The Northern Gate [POST HERE FIRST]

Several rather uncomfortable hours pass as the guardsman that Imisar initially addressed sent for his supervisor. A brief chat between the gate guards results in a missive being sent to the Citadel. The sun is slowly inching its way down towards the horizon when the sound of a dozen or so horses cantering their way over cobblestone finally reaches the gate. The guards appear relieved that someone with the right amount of authority has finally shown up.

A shorter woman dismounts from her horse, handing the reins over to a waiting guardswoman. She pulls a large clipboard from the saddlebag on her horse before turning to the waiting Imisar. The other riders dismount their own horses and stand nearby. The company appears to be largely diplomatic in nature, but a fair bit more youthful than would normally be expected

This is Iulia Iotapa, a newly minted Foreign Service Officer, recently promoted to her own post. She looks over the Immortal quickly before speaking.

“Mr Ishmar, yes. A pleasure to meet you.” She sucks the nib of her quill noisily before making several quick motions across the paper. Her quill seems to be as dry as her wit. She rolls her eyes and gestures for an attaché to bring her a fresh pot of ink.

“I’m dreadfully sorry. Inefficiencies abound this time of year abound. You wouldn’t believe the amount of blow ins we get at the gates, trying to chat up the common guards about matters of ‘international import.’ The warmer weather seems to bring out the more inane requests. On top of that, I have been tasked with teaching a night class to our Junior Foreign Service.”

She waves to the collection of people nearby standing at rest behind her.

“Class, this is Immortal Ishmar of Murgdol. His request is to formally establish the initial diplomatic channels between his nation and ours. Usually, these meetings would take place after weeks of meetings between lower levels of our Foreign Service and the counterpart of the other nation. Thankfully, this unusual event grants us the perfect learning opportunity for your class.”

Iulia turns back to Ismar while her students take notes on their own writing slates. Whiles Iulia does have to crane her neck slightly to meet the eye slit of the Immortal’s helmet, she barely blinks or shows apprehension as she speaks. It’s not every day a suit of magical armor strolls up to the south city gate and demands audience with someone.

“My apologies again, sir. I usually have official members of the Foreign Service with me, not students. Your appearance earlier this morning seems to have caught our guards by surprise. The long wait was unfortunate, but unavoidable. I hope you were made as comfortable as possible. Now, would you happen to have a letter of introduction or other such papers? Just a formality, I assure you.”

Iulia reads the letter once. Twice.

Internally, Iulia sighs. Day in and day out, the self-righteous find believe they are the central focus of the universe. If what they want is not immediately granted to them on a silver platter, they stomp and whine and generally piss themselves in outrage. And that is where the world of bureaucracy was the best. Slow down the haughty, yet streamline the process for the deserving and those in need. That is where Iulia found her joy in work. Government work did not have to be about merely accruing power; it could be about using it well.

Simply waltzing up to the gates of a large country and demanding audience with a diplomat for official matters is absurd. This act alone colored Iulia’s perspective as she rode from The Citadel out to the Southern Gate. Maybe things were different in Hogwash, but there were certain standards and procedures to follow in Isra. However, respecting other cultures, regardless of how barbaric they might first seem, is a chief responsibility of the Foreign Service.

At least the armor has patience, seeing as it apparently stood outside Isra’s borders for several hours.

“Now. Your papers are in order, as is your request. As befits my position as Ambassador to Foreign Officials, Peoples, and Races, I officially welcome you to Isra. Our first moves here involve formally defining and outlining out the nature of your requests as described in your letter. Afterward, we will present your proposals to the Citadel, which will vote on how, and when, to bring these petitions before Empress Naoki for official ratification.”

Iulia motions for a carriage to be prepared as her students mount their own horses.

“Thankfully, your request got to my desk before I was slated to ride to Aozora for trade syndicate negotiations. I’ve booked us the entire house of The Handmaiden’s Basket, a local tavern and exemplar of Isran hospitality. It is our usual spot for welcoming new ambassadors. There we can start things off on the right foot before we get into the dirty work tomorrow. I’m sure my students would have some questions for you, if you would be up for that?”

A carriage rolls up before the two diplomats. Iulia motions for the Immortal to enter before her, bowing ever so slightly at the waist.

As soon as the carriage doors shut and the horses begin to draw the carriage out to the main road, Iulia levels her gaze at her metal-clad counterpart. Two guards sit to either side of Iulia, looking straight ahead, giving the full appearance of two mute and deaf statutes.

“Forgive my bluntness here, but I need to know the nature of your telepathic communication abilities before we progress much further. I personally am not gifted in any of the magical arts, but I have a working knowledge on much of the mechanics. Are you able to read thoughts, project your own ideas, or anything along those lines? Isran law does state that any agreements, contracts, or other legally binding documents or arrangements are forfeit if one or more parties sign under the influence of mind altering spells, wards, substances, or abilities.”

There is no intent to insult or malign Imisar in this line of questioning. But Iulia knows better than to begin any sort of official conversation without first understanding the being sitting across from her first. She never saw the inability to use magic as a weakness, but a challenge to overcome.

A nod and a short note made in her notes follow Imisar’s answer. Iulia smiles briefly as the hoof falls change from beating on the rougher outer roads of Isra to the newly paved inner roads.

“We’ll be arriving in just a few moments.”

[Exit to The Handmaiden's Basket]

The guard is pleased to find that a kitten is rubbing on his leg, and smiles. There used to be a similar cat in his village when he was young.

He reaches down to pet the kitten but recoils when he sees what it’s wearing. “Euugh!” Kittens are nice; spiders are not. It’s bizarre to see the juxtaposition of cute, fluffy kitten and large, leggy spider, but it’s not the strangest thing he’s seen all day.

“Shoo,” he says, making shooing motions with his free hand. “Go about your business, cat.”

The kitten would find it quite easy to walk into Isra because the gate is open. None would stand in his way, but the guard watches the kitten go, wondering why it’s wearing a spider as a hat.

An Alpaca, brightly ornamented, and a small figure on top of it approaches the gates of the great city of Isra. Playing a merry tune on his silver flute he doesn't give it much thought though and the bard occasionally strike vastly different tones as the alpaca he rides on takes little quick steps and skips ahead as if it danced to the music. If he wasn't approached Jirk and his alpaca would continue through the gates and into the city in blissful ignorance of people around him while continuing to spread the mirth.

   After several hours of trekking through the snow-matted grass field of the northern Free Plains, the outline of a city rose into view. It seemed familiar somehow to the wanderer. Smoke rose from several locations, marking the city to be at least inhabited and possibly industrial.

   Another hour of walking revealed more detail, and now Whir was almost sure it was the city of Isra in the distance. The vague shape of the citadel stuck imposingly into the sky, towering about the city's walls. Finally, he'd be able to eat again!

   Stomach growling fiercely, he approached the north gate on foot. The guards might think him freezing half to death from the color of his skin, and his lack of winter clothes. He hailed them as he neared, "Evening friends. Nothing to declare, and my stomach would like me to move quickly." His stomach accentuated the statement with a loud gurgle. Smiling and nodding, he continued through into the city.

Several days and finally there was an end in sight - he quietly cursed his much smaller body compared to the odd people riding such massive creatures to get places so much faster. BUT, he was here now. Trotting up to the wall, his head tipped up to look waaaaay up towards the top of the towering gates for a few moments. Everything was so gigantic compared to him, but that made the world so much more satisfying to explore and climb.

The cat would approach a nearby guard posted and sit at a respectable distance from his feet while his thick tail curled about his right flank and touched his forepaws. His mouth opened and he spoke surprisingly clearly. " 'xcuse me, sir!"