Vanguard, Chapter 24: Wolfe

The dawn was pretty, some might say. The way it glistened in the dew of the green hills; the way it came down in slanted beams trough the leaves of nearby groves; the way it shimmered off the roiling surface of the rivers. Rose hadn't slept a second, so she had the pleasure of witnessing every single moment of this process. Even after all these years of being away from Nightweald, it was still an oddly alien thing, and seemed utterly unnatural... but beautiful nonetheless. Seeing the moon in Nightweald was a great enough thing in itself, but when you've spent most of your life in a land where the sun never rose, seeing it do so was truly indescribable. Sitting by the riverbank, right outside Agatha's house, she didn't want to blink, in fear of missing something important. She watched, staring upwards like a mouse looking out for hawks, the twinkling stars, and how they were slowly, gently pushed away by the dawning sun. The way the dark blue of the sky seamlessly turned into a pleasant red, then orange—just the way it was right now. Only half the sun had ascended the horizon, and Rose could look right at it without being blinded too badly. It was like a great ball of undying flame, creeping up from behind the green hills, shedding its glow all over the world. Rose sat there, her back against the wooden wall of Agatha's house, her feet dipping in the cool waters of the running river, witnessing the dawn. The rest of the world didn't know how spoiled it was, being born into the luxury of seeing a dawn at every morning, and a moon at every night. There were others who were not so lucky.

The river's water was cold, but she didn't mind. Her shoes were soaked thoroughly through, but somewhere, she enjoyed it. The cold was a pleasant change, and she considered going in with her entire body. Would she be swept away by the current to another place, far from here, far from everything? Would she knock her head on a rock on the way there and wake up as a drowned, lifeless body? Maybe she would. Maybe she wanted to find out.

But she was interrupted as the sound of footsteps came from around the corner. She quickly looked up, fearing that it might have been Duncan, and that she would have to face speaking with him again—-she wasn't ready for that. She wasn't even ready to enter the same house as him yet. But relief came washing through her body as she saw who it really was.

“My dear, aren't you getting cold out here?” Agatha's voice was soothing, and the smile on her face even more so. Rose looked up at the old woman from her seat in the grass, felling the cold water on her feet. She looked down at them, and slowly shook her head.

“No. Well, yes, but I don't mind. After spending years in The Wastelands, I've grown a liking to all things cold, really.” she looked up at Agatha, and tried to smile as she spoke. She had no quarrels with this woman... especially not since she reminded her so much of her own mother.
Agatha, with help of a walking stick, came to take a seat beside Rose. Her skinny figure was covered in a poncho of sorts, and a long, thick dress for cold nights. She looked out over the running river, her hands folded together on her lap “So the wastelands are really that bad?” she asked, turning a slow glance towards Rose.

Rose met it for a moment, then looked back over the river “Many would say so. Your son would say so. Ramund would say so too. It's bad, that's for sure, but it has its merits... the silence, for example.” she smiled slightly at the memory of the silent wastes, the endless crisp earth with no one to disturb her “It is always nicely silent out there. No one to talk to you, no one to bother you... some say the silence is maddening. I say it's soothing.”

Agatha took her time to answer. Rose could tell that she was still trying to get over the fact that the war wasn't what she had thought it to be. But in the end, all she could say was a little “Hm.”

“But yes...” Rose found herself a little rock, and chucked it out into the water; it went in with a soft splash “...Your son is right. The Wastelands are a horrible place, for most. There are a few people who don't mind it that much, but... we are scarce.” she shook her head “It's always the same out there. Rookies come flying in by airship, thinking they're going to save the world and come home to praise and parades, but quickly come to realize that they are probably not coming home at all-—not outside a coffin, at least. Most just get burned when they die, but there are a few who get sent home in coffins as well. You write it on your contract, once you sign up, whether you want to be sent home or burned.”

Agatha seemed rather untouched by the subject, and Rose wondered why. Either that, or she was quite good at hiding it. She slowly looked towards Rose, trying a little smile “And which one did you choose then?”

Rose chuckled. She hadn't chuckled in a long time, but now she did “Me? There wouldn't be anyone to accept my coffin. Of all places I wouldn't want to be buried, it would be Nightweald; my home. I have no good memories of that place. I would much rather be burned where out there, with all the demons and sand and broken souls, than in Nightweald.” She looked away, and chewed at her lips. She knew she couldn't tell Agatha why she had been sent to The Wastelands; surely it would change the way she looked at her forever. First impressions and all. She sighed a little and looked back at her, mirroring her smile “But I don't mean to ruin your morning. Are Duncan and Ramund up yet?”

