Thar Shaddin

Elemire Oranrae was a Synevive and an Elf. Her parents had emigrated to Marn in PW217 as young entrepreneurs, intending to create an export/import business bringing Darleone artisan wares to Tian Xia. Unfortunately for her parents, the trade route failure in 215 left them penniless. Both became guards and worked to make a modest living and home for themselves, too ashamed to return to Darleone. True to form, her parents were substantially older before birthing their one and only child. Sadly, they also lost their lives in the magic user riots, leaving a 1 year old Elemire to be raised on a guardsman's survivor's income and a ward of the City.

As a child, she was studious and athletic. Her only goal was to become a guard as her parent's had. After serving the obligatory two years, she finished University then applied for a permanent guardsman position. Today, she had been awarded the rank of G1 and was to meet her patrolling partner.

Pride and excitement filled her. She double checked her gear and her armor before moving to the roster list to see where and with whom she would patrol. Her hair was braided and pinned so it would not be a hindrance.

Another elf stood nearby and shook his head. Vyaduka was well know for his racism. Clapping a hand to her shoulder, he murmured.

"That will be an interesting patrol. Good luck." Mire blinked. Why would he stay that?

Elemire scanned down the roster until she found her name, then her partner's. Vyaduka. She blinked. As in Judge Vyaduka? She nodded.

Azuel walked down the road to the guard post where his patrol was supposed to start. Rather than looking up ahead of him, his head was turned down to the road. He was wearing his helmet, not desiring to carry it the distance. Were it not for the stoic face of the helmet shrouding his expression, it might have looked like he was counting the cobblestones of the road. His armor had been recently cleaned and polished, and he practically shone as he meandered. At least this patrol was in the residential district. It was one of the many perks of helping the man who set the patrols. They were not likely to be called to any action.

It was in this manner that he proceeded all the way up to the doors of the guard post. Through the building, his eyes remained locked to the floor. Eventually, he came to the patrol board. Only hardly taking notice of the guard to his left, also standing near the board, he looked up and traced his finger on the roster list, searching for his name. Eventually finding it, he traced it across to his partner. Names could often be used to glean information about a person, and he wondered what insight this name would reveal.

Elemire Oranrae. That was not a name that he recognized. His gauntleted hand recoiled a bit, causing the metal to clink together like discordant, tiny bells. He could admit that he was lax in his knowledge of the families below the descendant class, but that name sounded suspiciously elven.

He turned around, studying the guard to his left. His breath caught in his throat. He did not dare to ask her name.

Mire stood with her back to the wall, helm under her arm as she waited for her partner to arrive. Her other hand smoothed over her hair once more to ensure the dark brown strands hadn't escaped the braid she'd plaited in it earlier. She had a the stereo-typical elfin build, slim and willowy.

A guardsman approached the roster board and ran his finger down the list of names, stopping on her name. Was this her patrol partner?

She turned to face the guardsman as he studied her. She heard him take in a breath. MIre blinked.

"Are you Guardsman Vyaduka? I am Guardsman Oranrae."

She bowed from her waist and the tail of her braid slipped over her shoulder to dangle perpendicular to the floor. When she rose, she searched his helmed face with a questioning gaze. Her eyes were a light green circled with a dark ring around the edge of the irises.

"It appears we have the residential district today. Shall we?"

Azuel’s shoulder rolled uncomfortably, jostling the strap that slung his musket over his shoulder. An elf was not the worst creature he could have been partnered with. Counting on his helmet to continue to mask his features, he relaxed the political control he had instinctively weaved across his face and scowled. At the same time, he half-hoped that this Elemire would notice the expression though his visor. He even lowered his head slightly so that she would find it easier to see his eyes.

“Yes. Very well.” He said simply, walking roughly for the door. Whatever grace his movements might have once laid claim to had vanished beneath what came alarmingly close to stomping. When he got to the door, he shoved it open before realizing how obviously rude he was being.

He sighed, the heavy breath condensing on the inside of his helmet, as waves of guilt washed over him. There was nothing to be done for it. He couldn’t just turn around and hold the door open or something. It would look inconsistent, even idiotic. Azuel did not fully understand his own actions at the moment, but he knew above all else that he could not give an inch.

Instead he flung the door wide open so that it would be plenty wide enough for her to pass before it closed. If she didn’t make it, that was her problem.

Teonidus, what was he doing?

