The days of High Lord Methrammar were done. Somewhere, in the place where souls wander, Alustriel was tearing her hair out at the monster that now sat on her throne.
Well, you should've reared another brat, Alustriel, thought Shakairra Romazi, looking out into the dark plains that swallowed the little city of Loudwater, on the other side of the Far Forest from the new High Lord's kingdom, a once great land called Luruar. Shakairra could be on the other side of the world from Luruar and still feel too close and slimy.
The guard sharing her watch tonight was rambling as they made their slow trek atop the walls of Loudwater, called that only because of the pounding waterfall half a mile away that had once been the glory of the city until goblins arrived. Devian Green, he was called. Everyone thought it appropriate to call him Little Lime on account of his name, his size, and his inexperience with anything sharper than a wooden sword.
"When the first snows come, you can't keep the children in the house without chains," Devian chattered. "They're always pelting each other with snowballs and building snow soldiers and forts. The clever ones make sleds of wagons and go sliding down the hill. We celebrate Midwinter by having sled races, one for children and one for the men, though the men are usually drunk. It makes for quite a show!"
Shakairra stole a look at the indigo sky. Wow. Night's end cannot come fast enough.
She kept her eyes to the horizon, especially when they came upon the west wall, the nearest to the Far Forest. It's not nearly far enough, she thought. Why did her horse have to die on her when she'd barely gotten out of the country? Sure, it'd been old with only one eye and she'd ridden it as if the Nine Gates of Hell were at her heels, but it had still been a stroke of rotten luck. She'd hoped the horse wouldn't give out on her until she'd be able to buy a new one, but it'd been swept away during a river crossing, with almost all of her coins and food. After stumbling into Loudwater she soon realized that, short of beggary or thievery, she needed a job to get the coin required to continue her journey. That was why, two weeks later, she was walking a wall to protect a city she had every reason to hate.
"Why go sledding so close to goblin territory?" she asked.
"Why not?" Lime replied, taken aback. "During the day, under heavy guard, why not let the children have their fun?"
"Ask the twenty people that've gone missing in the past month. And there's little fun in a goblin raid."
"Goblins are cowardly creatures. They run at the first drop of blood. I guess you wouldn't know that."
She paused and glared at him. "Why wouldn't I know that?"
His brow crinkled. "You're from the city. Goblins don't attack cities. Silverymoon hasn't faced an orc threat in...fifty? Sixty years?"
"Seventy-four."
He stared after her as she continued the slow walk. "Seventy-four, right. I was about to say that."
"Of course you were."
Shakairra clamped down on her smile as Little Lime scrambled to catch up to her. Hateful glares and passive aggression she was used to; the uncommon fluster mixed with fear always made her laugh. Why not? Tieflings had little reason to laugh, especially these days in Luruar. Everyone liked to call the red-skinned, horned, tailed, and pointy-teethed humanoids "demons", despite the fact that they were humans. The only difference between Shakairra and Devian was that her ancestors had been nobles of the ancient and ruined empire of Bael Turath and had made blood pacts with devils for power and glory.
"It's a shame you won't be here for spring," Devian continued. "The wildflowers bloom all across the fields like a thousand rainbows springing from the earth."
"How poetic," Shakairra commented, flicking her tail-which was almost as long as she was tall-and kept her eyes to the darkness. It was hard to imagine any color in Loudwater, though maybe that was just being in the tail end of Uktar, the month commoners liked to call the Rotting. There was nothing but blackness outside the walls, nothing but grey within. Short, thick buildings leaned against each other, squatting over the shit and mud streets freckled with rocks. The people sleeping soundly in their straw mattresses were just as dull and hard.
Devian glowed. "Thank you!"