“Oh they've been up since the first light of dawn.” Agatha did a chuckle of her own, far more lighthearted and merry than Rose's “That Ramund-—he may be old like me, but he has a spirit that cannot be broken. Up by the first light, and even did a few exercises to wake properly up. Good graces what I wouldn't do for that kind of vigor.”

“Yes... that's Ramund alright.” Rose slowly stood up, and shook some water off her feet “I think it's time I go join them, then.” she extended a hand to Agatha, to help her on her feet.

“I am certain they would love your company, my dear.” Agatha said as she accepted Rose's hand, and got back on her feet. She stretched out a few joints in her back, snapping them back in place, before slowly making her way around the house, to get to the front door. Rose trailed a little behind, watching the river a bit more. She wasn't quite done with solitude, but she knew that Duncan would come asking for her, if she didn't make herself present. Stuffing her hands down her pockets, she followed Agatha around the house, and stepped inside.

Rose couldn't deny; it was actually pleasantly warm inside. Not the stuffy warmth of The Fairlands at high noon, nor the scorching heat of The Wastelands at any time of day; it was a soft, pleasant warmth from candles here and there, and a hearth in the back of the room. Rose followed Agatha into what seemed like a dining room of sorts, mixed together with the kitchen. There were a few cooking tools here and there, fit for cooking a meal for an entire family. Rose didn't think of it much before, but almost everything in this house was meant for more than one person. Several bedrooms, several floors, extensive cooking tools, and far more chairs than fit for only one person. And it surely wasn't meant for the dog that lay at the floor, giving Rose a curious look with those old and withered eyes. Agatha may have been a pleasant, kind lady... but she was living in the past.

“Oh, a fine morning to you, Rose.” Ramund's voice tore her out of her thoughts, and made her look him in the eyes for a moment. With Duncan at his side, they were both seated at a round table in the middle of the room, sipping at some kind of soup, it seemed; simple vegetables, by the look and smell of it. Rose cast some glances towards Duncan, and their gazes met for a moment too-—but only a moment. Rose felt a jerk in her chest as she looked him in the eyes, and hurried to look away. She felt strangely ill every time she looked at him, and the mere thought of him gave her a strange burning sensation inside of her. Gritting her teeth and lowering her gaze, she slowly pulled out a chair and sat down by the table, offering Ramund a reluctant smile in response to his greeting.

“Want some soup, dear?” Agatha asked, standing before a bubbling cauldron of soup much larger than even this gathering could ever hope to eat... but then again, with a Mjaln at their side, perhaps it wasn't so unrealistic. However, Rose would have none of it. She shook her head.

“No thanks. I'm not hungry.” She could feel the worried look of Duncan upon her, and she could already hear him say 'but you haven't had anything for days', even if he didn't. And she had to agree with that. Inside of her, there was not only the mix of fear and reluctance given to her by Duncan, but also the distinct sensation of hunger. A quiet rumble from her gut betrayed her, and she had to close her eyes for a few moments, silently cursing it. Thankfully, there were no jesting comments; only a bowl of soup. She looked down at the murky substance before her, laid there by Agatha, and at the spoon at her side. She had to admit: she was terribly hungry. With her body leaning over the soup like a prison inmate guarding their meal, she slowly sipped at the warm food, while listening to Ramund speak.

“Rose.” he said. She looked up at him, saw how some soup had spilled unto his great white beard, but tried not to stare “Duncan and I have been considering our next move, and I believe it only apt that you know as well-—it may include you, after all. I don't take it you know of the Tu'Myaa, do you?”

Rose seemed a little puzzled at the name, but there was something recognizable about it. It was only after a few moments that she recalled: the nurses had been telling the inmates at the asylum about these people, like they had told about so many other. She couldn't quite recall the details, but it was something about an alliance between all three Myaani tribes—-'packs' as they called them—-as a means to prepare for war. She remembered the thought of fox-men dressed up in armor to be ridiculous. It was no less ridiculous now.

“I do.” She answered briefly, and took a sip of her soup.

Ramund seemed genuinely surprised for a moment-—clearly, he had prepared himself for explaining all of it to her “Oh! Well that certainly makes this easier. As you might then also know, their largest settlement—-some might even call it their capital—is located nought but an hour's walk from here. While Westport may or may not be a lost cause, we hope that the chieftain of the Tu'Myaa is a bit more reasonable, and will listen to our plea.”

“'Hope' being the right word here...” Duncan butted in. Rose looked briefly towards him, and saw concerned painted all over his expression. His nose was wrinkled, the scar across it seeming that much more brutal, all of a sudden.

