The Western Gate and Fortifications [POST HERE FIRST]

The guards gave Ak-Mun a hard look-over for being a refugee, and a Phoenixian one at that, but seeing as he pulled off his lie perfectly believably, he was allowed entry. He was put on the registrar and told to attend a meeting at the Isran Centre for Refugees that was being held a week from now, so that he could get a job to provide for his family. He wouldn't be pursued if he did not attend, though.

The road’s standard foot traffic having evaporated at the sight of so many armed undead approaching, only the gate’s contingent of guards and a handful of miscellaneous onlookers brave enough to peek out from within the still-open gate.

Wait. The gate is still open. There are… many undead approaching, mostly armed, and the gates are not closed. This is cause enough to send murmurs rippling through the motley crew of onlookers, and send the majority of them puttering away into the allies and down the street. Though the approaching party from Belrow isn’t attempting to intimidate, and is actually speaking peaceably with the guard, they’re still a sizeable party of visually armed undead, and what with the information circulating about the undead crisis in Aaedan, and how three legions of Isra’s army were dispatched to the area, that information in a vacuum is enough to send most citizens scurrying for safety to their homes. Even the more perceptive among them who can grasp at the true nature figure it best not to hang around, and leave with the rest, though a few of the most brave, brash, and inquisitive among them remain, standing awkwardly in a small knot just inside the gate.

The guard’s lieutenant takes a few paces from within the gate, and steps out to meet Paralol a short ways away from the gate itself. They wear the full plate armor of an official of the guard, Isra’s sun emblem emblazoned across their otherwise silver chestplate in bright crimson relief. However, for better or worse, they wear no helmet, perhaps due to the distinctly long and pointed ears that protrude out from beneath her auburn, shoulder length hair. An elven woman, it seems.

After closing within speaking distance of Paralol, a sharp glint in her eye, she responds, “That’s what I hear, yeah. Heard about you a while ago from the lookouts. Took your time getting here, I see.”

Her mouth moves as if to continue, but she stops just before beginning her next word, apparently thinking better of it. However, the pause lasts no longer than a moment, as she begins a new thought, speaking with a somewhat more official tone of voice.

“Isra will accept Belrow’s delegation. I will escort you to The Citadel, if you would be so kind as to follow me. However. Isra will politely decline your escorts entry. I presume that you are aware of the situation in Aaedan. Suffice it to say, the populace of Isra is somewhat wary of undead, to say the very least. To have…”

She roughly eyeballs the size of Paralol’s party, doing an approximate headcount.

“...eighty some armed individuals of your… decidedly… not living complexion parading through the street would probably cause something of an uproar. If you would be so kind as to have your entire group follow me inside to an empty courtyard just inside the walls, and then have only the members among you who are directly related to your diplomatic mission follow me to The Citadel, we will proceed.”

“Alright. Great. The rumors and fear among the citizenry is nothing if not irrational. Come on, then.”

With that said, the elven lieutenant turns about, and begins to lead the procession into Isra. The knot of onlookers moves aside with all due haste, allowing Belrow’s party to pass by, and, as stated, come upon an empty courtyard just inside the walls. A pair of guards are placed at the primary entry to the courtyard to assure citizens that everything is under control, prevent the party from being harassed, and see to any needs the undead might have. It is stated that if the party will need to stay in Isra for an extended length of time, more permanent housing will be arranged, and that they are free to roam the city as they see fit, simply not as a large group, and preferably unarmed.

After all of that is settled, the elven lieutenant locates Paralol, his group of six guards, and their carriage, assuming all is well and that they comply, begins to lead the lot of them toward The Citadel.

The lieutenant of the guards tosses his hand up in response, and yells back to him.

"Aye, Sir Adrian! It's been a while."

Evidently, this man was also a component of the defense against Red Fletcher, and recognized Adrian. Though, having been promoted several times, and what with wearing the face-obscuring sallet, it would be somewhat unlikely that Adrian would be able to recognize him. Assuming that Adrian comes within a reasonable speaking distance of the gate, the man addresses Adrian in a more reasonable speaking tone.

"Feel free to proceed into the city, Sir. I don't think you need to be told not to cause trouble."

After a few miles of calm gliding, Jarkoopi, Kepesk Altiui, Keizhi, and Umbra the Dragonling approached the main gates of the Free City. Jarkoopi flew to the ground, making sure that he was permitted to enter, he used to live here, after all. Keizhi and Umbra were both both mounted on his back.

Umbra lie stiffly on his caretaker's back. They were going inside the city? This was interesting. The airs here had a sense of freedom to them. Of course, Umbra wouldn't/couldn't pursue that freedom, trapped as he was. He peeked over the spiked azure shoulder and glanced at the griffon riders. A gallant sort, sure. But hardly a match for a dragon. He tipped an imaginary hat at the patrol, and their officer.

When I lived here, there was no "size limit," seems the populace's paranoia is starting to get to them. My tower should still stand, hopefully.
The constant telepathy was still a new thing for Jarkoopi, his mind still spoke uncensored, even with Keizhi being able to listen in.

Using his altitude, Jarkoopi, Kepesk Altiui glided down to the front gates and landed as dust and dirt was pushed aside from his mighty wings. He gave his companions time to dismount before shifting into a human. The saddle shifted as well, and turned into a satchel under his arm.

"Umbra the Dragonling , now you may use your human form. Let's get going."
Once everybody was ready, he'd enter the city.

<Exit>

Roy rolled up to the gates, sitting on a cart with Grandma. The two of them had been chatting about magical animals the whole ride, and he barely noticed that they'd arrived. Once he looked up, though, he gradually slowed down the cart as to not jolt it.

"We're here, Grandma! We've reached Isra!"

As he rolled towards the gate, though, the magic chicken clucked and he stopped. He'd forgotten about the chicken! How were they going to get it in, Isra didn't allow chickens. Uncle Renalt hadn't brought it in, he'd simply caught the bird and put it on the cart. He turned to Grandma, a worried look on his face.

"I forgot about the chicken, Grandma. I don't think they'll let us bring it into the city."