Mire's brows lifted. He carried a musket? Weren't those things a little dodgy in the performance department? The man wore his helm and had the face plate down. She couldn't get a good look at his face, but he tucked his chin down and stared at her through the visor.

His eyes were green. His lashes were black. That was about all she could see. Mire offered him a smile before lifting her helm and tucking it on her head as well.

"A musket? That's unusual. Aren't those gnomish devices a little suspect?" She grinned at him, face framed by the metal of her helm. She hadn't lowered the bottom plate. "Aren't you worried it'll blow up in your face?"

The man turned and stomped off. Mire's smile faltered and she blinked. Had she offended him by questioning the usefulness of the weapon? She gave a shrug and followed after him. He shoved the door open and flung it back with a crash against the wall. The door vibrated and slowly began to close.

Mire's brows lifted again and she wore a dubious expression. Maybe he was just one of those pissy men. That must be what the other guardsman was talking about. Mire sighed and easily side-stepped the closing door. Just what she needed a man with a woman's moodiness.

Well, nothing to do but get through the next eight hours. Mire squared her shoulders and fell in step beside her partner. They'll just have to work it out. As guardsmen, they had to have each other's backs in a pinch. It just didn't do to have guard against guard in public.

The pair walked in silence, naturally falling in step with each other. Drills did that to a person. Around them, the city bustled. Deliveries were being made. Commerce happened. Scenery changed and now they were in the quieter Residential district. It was a cushy patrol for grunts like them. Mire wondered how they managed to get it. She cut a glance at Vyaduka and realized his name probably had something to do with it. Wouldn't do for a Descendant to get roughed up in the line of duty now, would it?

Mire snorted. "Tch."

Her eyes widened and she made face. Maybe he didn't notice...

He disliked the way she so easily fell into step beside him. Exploiting his helmet’s poor visibility for all it was worth, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Did she not understand that they were not friends? He dared to hope for a moment that his rude demeanor had passed her by entirely.

Azuel heard her snort, and heard it well. The sound rampaged in his head like a caged tiger, and her disdain cut him deeply. His face was reduced to static marble beneath his helm, but his armor suddenly seemed very warm. That his poor conduct had led an elf to pass judgment on him was difficult for Azuel to bear. His head swam with a thousand contradictory ideas and dozens of poor solutions. Elves were a tainted race, scarred and warped from humanity’s ideal path by changer’s magic. Many even had the gall to take pride in it. And yet even despite that, this elf had made him into the less noble of the pair. He could hardly believe it.

At least it seemed Elemire was no so altered. With her helmet on and the visor raised her ears were as unseen as his features. All he could see were small traces of her silky brown hair and comely face which, though unmistakably elven, seemed somehow so relatable.

He caught himself staring at rich, full lips, having unconsciously turned his head to examine her more directly. Though screaming at himself on the inside, he slowly turned his gaze back to the ground. Only the occasionally twitch of his eyes would let anyone know where his thoughts might have wandered.

He had to correct her no doubt negative fist impression. His hands tensed at the thought of making conversation, and for several moments he continued to hesitate. He breathed in through his nose to fill his lungs for the monumental task before him, which had the added benefit of stalling their imminent dialogue.

“...It is stable.” He said eventually. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He was a little surprised at how smooth his voice sounded. He supposed he had his sister to thank for that. After holding numerous conversations with her, controlling his voice here seemed like child’s play. However, he refrained from turning his gaze back to her features. “At least for gnome craft. The captain has something similar.”

Only the best for a Vyaduka, he thought, sending a lance of guilt into his gut. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of nepotism, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse the rewards. This elf was right to despise him. His head lowered a fraction of an inch.

Vyaduka turned his head to study her as they walked. Mire glanced once or twice from the corner of her eye, wondering why he stared at her. He really was an odd one, wasn't he?

"Oh, that's good." A brow raised and she stole another glance at him. What might have been the start of smile flirted with her lips in the form of a half quirk of her mouth. "I'd hate to think I'd have to save my partner from his own weapon."

Mire nodded.

"Mmhm. He carries a West Gnomian aught 44. Still, though, I'd rather just use our standard issue mace or sword." Mire patted her mace proprietarily. "And, if I had to do distance, give me a good sturdy bow. " A grin split her lips and she turned her head to Azuel.

"Heyyyy, maybe we could do some target practice when we're on training time." Mire stuck her tongue out at him before grinning and giving him a wink and lift of her chin. "2 Bishies say I'll get more center marks with my bow than you'll get with that thing."