“We might not even be allowed inside. The Tu'Myaa, while stoic and noble, are rather overcautious as well, and will rarely let anything non-Myaani in through the gates.” he continued, sighing “According to mother, it hasn't changed at all, since I was last here. The Tu'Myaa and Casserton have a rather troublesome history, where the mayor before our current one once denied all Myaani voting rights, allowance inside of boutiques, and ordered them all confined inside a ghetto in the southernmost area of the town.” he shook his head “Needless to say, the Myaani weren't all that happy about this, and most of them migrated to the Tu'Myaa settlement, where they spread word about how vile and cruel the Casserton mayor was. This was before I was even born, and most have forgotten why Casserton and the Tu'Myaa are at a feud with one another, but still the grudge lingers. It's some stupid political nonsense that our current mayor has been trying to undo, but the Casserton people will remain racist, and the Tu'Myaa will remain stubborn. It will then be up to us, despite the odds, to have them make friends so both can be evacuated north to Moonby Sanctuary.”

How surprising. So it was not all smooth streets and sunshine in Casserton anyway. It made sense, when Rose thought about it. A little village society, full of tradition and blinding dogma that made no space for these furry outsiders. Who would have known that the sweet, serene town of Casserton harbored such a crude racism? Rose smiled a little. There was always something under the pretty facade.

“And as if that was not enough...” Agatha came to sit down by the table, taking a seat beside Rose “...there has been some ghastly rumors going around that have only served to stoke the fires between the Tu'Myaa and the Casserton. Would you believe it if I told you that a man has been murdered? Here? In the streets of Casserton?”

Rose's eyebrows rose, interesting painted clear across her features as she sat there with a spoonful of soup in her mouth. She looked towards Agatha, and saw that she almost didn't believe it herself. The same could be said about Duncan.

“Murdered?” Duncan seemed quite disbelieving, ridiculing even “Mother, I don't think you should worry about rumors like those. The Casserton people may be xenophobic... but murder? Whoever told you this needs to get some cleaner sources.” he said, snorting through his nose and taking another bite of a chunk of bread.

“True or not, the people think the Tu'Myaa did it.” Agatha's shoulders sagged in a sigh as she leaned in over the table, grabbing some bread for herself “And now the racism is at its peak. All Myaani who dare enter Casserton are given suspicious looks, and sometimes even bullied on the streets... or worse. Duncan, you'll find that a lot has changed in your hometown since you left...”
“I can damn well hear that.” Duncan grumbled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. Rose looked between the two, and seemed quite entertained. Ramund, however, seemed more foreboding and disgruntled about where this was going. Rose could tell that he had greater expectations for this town—expectations left unfulfilled, no doubt.

“Rumors or no, the task at hand remains the same.” he said, pushing his empty bowl of soup into the center of the table, indicating he had had enough—-enough soup or rumors, though, Rose couldn't quite tell “I am firmly convinced that when the Casserton people are introduced to thrice count of war veterans with a different view on what is going on out there, and the promise of impending destruction, they will think twice about lingering.”

Duncan rubbed his forehead with his index finger and thumb, sighing “I hope you're right, Ramund. But throughout all this, perhaps it could have been a good idea to bring... well, proof? As it stands, it's only our word against theirs... the other so-called 'veterans', that is.”

“Even a seed of doubt amongst an ocean of lies can make a difference.” Ramund inclined his head, before rising from his chair “Now, I believe our task lies clear before us. I suggest we make off immediately, while there is still time. Spirits will it, these people will see truth in the eyes before the demons come rolling over those hills.”

Duncan pushed his bowl away too, and stood up “Then so be it. I hate to say it, but my hopes aren't high. Casserton is ruled by tradition; everyone has set roots somehow, so tearing them won't be easy.” his eyes fell upon Agatha, and Rose could see a little smile appearing “At least you're more reasonable, mother. While we're gone, perhaps you should start packing the necessities.”

“Necessities... yes yes, alright.” she pushed herself to her feet, supported by her cane, and looked about the place. All the pots and pans and ornaments was something she clearly wanted to keep, but knew she couldn't. With a little frown, she walked off, and began the tiresome process of trying to figure out what was absolutely essential to her. Rose hadn't known this woman for long, but she knew such a thing could take a while. Taking a few more quick spoonfuls of soup to quench the last of her hunger, she rose from her chair and followed Ramund and Duncan out the door.

Outside, in the dawn, Rose felt a silence fall over the three. She liked it. It gave her time to enjoy the world around her, instead of having to deal with facial expressions, choice of words, tone of voice, and looking into eyes of people she would rather be free of. She glanced towards the two now and then, and saw how they were watching the world around them as well. It was a pretty sight, she couldn't deny that. All the green hills with trees atop them, some of them dominated by a single ancient oak, with roots that spread all over the hilltop like a thousand gnarly fingers holding the tree in place. She watched as the red light of dawn came showering down through these trees, shattered into hundreds of little beams that spilled unto the straw roofs of Casserton.