So passed another long, tiring evening. Shakairra would've given much and more for a glimpse of a goblin's shadow, if only to add a little excitement to this empty chapter in her life. She'd never seen a live goblin or orc before. Her days as an infantry soldier of Sundabar had sent her to counter the raids off the Nether Mountains. Humans and shades from Netheril, the neighboring kingdom with a sour relationship with almost every other nation in Faerun, liked to attack the little villages and towns that rested between the city of Sundabar and the shadowy mountains. While the camping was uncomfortable and the skirmishes brutal, Shakairra would've done it again in a heartbeat to get away from this, if she wouldn't be exiled, treated as a second-class citizen, or even killed by her own countrymen for no better reason than her horns and tail.
As the sun peaked over the horizon, Shakairra leaned her trident and shield against one of the guard towers and stretched her sore shoulders. No matter how much she wore mail and leather, it still felt like rocks were hanging from her back at the end of the day. The ache was a familiar comfort to her, though, an old friend in a strange place.
People were emerging from their homes to face the day as she descended the little wooden staircase within the wall. Most people ignored her. Many glared at her. A few whispered crude jokes behind their palms.
Shakairra marched to the barracks, her boots making a squish squish noise in the fresh morning mud. Loudwater's barracks were divided into three rooms: dining room/kitchen, men's sleeping quarters, and women's sleeping quarters, which were considerably smaller than the men's.
The morning watch was diving into eggs and burned bacon when Shakairra made her way to the women's chambers. Personals were stuffed beneath the few cots that were elevated by wooden poles or they were shoved into the corner for those who slept on the floor. Shakairra's bed fell in with the latter as she set down her trident and unstrapped the shield from her arm. It was an old little thing, just big enough to cover her squat torso. Small spikes created a dangerous border around a dark red-almost black-center. There was no emblem, no other colors. Just spikes and that dark red. Shakairra had used to loathe wearing this instead of one of the glittering shields of Sundabar's military, shining with the crests of their gods or houses. Now she was eternally grateful for her father's pushiness.
Footsteps overcame the sound of Shakairra's mail jingling. She turned her head to see a human archer toss her bow onto her cot and start gathering her things.
It was one of the Lumber twins. Shakairra had never been able to tell the two apart except for now. "Captain Wil found out about your lover, huh?"
Miri Lumber jerked her head up, startled, then smiled. "I told him. Alain and I are getting married." She brushed a strand of mud-colored hair behind her ear and resumed cramming her belongings into a bag.
"Congratulations." Loudwater allowed its guards to be in a relationship, but if the lover was also a guard one of them had to be suspended to avoid complications and embarrassment. There was no shame in love. There was shame in fucking your boyfriend at work.
Shakairra changed into a soft cotton shirt and pants, stretched out on her cot, and closed her eyes, hoping to dream of better days.
A war horn pulled her into a sitting position an hour later and shoved her back into mail and leather. The deep wail bled through the walls, and as Shakairra grabbed her spear and shield she realized it wasn't one of the guard's horns, the ones made of iron or bronze. This was a hunter calling for help.
Shakairra burst out of the barracks with half the other guards, all in various stages of undress. They rushed to the north, to the gate, but the call was coming from the south. They probably wouldn't make it in time, not if it was hunters who needed help. Unarmored, with crude weapons and a small party...the guards would find corpses instead of friends.
Swearing, Shakairra jammed her spear into its holder on her back and sprinted south, to the market. One of the restaurants had tables outside so customers could enjoy the sun while it was still warm enough to counter the biting autumn winds. She leapt onto one of the tables, ignoring the girls' screams and men's curses, and jumped from that onto the low roof of the restaurant. It was a ten-foot distance, diagonally, but she had room to spare as she sprinted down the length of wooden roof and hopped from building to building. When she neared the two-story home of the mayor, she raced towards the dwelling, scaring the mayor's wife out of her wits as she charged the window, jumped, and clung onto the edge of the roof with her nails.
We really need a southern gate, she thought, clawing her way to the top, pushing herself to her feet, and resuming her race. The wall was only a couple feet higher than the second-story building. In the background one of the guards demanded to know what the hell she was doing. Shakairra swung over the thick stone railing of the wall and fell.
Her bones rattled and it felt like spikes were ripping up the soles of her feet. Shakairra pulled out her trident and ran to the sound of the fading horn.
