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The Departure

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Following our little meeting with Hawthorne, to our collective surprise and delight, he provided us each with a small chunk of our promised payment: five thousand salir each, in cash, or more than enough to get us as far as Oslost, should we need it. The rest, he said, would follow once we had completed our task successfully. I was astonished, and somewhat nervous carrying so much money on me at once, even as I made sure to keep it in a pocket inside my coat where it would be hidden and secure. We were driven back to the building where I had first encountered the three individuals who seemed to be the people I could trust the most while working on this assignment (though Hawthorne's warning to me still rang clear in my head). Novka directed the driver to the tavern, where, to my relief, we had a few hours to pack or relax before we were to be driven out to Voeino, and then to Khestolovska – a journey which would last through the night: we were being tossed into this mission right away.

To my delight, Forticay offered me access to the washroom (which was nothing more than an oval metal tub next to a clean water pump and a long mirror that leaned against the wall, but it worked well enough for me). I helped myself to the toiletries on the old wooden shelf of the run-down looking room, shaving for the first time in a week and actually having enough time to heat up some water over the small furnace just a few buckets full for a quick and incomplete bath, before I once again hopped into my old officer's uniform.

That same afternoon, we were driven to Voeino (which I had just passed through before reaching Ervef), where we stopped briefly to change horses before traveling through the night and most of the next day to Khestolovska. The inside of the carriage was surprisingly large, having enough room to accommodate all of us, but was far from comfortable; nevertheless, this was to be my home for the many hours to follow. The first part of the ride was uneventful – I slept through most of it, only waking to engage in a few short hours of conversation with Forticay. Novka merely kept to herself, and Vage read a newspaper that had been sitting inside the large black cab when it arrived outside their temporary dwellings. The only times we even stopped was to get out and stretch, use the restroom, and occasionally eat (there was the occasional farm stand set up every so often along the road, selling the last produce of the previous summer, which we ate plainly and uncooked).

Hawthorne, after briefing us on the rest of our task, had also provided us with some various items that we would require for our journey, including the fake travel documents (both civilian and military) he had spoken of, with instructions to have the basic information on them memorized. I occupied myself with this task for a significant portion of the ride, but unfortunately this only killed about an hour. Novka insisted on holding all of our fake passes, as if she were a mother at the train station who did not trust her children to not lose their tickets while she was not observing them. Hawthorne had also provided me with a simple tan pack that contained some thick winter clothing that he was kind enough to provide me with, seeing as I had arrived in only my old military uniform (which, of course, could be problematic should we have to cross the front line and end up in the Northern Territories).

As for second half of the ride, from Voeino to Khestolovska, part of which occurred during the day, nothing really happened, aside from a brief pause at the border with Agranda to pass through border control. Everyone pretty much simply kept to themselves during the ride, which was odd. Adrius would occasionally tell some entertaining tale about how he had met such-and-such duke or prince or had been lost in such-and-such forest after a hunting expedition gone wrong or something like that. He definitely loved to hear himself talk, but he was always nice, and constantly in extremely-high spirits, quite contrary to his valet, Martin, whose sternness and proper sense of duty rendered him rather dull and overly-serious, much like Novka. The others, however, were relatively silent, though I did chat with Forticay some more that next morning; but, as he was sitting across from me, that could hardly be helped.

At the very least, conversation did turn to the matter of our job: the murder of a significant political official was nothing that any of us had anticipated, although it was nothing that we felt we would be unable to handle, despite the vagueness of our instructions, as well as the complete lack of a plan on how to carry out the actual, well, assassination. Did this count as an assassination? We weren't doing it for any political motive. In fact, it seemed that none of us were particularly aware of the current political situation in isolationist and neutral Oslost. As for me, growing up in Henlot, which at that time had been increasingly alienating themselves from the neutral territories of the North-East Alliance due to their refusal to aid us in the war, countries far North such as Oslost bore almost no significance to anyone. Aside from probably being forced to be able to identify the countries of the North-East on a map at some point in secondary school for some geography test or another (which I certainly could no longer replicate today), I knew absolutely nothing of the region and its politics. This seemed to be the case for everybody else, as well.

I did not learn much about any of them, however, through the course of our few conversations, aside from some mundane, boring facts, such as Forticay's favorite food (vanilla cake, of course) and Vage's alcohol preferences (simply straight dark liquor). Nevertheless, despite the dull journey, it was a pleasant voyage, at least compared to what I had been accustomed to on my way to Ervef (a place that I was very glad to finally leave behind, despite only having been there for less than a day). By the time the well-organized and much-more decorated buildings of outer Khestolovska appeared on the horizon, on that sunny afternoon, I was more than ready to look ahead in preparation for the new yet difficult days that were sure to come.

The driver got us as close as she could to the train station, at the center of the city. Hawthorne had told us that the celebration of the new release of more species-integrated divisions was occurring on that very day in that very city – which, in many respects, boded well for us, as we happened to be a noticeable conglomeration of four different species types. However, as a result of the celebratory atmosphere that day in Khestolovska, the packed streets rendered it quite cumbersome for the carriage to make its way through. Thus it was that the driver dropped us off as close as she could, where the crowds were already quite thick. Gathering ourselves and our belongings, we made our way towards the train station.

That day in Khestolovska it was almost warm. The brief pre-winter cold spell had subsided, and the temperature, though not warm enough to tolerate without a coat, was only mildly cool and, with the sunshine on this cloudless day, even comforting. The atmosphere was immensely festive: tiny, colorful flags and streamers representing all of the different countries, states, and territories of the Federation hung from lines strung diagonally from building to building lining the street. The wooden and cobblestone structures were mostly two to three stories, their first floors containing bookstores, bakeries, glass shops, silver shops, cutlery shops, printing offices, general stores, and all of the other industries that one would expect a city that specialized in finished products and refined goods would supply.

Khestolovska was often regarded as one of the most progressive and prosperous cities on the continent, which made sense, given that it was geographically nestled between Henlot and Northfjord, with Ressex slightly to the North. Here, despite the precarious economic situation of greater Agranda, the model of future society already existed – people were content, calm, and happy, and above all, equal. Not that this wasn't the case in most of the cities of Central Vaymansphere, but in Khestolovska it was particularly pronounced. Along the streets, one could in no way determine who was whose spouse, friend, or partner simply based on their species type. Inter-species couples stood smiling as they watched the infantry moved past or children charge around with wooden swords and toy rifles alongside the marching, uniformed soldiers. I couldn't help but smile as I observed a human child – about the age of five or six, probably, pretend to sword-fight his wolf-cub friend with a toy saber, the latter of the two falling down and pretending to be dead for a few moments before hopping to his feet again and running off with the first child, both eager as they ran up to the next column of soldiers who came marching down the street.

The soldiers themselves were of all race and species, with stern faces fixed upon them as they marched in unison, staring straight ahead with their rifles leaning against their shoulders. They were not stern in the sense that they were battle-hardened. No, clearly, all of these young troops – not a single one of them appearing to be over the age of twenty – were newly trained, and only had the seriousness of a soldier who has undergone basic training, but has not yet caught a glimpse of combat. Their leather boots made collective clapping noises as they smacked against the cobblestone street in unison. Their black ushankas had been exchanged for green round caps, the same color of their uniforms, in light of the warmer weather. Human marched with wolf; birdfolk marched with dragonborn. It was almost a wholesome sight, if not for the circumstances, and the thought that a grizzly fate probably was awaiting many of them.

All alongside them, on either side of the street, the walkways were jammed with people cheering and clamoring to get a look at the brave, heroic infantry. Smiles abounded, men and women cheered, fathers lifted their children onto their shoulders to get a better glimpse of the soldiers marching onward. People shoved and squeezed past the crowd that thickened the nearer they were to the center of the street, where the columns marched, trying to catch a glimpse of the new integrated division. Vendors attempted to take advantage of the crowded festivities by hauling around carts and attempting to sell their wares. Bakers sold food; brewers sold drinks; toymakers sold wooden swords and toy rifles. Those who had dwellings or rented rooms on the second or third stories of buildings leaned out of their windows in groups, cheering and waving little flags, tossing flower petals out onto the street or little ribbons that could be pinned to one's shirt…It all made making our way to the train station exceedingly difficult.