The streets of this serene town were beginning to wake up, now with several farmers moving by, some accompanied by loyal collies at their sides, others by equally loyal cattle or even sheep. It was quite strange how different the place was, as soon as some light fell upon it. At night, it was quiet and calm, the streets empty and the windows dark. But at dawn, the streets were bustling with hay carts making their way over the smooth brick, drivers shouting for people to get out of the way, even if they were bringing an entire herd of cattle with them through the town. And everyone seemed to own a dog, Rose noticed. Which she liked. There was something more honest and pleasant about animals, than people. People were double-sided, always at a risk for stabbing you in the back. But animals were honest. They were open. They were trustworthy. They were so wonderfully... simple.

She crouched down before some of the collies and went to pet them, and most of them just came right up to her, wanting to be scratched. And, of course, she did. She gave them a good scratch behind the ears, and saw their tongues loll out of their mouths in pleasure. That was another thing—animals never asked questions. No man would approach her without asking why she wanted them closer, and would definitely never do so if they knew how long time she had spent in an asylum for the insane. But this dog? This dog just came right up to her, knowing exactly what she wanted to do: scratch it. And it was right. Why couldn't people be a little more like this? Not that she ever wanted to scratch a man behind the ears, of course. With a little pat on its head, she shooed the dog onwards to its master somewhere in the building crowd, and quickly hurried back to Ramund and Duncan.

Duncan and Ramund were standing outside a tavern, she saw from a distance. The stench of booze mixed with the perpetual smell of hay confused her, but she knew that as soon as anyone walked through that door, the sweet smell of hay would be outdone threefold. She slowly approached the two, hands in her pockets, and gave them both a questioning look.

Ramund was the first to speak, as always, and gave her a little smile as he did “Rose, I'm glad you followed. Duncan and I have a vague idea of how we can approach this matter, but your voice would be appreciated... if you would give it to us, of course.”

“What he means is we'd like your opinion on the plan.” Duncan continued, shrugging his left shoulder. Rose noticed how there were a few men who came and left the tavern, those entering usually sober, and those who left: not so much. Duncan leaned up against the wooden wall of the little place, which she deduced to be named 'The Spilled Mug', and adorned with a carving of a mug that had been tipped over, with booze flowing over a table. Rose had long since given up on trying to make sense of these tavern names. This one even seemed to give the place a bad image. Were the customers to expect that their booze was going to be spilled? She shook her head and tried not to think further of it.

“Alright, if you wish.” Rose said, and looked between Ramund and Duncan “Though wouldn't it have been best if you mentioned this while we were safe and sound by the morning table, instead of here, with so many prying ears and eyes?”

Ramund chuckled, his voice like distant thunder “Rose my dear, we are planning the salvation for this town—not plotting an assassination. But time is not on our side, and we may be forced to split, if we wish for this to be done right.” his hazel eyes fell to Duncan “Duncan has volunteered to speak with the mayor, as he is already familiar with the man. And I, I can speak with the Tu'Myaa. The Myaani are tradition-bound folk, and may be more inclined to listen to an old man such as myself.”

Rose seemed a little puzzled, giving each of them a curious look “And where does that leave me?”

Duncan coughed, and thumbed over his shoulder towards the door behind him “We'll need someone to figure out if these murder rumors are true... and as we all know, if rumors were flies, a tavern would be a freshly laid cattle turd. If you're lucky, maybe the barkeep has something to say.”

Rose cringed, and raised her hands defensively “You want me to mingle with drunks and belligerents? Perhaps something in between? You're an idiot. I'm not going in there.” though the thought of investigating a murder did intrigue her, she had to admit. She licked her lips and looked in through the open door of the tavern, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

“...but alright.” she gave in, knowing that there might be little other choice at that point. She looked back at Duncan and Ramund, her lips pursed together and her arms folded across her chest “I'll do it, then. I won't like it, but I'll do it. Rumors and drunk people are my bane, but... for the salvation of the world and the greater good, oh I shall be a martyr, I shall.” her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but deep inside, the prospect of getting a better look at a murder like this one put a silver lining to it all.

“We shall see you soon, in that case.” Ramund said, right as Rose passed “Best of luck.”
Wordless, Rose pushed the door open, and gave a gesture of farewell over her shoulder. She paused in the doorway for a little while, watching Ramund and Duncan drift away, into the river of people, cows, and carts that rolled through the streets. Her eyes lingered on Duncan right up until he was gone completely. With a little sigh, she turned about, and made her way inside.

