“Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.”
-Emily Dickinson, The complete poems of Emily Dickinson
“You will be going where?!” Rhys screamed.
“The border to Ulsolm. And you?” Mireille casually answered.
“I heard you the first time. I am only surprised that you are so calm. I have been assigned with Challon to the border with Margrinar. There is a great fort where she will be in the support group, healing people. And I will probably be assigned in the commandery?”
“Rhys, don’t leave me.” Mireille was heartbroken. “How can that be? I prayed, and I sacrificed a penny.”
“Only a penny?”
“I planned to use the gold piece, but I could not bear the thought of it not working. I would have had to seek a new patron goddess! And I like her normally.”
They stood together in the training field as many of their peers, having freshly graduated from the basic course, clustered in small groups scattered over the whole area. Many seemed sad to see friends go, some looked relieved. The training had been brutal, especially in the last few weeks.
All of them sported the shield-emblem of the Signed, a raised fist facing the observer with an arcane symbol outlined in silver on grey on a black background. All of this would go on their uniforms in dark green and yellow colors.
Rys adjusted her glasses. She had received an old pair with a battered copper wireframe as part of her official commission. They seemingly put more thought into the equipment of the Signed. Perhaps it had been the academics teacher putting in a good word, whom she had pleased time and again. Her dark hair was bound with a ribbon, and even though the glasses had some slight nicks on the outside, they made her seem more mature.
She looked sad and wrinkled her brow. “If you had worked a bit harder on your writing and geography. I am sure you would have been chosen for the command unit.”
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Two old soldiers stood on the roof of the administration building on a platform shielded by a parapet.
Sergeant Dornwright looked on with a complicated expression. “Do you think they will survive for long?”
“You tried your best to give them the tools. The rest is up to them,” an old soldier holding a pipe answered the sergeant standing right next to him. “Any special troublemaker I should keep an eye on? They will be accompanying me north after all.”
“Yes, see the redhead with the two other girls over there? She stole my cake and got away. Never happened in twenty years. I would not have cottoned on if Jeremiah had not seen her eating it behind the kitchen. And he did tell me just now. Can't very well punish her and let her miss all the fun. And those twins over there are bad news. They will fit right in with the army but woe to any civilian running afoul of them when there is no officer, or the wrong sort, near.”
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“Ah, that sort,” the old soldier spat some tobacco.
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Mireille hugged Rhys and secretly wiped a tear from her eyes. She had some friends before, but never any she would really miss. Then Challon took it upon herself to hug both. “Aaah, not so hard. You will break me.” Rhys struggled.
“Come here!” Challon kissed both of them on the cheek. “The next time we meet, I get to kiss the other one!”
“Why is that?” Mireille countered.
“I want to have something to look forward to,” grinned the blonde vixen. Allan stood aside, looking at the proceedings with a bemused grin. He also got his assignment, he too was assigned to the northern border.
Grim rumors had made the rounds. There had been groups of skeletons and ghouls, most led by some higher undead like wights or accompanied by troops of frost elf archers or even a giant or two. Those groups were then sent into the countryside to pillage and destroy.
Mostly, they were simply grabbing anything of value, killing and destroying what was not. The soldiers trying to catch them were always in the dilemma of whether they really wanted to face them in battle. Casualties had been mounting, the undead naturally not being affected by that too much.
The North was burning.
Mireille furrowed her brow looking like she had seen a ghost, there was a woman at the gate who looked quite familiar, could it be?
She excused herself and went to the gate. The two soldiers on duty waved her through. “Mireille, is that you?”
“Mother?!”
“I looked everywhere for you. What the hell happened to you? It was as if you were swallowed by the earth. We even looked in the prison and asked the executioners bureau.”
Mireille looked embarrassed. "Why did you go there!?"
"You really have to ask?" Her mother was also not a big person, but she had a much bigger presence.
“I was so hungry.”
“And therefore, you enlisted in the army? I feared worse. Tell me all that's happened. Greetings from your brothers and your deadbeat father.”
She nonetheless pulled her ear. It was long overdue. “Ah, Mom, don’t! I am a respectable adult now. You can't pull my ear anymore!”
The next hour was spent introducing Rhys, Challon, and Allan and telling all about her time here. Mireille was secretly glad that she had seen her one more time. Even though she was not that close to her family (other than her mother, perhaps), she did not want to cause them too much trouble. She was thankfully stopped trying to show off her lightning bolt.
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The next day saw Mireille, a group of normal soldiers, and a few of her fellow Signed leaving the fort. She waved towards the other group, leaving towards the east and the rising sun, while she left by the northern gate. Personally, she thought the uniform she wore looked quite good. It was a buttoned coat over trousers and shirt in the colors of the Rivenlorn Army, meaning dark green and yellow (should have been gold), with sturdy dark leather boots. If there were expectations of combat, she could fit a breastplate and some bracers under the coat, which was much too warm at the moment and remained unbuttoned. There was even a fetching helmet.
In ranks three abreast, the soldiers marched behind the wagons carrying the provisions and supplies destined for the northern army. The wind picked up, and streams of dust spiraled behind the slowly vanishing company. The area around the city being mostly flat farmland, they took a while to get out of sight between some forested hills. Sergeant Dornwright stood on the watchtower and saluted silently with a flask of liquor.
“May you return as intact as you went,” and after taking a healthy swig, “to absent friends.”