Azuel blinked and stopped walking for a moment. Her continued sociability was only making him feel more and more uneasy. Part of it was the content; Azuel had plenty of reasons to disagree with the notion that he might need saving. It was an emasculating thought and called into question his basic competence. She also called attention to her skill with a decent variety of conventional weapons. They were the weapons of people braver than he. Azuel did not know the first thing about her, but he could guess that she was faster with a blade than he was. It was yet another reminder of the nepotism that let him coast through his instruction, using only the musket’s blunt end and a wooden bayonet in the training ring.

The other source of his anxiety was her sociable, if unprofessional, conduct. The sight of her playful winks and grin caused Azuel to cringe.

Worse still, she had invited him to target practice. On one hand, he knew that his chances of anything approaching victory were slim. He was a decent shot but nothing noteworthy, and when in the hands of a more skillful wielder he suspected that the “good sturdy bow” which she would bring to the range would outperform his musket. There were many advantages to be gained from firearms, chief among them the drastically lower amount of training required for use and dual utility as thrusting spears with the addition of a bayonet. In the case of revolvers such as the captain’s, rate of fire came into play. None of them gave him any edge on a range. But by Teonidus, he did not want her to know just how far below average he was when it came to military prowess.

He raised his visor and glared at her. “We’re on patrol. I’m not here to socialize.” He ground his teeth together and his heart rate picked up, “And anyone who has gone through training should have figured out the bow is a more accurate weapon.”

It wasn’t a terribly convincing argument. She was probably smart enough to know that muskets like his were plenty accurate so long as they had proper ammunition. Then again, he doubted she had wielded one. Maybe he’d get lucky and she would simply accept his word on the matter.

He sighed, letting his hand drop from his helmet, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. As if to match his melancholy, the visor dropped a couple inches. There went any chance of joining her for a friendly round later. He suspected he would spend the rest of the day wondering if he had burned a bridge he shouldn’t have. He brushed his hand against his face, wondering if he should try to rescind his declaration and accept the offer.

At the sound of his raising his visor, Mire turned grin wide. "Good, 2 bishies and a pitch... " Vyaduka snapped at her.

"... er."

The happy-go-lucky look on her face dropped like a stone and she turned to face the road ahead of them.

"Yes, of course. My mistake." Her new rookie syndrome had gotten the better of her. Mire'd been looking forward to going out on patrol, making a comrade-in-arms connection, and building rapport with her partner. She hadn't meant to turn it arse end up. "My apologies." Embarrassment burned in her eyes, cheeks, and even across her chest.

Instead of cringing inward, though, Mire did what she always did. She stood straighter, put her shoulders back and her chin up. Soldier on!

For a good thirty minutes, Mire managed to stay quiet. She was ebullient by nature, a never-give-up type, and 30 minutes was a long time for her.

"Hrm." She cleared her throat.

"If you have had this patrol before, would you please share any particulars I may need to know for future patrols, Guardsman Vyaduka?" They were nearing the Memorial Gardens and headed toward the University, where they would make a right to continue a perimeter through and around the Residential district.

She was cute when she blushed.

Azuel quickly snapped down his visor and slouched forward so she wouldn’t be able to think the same thing about him.

He then made the best of the half hour she was quiet. That is to say, he spent it worrying about how he had handled the situation. Whatever he had been hoping to achieve, it was apparent that the silent treatment was not conductive to achieving it: he felt every bit as uncomfortable as he had when she was speaking. After his outburst, he couldn’t help but feel like it would be extremely awkward for him to restart conversation. He tried to think of a good way of starting one anyways, coming up blank for the entire walk.

They walked to the memorial gardens. He looked out over the grass, blowing in the morning wind. His footsteps slowed to a crawl. The names of dead guards dotted various memorials.

When she eventually cleared her throat Azuel’s soul did a little jump for joy. It immediately crashed back to earth when her inquiry turned out to be asking him for simple advice. He, an undedicated guard who had hardly been serving half the year, had none to give. Her approval mattered to him. Even though he did not realize the nature of his desire, he decided that she couldn’t know any more about his inexperience.

They passed the statues. Many men and women passed under them, carts brimming with trade goods and children running off to school, their small hands full of books.

Azuel, on the surface the picture of calm, broke from the center of the road and moved through the crowd with surprising ease. He walked up to the statue of his great, great grandfather and placed his hand at the base. Time had rendered the design of his gauntlet very different from the great stone gauntlet above him, which he admired with caring eyes.