At the head of every other column of soldiers was a company band, composed of one or two trombonists, a drummer, someone with a trumpet or a tuba, and usually a violinist. The marching music they played filled the air, combining with the chaotic sound of cheering, excited talking, laughing, well-wishing, bargaining, and marching to form a sort of joyous, bitter-sweet uproar that resounded of happiness in the face of unfortunate situations. I was honestly starting to become quite swept up in it all – it just had such a positive, vibrant atmosphere to it, even as the dark reality of the war loomed over everyone's head.

“There's no way we're going to get there on time through the crowds," Vage complained, evidently not affected by the emotional sway of the moment to the same degree as I was.

“How much is there ahead?" Novka shouted amid the noise.

“You know, I'm really only a little bit taller than the rest of you," he returned. “But it looks like this is pretty much what we're dealing with for the next few blocks, at least."

“The train leaves in less than an hour, and we're moving at a snail's pace," Novka exclaimed.

“About forty-five minutes, actually," Forticay corrected as he checked his pocket watch.

“We need to find a faster way," Novka asserted.

“Well, by all means, be my guest," Vage stated, clearly annoyed that Novka seemed to be looking to him for solutions.

“I think we should volunteer," Adrius suddenly exclaimed happily. All looks turned his way; me, Forticay, and Martin offering him expressions of confusion, and Novka and Vage, that of annoyance. “No, seriously," he reaffirmed as he pointed in the distance. About a block away, there was a large gap between two columns of soldiers, which was being filled with…Civilians. As the soldiers marched along the street, this other group was walking and buzzing around excitedly. As they passed, men and women from seemingly every trade and species would turn to each other excitedly talking, and at every moment, at least two or three people anywhere from their late teens to their mid-thirties were eagerly sprinting from the sidelines to join those walking down the street between the columns of soldiers.

Friends jostled each other and laughed as they seemed to joke about enlisting, before the excitement of the moment reached them and they ran to catch up with the parading volunteers. Spouses said their goodbyes until one suddenly broke away, holding the hand of their partner until the last moment, joining the crowd as their significant other waved and clapped proudly. Sometimes, a person would run halfway to the crowd, realize that they wanted to leave their hat, expensive coat, or some other valuable of the sort behind, and then sprint all the way back to where they had been standing, hand off their goods to some family member or companion, and charge right back to join the rest of the volunteers who, at the very least, proceeded down the street at the same pace as the soldiers.

“We will get there much faster this way," I reasoned.

“What if they actually enlist us," Forticay asked with concern. Novka rolled her eyes.

“Obviously that wouldn't happen," Vage replied with an air of indignity.

“Either way, we'd get to the front," Martin said unenthusiastically. We watched as the group moved closer and closer. Contrary to the stern columns of marching soldiers, the volunteers, who continued to be sucked from the crowd along the sides of the street with impressive frequency, were smiling, jostling around, and laughing, walking at a normal pace or jogging about, stopping to admire their companions and revel in the fact that they had gloriously joined the service, and then jog to catch up with the others again. They appeared mostly middle-class, most of them wearing nicer clothing, some of them in suits and ties, fancy overcoats, vests with watches, top hats and boater hats – some were probably simply on a break from work, and were swept up into the moment. In fact, few of the volunteers looked like they started out the day intending to enlist. It was merely the excitement of the atmosphere that drove them to do it. I could honestly see how that could happen – these were much different circumstances than the ones under which I had been compelled to join the service. Here, people were cheering, and happy.

“All right, let's go," Novka shouted as the group passed us, and we pressed through the crowd, with difficulty, towards them, other volunteers pushing us from behind. We finally emerged from the wall of spectators, and were now in the center of the street, and I realized that we should probably at least look like we were genuine volunteers, so as not to arouse suspicion (as if the packs upon our backs were not already peculiar enough). Thankfully, I had the sense earlier that day to change out of my officer's jacket and into a light grey shirt, so I wouldn't draw too much attention from being in a military uniform. Putting on a smile as we walked along with the volunteers wasn't too difficult, considering the exciting atmosphere. We merged in seamlessly with the group, and now we saw the whole parade from a different perspective: crowds to either side cheering, throwing flowers and ribbons, offering pastries and candy.

One older woman – a fox, I believe – in a plain housedress and white button-down shirt moved through the crowd, smiling and greeting the volunteers with an armful of colorful flowers, offering one to every person she could. She was one of many others acting similarly. In an instant, she had offered me a bright orange tulip, shouting something congratulatory with a big smile as she swiftly made her way to the next person. I looked around: others who had received flowers put them in their hats, or wore them as lapels. For some reason, it felt wrong for me to do so, as I was not genuinely volunteering, so I decided instead to merely hold my flower awkwardly.

The actual volunteers were just as festive as the crowd, if not even more so. All throughout the group, people who did not even know each other were patting one another on the back, hugging, shaking hands, and so forth. A young brown wolf came up to me, tail wagging, wearing simply a grey suit and coat, and shook my free hand firmly with a smile as he patted me on the back. He then moved on to a man beside me – a middle-aged human in a black suit with a thick black moustache – and placed an arm around his shoulder, and the two shook hands as if they had known each other their entire lives. It was honestly kind of heartwarming, if not for the fact that everyone marching down the street was essentially risking death by being there; which, actually, made it almost more heartwarming.

I looked to Novka, who to my surprise was actually smiling. Not so much a cheery, excited smile like most of those around us, but more so in a prideful way, as if she was pleased with the conduct of the masses on this occasion. Perhaps she was acting it so as not to draw suspicion, but I suspected that it was genuine. It honestly made me smile, to see her that way. Vage, on the other hand, was as stern as could be, and was clearly not amused at his current state of existence and the amount of attention that we were drawing. Forticay, to the contrary, appeared extremely overwhelmed – he nervously and awkwardly walked as if in a trance, not really taking anything into consideration, though he did make a few attempts at looking about while smiling, that frankly made him appear almost idiotic.

The only one who truly fit the atmosphere was Adrius, who strode confidently, waving and laughing to the crowd, clearly enjoying all of the attention. He interacted with those around him, shaking hands and patting others on the back. Martin merely walked next to him with a polite and tolerant expression upon his face, as if he was fully aware that he would never be free from having to tolerate his boss's behavior. A murmur suddenly went up through the crowd. It evolved into louder speech, which turned out to be a song – the Federation infantry's unofficial anthem.

“When our friends, gave cry in Northern Ty-rone, of our free-dom to be spayed-" Roared the voices from both the volunteers and the crowd, more and more joining in at every moment, while the soldiers stared ahead with the same stern gazes as they marched in unison. It was a song I knew by heart. “We trembled for our mod-es-ty; our lives were now at stake. And to the voice that called to arms, in fra-tern-a-ty's sake-" They continued. I could hear Adrius singing along in his booming voice. Even Novka seemed to be nodding along with the lyrics. I couldn't help myself, and though I had sung that song in dark times, allowed myself to calmly mumble out the lyrics with a grin. “We'll showr' the valley, with end-less light, as free-dom we shall make." Then the rhythmic part started, and those who sang it laughed and smiled:

Oh, Ced-ric wants to be a soldier,

And Ern-est has the gun,

So they, decide to go together:

Our people march as one...

And though, the sky's not sing-ing,

And though, the war's not done,

We'll march, until e-tern-i-ty,

Till' freedom, we have won...

Oh, Sa-ndra wants to be a fighter,

And Ivan has his coat…

The long song went on, merrily, as we made it all the way to the square at the end of the street, where the station sat before us, its grand stone structure, low pointed roof, and large stone columns offering a testament to the prosperity of this well-off city, a large clock displayed in the center of the carved façade just below where the two sides of the roof met at their low peak, showing that we had made it to the station with over twenty minutes to spare. Still, though – that was cutting it close. The columns of infantry, as well as the volunteers, turned off to the left, towards the other side of the station, where the military platforms and the enlistment office were, but we managed to break off quite easily amidst the crowds and the noise and merge into the festivities of the square.

