By the time he reached the border checkpoint, he was out of both rations and liquids. He was tired, parched, and hungry.
Dullahan was sincerely hoping for a quiet and relatively empty checkpoint, but for one reason or another, it seemed to be bustling with activity. A quick glance informed him that there were at least three platoons present, each bearing a separate heraldry, and all armed to the teeth.
Great. He just walked right into a session for international negotiations.
While he was still beyond the vision of the nearest troops, he managed to scrunch out his torn-and now very worn- map. Luckily for him, he could make out just enough of the heraldries to figure out where they were from: Celestia, Alistel, and Cygnus. Suffice to say, security was going to be tight; Dullahan hoped that he didn't look suspicious enough to warrant getting himself into trouble.
Unfortunately for him, he was rounded up by two members of the border patrol almost immediately.
"State your business..." one hissed, eyeing Dullahan from head to toe, then spat on the sand next to them. Dullahan eyed the guard's armband- pure white; possibly representing neutral border guards. "... Tch. It's a damn Cygnan. You with the lot?" the guard pointed a thumb at the Cygnan platoon behind him.
"No, actually. I just want to pass through. I have business in Granorg."
"Ha. Hear that? Says he wants to go to Granorg." The other guard chuckled in response.
"Hope you have papers."
Well, shit. That was something Dullahan hadn't considered.
"Normally, we would've let you go, you know? But we do have some big shots over there in the Fortress, so we've gotta buck it up. Wouldn't want this to be an international problem, right? You see where I'm going with this?"
Dullahan kept silent.
"Means you're trespassingunder the Code of Summits. You get to meet all the bigwigs to explain yourself. Isn't that just fun?"
"... I reserve the right to self-represent, I hope," Dullahan said coolly, trying to calm his anxiety and not flip out. He could easily break free of these two, sure, but that would mean summoning the wrath of three entire platoons at his face, and tighter border security.
And thin out his chances of slipping into Granorg.
The guard seemed annoyed when Dullahan did not bend to his authority, and swiftly ran a steel gauntleted fist across the trespasser's face.
Hey.
Dullahan winced at the voice; it was far too loud, and far too close for comfort. Much like it was being spoken in his head.
What are you?
He scrambled his thoughts in an attempt to find an answer. He had none. He did, however, concluded that it was the voice of a little girl. The last time he remembered a voice in his head, it was nowhere as high pitched as this one.
He waited for the voice to say something again, but it never came.
The thick stench of urea and iron drove him awake, bringing with it a massive headache. His hand reached up to his temples where the guard hit him, and he made contact with caked blood as a reward. He let out an unwilling groan, and he heard footsteps coming in his direction.
He turned, addressing the jailer with a nod; and the jailer nodded in return.
"Sorry about the head. Some of the fresh recruits were from Granorg, see, and they didn't get along well with Cygnans." Dullahan eyed the jailer; he couldn't possibly be over twenty years old. Mighty young for the post... He was under the impression that only those who garnered full trust from the top could be one; the one he had regular drinks with back home- the manorial jailer- was well into his late forties… and packed with an indomitable will, to boot.
Unless this young chap was part of the war effort.
"You're up in two hours with the council. It might be a bit intimidating at first, but I assure you that you're in good hands," the jailer said with a smile. "Just let them know what you've gone through, and they'll let you out in no time. ... Well, because you're not the first case, mostly."
Quite a chatterbox, isn't he?
"... Hey. Have we met somewhere?"
Dullahan's eyebrow raised, but shrugged.
"Oh well. Just give me a holler once you're done with the council- they'll probably release you on the spot." He tipped his bandana. "I'll get you a drink. The name's Kiel, by the way."
Dullahan returned the gesture in addition to a small smile, and set to work on planning his negotiations with the council.