“You ask me for ‘particulars’ at the feet of giants” he responded, his teeth ironed together, “And I have none, save to live up to their example.” He turned to face the elf, whose name he had by now forgotten, and turned his hands up to the statue before him. “These men have been represented as giants because of the scope of their trials, trials that they matched with their own will. They overcame whatever challenges the world threw at the Puradyne faith.”

A cart rumbled past the pair, its wheels spinning in haste as the drive bade his horse to move more quickly. The trotting beast carried the trader off down the road. Azuel watched as it left.

“Now they stand here, ignored by the masses they saved. Their will for a safe, stable puradyne community gradually trampled by those who simply ignore it.” He didn’t hide his glare from her. He wondered if she was puradyne. “This patrol is the residential district. I don’t know what tricks you want from me. I don’t...” He was suddenly, painfully reminded that he was only here because he had arranged for the easy patrol to fall into his lap. “...We’re not... I’m not here to...”

“There are few enough crimes committed here. Fewer still reported to patrols. I... I think you figured that out. We’re not here to stop events that-” He struggled to find words for a moment “that aren’t even happening. We’re here to remind them of these men, no matter how many ignore their sacrifice. To ignore what they stood for.”

He turned and stalked off down the street. The musket rattled on his shoulders, another mark of the passage of time. He left a parting shot for both her, for her elven heritage, and himself, for his failings. “I think that includes you and me.”

A few of the children greeted them and ran off on their way to school. Mire smiled dotingly and admonished the children to be good. That's when Vyaduka veered left and headed to the statue of one of his ancestors.

He began to speak, which meant that maybe he was warming up to her. Apparently, all she'd had to do was ask for his advice. Mire filed the nugget away for future reference.

She allowed her gaze to be drawn upwards toward the face of the stone statue. Giants? Mire cut a glance at Azuel. He sounded a bit passionate, but she could understand that. Hadn't her parents been proud Marnians? Hadn't they given their lives for Marn?

Vyaduka started to stalk off and Mire jumped into following him. A few long strides and she caught up to him. Her equipment clanged a bit as she moved hurriedly toward him.

"Women. You forgot " and women." Mire hadn't taken his speech for human over other races, despite the constant references to Puradynes. "And, you know, that is sort of why I became a guard? Both my parents were guards. They were killed in the Riots."

Azuel paused at her response, standing up tall in surprise. She thought he was some kind of misogynist? He wanted to dismantle the notion as fast as possible, and began suddenly stuttering, “That’s not what I— that is to say—” He threw his hands up into the air and picked up his pace. “Argh! Never mind, we’re probably behind schedule now.”

Elves! Maybe they didn’t understand their own corruption as some sort of... defense mechanism. Or something.

He quickly and privately chastised himself for harboring such incredibly dense thoughts and moved on, accidentally ignoring her thoughts on the matter of his speech and confession about the deaths of her parents. While he at least recognized that she had spoken, he simply assumed the worst: that she had been commenting, probably negatively, on his little speech.

He wondered, if he turned to look at her face, what her expression would reveal. Hate? Scorn? Pity? He grimaced and marched even more quickly down the road. There was nothing to be done for it.

Vyaduka stopped short, so much so that she almost ran into his back. She quickly took two steps back.

He stuttered out a few words.

She blinked in confusion.

He threw his hands up into the air, said something about schedules, and took off again.

"Hey... wait!" This time she had to run a little bit, but managed to fall into stride beside him once more.

She didn't think he meant anything bad about her parents. After all, how could he know? She clapped a hand on his shoulder, as any comrade would.

"It's ok, you know. Some of the guardsmen knew my parents, but not everyone did. I didn't think you meant that their sacrifice was any less than those who'd established Marn."

She turned her head as they passed a street on their left. Her hand fell and she pointed back over her shoulder with her thumb. "Aren't we supposed to take that street?"


She nodded. Chin up. She was proud of her parents.

Azuel suddenly got the feeling he had missed something very important. Her hand was on his shoulder and she was telling him something about her parents. He hadn’t been aware that the topic had shifted to that direction or for that matter how it had reached that point. As far as he was aware, he had just insulted her. By contrast, she was treating the situation like it was some kind of bonding experience. Slowly calming and steadying his breath, he realized there must have been a dramatic miscommunication somewhere along the line.