“If we can get through the lines fast enough, we should easily make it," Martin stated, checking his pocket watch. We made the train just in time, weaving our way through the open, crowded platforms to board the nice-looking engine.1

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The train was mostly filled with civilians and diplomats, although there were a few cars that were bringing infantry along for the ride who would presumably disembark at some station along the way before we arrived in Tepa. Despite the presence of so many infantry – billeted on separate cars – the actual train, though a bit old, was clean and polished. It even had a dining and bar car, which was something that I had never seen before. Aside from this and the military cars, however, it was nothing but boxcars full of medical supplies and munitions. I felt slightly nervous about that aspect of our travels: both sides in the war tended to shell trains, civilian or not, that were suspected of harboring military equipment or ammunition. Obviously, we would never pass that close to the front line, if all went according to plan, but the thought still bothered me a little.

The passenger cars each contained some fifteen or so little rooms with nothing more than two padded benches to lie down on at night. But, considering the quality of some of the beds at the inns and taverns I had stayed at on my way to Ervef, I did not complain very much. The ride itself was not particularly eventful, either. The only remotely interesting thing that occurred was during the first night, when we stopped at the station in Tyrone – which was quite near the front line – where all through the night, columns of soldiers were being slowly moved along the platform just outside our windows, presumably headed straight for the Front. The others seemed amused, for the most part, but for me, it was an almost sickening sight.

As for the interactions with my new travel companions, they were still basic at best. Me and Forticay shared a compartment, with Vage and Novka, and Martin and Adrius each in their own. So, at the very least, I started getting on very friendly terms with Forticay. He seemed like a nice man – a bit odd, in some respects, but clearly extremely intelligent. He once mentioned something about some ancient Pelodian king, and I made the mistake of showing interest, ultimately receiving an exciting two-hour lecture on the entire history of the ancient Pelodian Empire, which, as Forticay expressed it, “maintained the largest swath of land in ancient of history South of present-day Luestria," in the South of Vaymansphere.

I had attempted to make conversation with Vage, as well, although I didn't manage to get very far with him. I had run into him in the hallway once when I was walking to the restroom from my compartment: he was apparently on his way there from his compartment. I had tried to strike up a small chat with him.

“So Forticay tells me you two have worked together previously?" Vage shrugged in response, disinterested, leaning his elbows against the railing in the hallway and gazing out the window.

“We worked as part of a minor security unit for some earl or something – I wouldn't quite call it an actual job," he replied. Eager to turn something out of that, I continued to press him about it, asking perhaps a few too many questions, trying to show that I was interested, but without seeming suspicious with it. I wasn't sure why I was overthinking things so much – I just figured that I best be cautious in these types of circumstances. I regretted it, however, when Vage suddenly turned the conversation to my experiences, namely with Tiko.

“Oh, it really wasn't much," I shrugged it off. In all truth, it honestly hadn't been much at all. “Most of our time we spent simply tracking the convoy we were paid to ambush – no one was really sure where it would pass through, and Tiko only had a general idea."

“But it went well, clearly," Vage offered with a nod.

“Yes," I agreed. “I suppose it did." Some silence followed.

“And you served in the military before that?" I swallowed, and nodded.

“Yes, I, uh…" I began, trying to gather my thoughts. “I served for about four and a half years."

“Western Front, you said?"

“Mostly around Vishyrad, but also a bit in Northfjord," I replied with a nod. I could feel my stomach begin to tighten up again

“Huh, I heard things got pretty bad over there."

“Well, I mean…" I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. “Yeah," I admitted. “We got hit pretty bad." My stomach really started to bother me, so I excused myself to my compartment, where my coat was (and thus the medicine that was in the pocket), so that I could take one of my pills. That could have gone a lot better, I had thought.

I had even managed to strike up conversation with Adrius and Martin the first evening of our journey, who had been sitting and talking quietly in the bar car. As usual, Adrius was in a fantastic mood, and was ready to take any shot of liquor, gamble any money, and start singing aloud with any song, much to the discontent of Martin, who seemed to be the only depressant that had any affect at all on Adrius. In all honesty, he was a bit rambunctious for a baron, and one who was supposed to be on a diplomatic mission, at that.

“I presume that we shall be good company for one another, Tovef," he had stated with a smile during a game of cards.

“I apologize?" I wasn't sure what he meat by that.

“That's his rather-suggestive way of saying that he looks forward to spending time with you," Martin clarified with no expression, not annoyed, but not elated, either – just frank, as if he were used to explaining Adrius's odd statements all the time.

“Oh, come now, Martin," Adrius began as he shifted his weight in his chair so that he was now sitting closer to his companion. “You can't tell me that you've not grown bored at the Lestbanhoff estate – I haven't gone anywhere in three bloody years." Martin merely glanced across the table to me.

“Yes, well that's how governing works," he said, and then seemed to think for a moment. “Although, I admit that it began to grow a bit dull."

“There we are," Adrius stated with satisfaction as he gave Martin a hard pat on the back. It almost seemed condescending, the way he treated Martin, but the latter didn't seem to care or even notice. The only individual who I had not properly interacted with was Novka, who I scarcely ever saw on the train. She had stopped by our compartment once, to hand the diplomatic documents to me and Forticay, and telling us to conserve our money as if she didn't trust us.

“You'll need it once we're out past Ressex – Hawthorne hasn't pre-paid for anything up there," she had stated, and that was that. As for the mission itself, I still had mixed feelings about it. It was vague, and all the planning was up to us once we crossed into the territories of the North-East. Frankly, all we would know at that point is that there would be a scientific convention that we would need to infiltrate if we wished to find the duke, which Hawthorne had told us was occurring just after the general elections. There was no telling what could go wrong, or what obstacles would be in our way. I supposed that that was why the payment was so high, but that of course was only if we completed our objective successfully, and weren't caught or captured or killed. Nevertheless, despite my mistrust of them, and despite the warning from Hawthorne, I had grown accustomed to pretty much everyone I would be working with, even if I had not received many chances at interacting with several of them; aside, of course, from Forticay.

“As I interpret it, your boss here is not the most accepting of other species'," I stated cautiously to Forticay on the second evening as we sped along the large, rolling hills of Central Ressex. We were making great time, and due to a lack of stops, as well as happening to be on a swift engine, it looked like we may shave as much as a day off of our expected journey. The day beyond the window was overcast, and the vegetation was dormant, copses of skinny, naked trees dotting the brown and light-green landscape of decayed-looking grass. It was honestly quite a depressing sight.

“Novka? Well…" Forticay trailed off, somewhat affirming my statement. “She has some…Suspicions. She's not the most warmhearted towards dragonborn, either."

“Does she not see how wrong that is?"

“Um, she has her reasons," Forticay replied.

“You said yourself that you'd only known her two days before I arrived, what reasons?" I felt sort of bad for grilling Forticay so much, but as long as he was willing to talk, I wanted to get as much information out of him as possible – it was my own life which was my priority, after all.

“Well, just from the little that I've heard about her, it seems that she was once in quite the favorable political position," Forticay explained. “A regent or steward or ambassador or something of the sort."

“In Northfjord?"

“In Tuline," Forticay corrected. "A favorite of King Zandloss, and she did her job well, from what I know."

“Zandloss…" I muttered, remembering where I had heard the name. He had been the king of Tuline, far to the South – a tiny country dwarfed by both Henlot and even modest little Northfjord. “But he's been dead for years," I countered. “Almost seven years, no? She must have been extremely talented to serve in such a high position so young."

“She was, from what little I know about it," Forticay stated. “But then King…Oh, what's his name?...Anyway, Zandloss died, with no heir, so his head advisor – who happened to be human, and prejudiced – came to power, and immediately began replacing his staff with, you know, like-appearing kin. Anyway, since then she's sort of faded into obscurity, outside of the North-West crime circles."

“Hm. Still a bit harsh to force her judgement of one man upon a whole people," I stated. “But why you? Why the dragonborn?"

“Really?" Forticay chuckled and lowered his head, turning a little and eying me with his left eye (his eyes being halfway to opposite sides of his head did present some difficulties in close conversation). “We do not have the most-favorable reputation among anyone," he stated with a sheepish smile and shake of his head.