And as she had expected, the pleasant whiff of hay was drowned away almost immediately, as she stepped through the door. The reek of booze was thick as honey in the air, but nowhere near as sweet. She had to admit, though; it wasn't nearly as bad as anything Westport had to give. Furthermore, it was actually quite neatly arranged and cleaned, in this place. The main hall of the tavern, there were men came in to drink themselves to oblivion, was shaped as a great circle, rather than the classic rectangular form-—an odd change she had not expected, as the place had seemed perfectly square from outside. A few steps brought her down unto the wooden floor, lowered a little from the level of the smooth roads and grass outside, and with the bar itself raised above the bustling patrons. It was full—-of that, there was no doubt, even at this time of day. There was a smell of meat in the air as well, and judging by that and the sight of men and women sitting at tables enjoying platefuls of solid, healthy food, she figured that they served more than just booze in here. Another pleasant surprise. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. She even saw a few children running about here and there.

She walked across the wide circular floor, through the rows of tables, past the patrons that laughed and ate and clamored their mugs together in celebration of something; probably the dawning of another day. As if that was something to celebrate. But maybe... with the coming army of hell, maybe it was. They had best enjoy it while they could, and she was glad to see they did.
Most of them were humans. Far most of them, though she spotted an elf here and there—-the dark as well as the light kind—and even a single Mjaln, towering over the rest like a single adult amongst a crowd of children. She eyed them all, and caught some of their glances back at her... and when they did, they always smiled. Pleasant, welcoming smiles-—not the perverted ones she was used to, from the guards of Section 9. It was almost suspiciously pleasant in here. Even with the smell of booze. It was just the right temperature, the laughter of children filled the air, the patrons were not too drunk... had she not been here on business matters, she may have stayed a while and filled that little gap in her stomach called hunger. Agatha's soup was nice, but it hadn't quite sated her. But it didn't matter. She had gone without food for days before.

She moved to approach the bar, her arms slumping unto the wood, her eyes glancing at those around her; there was a man and a woman chattering with one another, exchanging kisses now and then, and laughing at one another's jests. One the other side of her, there was a man. He seemed like the only one here who wasn't smiling. His lips were hard and stern, and seemed like they were made of stone; the same went for his face. His face was grizzled and bearded, his hair was short and greying, and it was clear that age was getting on him; not anything like Ramund, though, and she figured he must have been somewhere around his late forties, maybe just over his fiftieth birthday. His hazel eyes were drowned into the lingering droplets of booze in the bottom of a wooden mug that he was quietly fingering, his mind obviously not here, not even close. She stared at the man for little while, wondering what someone like him, the only one not laughing, smiling, or clashing mugs was doing here. Her lips pursed, and she turned her attention back to the barkeep who had just found time to speak with her.

“G'morning, miss.” the barkeep was a little woman with auburn hair, dressed in an apron. Her eyes were fixed unto Rose's, but her hands were working on cleaning out a mug with a little piece of wet cloth. Rose looked up into her eyes, and forced out a little smile.

“Good morning.” she responded, trying to put on her kindest voice, even though she was at a sore lack of one “Are you the barkeep?”

“Sure am.” the little woman said. She had a thick Fairlandish accent, speaking all the way from the bottom of her throat “Been so for six years now. You must be new in town. Got a name, honey?”

Rose seemed a little puzzled at being called 'honey', and thoughts of the elf in the top hat came swimming back. It was not said with the same serpentine demeanor, though, and more as if it was something she called anyone and anything-—probably the dogs too. Rose cleared her throat, and spat our a fake name “Beatrice.” she said, just saying whatever first came to mind “I'm not here for a drink, though, so I'll make it quick. I'm with The Crusade, and just recently came home from the front lines.” she lied again, though it was only half a lie—she was nowhere near home “I've been hearing something about a murder in the streets. Can you confirm this?”

The barkeep was silent for a few moments, turning her gaze away, into the bottom of the mug she was cleaning. With a little frown, she turned her eyes back up to Rose “Heard about that, did ya? Sad thing to return to. No one really has any proof of who did it, but we're all pretty damn sure who the culprits are.” her sweet voice carried a slight hint of spite, but no matter how slight, Rose could smell it-—taste it, even “Bloody fox-folk have been getting into our streets more and more where they don't belong. You can tell it was them just by the look on their smug faces, y'know?” her kind smile was long gone by now, replaced by a look of disdain “I never go outside at night without a shank these days. Those furries are some sneaky sons of bitches, and will pounce on you when you ain't looking. Generally, I don't advise going alone at any point.” so the rumors were true, Rose deduced. How interesting. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the barkeep, who shook her head and put on another plastic smile “But don't let that discourage you, honey. You said you just came home from the front lines, did ya? We get a few of your folk, and they're always a blast to listen to. You're the kinda folk who keep us safe and sound, so please, I'll get you a mug—-on the house, of course.”

