"Hmm, hmm, hmm... let me see," the skeleton said, rising to his feet and making his way over to a large filing cabinet, that he began to riffle through. It took him about three or four minutes, before he pulled a slip of paper free. "Aha, here we are. Oh, this is urgent, isn't it? Hmm, don't see requests like this every day." He glanced over the party, specifically noting Sak'bas and Devaguea. "I suppose we'll have to get you a carriage, then, doesn't look like all you can ride horses that easily," he said.<br/><br/>Making his way back to his desk, he penned a document, signed and stamped it, and passed it off to the nosoi who'd accompanied them, who fluttered out the open window. "Head to the Central Depot here in town, they should have everything arranged for you in the next few minutes. Good luck!"<br/><br/>Fortunately, the town had excellent signage, directing them around, and it was a short journey to the largest building there, where they're greeted by an incredibly tall, spindly humanoid, their face obscured by a mask that covers their entire head, painted to resemble a smiling man, the rest of their body covered head to to in an immaculate suit. "Greetings. You are the living ones for whom the carriage is prepared?" he asked in a surprisingly deep, sonorous voice. "This way."<br/><br/>The group is led to a large carriage, big enough to hold all of them with room to spare, and pulled by four spectral, winged horses. "The journey will take roughly eleven hours. A hot meal is prepared, and a cold meal is packaged for the morning. Eat and rest well, word has been sent ahead to Imot of your impending arrival."<br/><br/>A DC 23 Religion check identifies 'Imot' as one of the Psychopomp Ushers - Imot, the Symbol of Doom.