“Dragons have been extinct for over four hundred years," I countered. Obviously I knew that dragonborn faired worst in terms of facing the prejudiced opinions of many, and I had seen it first-hand to some degree, but I still had a hard time wrapping my head around just how persistent the dislike of an entire group of people actually was simply because they loosely resembled their destructive and long-extinct and gigantic counterparts.

“Doesn't matter," Forticay shrugged. “People tend to remember myths and history more than they take into consideration the actions of their contemporaries." I chuckled in a mix of humor and frustration (admittedly more at my own situation as opposed to Forticay's). We sat in silence for a few moments

“So where do you hail from," I asked, figuring that we had been acquainted well enough to start sharing more-personal information.

“Ah, bit of an awkward story, actually," he chuckled with a sheepish smile. “Long-story short," he began. “Noble family, South Lensdore,"

“Lensdore? Jeez, mate – that's the wealthiest country on the whole continent!"

“I know," Forticay chuckled. “Anyway, turns out I'm not too good at governing or administration, which is what my family wanted me to go into – I forget things, you see. That's very bad for such positions, is it not? Anyway, next they tried diplomacy, and then…Other things. Honestly, the bottom line is that I just freeze whenever I'm in an important situation," he chuckled. “I can't think of words whenever I'm speaking to any sort of official, I pause, I stutter…And I mess up most of it. Frankly, I'm just an idiot. So, yes, I'm here."

“You were disowned?" I was quite surprised at this, considering Forticay's characteristic lightheartedness.

“No, no, of course not," he reassured. “But…I was not a favorite, to say the least. More of a disappointment, in fact. I ran off on my own."

“And they never looked for you?"

“Well…"

“That's just being disowned, mate," I replied with a shrug, perhaps a bit too casually for what I had just said. Forticay was silent, turning for a moment to gaze out the window. “I'm sorry, I just-"

“No, it's…Fine." We sat in silence a few moments longer.

“You seem quite confident now," I offered some praise, suddenly feeling bad. Forticay chuckled.

“Yes, but now, I am just speaking to you, who I know, so I don't feel the pressure as much," he attempted to explain. “Also…the day we met I was fairly tipsy," he chuckled lightly. “Besides, I've come to accept that nothing really matters."

“If nothing matters, then why take the job?"

“Why not take the job?" Silence ensued once again, as we both sat and contemplated that – or at least I did. The sake of risking your life for the heck of it, because you figured that there is no point to it anymore anyway, and you're only twenty…Twenty?

“How old are you, anyway?"

“Twenty three," he replied.

“What would have happened if you stayed?"

“Where? At home? In Lensdore? Oh, I'd have been fine. Manor, gardens, parties, visits from the king, all that."

“That sounds perfect, actually," I scoffed.

“Perfect for you, maybe."

“No, that is perfect," I retorted. “That's what everybody wants. I mean, if I had that, I would never do anything again."

“Maybe for some people," Forticay muttered. “But not for me. Think of how boring that would be – no traveling, no meeting new people…Just attending the same parties and banquets over and over again, and having the same meaningless conversations, never contributing anything at all to society, without ever leaving the country. This is much preferable."

“Well, I'm not saying you should go back, but, uh, if your family is ever looking for a replacement, just let me know," I joked. Forticay merely smiled in reply. I worried that my joke was in poor humor.

“And you're from Henlot?"

“Uh, yes," I replied, somewhat thrown off by the abrupt pivot in the conversation to me.

“Where exactly?"

“Estlovan," I stated with an upward nod.

“Oh, really?" Forticay replied, clearly amused. “The capitol city of the most-powerful country in the Federation," he remarked with intentionally-excessive awe. “Makes your upbringing look a lot more impressive than mine."

“Yeah, well, living there didn't mean anything," I sighed. Forticay gave me a confused expression.

“How so, was it that bad?"

“I-, uh-" I stammered, regretting making my previous remark. “It wasn't the greatest," I finally finished, ending the conversation. Forticay could see that I didn't want to speak on the subject anymore, and we sat in painful silence. “I don't think you're an idiot, by the way." To this, Forticay did not reply. Thankfully, it wasn't long until he was back to his old self.

“Oh, look: the Itola river," he exclaimed with interest, leaning forward in his seat to gaze out at the dark river rapidly approaching in the distance amid the purple hills under the dark-blue sky. “I've never crossed it before." The sun was setting – night was enveloping the landscape, and the day seemed to become dimmer and dimmer every time I looked again out the window. Feeling awkward and uncomfortable given how our conversation had ended, I excused myself to go to the bar car.

Making my way through the vacant hallways, I couldn't help but get an uneasy feeling about the current situation. My stomach tightened and I clenched it gently with my hand, trying to ensure that the pain did not start up. What was it that I felt? Most likely I was simply nervous about once again being so close to the front line. I swallowed, forcing old thoughts and dark memories from my head, finally pushing into the crowded, dimly-lit and narrow bar car. There were a considerable amount of patrons sitting around the small round tables along one side of the room, with others mingling by the windows as they stood conversing with drinks in hand, but I walked over to the polished wooden bar counter – made of a deep, dark black wood – and leaned myself upon it, ordering merely a glass of cognac from the young, fox-like bartender whose fur was more brown than orange. He was wearing a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up under a stained, white apron, merely nodding in response to my request for a drink. I took out a single salir note from my pocket and placed it upon the table – probably enough to pay for two drinks, and as there was nothing in particular planned for the next day but more traveling, I was not too worried about having a little extra that night.

Suddenly, Vage came lumbering into the room, standing next to me and having to stick his feet out behind him a little more than I did in order to lean his elbows upon the bar, his crooked antlers reaching for the ceiling. He wore a blue flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and simple padded blue jeans, his black coat wide open and unbuttoned – he didn't possess the most intricate fashion sense, to say the least, but it seemed to suit him in an odd, rustic sort of way. He did look a bit out of place among the other, slightly-more well-dressed patrons of the rest of the bar car, however.

“'Evening," he greeted with a nod as he folded his arms over the counter. I cleared my throat.

“Surprised it's you and not Forticay," I joked, referring to his mildly drunken state the first time we had met. Vage did not acknowledge that attempt at humor in any way – I felt awkward.

“Two shots of whisky, please," he stated to the bartender, who, once again, merely replied with a jerked, upward nod. I gave Vage an amused look.

“So early on?" I raised my eyebrows. He merely turned and looked at me. Oh, right: he's huge. I felt even more awkward, now, biting my lower lip and occupying myself with the little round glass of cognac, which I swirled gently in my palm.

“Can't believe we're making such good time," Vage finally stated, likely affected by our lacking conversation himself, after throwing back his first shot and placing the glass firmly back down upon the bar counter.

“Better not speak so soon," I cautioned. Vage shrugged.

“I've done a lot of jobs," he raised his eyebrows, holding up the second shot glass but not taking a sip from it yet. He paused, nodding his head swiftly to the side: “and there's no shortage of violence, that's for sure."

“Is that what you're mostly hired to do?" I was intrigued, if only slightly intimidated – most people I had met who had anything at all to do with either organized crime or the mercenary for hire business were thieves, counterfeiters, drug runners, and smugglers: very few I knew of ever had anything to do with actual violence or murder, and even those who did, like me, tended to encounter it only rarely (and, once again, this had only been my third job).

“More or less," Vage replied. “I mean, you can see why," he shrugged, referencing his overpowering physical build. “A lot of hit jobs and murders," he stated, lowering his voice as the bartender walked by with two full glasses of wine for some other patrons at the other end of the bar. “You get used to it…Don't look so interested." In my very-conscious effort to maintain as casual an expression as possible, I had apparently managed to appear only extremely bored.

“Sorry," I apologized. Vage merely took his second shot of whisky and continued, toying with the glass as he spoke:

“Anyway," he began with a small clear of the throat to avoid coughing. "Even with all of that, I couldn't imagine the violence of the front lines – there's something almost structured about the type of work I do: it's more professional; more skill's involved...I'm sure that you'd know better than anyone that over there," he nodded forward, in the direction of the front line that we ran parallel to. “It doesn't matter what skills you know – all that matters is where the machine gunner is." I didn't respond. My stomach clenched slightly, forcing me to put my drink down perhaps a little too firmly, though aside from this I did not let it show.

