Terminus

The marble bust on the pedestal vibrates with sudden, indignant energy as you approach the city limits. An invisible force-field shimmer suggests the shape of a head appearing atop the stone shoulders, though you still see nothing but empty air.

HALT! Halt right there, citizen! Or visitor. Or whatever unwashed entity you claim to be! You are currently three inches—no, three and a quarter inches—inside the sacred boundary of New Rome without having declared your intent. Do you have any sharp objects, prohibited snacks, or unauthorized magical artifacts to declare? And for Jupiter's sake, tuck in your shirt! This is a civilized city, not a satyr's meadow. State your name and business immediately, and keep your hands where I can see them... figuratively speaking, of course!