He swallowed, grateful that his grandfather hadn’t yet seen him at depths as pitiful as these. He swallowed both as an expression of nervousness and figuratively swallowing his pride, before he turned his full attention to her.

He only caught the conversation at its tail end, but managed to surmise enough. Her parents had been guards and suffered loss in the line of duty. He was scared to ask more: as much as he might like to know if her parents were merely wounded or deceased, he suspected she had already told him while he had been... he struggled to admit it, but he had been panicking. He could only pray to Teonidus that nobody had recognized him for a Vyaduka.

She then suggested that they take the street he had come dangerously close to passing. It was a lonely road that wound around to the lake, and fairly barren of visitors at such an early hour. He had taken the route before, and said “Yes. That’s the way we need to go.” He awkwardly stumbled in that direction for his first step, pulling his shoulder out from under her arm.

Profoundly miserable, he did not speak. He debated flipping down his visor again, but realized how such an action could be interpreted. Instead he turned his thoughts inwards and walked forwards, mechanically placing one foot in front of another. Eventually, this took them to the water’s edge.

He began to piece together bits and parts of their dialogue, gradually growing in his comprehension of the situation through his worry-fueled analysis. Now back in control of his thoughts, they began to take an insidious course. He wondered at the arrogance of the elven girl, who compared her ancestors to the great descendant forefathers of Marn. He did not believe their sacrifice could ever be equal to that of those who had founded the city, denying magic and the entire rest of the world in the name of their faith.

But then, what could one expect of a demihuman. His Descendant ancestry was simply greater than hers. Azuel even privately acknowledged that, were he in her place, he would find it hard to admit that the sacrifice of his parents had ultimately accomplished less. He felt a flood of relief at the sensation of his ideology’s safe return, and it showed as his steps returned to something approximating their usual grace.

Vyaduka shrugged off her hand and she let it fall. Mire blinked, but stayed silent, following him in confusion.

To banish the confusion she focused on the patrol instead. She had been talking too much again. So what if they were there just for show? Their presence meant the children could go to school unmolested, that young women could feel safe on the street alone.

What the guard did was a good thing!

So, Mire kept her gaze sharp and her hearing sharper.

"I.. think I hear something." She put up her hand as if to ask him to still. There was a muffled sound and voice crying out.

Mire getured with her hand, index and middle finger pointing just off to their left ahead, in a small wooded area that lined the lake. She slipped the mace from its holster and carefully and softly moved toward the sound. What in the...? She slipped the helm from her head and fastened to her belt so she could hear better.

Mire was being cautious, as she should. First rule, assess the situation. Second, bash heads. Unless you need back up, then you blow the whistle. Then, bashing heads was acceptable.

The limbs of the ornamental bushes closed around her and she moved forward again. The sounds were getting louder. Mire was hard-pressed to hold back. That girl sounded like she was in trouble!

Mire stepped into a clearing, lifted her mace, and froze.

Two young people, one an elf and the other a human, were having sex right there in the Memorial Gardens! What?!

The woman, the elf, was on top, the upper part of her dress pushed down to her waist. Her skirt was covering the man underneath her partially. His pants were pushed down to his ankes and his shirt was thrown off to the side. If she hadn't been so appalled, Mire might have thought the scene beautiful and if she admitted it, a little arousing, but that was beside the point. Both were so in the moment, they didn't even realize they'd been found.

Color flooded Mire's face and even her ears, from annoyance and embarrassment. Her mouth moved a few times. She looked around to Vyaduka. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. If it were possible, she blushed even more.

"Wh-wha- whatdoyouthinkyouaredoing?! Does this look like a brothel! Get moving before I take you in for public indecency!"

The pair jumped, the girl falling off to the side on to her butt, legs akimbo showing everyone what Teodinus had given her. The guy, embarrassed, couldn't stop what had already started and covered himself with his hands, squinching his eyes closed tightly and rolling over to the side. The girl was already pulling up the sleeves of her dress, tucking her breasts away. She grabbed for the guy's shirt and his arm.

He scrambled and stumbled on his pants, skipping and hopping, wiping his hands, trying to pull up his pants, all at the same time. Things bounced. Mire stared then looked away. She may as well get used to seeing those, now that she lived in the barracks...

Mire waved the mace in the young couple's general direct. "Get! Get!" The crashing of brush told her they'd left. Still wide eyed, Mire exhaled a heavy breath and dropped into a crouch, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Of all the..."

"Come on!"