“So we're in Ressex?" I confirmed, changing the subject.

“As of early this morning," Vage replied. “I always find the moments of anticipation the most difficult." That I totally agreed with. We sat in silence for a few more moments, alone in our thoughts as the sound of the train rattling on gently over the tracks enveloped us.

“You know, it's rather odd to think-"

I was quickly interrupted as the train car suddenly seemed to vibrate, rattling the windows and the glasses upon the counter and shelves, which vibrated with little clinking sounds. The other patrons looked confused, and began chattering with one another and getting up to get a better view out of the windows to either side of the bar that faced the direction of the front line, though it was still quite a few kilometers away in the distance.

“What's going on now?" Vage muttered annoyedly, placing the empty shot glass down firmly and rolling his shoulders back to adjust his coat. Almost immediately he received his answer: the door at the other end of the train car opened, and inside stepped a soldier, dressed in the typical dark-green uniform of the Federal infantry, his black ushanka upon his head. He was older than most in the army, though still pretty young, relative to the population at large, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. Species-wise, I was sure he was some sort of wolf breed or something, as he sported a mix of grey and tan fur with lighter patches around his muzzle and under his eyes, but yet again, I wasn't sure.

“Attention ladies and gentlemen," he shouted firmly, so that everyone in the car could hear him. “Due to extensive losses on the Northern front line, we will be diverting this train to East Fountaine, where we can replenish our infantry." Everyone in the car seemed to express concern, and several tried to question the soldier, to which he would merely wave or reply a short line of regret that they would not be going on to their actual destination. He proceeded down the car shouting the same message again: “Attention ladies and gentlemen, due to extensive losses on the front line we will need to divert the train, so that the food, and medicine-" Vage grabbed the man's arm, evidently startling him. The soldier glanced down at Vage's hand which firmly grasped his upper arm, and then up at the towering Vage.

“This train cannot divert," he urged, although it was clear that he knew it was useless. “We are on important business."

“I'm sorry, sir," the soldier replied, finally showing a tinge of emotion as he jerked himself free. “But there are soldiers, food, and medical supplies on board this train that are needed on the front lines."

“But we are not soldiers," Vage continued as he pulled the soldier back by the shoulder as he turned to walk again.

“I don't know what to say," the man replied more sternly, giving Vage an intolerant stare. “The locomotive is taking us to East Fountaine, and then it will be going back," he stated matter-of-factly. “You can ride the train back to the previous stop or you can get off at East Fountaine and catch another train from there, if you can find one."

“That's a bloody war zone," Vage countered seethingly. The soldier merely stared at him, and I could sense a tinge of both fear and frustration in his eyes. But he said nothing, and instead turned and continued to shout his message as he walked down the alleyway. I followed the soldier with my gaze – his tail was limp behind him, so clearly he had been at least somewhat intimidated by Vage, who I now heard exhale heavily through his nostrils with frustration. “We were promised passage around the front line," he seethed to me.

“I guess we're going with the plan-B," I muttered.

“Over my dead body," he grumbled. At this point, given all of everything that was going on, I was starting to become extremely stressed out. Vage's angry attitude did nothing to soothe my spirits, either. I suddenly felt surprisingly angry myself.

“I mean, yeah, probably," I stated as I looked to him. “Take it from me," I sighed, giving him a light slap on the arm. He looked at me with a mixture of frustration and confusion, but did not say anything.

“We should get back to our compartment." We strode down the train, the cars growing more and more crowded as passengers poked their heads out of the doorways and walked into the hallways with expressions ranging from curiousness and amusement to fear and frustration. In our car there was another wolf soldier, his dark brown fur almost blending with the black ushanka he wore upon his head. A thin coyote man with light-tan fur in a black vest and red tie was eagerly speaking with him, with an expression of both concern and worry, evidently quite distressed at what was happening. I could hear him pleading as we walked past, the others in his compartment looking on with unease:

“…You don't understand: we have to make it to Kellsbrook by morning…" We were heading to Novka's apartment. I spotted Forticay already standing in the hallway, his face frantic and nervous.

“Where were you," he asked quickly, looking to me as his long tail brushed against the grey-coated man standing behind him. “Sorry."

“Are the others in there," I asked, ignoring his question.

“I just knocked," he shrugged. “I already checked Andrius's car: no sign of him or Martin. Oh, hell, mates: they won't really send us to the front line?" I shrugged.

“It's either that or we wait who knows how many days until we can find a train going to Tepa that's not fully booked," I replied. “Time is not on our side here."

“That's ridiculous," Forticay rebuked. “Hawthorne said that if we were stopped it would be near Timberlay."

“Maybe we are near Timberlay," I shrugged. “You don't know."

“But we haven't passed Timberlay," Forticay retorted. “In fact, I haven't heard a single mention of it."

“That's probably because it wasn't on the itinerary," Novka stated as she swung open the door to the compartment, evidently having overheard our entire brief exchange. “You are being very loud." I could se Adrius and Martin peering out from inside, Martin with his signature stern and indifferent gaze and Adrius with a look of amusement that, as usual, was horribly ill-suited under the circumstances. “There was never any planned stop at Timberlay – that was merely the place that Hawthorne predicted we would be diverted to if he had to guess."

“But we're not being diverted there, we're being diverted to East Fountaine," Forticay shot back, his anxiety clearly turning to frustration, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

“I know that," Novka shot back as if she thought Forticay had taken her for an idiot. “Just…The plan for now is to depart at East Fountaine."

“Woah, wait a minute," Forticay exclaimed as I, too, let out some words of confusion.

“We checked the rail map," Novka explained, holding up the folded complimentary paper map that was available in each compartment. “East Fountaine is about seven kilometers West from Austlotz."

“What makes you think we'll find a ride this late?" Forticay retorted, it being already dark outside, at which point Adrius let out a loud laugh.

“Ha! You're bloody walking," he exclaimed, evidently immensely entertained by this.

“'Your're?'" Martin questioned with a confused raise of the eyebrows.

“Obviously," Adrius replied. “Do you think that I'm risking my life now that I am no longer needed for this operation to continue?" Martin looked shocked. “You, on the other hand, I am ordering to repay our debt to Hawthorne."

“Sir…With all due respect, this is very short-notice…" Martin began, and the two started arguing – Martin in frantic, desperate tones and Adrius with his constant lighthearted grin, the two clearly not at all on the same page – as Novka and Forticay continued their exchange.

“You can't expect us to walk along the front lines," Forticay exclaimed, fear in his eyes.

“Oh, my-" Vage shook his head with exasperation, speaking for the first time since we had left the bar car. “You're not on the front lines! We're just near enough to them that the train is stopping there."

“But, but…" Forticay stood there, stammering, and then seemed to figure that it was useless, and stormed back to our compartment, shouting that he was merely going to grab his things. Novka rolled her eyes as the windows of the train rattled as the brakes were applied again, the engine operators evidently doing everything in their power to slow it down as fast as possible – we must have been approaching East Fountaine quickly.

And, indeed, we had scarcely packed up our things, and tossed on our coats and hats when the slowed alongside the East Fountaine platform. Looking out the window, I could already tell that it was a pathetic sight: figures crowded around the platform, and shouts, yells, moans, and all sorts of other commotion and conversation could also be heard. Filing to the car door – the only passengers exiting the train on our car, the only exception being two wolf soldiers who I presumed were being kicked off as guards to replenish the infantry on the front lines, with their packs and rifles – we probably looked like an odd sight.

“Are you sure you have everything?" Adrius shouted down to Martin as the latter carefully stepped down the steep metal stairs and onto the wet platform.

“Of course, sir!" he yelled back, evidently having settled everything with his boss. He reached out a hand, as if to grab something from Adrius, but merely as a parting gesture to emphasize his next words. “I shall see you back in Lestbanhoff."

“Take care!" Adrius waved with a slighter smile and a respectful nod. I stepped down casually onto the platform, absentmindedly following those filing behind Novka, who seemed to know exactly where she was going as she led us down the platform. The night was freezing, and the cold was absolutely biting: I drew my coat tightly around my body and shoved my ushanka down further over my eyes and ears. It had evidently just snowed, as well: the wooden platform was wet and soggy. Wind was tearing across the platform, tugging at everyone and everything. The buildings off to the side of the platform, opposite the train, were run-down and shelled-out, most of them merely single-storied squares of wood and concrete, half-falling apart, as if the infrastructural integrity of East Fountaine were being deliberately converted to that of the state of Ervef but worse.

