is open. The points of a portcullis above imply that it could be closed quite quickly, but the soldiers standing at the gate don’t seem alarmed in the least by Randall’s approach. There are four, all armed and armored standing on the road, and though no others are visible, it seems as if more could be within.

The weather was growing colder as Gazuu and the other upstanding citizens reached the Northern Pass leading into Isra. Gazuu had wrapped himself in the blanket he slept in to stave off the cold, and pulled it tighter around himself as he trudged through the checkpoint.

If the guards didn't stop them, the group would press on towards the Free City and the festivities therein.

The Northern Pass was definitely not quiet upon the sun's rise on a wintery day. Snaking down the road in tight formation was a cavalcade filled with horses, camels, and carriages. Two men, much taller and almost as wide as the carriages, walked alongside them with pickaxes slung on their backs. All the company looked rather rough, save for select women and men adorned with gems and jewels.

At the head of the caravan was a woman swathed in warm clothing and a very furry, pointed hat. It was she who slowed the caravan to a halt with a whistle that whipped through the air and a raise of her hand when they reached the checkpoint.

The sight of the guards did not unnerve the woman.

"Khulan of the Toragana Mountains. We come for trade and we come for hands to hire for our travels," she told them, speaking simply. There was definitely an air of power about the woman. The way she looked at the soldiers was almost challenging, but no such verbal threat was made, nor did she reach for her weapons.

The air of power the woman was affected with could be perceived as unsettling the guards, as their movements became tight and restrained. By the same token, it could be assumed that they were tired of dealing with the jumped-up wool merchants who's exceptional market share clearly endowed them with the world that often travelled through the gates. Ultimately, how she interpreted the situation was entirely up to Khulan. 

The captain inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the information she had passed on. In the corner of her eye, she could note a lesser guard chroncicling this information on a sheet of parchment as he inspected the caravan. 

"As a foreigner, in order to trade in the city of Isra, you will require an Assent certification. This can be acquired from a Ministry of Trade certifier - I believe there are several in the city centre. If your caravan remains for longer than six months, you will require an exit deferment from the Ministry of Immigration."

The captain waited for any questions she might have as his colleague inspected the caravan; if she had none, Khulan would receive an admission slip and the caravan would be allowed past both sets of gates. Otherwise, he would answer any queries that took her mind. 

Mordred hurries through the pass. He's clearly on a mission of some kind.

Approaching the Northern gates were a decent-sized group of twelve individuals. Three pre-adult teenagers, one grim-looking man carrying more than his fair share of cargo dressed in shabby robes, three well-armed and armored individuals, clad in similar black armors, three more ordinary folks (Two humans and an elf) wearing priestly robes, an older woman with a stern visage that seemed to be walking at the front with a powerful, confidant stride, and at the rear, nothing short of a full-grown Minotaur. It stood at about eight feet, its fur shaggy yet seemed recently brushed out. It had an axe propped on its shoulder and several massive bags across its body, making it appear that it carried an entire house's worth of items with it.

Once they reached the gates they stopped, and the older woman stepped forward.

"Greetings," she offered to the guards. "We are of the Church of Varafel. We're here to populate the Cathedral currently being built."

About a day and a half after the council at the Tower regarding the Wyld, a cloud of dust indicating a large force moving across the land can be spotted on the horizon. As it nears the first northern checkpoint, more details can be discerned of the crawling army. The most noticeable feature is that there are few living men within the ranks; most of the force consists of skittering quadrupedal ghouls with massive, slavering maws, clattering walking skeletons, and a smattering of shambling soulless shells, their eyes glowing a sickly green. Two large dragons, measuring a hundred feet from bony snout to the tip of their spaded ivory tails, bring up the rear, while the vanguard is made up of a wedge formation of black knights dressed in heavy plate and riding jet black destriers. Heading up the force is a man clad in an ornate set of heavy black-stained plate, the pauldrons of which are crafted into the shape of ravens. His long white hair flows freely in the wind, and his one good yellow eye scans his surroundings in a constant sweep. He sits tall and upright upon his massive sable warhorse, easily breaching seven and a half feet himself, carrying with him an intimidating air of authority and power. A large greatsword is strapped upon his back, its dark steel appearing to darken its surroundings with a disturbingly grim aura.

These are the forces of the Black Vale, unseen and quiet in their peaceful Northern valley for five years. What they could be doing here is anyone's guess. As the host nears the Northern checkpoint, it comes to an uncannily immediate halt as its leader raises his hand, balled into a fist. The king shields his eyes as he gazes up at the watchmen upon the tower.
"Evening, gentlemen!" he calls out, his deep rumbling baritone friendly and inviting, "I come to assist the Isran Empire in its time of need! A little bird told me that there is a grave blight befalling your kingdom currently, and I would be quite the lousy neighbor if I simply allowed it to fester!"