Rose tried to smile “I don't drink, but thanks.” she cleared her throat “It's true, yeah, I'm from the front lines... it's good to be home.” she cast a few glances to her right, and noticed that their conversation had caught the attention of the grizzled, greying man at her side. He was looking between both of them with shimmering eyes that didn't lie about how many drinks he had had. She tried to ignore him, and looked back at the barkeep “What did the other veterans say? Good things, I suppose?”

The barkeep chuckled, her laughter sweet like honey “Why of course! They all bring such riveting stories of their time on the field, saving lives and slaying demons, almost like a fairy tale come true. Man, if my paps didn't force me to stand around here all day serving up drinks, I'd be off slaying demons in a moment's notice! They tell me that women can't go as easily, but hell, look at you!” she smiled brightly, and gave Rose a friendly, gently punch over the shoulder; she really did not like that, but tried not to show “You must have some stories to tell as well, don't ya?”

Rose felt herself shrink a little inside as she saw how she was gathering a lot of unnecessary attention; there were eyes upon her everywhere, clearly wanting more of these stories they had been fed. She grit her teeth and slowly shook her head “I'm really sorry, but I'm dreadfully tired after my trip here. I'm all the way from Camp Vanguard—-that's the outermost camp, for your information—-and I nearly haven't shut an eye on the trip here.”

“You look pretty haggard too, madam.” the grizzled man suddenly spoke up, and Rose almost jumped at his voice; it was a hoarse and growling thing, almost like listening to the snarl of a wolf—-but he was smiling. Rose looked towards the man and saw a strange look in his eye; was it just the intoxication, or was it something more? He quickly turned to the barkeep and slid over a few coins “Dorothy, get this sweet lady and me a couple of those... what do you call them-—troll ales? Those at the very bottom of your layer, that is.”

“But... I don't dri—“

“Nonsense!” the man interrupted Rose and hurried the barkeep onwards; she quickly grabbed the coins and rolled her eyes, seemingly bothered by having to go look for such an obscure beverage “When you're under this roof, everyone drinks!” his eyes quickly snapped towards Rose, and while she wanted to snarl at him and tell him to piss off, she noticed something strange in his gaze. There was a feral sincerity in them allowing no debate, stalwart like steel and sharp as it too “She's going to be gone for a while. Follow me.” Rose didn't even have time to react before she felt his iron grip around her arm, and she was pulled away from the desk.

“Hey!” she hissed and pulled her arm away, giving him a spiteful, suspicious look “Back off, pig! Look at yourself; you're drunk!”

“And I'll be sober in the morning, darling, but if you keep up that attitude you won't live to see what I'm like when I'm sober.” the man snarled and gripped her arm again. He leaned in close, his voice lowered to a hiss through his teeth “Now I suggest you shut up and follow. Do you see all these eyes looking at you? Not all of them are merry tavern patrons looking for a drink. Some of them are looking for people like you... and people like me. I'll give you all the details out back. Trust me.”

Rose's eyes darted around the place, and only then did she notice there were far more eyes on her than she had thought at first. What did he mean about 'looking for people like her'? As she let herself drag away, she caught glimpses of eyes that did not smile-—eyes of predators, lurking amongst the crowd. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

She was dragged through a few doors going through the kitchen, through the ale layers, and eventually one that led out to a little pig pen. It was a little area tucked in between houses, muddy and reeking of pig shit, and dominated by a single fat pig, half asleep in his eating trough. The sound of laughter and clamoring mugs was a distant background noise by now, and only the sound of boots through mud and the dawn wind could be heard. She cringed at the smell, and rubbed her arm when the man finally let go of her. She stood there for a while, watching him trudge around in the mud and shit, his hand running nervously through his greying hair over and over again. He stopped up abruptly, and turned to her.

“Do you know what you were doing in there, huh? Tell me honestly; do you actually realize what you were doing?” a sneer contorted his lips, wrinkling his face and encasing his piercing hazel eyes. Rose looked into his feral stare for a little while, and saw the general; the general whom she had accompanied until Aegon got the better of him.

“I was asking around, obviously.” she spoke back, a sneer of her own growing on her face “Or maybe you were too drunk to realize that.”