The platform itself was crowded with soldiers. All around, lanterns glowed and oil lamps beamed. The majority of soldiers on the platform were humans and wolves, but both looked equally miserable. I wondered which divisions these were. Soldiers sat back-to-back upon the ground, huddled under heavy green blankets. Two human lieutenants shouted at each other at the top of their voices, one of them making large motions with her arms to emphasize some point that was rendered to an indistinguishable murmur to all others around them due to the noise and the wind. Wooden boxes of food and thin metal cases of ammunition sat stacked in haphazard piles all over the platform, against which rifles leaned and rested. Soldiers sat on the larger boxes and smoked cigarettes, the little glows of the burning tips radiating in the night. Some of them talked loudly and obnoxiously; some of them were silent, shivering. Here and there was even a civilian, some of them quiet and sullen, and others severely distressed and frantic, all presumably refugees.

We passed one group of soldiers singing loudly, one woman on a mandolin and a man on an accordion playing as loudly as they could while a handful of their comrades practically shouted the lyrics amid the noise. It was supposed to be a happy, uplifting army song, but at that moment it sounded like a tormented, desperate attempt to make light of a miserable situation. Somewhere somebody screamed. Soldiers were climbing the sides of the cargo cars, unloading boxes of all sizes and weight, sometimes over their heads, passing it to those further behind them, and sometimes by their waists and with great effort, the who display – the infantry silhouetted in the darkness via the lantern light – creating the illusion that dozens of people were clinging to the sides of the cars. As we walked on, one could catch little snippets of conversation, be they officers barking orders, friends talking, soldiers trying to barter with each other for blankets or food, and so forth…It was simply one desperate, chaotic mix of noise:

“…Help me with this, will you? I need…"

“…Make yourself useful you bloody fucker, and get…"

“…And that's game, mates. One more round before…"

“…Oh, for the love of god, just tell him that…"

“…Lance needed these two hours ago! Why are you still sitting here…"

“…Perhaps if they added more turnip to it next time it wouldn't…"

“…That's preposterous: any bloody fool knows…"

And so on and so forth it went, the platform packed with all kinds of activity and all kinds of conversation that had to do with anything remotely connected to the military. Further along the edge of the platform, directly along the side of the train, the wounded had been settled in preparation for their boarding, the stretchers lying side by side upon the ground, only the soldiers' faces visible, the rest of their bodies tightly wrapped in green blankets against the cold. In many of the cases, you couldn't even tell that they were wounded: whatever horrifying affliction they had endured was in most cases concealed by their excessive padding for warmth. Yet here and there would be a man whose eye was thickly pressed with gauze, or a woman with a bloody bandage wrapped around her head, or someone grunting and turning in pain, or someone groaning and asking for painkillers. The medics knelt by them, administering medicine and helping to load them awkwardly into the cars that soldiers were still streaming out of into the platform, newly-arrived to the front lines.

Further back from the train, though still on the platform, were the walking wounded. They sat, blanked-eyed, most of them staring at their feet or straight ahead with dead, empty gazes, their arms in slings or a leg propped up in a brace or standing with crutches because they couldn't find a seat on the large wooden boxes upon which most of the others sat. Artillery rumbled low and steadily in the distance. My stomach twisted witn pain suddenly, and my breathing started to accelerate. A wave of heat suddenly overtook me, dispite the cold. I thrust my hands, which had been shoved under my arms, into my coat and wrestled with it frantically, a sudden pain in my stomach forcing me to abandon my efforts to find the medicine, grabbing my stomach tightly. I looked up: Forticay had glanced at me, a look of confusion and concern upon his face, but he soon looked forward and continued walking behind the others.

I forced myself to try and calm down, regulating my breathing and slamming my eyes shut for a few seconds at a time. For a few moments, I managed to calm myself, but soon a loud moan from one of the wounded somewhere in the distance threw me back into it. I swallowed and grunted, breathing fast again. My mind suddenly flashed with strong, vivid images of the front lines that I couldn't help thinking about as I began to ruminate uncontrollably…

“Oh, God, Mate!"

“Oblev!" I shook myself back to reality, pulling myself away from my dark thoughts. We wandered into the mud off of the side of the platform. There were still plenty of soldiers here, but it was far less crowded now, more calm, and a lot less noise radiated about.

“We push on down this road until we reach Austlotz," Novka yelled back to us, who I could now see was holding the map, Vage illuminating it with a lantern that he had found…Somewhere. I sighed: it was going to be a long road to Austlotz.

---

We reached Austlotz in late-evening. As far as looks go, it closely resembled East Fountaine, with most of its buildings at least partially damaged by artillery or shrapnel, only this town had seen heavy combat a year earlier – the front line had moved several kilometers away since then, up North, to Henslow. As a result, Austlotz was likely crawling with soldiers and medics in the daytime, but at night, and particularly in the moments before a storm, it was eerily barren. The evening air seemed to grow more bitter and cold by the second – snow would likely follow in the morning. The wind picked up as we trekked further along the mud-splashed streets, the buildings to either side of us resembling mere squares and rectangles silhouetted against the dark sky. Every so often, some far-off star flare would offer the slightest glow along the horizon, briefly giving definition to the edges of the buildings, where they met the sky. Here and there a light could be seen through a window, or a line of yellow shining through the cracks beneath a door or between a pair of window shutters, but for the most part, all was empty.

“I am just mildly confused how we intend to locate the exact building in all this darkness," Martin stated annoyedly.

“Have faith, my friend," Forticay replied in a mock lighthearted tone, evidently stressed out and probably mildly frightened. “Either we find it now or later, in the morning."

“We'll freeze to death," Martin countered sternly.

“We're on a schedule, not to mention," Vage asserted as he trudged through the mud. “Assume that if we can't find it, we'll get to join the Ressex light infantry, which I know you were so looking forward to." Forticay did not reply to this.

“There's supposed to be a purple lantern hanging in the window," Novka turned to shout. “In this darkness, I imagine we'd have our best chance of seeing it." We trudged on for some time longer, the wind whipping and pulling at the ends of my coat, which I wrapped firmly around myself, shoving my gloved hands under my arms.

“Holy shit, the temperature's dropped by like thirty degrees since yesterday," I shouted.

“This is why Novka doesn't like humans, you're the weak link," Vage joked half-heartedly.

“How do you think I bloody feel?" Forticay exclaimed.

“No chance I'm making it to Oslost with all of my fingers intact," I shivered. “I think I preferred the weather in Ervef."

“My God, look!" Forticay pointed ahead of him just as Novka was turning to announce the sighting of a dim purple glow from the a window of one of the buildings. The wind died down for but a moment before picking up again. “Oh! Is that a body?" Forticay sounded disgusted. None of us even cared to look.

“Never mind, let's just get moving before we freeze to death," I grumbled.

“Mates, we're outside a hospital! Oh, my gosh, this is disgusting," Forticay continued to mutter about the circumstances. Approaching the building – plain and square, the second floor half-blown off, like all the others – the wind died down some more, enough for us to walk without pressing our arms against the front of our coats while doubled over, at least. Novka seemed to recollect her thoughts before knocking on the old wooden door, tapping it fast three times, then slow five times, and then fast twice, as she had been instructed to do…No response. The lantern was still clearly visible in the paned window. She repeated the knock, and it suddenly swung open before she had completed the pattern.

“Who the 'ell is 'eh?" A young, unkempt man demanded sternly as he stepped outside, the dim light from within illuminating their little section of the street. There was no way that this man could have been a day above twenty-two. He was short, thin, and had straight blond hair that he had clearly taken no cares to comb. He was in desperate need of a shave, though if he could only learn to keep himself hygienic, he probably would have looked quite handsome with relatively little effort. His clothes, as well, were quite repulsive: a dirty striped button-down shirt with a brown pelt thrown over it. At the moment, frankly, his only redeeming quality were his lustrous blue eyes.

