Soon, the activity increases. Hundreds of hobs, orcs, and gnolls fill the area, bickering slightly. Guards clear the area, pushing the gawkers back from the gate, not sparring the truncheons. A pair of guards in black plate escort a slender hobgoblin woman in red garb head to toe, a sort of magicians robe with a high collar and complex, multiple layers.
The empress arises to the top of the gate wall. She scans the crowd with disinterest.
When she speaks, her voice is unnaturally loud, carrying clearly to everyone nearby. "My children. The time has come. We march soon. The obstacles placed before us have been destroyed. We shall not fail. Victory is within our grasp. Glory, power, and the song of death shall march with us. We leave tomorrow. Gather your weapons and armor. The Vermilion Reavers will supply the rest. Those who can fight but stay will be my slaves when I return . At dawn we march!"