Black Fire Pass has ever been a double edged sword because of this scarcity of accessible routes through the Mountains. It is at once a chink in the armor of the Empire, a sure path for invading armies, and also a vital trade route connecting the Empire with the remaining Dwarf Karaks, Tilea, Estalia, and the wild Border Princes. Black Fire Pass stands at the centre of a triangle, its points roughly signified by three great Dwarf Karaks, though men of any kingdom weren't pirvvy to their exact whereabouts. Even the traders met with their Dwarfen contacts at proxy locations. 

The pass itself was a strange mixture of life and death. Jagged rocks marked the lanscape, some became sharpened peaks that touched the clouds, stacked atop burnt stones the color of singed flesh. Tufts of grass sprang forth on the ground, a few areas were almost fields in a small way, trampled and ruined but still alive and breathing to live another year. Areas of the pass were actually charred and rent from mortar shells and dangerous magics from previous battles fought in the bottleneck. Large groups of merchants and dwarfs, and even greenskins traveled through Blackfire every week, and Sigmar himself here fought the decisive battle so very long ago to forge the Empire of Man into the Juggernaut it was today. 

Amal knew none of this, and even if he had, he would not be very impressed. After one saw the things he had, this was par for the course. Even before he shacked up with his bountiful woman Emmaline, the deserts of Araby were places of dread legend and harsh realities. His penetrating gaze watched the peaks around them, treating them like dunes that could hide all manner of bandits or monsters. At his side was Emmaline, sitting her rump on one of the wagons after coercing Heisenbach the merchant to let her make a bit of room. Amal did not mind walking. It helped him keep an eye on their surroundings, particularly the hard eyed caravan guards, the three dwarf slayers, and the two ogre mercenaries that rumbled along with them. None were likely going to the same principality, but all were trying to find fortune in the Border Kingdoms. A land of competition, Emmaline had told him. It sounded fun to the bandit. 

As they moved towards the mouth of the southern portion of Black Fire Pass, they passed by a huge monument. A shrine to Sigmar, made in the form of an obelisk five stories high, framed by everflame braziers that would continue even under seasonal typhoons. Before the obelisk was a statue of Sigmar as the barbarian king he was, holding aloft Ghal Maraz. His face stern and resolute, and the trees beside it the shrine were littered with greenskin skeletons to serve as a warning to any future invasion. Of course the warnings didn't work with a race as insane as the greenskins, but it was a nice touch. 

"I like your people." Amal said to Emmaline, admiring the statue in his own way. "They do not fuck around."