The man snorted “There you go again with that loose tongue of yours. See, that's what's going to get you killed. Not the war, not the demons—your tongue.” he gestured his hand slightly “Indirectly speaking, of course. The hunters are going to kill you, is what I mean to say.”

Rose sneer was replaced by a look of curiosity “The hunters? I'm not prey, you know.”

This time, he laughed “Oh, oh is that what you think? Honey, I admire your gullibility, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to burst that pleasant little bubble of yours—you are very much prey, and you bloody well know it.” he went to lean up against the muddy fence of the pig pen, calloused fingers tapping on his elbows; he was wearing a roughspun tunic of white linen, and trousers to match “Frankly, I'm surprised you're not landfill yet. You are a veteran, right? A real one, that is.”

Rose's heart leaped; was that what this man was? Another veteran? She slowly nodded, saying nothing.

“Then you're already dead.” he picked some meat from his teeth and flicked it to the pig “At least in the mind of Lucius Deum. I knew you were a real one, as you were the only one of them to actually mention the name of a camp—Vanguard, in this case. See, you know what it's like out there, on the field. What it's really like. You've seen all the blood and murder, brought home memories of the filth and endless wastes with no victory, no songs of glory, no anything... that's not what Deum wants his people to think. He wants the whole world to think that The Crusade is all about brotherhood and victory, but you know as well as I how big a pile of bullshit that all is. And that, honey, is the reason he's tracking down folk like us to put a bullet in our skulls in silence in our mouths.”

Rose cringed, and shook her head “You're paranoid.”

“Am I?” the man pushed himself off the fence and walked up to her, intimidatingly close-—close enough to smell the booze in his breath “Look me in the eye and tell me I'm not right. You're smarter than that; I can tell. Maybe you've already seen it? I sure have. I've seen what they do to people like me. I was deployed at Camp Vanguard too once, you know. A bloody lieutenant I was, respected and all—but when the airship came and got me together with seven others, ranks and uniforms meant nothing. As soon as those bastards drop us off in the port of Aegon, we all get these questions, see. Some of those that came with me were utterly ruined by the war; destroyed in the head by all the blood and butchery, but those of us that weren't-—oh, we're the real victims here. We can talk, after all! We can be sensible! We can put up arguments and spread the word of how nasty it is out there! Deum doesn't want that, so if we answer correctly on too many questions: BANG! Right in the fucking head!” his face was a mess, a gun-shaped pair of fingers at his temple and a look of intoxicated madness in his eyes.

“Where were our titles and medals when they put lead in our skulls, huh? I smelled their bullshit from a mile away, and did my bloody best to answer wrong on all their questions; hell, I acted for my life, and made damn sure they would label me as just another looney ruined by the war, so they wouldn't turn me into pig-food. I got lucky. But if you can't watch your mouth, I'm not sure I can say the same for you.”

“And you expect me to trust you, just like that?” Rose stepped backwards, her hands balled together in fists, a defensive and suspicious look on her face “Look at yourself; you're drunk, haggard, and I don't even know your name. For all I know, you could be a crazy old fool with too much booze in your belly and too much dementia in your head.”

“You're partially right, honey.” he spat, a thick splotch in the mud “I'm an old fool, I have too much booze in my belly, you don't know my name, but I can tell you right here and now: I'm one of the few in this entire city-—no, this entire world who's right in the head. Ask Lucius Deum. He'll tell you that-—where after he'll put us down like the dogs we are.” Rose stood stifled for a moment, as he heard him use that analogy. It was the same she had told Duncan in that tavern, on the way to Westport. Dogs of war. That's all they were.

The man sighed, and shook his head “But I can't tell you to trust me... Hell, I wouldn't trust me. If you'll let me, I can dismiss one of your worries, though.” he slowly approached again, this time calmer. He extended his hand, and looked her in the eyes “The name's Edan. Edan Wolfe. I would say that it's a pleasure making your acquaintance, but frankly, seeing you here has scared me shitless.”

Rose looked at the man, Edan, with suspicion, but saw only a man fighting for his life in that hazel stare of his. A survivor, living life with a war that refused to leave him alone. She chewed her lip for a few moments, and sighed, her shoulders sagging. Only then did she accept his hand, and gave it a firm squeeze; his palm was calloused and hard, almost like leather “Rose. No surname.”

Edan let his hand slip from hers, and he snorted through his nose “So not Beatrice anyway, huh? Smart girl. I told most people here my name is 'John' anyway, so good thinking. Switch the two around a few times, and you'll find the hunters here will be fucking confused when some people refer to you as Beatrice, others as Rose.” he ran his arm across his nose, wiping it “Anyway, Rose, you need to watch yourself out there. Did you come alone?”

