From distantly behind him on the road, Vyarin can hear orders being shouted. The steady stomp of greaves in the dirt called out in waves, rising and falling. The column of grizzled Prozdy veterans, armoured and armed, had every simple merchant and traveler crossing them in the road scampering to the side of it to allow them passage. No doubt rumour followed the band of Prozdy men as they wandered from inn to inn, through village to village, bearing their combined arms with them. Could they be invaders, the vanguard of a much larger force come to pillage and raid? It was not for them to know, inevitably. These men are Vyarin's; men bound to defend him as if brothers. They were a prince's retinue, with which no true prince of the League would travel without. They who do tend to find themselves on the unfortunate end of an ambush brought on by a usurper. 

None of them could have predicted just how torturously hot the southern climate was. Did it ever snow down here, where great fields of grass grew, lush and deep green, where the trees stretched up straight into the sky, their leaves wide and flat as fans? Did this land know any hardship? Once the bearer of welcome warmth to chase away long nights, the sun had betrayed Vyarin's host in the night and now beat down on their weary bodies. One league turned into two under the blinding sun, and soon, one step turned into leagues. Occasionally, these great roads would pay host to a pack of mules, each carrying with them saddlebags of valuables. Other times, swift regiments of horse guards would pass by, exchanging brief but informative conversation with the party before going about their way. Neither of these luxuries were available to the Prozdy men. They would have to content themselves with their heavy stress-worn boots and their iron will to keep walking.

Yet, it was not without waste, this forced pace they kept themselves to. At last, before them rose the walls of mighty Astalia's capital, built of yellow-brown stones, that reflected the afternoon sun beautifully, so seamless in its construction that they appear to have grown out of the ground rather than having been fashioned by masons. Above them rose points of shining light, as stars in the broad daylight, the helmets of the garrison soldiers. Behind those walls the peaks of spires and towers rose, thin and coloured in many bright tiles. They were not built to defend against siege. This was, no question, a land of finery and luxury, of stability and excess.  The city itself seemed a bulwark against the sea, placed squarely upon a sheer cliff face at the foot of which waves lapped like dogs. So near they were, that its majesty may be observed, yet it was still unlike that they would actually reach those walls before evening. No good daydreaming about rest now; there was still a ways to go.

The newcomers did not arrive unnoticed. As the column of men approached, more points of light congregated together at the great gate meeting the road. Was it that they were expecting a battle? A worrying thought, that their intentions be misinterpreted. As they drew near, Vyarin could finally take note of those polished helms, and of the men sitting beneath them. Their armour was fine, intricate patterns drawn into them that shimmered in light like the sea they guarded against. In their hands were crossbows and longswords, marvels of engineering by the standards of the League. One of them shouted a few sentences in the Astalian tongue at them. By the distance, Vyarin could not quite make sense of what they were saying; not that he would have understood much of it otherwise. He turned over his shoulder at the band and shouted an order.

"Bring forth one who speaks the tongue!" His words rang out, and were repeated by those immediately behind him. There was some shuffling in the ranks, and one was pushed up to the front. In broken Astalian, the guard and the Prozdy warrior exchanged greetings, and assurances of peace. With some commotion, the gates began to crank open, and his loyal men began to shout and bang their spears on their shields. The ruler of this land will know of their coming.