A strong gust of wind blew down the middle of the road that lead to the main entrance of Dalvastre, catching the dirty cloaks and torn dresses of those who waited in line, almost as if the very air itself wanted to push past the queue to get within the safety of the cities walls. the nights were often cold and the creatures and wild beasts of the wilderness tended to grow more active during the darker hours. As the sun started to fall, some of the refugees started to pull out torches, using what little flint and tinder they had remaining to create light. Those closer to the entrance though were still looking hopeful for gaining entry to Dalvastre, for the sun had not completely set yet. It made you wonder, when the doors did close for the night, would the throng of people waiting out here be shorter or longer come morning? It was grim. These people were obviously trying to get away from something. It was unlikely that everyone here were simply wanting to try and start a new life or a new career. They needed safety, protection, and it was shortly going to be denied to everyone.

Near the front of the queue, sitting in the driver's seat of a small wooden carriage being pulled by a Balvull, a six legged beast that resembled a cross between a shell-less tortoise and a bison, was a young man draped head to toe in a long dark brown cloak, hood pulled up over his head. It was unclear as to whether this cloak was hiding his appearance or protecting him from the cold. Slowly the wooden cart rattled towards the front entrance as the city guard and their pet Ablated allowed refugees through one by one, jotting down their names, professions, reasons for being here and estimated length of stay.
[color=aqua]"The damn Empire and their lists..."[/color]
The young man muttered to himself, which caused the Balvull before him to grunt and shift it's footing, the beasts muscles tugging at the leather straps and fitting that held the cart to it with little effort. Some of these beasts could grow up to the size of an elephant and were rarely seen in these parts of the world. Balvull's were not made for warfare though. While they could easily smash down a city wall by charging into it, getting a Balvull to run in the first place was next to impossible. They were heavy, cumbersome creatures they got tired quickly if made to move any faster then what they're comfortable with.
[color=aqua]"Don't worry big guy. We're going to get in before nightfall."[/color]
The young man's voice carried an air of confidence to it, perhaps wisdom too and it clearly calmed the large beast down.

As time passed and the sun vanished behind the giant looming city, the queue of refugees spread apart to create a clear path through the middle. The cloaked man raised an eyebrow as he leaned out from the drivers seat, causing the wooden cart to creak with the shift in weight. Peering out from behind his good, a pair of sharp green eyes were seen under the hood of his cloak, peering back down the road to see a man with a shaved head riding a horse through the middle of the refugees. Who was this guy and why did he get priority over everyone else? He carried a couple weapons at his waist and his face looked like it had seen more combat then everyone else in this queue combined. It was hard to read this guy but judging from how some of the refugees were complaining as he rode past, made the cloaked man wonder if he were another lackey of the Emperor. Shifting back into his seat and returning his eyes to what was ahead of him, the cloaked man raised his reins and tugged at them to cause the Balvull to grunt deeply, sending a vibration through the chests of everyone nearby. Begrudgingly, the beast moved to the left and tugged the cart with it to clear the path for the horseman to get through. However, as the horseman reached the front of the queue and was barked at by the city guards to return to the back, the cloaked man raised an eyebrow as his suspicions of this stranger being tucked into Gabriel Val M'ahr's pocket were snuffed out. The rest of the conversation proceeded too quietly for the green-eyed man to hear, but seeing as the city gates opened up and the horseman was allowed to pass, made him wonder who he really was.

About 30 minutes had passed since the Shaven Headed Man has passed through the city gates and the cloaked man was next in line to be inspected and probably interrogated. The sun had all by disappeared by now and it was going to be a miracle if he were to be given entry at his point. There was one possibly guarantee though but it was going to be an incredible risk. As the Balvull came to a halt before the main gates, two of the city guard raised their weapons and aimed them at the beast. A third walked up to the cloaked man and peered up at him, his face plastered with suspicion.
[color=red]"Name?"[/color]
The guard asked, as an aide came up beside the guard with a quill and paper. However, before the cloaked man could answer, one of the Ablated started to squirm and shake, making some horrific, lifeless groans. It seemed to be focused on the Balvull at first but soon lumbered towards the driver of the cart. The two guards at the front of the Balvull shifted position to either side of the cart and raised their weapons up at the driver, who had let go of the reins and held his hands up in defense.
[color=red]"Get down off the cart now! Submit yourself peacefully and you won't be harmed. You're aware of the Royal Decree so don't do anything stupid!"[/color]
The cloaked man glanced down at the guard barking orders at him and he flashed a smile from under his hood.
[color=aqua]"Now now good sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I am a simple tra--"[/color]
[color=red]"Get off the cart, NOW!"[/color]
The cloaked man huffed and raised his left hand up, pointing an index finger as if asking for a minute. Turning around and reaching behind him, the 'trader' pulled out a glass vase of herbs which carried quiet the potent stench about them and tossed it down to the guard beside him, who caught it and reeled his head back to try and get away from the smell. The Ablated instantly followed the vase and lumbered towards it, almost trying to bite and headbutt the vase with furious intent. The Ablated was tugged under control by a fouth guard who held the bindings that secured the Ablated.
[color=aqua]"Those are Frowthorn, a crucial ingredient for creating powerful healing antidotes and everyone knows that hey carry a magical aura. It's what gives them their healing powers."[/color]

After a moment of trying to regain himself from the stink of the herbs, the guard with the Frowthorn set the vase down which had continued to hold the attention of the Ablated. With a through search of the cart and of the cloaked man himself completed, the guards seemed happy enough that there was nothing wrong and allowed passage. As the large wooden gates to the city opened up and having his vase of herbs returned to him, the cloaked man whipped the reins across the rump of the Balvull which caused the beast to rumble a disapproved groan out it's throat. Slowly plodding forth, the cloaked man glanced out behind his cart to witness the city guard call a halt to entry to the city, which sparked outrage and panic among the refugees. With a sigh escaping the drivers lips, the cloaked man steered his goods and mount through the main entrance to Dalvestre and made his way for the stables. But before reaching it, the green-eyes man took a detour and steered the beast down a darkened, deserted alleyway. Coming to a halt and hopping down from the cart, the young man glanced either direction to make sure he was alone and out of sight. Confident that he was, the cloaked figure brought his arms up before him and after a short pause, he clapped his hands together. As he did so, the Balvull and the cart vanished in a cloud of smoke which lingered before him, unaffected by the breeze passing through the alleyway. Pulling his hands apart, the green-eyed man clapped them together once more that caused the smoke to condense down into a small neat pile, within which he stuck a hand and pulled out a leather knapsack, causing the smoke to blow away and vanish into nothingness.

[color=aqua]"Risky indeed..."[/color]
The mage muttered to himself as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his cloak, slinging the knapsack over his shoulder. Making his way out of the alleyway, the young mage decided a drink was in order to calm his nerves. The Ablated were so close to catching him this time... Who knew what would have happened if they did? Heading out the alleyway, the cloaked mage made his way towards the nearest tavern... The Stiltwalker's Fall.