She shook her head “No. I'm with two others: Duncan and Ramund.”

“'Ramund'?” Edan arched a bushy eyebrow “A mjaln? Shit. He'll be too easily recognizable. What the hell is a Mjaln doing down south anyway? I thought they had ice trolls to conquer, and whatnot.”
She shrugged “I couldn't tell you. He's an over-zealous and gullible idiot, too trusting and kind for his own good. When we were in Westport, he made a friend—-some random woman on the streets, from what I could tell. He shouldn't have. The woman, along with eight other innocents, were butchered by a wild demon in the streets. It was a mess.” the thought of all the blood made her heart beat a bit faster, but she couldn't let it show. She couldn't let Edan know about how the demon got there in the first place... and the look of inquisition in his hazel gaze immediately made her regret ever bringing the subject up.

“Hold up.” he said, disbelief in his voice “You're telling me there's a demon in Westport?”

She had to spin up a lie, and quick “Yes.” her gaze averted “It was a scout for a greater army... look, Edan, we didn't come here for no reason. You've seen the smoke from Aegon, or at least heard the rumors, I'm sure. Would you believe me if I told you that the demons have somehow amassed an unconquerable horde, and are headed right this way?”

For a moment, Edan looked at her to see if she was joking. A little smile perked on his lips, and he was getting ready to laugh. But the look on Rose's face told of no jokes. No laughter. His smile died quickly afterward, and he gritted his teeth “Shit. You're serious, aren't you?”

She nodded somberly.

He turned around on his heel, and ran both hands through his greying hair, taking a moment to comprehend what she just said. However, in the end, all he did was chuckle slightly “Heh. And here I thought our worst enemy was The Crusade itself. Good gods. Squeezed between heaven and hell, it seems. How poetically ironic.” he turned his gaze back at Rose “Unconquerable, you say?”

Rose folded her slender fingers behind her back, and frowned “They said Aegon's walls could keep hell itself at bay. This army proved them wrong.”

Edan sat up unto the fence of the pen, casting glances down at the fat pig at his side, his stern lips squeezed together, paling “Then there must be some kind of intelligent force behind it. Demons don't work like that. They're a bunch of barbaric sons of bitches, and if they could bring down Aegon itself, then barbarism and bloodlust wouldn't be enough. They'd need tactics. Extensive, thorough-thought tactics, in fact. Shit.” he wrinkled his nose as he cursed, then looked back at Rose “If Aegon couldn't hold them back, then The Fairlands will be effortlessly trampled—you do realize this, right?”

“Of course.” Rose leaned up against the wall near the door that lead back into the tavern “That's why we're here to evacuate this miserable little speck of a village, and stuff them into safety behind the walls of Moonby Sanctuary.” she didn't really know why she used the word 'we', as she couldn't care less for the lives of these farmers and cattle—-she just wanted to go home.

Edan chuckled “Well that's a bold move. Need help with that?”

Rose snorted, unsure if he was serious. But this time, it was her turn to realize that he wasn't joking. He looked him up and down, as if measuring and weighing him-—judging him “You really want to help? Why?”

He shrugged, and held out his arms as if to present the world to her “Look around you, honey. If I stay here, I'll be demon-food if the hunters don't get me first. I hate it here anyway... and besides: I'm drunk. This is obviously the best time to make life-changing decisions.” this time, he smiled, and uttered a little chuckle. And Rose, she could only sigh.

“I'm not going to stop you, then. But I'm not in charge of this. Duncan is.”

“And where can I find this 'Duncan', then?” Edan scooted off the fence, and moved closer.
“He's trying to convince the mayor to join us.” she reached out to open up the door to the tavern-—the sound of laughter and clamoring mugs could be heard from inside “If you hurry, maybe you can reach him.”

“I might just do that.” he spoke under his breath, and moved into the doorway. There, he stood for a few seconds, eyes in the dirt. He seemed caught in thought for a little while, before he turned to Rose. His smile was gone, and his face was that of a man who had seen too much in a world too bloody “Watch yourself out there, Rose. It ain't all flowers and sunshine. Keep your head low, and don't attract attention to yourself. I'd hate to see lead between a pair of pretty eyes like yours.” wordless, he closed the door behind him, leaving Rose alone in the stink and mud.

She lingered out here for a while, Edan's voice echoing in her mind. For some reason, he reminded her of Duncan. Was it the Fairlandish accent? Was it the grizzled look of man who had seen what was behind the white picket fences? Or was it because Edan seemed exactly like what Duncan could become, if he didn't let go of the war? She closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed. With fingers entwined and a mind hazed, she slid down the wall and sat into the mud. She didn't mind the filth. She never had.