“We are friends of Hawthorne," Novka stated. “Sent here to cross over the front lines."

“Well, ya' know the knock," the man replied gruffly in a young, higher-pitched voice. “But I've no business with any 'ah you."

“We're on a job for Hawthorne," Novka asserted, stepping in the doorway before the man could close the door. He opened it a crack to snap at us again:

“Don't give a shit. 'Awthorne's a client – I don't work for 'em."

“He pays you," Novka began again as the man once more attempted to close the door. This time she put her arm up against it.

“Tomorrow's crossing's already been booked," he stated. “We'll be going over again in a week – come back then."

“We can give you more money," Novka affirmed, her frustration clearly growing.

“I don' care," the man replied, and was about to shut the door successfully when a voice shouted from within:

“Hen-reek! Let them in." It was a woman's voice, stern in tone, but kind in terms of its nature. The man sighed and threw open the door.

“Welcome, more, miserable, lot," he stated as we filed inside, placing particular emphasis on the word “lot." I was met, mercifully, with a wave of heat. The room was all-around bland, with only a mud-tracked carpet in the center of the floor, and one desk off to the side. A small iron stove burned in the corner, and the lighting was dim. Old wooden planks made up the floor and the interior walls, while the walls of the exterior were nothing more than the same mud concrete of the outside. Standing in the opposite doorway, her hand on her hip, stood a tall woman – a wolf, I'd guess, with grey and brown fur – in a long white coat, tied around her waist, parting further up and revealing her thick, grey woolen sweater.

“I'm sore-ry about the behavior of my fute-man," she reasoned in a thick West-Central-Vaymansphereic accent [author's note: this accent is supposed to be Slavic, but I had a difficult time portraying that through playing with the spelling of words alone]. “You say that you are friends of Hawthorne."

“Precicely," Novka nodded, still evidently getting over her frustration at the doorman.

“Vell, friends of Hawthorne come through here not too infrequently," she reasoned, stepping away from the doorframe and walking into the room. “My name is Strelna Naslavka. Ve vill be 'appy to take care of you before you depart with us too-morrow."

“What a relief," Martin stated unenthusiastically as he gazed disapprovingly around at the poor accommodations of the room, arousing an annoyed glance from Vage (the two of them had really not been getting along all that well).

“Our oo-ther guests have taken the only rooms, but you can feel free to make yourselves comfortable in the lounge room, if you vould like."

“I appreciate the hospitality," Novka affirmed in a frank but polite manner, evidently trying to gain the favor of our new hostess.

“Hen-reek: please, our guests." Henrich, who had been standing silently in the corner until then, his hands behind his back, sighed and strode forward, not even acknowledging us as he strode through the doorway. Novka obediently followed, as did the rest of us.

“You said there's other guests," Vage asked Henrich as he led us down the hallway. Here and there would be a wooden door, but they were all closed. The planked walls were bare and sullen, and the hallway was dark.

“Only two others," he replied without even turning around. “And you'll love 'em." As he spoke, he stopped at a door and grabbed the plain knob, thrusting it open, flooding the hallway with light. I stared into a room that was lavishly-decorated, harboring several couches covered with colorful cushions and pillows. Drapes and curtains hung from wall to wall. A fireplace blazed against the wall opposite us. In the center of the room, upon a bright green rug, a table sat covered in empty glasses and half-full bottles of alcohol of various colors and shapes. Immediately upon the door's opening, a man stood up from his seat. He wore a purple shirt with a heavy black pelt vest vest over it, though it was unbuttoned. He had dark hair, with a long black moustache, ending at points at either end off of his face. A thin triangular beard extended downward from his lower lip.

“Ah, guests," he exclaimed excitedly with a massive grin as he shot to his feet, making his way towards us. “We are so happy to have you!" He attempted to take a step forward and stumbled against the leg of a chair, promptly falling flat onto his face without making any effort to stop himself. He hit the carpet with a thud. We all stared.

“I already dislike that man," Martin stated frankly, staring over my shoulder.

“Oh, for the love of..." Henrich sighed. “Strenla! Help me get Mr. Temlot to his room! Bloody bastard's drunk as fuck." He shuffled into the room and attempted to pick up the man from under the arms – he was by now completely unconscious, his mouth hanging open. “Ugh, fuckin' bastard." He carried out the intoxicated man, his feet dragging.

The unexpected incident over, I more-properly got a look at the room, and I saw the second individual, sitting on one of the couches, who the drunk man had been chatting with. There, sitting politely, a kind smile upon her face, was a dragonborn of a color I had rarely seen in the species before: light blue, with bits of still-lighter blue, almost white, on the underside of her chin, down the front of her neck, and so forth. She had a slim face with polite green eyes, a single tooth sticking up over her mouth. Down the back of her head and, presumably, down her back, ran short little dull spines, though not enough to hinder her from wearing regular clothing. Two pointy, medium-sized horns stuck out of the back of her head, oriented upward a little with a slight downward curve. She was dressed in a long brown sweater, with tan pants – an odd look, frankly, only given the conditions outside. Yet her clothes were not stained or scathed in the least. Her tail – long, like Forticay's – was bent around her and flowed off the edge of the couch, a spiny fin extending off of the top at its end. Her hands were folded in her lap. Frankly speaking, she was stunningly beautiful. She couldn't have been a day over twenty-five, either – probably right around my age. As we filed into the room and removed our packs, I made eye contact with her. She nodded in friendly gesture. I was staring and did not reply. I realized that I was an idiot and hastily smiled back at her with a small wave. Now I really looked like an idiot.

“I hope we're not intruding?" Forticay stated.

“Oh, no, I have my own room," she replied. “I was just in here, speaking with Mr. Temlot," she stated politely, with an air of confidence.

“Right: drunkie," Forticay nodded. “Is this where we are to sleep?"

“Grab a cushion," Vage stated, letting his coat fall to the floor and throwing some of the spare cushions and pillows lying around to the ground, immediately collapsing upon them. “I'll see you all early tomorrow." I could see that Novka was slightly annoyed at this, but we had already gone over the new plan several times on our walk to Austlotz, and there was frankly nothing more that could be done to prepare for the next day at the moment.

“I'm going to speak with Strelna to confirm that everything is in order for tomorrow," she stated. Leave it to Novka to find work where there is none, I thought. But I didn't stop her – it was smart thinking, either way. “Martin, you should come with me," she added.

“Very well," Martin plainly replied. Then, turning to the dragonborn, tipped his hat. “Madam," he greeted politely, and turned to leave. Alone in the room with Forticay and Vage (the former of whom was pushing two chairs together to form a sort of bench, and the latter of whom was likely already asleep), I decided to make conversation with our new acquaintance. Besides, even after our long journey, I was not particularly tired. I nodded to her again and took a seat across from her, where the drunk man had been sitting before.

“Good evening," I greeted. Wow, smooth introduction. Wait, what was I thinking? It wasn't as if I were trying to impress her.

“Likewise," she smiled. She had a delicate, higher-pitched voice.

“It is bloody cold out there," I muttered, wrestling my coat off and draping it, inside-out, over the back of my chair. "Not sure how we even made it here without freezing to death."

“I imagine it will probably snow tomorrow," she shrugged. “It seems that winter's coming a bit late." I nodded, not sure what to say next.

"I've not been this far North so close to the winter in quite a few years," I admitted casually. "We would get snow where I grew up pretty early on, though. I guess I was just expecting it to arrive even earlier up here." The woman glanced around, as if taking in the atmosphere of the room as she seemed to contemplate this.

"I grew up pretty far North," she stated. "This year it is late, but not by much – I've seen snow arrive far later." I nodded, unsure how to keep the conversation going. As it stood, we were scraping the bottom of the conversational barrel, and I felt pretty uncomfortable at having all of my attempts to get something going failing almost immediately after they began.

“I presume you're here to cross the Front? Or do you work here," I finally asked, trying to continue the conversation.

“No, I am trying to cross," she replied.

“Us too," I shrugged, forcing myself not to cringe. Duh. “It's been a hell of a journey over here." I wanted to make conversation, but I was still cautious about giving out too much information, at the same time.

