[WP] Yet another sunrise. Only something has changed.
...
Ronalde Monte awoke to the sound of distant ringing bell of bells, and the soft rustle of forest trees.
As he dressed in cloth, then chain, then armor as he always did, those longing sounds of somber metal carried on with heavy tones, resonating along the blue and clouded sky above the meadows with the rising of the morning sun. Standing to face them through the few windows of glass, Ronalde felt the fading dark recede with its chill, night passing on to rest elsewhere.
A new day had come. In truth, it was quite well arrived by the time Ronalde had made way and left his bunk, stretching his legs while he moved about his morning duties. In the air was fresh wind, scents of grass and dew hanging only barely atop the smell of pine. No dry heat of afternoon had yet shown itself, or ruined the sweet coolness of the quiet morning, and even without the teachings of Light and faith, it was easy for Ronalde to believe he might always have an appreciation for such a start. No matter how busy the morning might become, days like today were rare and precious things.
Still, much like most awakenings of those early hours before another soul might be wandering about the stoneworked building, or the walls which housed it: there were many tasks which required his attention.
First and foremost was the portioning of breakfast, brought up from the cellar and storage. Then came the feed: Grain and straw for both horses and livestock, many of which brought in off the roads or passed as gratitude by Caravans unable to keep or protect them. The drawing of the well for water, animals and folk alike- for should those who awaken have thirst, it was more than common courtesy to draw the first buckets by hand. Then, at long last there was the daily check-in upon the scribe network, booklet blessed and ink prepared long in advance for whoever's assignment it fell to mark. This especially was a task of no small importance to the command and structure which allotted their pay.
Activities abundant for a single soul, but unlike most mornings prior to this one, there were further elements of concern beyond the normal expectations.
The mundane and regular Outpost of many long and uneventful months, was no longer left to the dregs and greenhorn troops of the Country's soldiers: There were guests, and of High-Rank no less. As Ronalde carried the water in, on heavy pales of tin and handle, he peered in at the newer company present. Beyond the sloshing of buckets, he could hear hissing breaths of heavy lungs in the darkness.
As of their arrival during previous evening, the once empty bunks among the larger barracks were filled with unfamiliar figures- most not yet awakened in the dim light of the stone walls and wooden doors. Men of stature and size, muscle and undeniable ferocity in battle. Each of them seemed to be sleeping soundly- but Ronalde had little doubt they were more than ready to be awoken and called to arms on a single commanding shout, for everything about them had seemed elite; still did, if only somewhat less obvious to the untrained eye. Beside those bunks, thick plates and armor were laid down next to shields, swords and polished bucklers. If Ronalde cared to intrude upon the room to investigate further, he knew each of those was painted or branded by crest of the Royal house: brand of the sun, shield and sword imbued to each. Undeniable proof of the highest ranks among the Guard.
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The highest ranks of Soldiers in the Country and the Territories, all sleeping soundly in common soldier bunks as if it were the most normal and expected thing in the world. Passing by to the kitchens once more, it was a strange consideration in which to ponder. He knew very well that there were unattended rooms meant for such guests in the Outpost, yet they remained quite empty despite those who might have occupied them being present and accounted for. The question as to "why" they weren't occupied was something that came to a reoccurring uncertainty, as it seemed a contrast to everything Ronalde thought he knew and understood of the upper echelon of rank and service.
Most of noble birth would rather die than be forced to some commoner's level, but the group currently present seemed to have not the slightest of complaints. Perhaps even with Knights and nobles, and order from rank outweighed such things. As an ordinary soldier, from ordinary means, Ronalde could think of no other reasonable explanation as he left the quarters and bunks to begin the long spiral up towards the watch-tower's rooftop.
The Seventeenth Outpost of the Southern Territory's Capital highway was one of several, built of stone and magic centuries ago during a period of great strife. It was said in those days, even after the Holy wall was assembled and constructed by the great Faith, the roadways had been thick with danger and violence, so much that safeguards were needed in high frequency. The Outposts were but a portion of these defenses, meant to host anything from ordinary passerby, trading caravans, or small villages of the local area fleeing threats.
Step by unpleasant step in the cold dark of the tower's winding staircase, Ronalde could easily believe such history for more than just story. Though currently staffed only by two dozen soldiers (himself included) the stairs were far wider than would ever be required for such numbers. Indeed, even the barracks seemed excessively large, capable of fitting five times the numbers of the currently stationed Guard, and that was completely overlooking the main-hold. A Keep which could easily shelter another hundred bodies, with a walled courtyard for any animals and wagons they might happen to bring along.
The wisdom of their ancestors could not be denied. Times of peace might be fleeting in the waves and tides of history, but the outpost was meant to last. What troubles once came, might come again- had come again, though their forms and shapes might change with the years. Ronalde was more than glad for the thick protection of stone walls and battlements in recent seasons, even if their numbers were far inadequate to properly utilizing them.
With a final huff, his foot reached the last step, and his hands found the thick wooden door atop the tower to press it forward, letting him once more step out into the open air of morning. Sun light, wind, the call of far-off birds and rustling leaves. It was on days such as this, Ronalde had no qualms with his weekly post atop the Watchtower.
"Good morning, Second Rank." An unexpected voice greeted him, spooking him badly enough to jump and turn as the oaken door slammed loudly. A patient face stared in his direction, regal air of fine cloth, color and designation worn of a medium build and relaxed posture. "Ronalde, wasn't it?"
"Sir! Good morning to you as well, Captain!" Bring his hands to the traditional post, Ronalde rushed to panicked salute as his eyes finally caught up with the situation- widening in shock.
"Ah, good. You've noticed." The Captain nodded towards the stone floor beneath them, stepping away from the parapet to approach the obvious source of attention. "Happened sometime last night by my best-guess, managed to pull the thing out- but I think that may have just made it worse." Moving forward, the man brought his boot to lightly kick the arrow shaft, rolling it towards the door. "Seems we have a rather unpleasant situation on our hands."
Staring past the Captain at the blood-soaked corpse slumped on the stone beside him, glazed eyes gazed back with an unfocused expression of once-mortal terror: watchman Helko, Third of Rank lay dead with a deep hole in his chest.
Though the words wouldn't come, Ronalde couldn't help but agree.