“I would have to agree," the woman nodded her head to the side with a smile, evidently having gone through what she judged as being a similarly-difficult experience on her way here. I doubted that that could be the case. I sighed, rubbing my hands together and looking around.

“How long have you been here," I suddenly asked.

“Hm…" She sighed, thinking. “A few weeks, now, almost a month, I think," she replied.

“What?" I exclaimed, surprised. “In Austlotz?" She shrugged, as if to say, "where else?" "How come," I asked without thinking, and then realized that I probably shouldn't be so nosy, but she answered anyway.

“I didn't have enough money," she replied with a shrug. “It's three thousand Salir to cross. I only had seventy on me when I arrived in this place, and most of that I had to spend on rent and food."

“Oh, I'm sorry…" I muttered awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

"It's fine," she assured. "Strelna's a surprisingly-understanding host. I have liked living here, more or less." I nodded silently.

“Do you have the money now?" Dammit! Stop asking those sorts of questions! But she didn't seem to mind at all.

“Now I do," she replied as she raised her eyebrows. “Though I had to work for it."

“Huh," I chuckled, trying to make humor. “What is there to even do in a place like this?"

“Oh, if you look around, it's a gold-mine for profit," she replied with a smirk.

“Mm-hm," I nodded.

“Everyone here is sad and desperate. It's not hard to earn a living." I smiled and nodded, and then suddenly it hit me.

“Oh," I exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed, my eyes widening. My surprise must have been evident on my face, because she quickly reassured me before I could stammer on for too long. “I didn't- I-"

“It's all right, I'm not offended," she interrupted kindly. “I'm surprised you couldn't tell," she joked, crossing her legs.

“So, that man…He was a, uh-"

“Client," she finished in a lighthearted, matter-of-fact tone with a nod.

“Oh," I said again, feeling my body surge with the unpleasant warmth and sweat that comes with stress and embarrassment. I could feel my face turning read.

“Only, he did pass out before it could actually get to that point, but I still got my money," she shrugged, clearly trying to make an effort to make me feel less embarrassed. It wasn't working.

“Look, I- I apologize, I didn't think- I should have thought- I- I shouldn't have asked…" She laughed.

“Really, it's fine." What the hell is wrong with me?! It was like I couldn't even think straight. Between the embarrassment and the combination of the circumstances that had led up to this moment, everything just felt so surreal. Thankfully, Forticay, who had evidently been completely oblivious to everything that had just occurred, valiantly came to the rescue.

“Well, Tovef, while you were over there, I constructed the pinnacle of improvised sleeping arrangements. I present to you: the triple chair!" He ended beamingly, gesturing proudly with his arms to three red, cushioned chairs without armrests that he had lined up next to one another, so as to provide for some sort of cot. He turned back to me with a look of achievement, but as soon as he realized that the woman I had been speaking to was watching him, he became embarrassed and drew himself inward. “Oh, uh, hello," he stammered awkwardly, once again displaying his difficulty in these types of situations. It honestly amazed me how he could go from the most eccentric person I had ever met, save Adrius, to a shy, anxious man who stands on the sidelines.

“Good evening," the woman greeted with a smile, glancing at me for an instant. Surely she wasn't making fun of my uncreative conversation starter from earlier?

“Uh, good evening," Forticay responded, and paused. She was still staring at him, so he quickly thought up something. “What's your name?" Wow, he is totally saving me, I thought, and then felt bad for thinking that.

“Larissa," she replied, dragging her clawed hand across the side of her head, as if brushing hair out of the way. She was clearly toying with him because he was so awkward. I debated intervening, but I was honestly too amused by this harmless fun to do anything about it.

“Oh, cool," Forticay said with forced enthusiasm. There was a very awkward silence. “My name's Forticay." I could feel his embarrassment from where I sat, so I finally decided to step in.

“Well, I'd imagine Martin and Novka will be jealous of your creative thinking," I stated, gesturing towards his chair-bed. “Not much left for them to work with."

“Hm?" He turned to me, and then glanced back at his improvised sleeping arrangement, regaining some of his characteristic vigor. “Oh, yes! Well, they were the ones who wanted to take care of tomorrow morning's work tonight." He sighed. “I suppose that I should be off. Good night," he nodded to me, clearly eager to get out of the conversation, and then turned to Larissa. “It was a pleasure to meet you." Larissa chuckled as she turned back to me.

“I like your friend," she stated quietly with an amused expression.

“Yeah, he's…Interesting," I nodded, and then worried that I was being rude, so I decided to do him a little more justice. “He's a great friend," I continued quietly. “You just need to get to know him." I swallowed awkwardly as silence ensued for an uncomfortably-long period of time. “So, Larissa?"

“As far as I know," she shrugged. “And you?"

“Tovef," I replied with a pursed smile. “Tovef Halfe."

“And you all are planning on crossing through the Front?"

“That's the plan, at least, but enough things have gone wrong already to the point where I wouldn't be surprised if that never ends up happening." I shook my head gently with a slight smile, trying to appear amiable and friendly.

“Well that would be unfortunate for me, wouldn't it," she affirmed lightheartedly. “I've invested a lot of effort into this." I only shrugged – how do you respond to that?

“Well, I'm hoping that it won't be too bad," I sighed. “I honestly haven't heard a lot about this particular operation, but it seems like they have been doing this for some time, now."

“Yes, I heard from a friend that it was quite safe," Larissa nodded. “There are other places that I looked into, but this one is probably the best."

“That's got to be why it's so expensive," I stated with a raise of the eyebrows, grabbing one of the bottles from the table and examining it: it was a red wine bottle, its dark-tinted glass contrasted by the white, rectangular label, the age and properties of the wine listed in decorative silver cursive. There was still some of the liquid left in the bottle, so I set it back down upon the table – I didn't know how much it cost or whose it was. I sighed. “Long day tomorrow, I suppose."

“Yes...Speaking of which, I should probably get to bed," Larissa sighed as she stood up, speaking in a tone of regretful finality, as if she had wanted to stay and talk longer.

“Goodnight," I nodded.

“See you tomorrow," she stated as she reached the door, turning around, and then paused. “Unless, of course, you'd rather come and join me now." I sat there completely frozen for a few seconds, and she suddenly started chuckling. “I'm just kidding, jeez, you look like somebody pulled a gun on you." I realized that my mouth was open. Idiot.

“Well, goodnight," I repeated. She merely smiled and left through the door. I waited a few seconds after it had closed and then fell back in the chair.

“What the fuck was that?" I whispered scoldingly to myself as I ran a hand through my hair. “Uh, that was fucking miserable." I could suddenly hear what sounded like quiet sobs sounding from Forticay's place on his make-shift bed. I looked up to see that his sides were expanding and contracting in quick bursts with his sobs. Wait a minute...He was laughing.

“Forticay, what the hell?"

“Oh My god," he laughed, rolling over, trying to control his laughter so as not to wake Vage. “You did worse than me," he laughed even louder.

“Stop it," I snapped. “Or you'll wake Vage."

“Too late," I could hear Vage state from his place behind me on the floor. “And I agree – you blew that conversation." That ticked me off.

“So what?" I exclaimed to the sound of them both quietly chuckling. “I'm not trying to make a good impression. I was just trying to make conversation."

“Sure you were," Vage chuckled skeptically. I don't think I had ever heard him laugh before.

“Uh- I just think it would be good to be on good terms with the people who we'll be crossing the front line with tomorrow," I protested.

“Oh my God, stop, you're just making it worse now," Forticay wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. He was really laughing now. “Why don't you go try and sweet-talk her drunk friend and see if you can make a better impression on him." At this their laughter surged. Even I couldn't help laughing at that one.

“Oh, really?" I chuckled. "'Um, I'm Forticay,'" I mocked. We laughed even harder.

“Oh, hell," Vage chuckled. Despite the fact that we were sleeping on the cusp of the front lines, near the cold and the mud, where artillery could rumble away in the distance at any moment, this was frankly the first good night that I had had on the whole journey so far – the three of us laughing, albeit largely at my expense, and joking about each other's blunders until we tired ourselves out with laughter…

---

Footnotes:

1. It is worth mentioning here that parts of the above section were heavily inspired by scenes in the 1965 film, Doctor Zhivago…A good film, as is the book that preceded it.