Only a few hours of rest, and the guard captain wakes up, and gets out of bed, and kneels beside it to pray. When he's finished, he moves about his room preparing for another day.
His room had been used for storage before it was his own. He was told to move everything out except for one bed, blanket, pillow, and a clothing chest. The bed was large, and the room could easily fit eight of them. Extra furniture must be paid for separately, with a ten percent discount at the House of Furniture of course. However, Stark preferred the empty room.
The stillness of the morning allows Stark's mind to wander, and as always, images flash through his mind. Images he can't forget no matter how hard he tries.
Focus on your duties.
He puts on his armor, then shaves. Not the full plate, just the chain mail. He doesn’t have the luxury of the Luna teleport spells anymore. One guard for all of West Luna. Mobility is more important. Dressed and freshened up, Stark focuses on the new day.
Still asleep, the guard captain takes note as he moves past the merchant vendor's room. She would most likely be exhausted from stonework the night before, and wouldn't get up until midday. Her shop is fully stocked, and her vendors will be coming in a couple hours to open up the selling floor. He is amazed how many items she sells each day, how much people will pay for just a small change to their homes to make it just the way they want, and is more amazed at how she can keep up. As for the Lord of West Luna, he seems to always be an honored guest of one Luna noble or another. He could be anywhere. They probably would all like to know secrets of this pair.
In the kitchen, he eats a quick breakfast, and prepares a simple sandwich to take with him. The food is always excellent here. Much better than he's used to, but he hardly notices. Breakfast is just another chore. After cleaning up, he steps outside.
The stillness of the morning is unsettling. The sounds of trade and crafting, the sounds of life, are absent. In this place, at this hour, there is only silence.
The fresh morning air will make this morning training session feel more crisp however. He unsheathes his sword, and moves through the exercises that have been instilled into him. Moving slowly at first, while maintaining perfect form, he moves faster and faster, becoming a whirlwind of motion. The sword sings to him. A song of Justice. Of Valor. Of Honor. There is no doubt that the Order is his true calling.
One second, a blur of motion, the next, still as the morning air. Training his breathing is part of training with his sword. The breeze gives Stark a chill as it caresses the dampness on his face. Wiping off the beads of sweat, he begins his rounds. They include both walking in the open to be seen by all, and waiting in hidden and obscure nooks to watch and observe.
This early in the morning, no one else is awake. No witnesses to deter criminal acts. A vulnerable hour. Of course he thinks the same of every hour. That's his biggest obstacle. He can't be vigilant every hour of every day. The best he can do is vary the time and place at which he guards, trains, explores, and eats. Even sleep is scheduled to have no discernible pattern.
Several rounds completed, Stark heads to the northwest, past the boundaries of the zone he guards, until he reaches the shore. Learning the surrounding area is as important as learning West Luna itself. There's so much I've never seen, he thinks to himself as he stares out into the sea of black that surrounds the peninsula on which West Luna exists. The distant view from Luna's walls were incapable of preparing him for this up close look at the vast nothingness before him. It looks like the night sky, full of pinpricks of light, yet empty of substance. It was too much for him to comprehend how the sun could rise at the horizon, the same as above land, and the sky would still melt from red, to orange, to blue, and back to black as the sun rose and set, yet the ocean would remain a constant black. Even now he could see the sky begin to lighten, and distinguish itself from the ocean.
Lake shores would gradually slope away and transition from land to water, but here, at the ocean shore, the land was there and then abruptly stopped. It makes no sense. Stark dips down to one knee, needing to touch… it… like he did the first time. His arm flinches as it passes through exactly what it looks like - nothing. He runs his fingers along the edge marveling at how it doesn't crumble away. Smooth, like a polished blade. Looking at his fingers, he can't find even one speck of dust clinging to the tips. History and legends talk about bodies of water, roaring and teeming with life, but now… It's all gone.
He walks along the shore for several minutes before cutting inward toward the forest that covers most of the peninsula. Still a stranger to him, no one will be able to hide once he and forest become acquainted.
Beneath the forest canopy, the paladin bends down to pick up a water shard to help quench his growing thirst. During the fall of the fabled nation of Britain, when factions splintered away and became their own nations, the oceans vanished, and the world burned, crystal growths of water began sprouting forth from the ground, when none had existed before. Crystals that are both hard and translucent just like ice, yet are only cool as glass, and remain solid to the touch and do not melt. These shards quickly liquefy into drinkable water at the touch of saliva, specific vibrations, enough pressure, and extreme heat. They even somehow evaporate at the same rate as water.
Stark looks off into the distance as the trickle of water tickles his tongue, and a glint of light catches his eye. A few steps closer and he can make out a giant mass of water crystals sprouting from the ground.
A crystal well, he thought.
Stark takes careful note of his surroundings, looking for any identifying features to more readily remember this location when suddenly, a paralyze spell strikes him in the shoulder. He quickly recovers and takes cover behind the closest tree. Paladin training includes repeated exposure to non-fatal magical attacks to develop a resistance, but he still feels a slight tingle in his shoulder.
Where?
The guard captain opens his mind to capture any hint of sound, and he hears it, a steady sweeping of the forest brush. Robes scraping the ground? Too close. He dashes to a tree further away, turns, and moves his gaze back where he came from, ready to take in Who and How many.
He watches shamefully as a crystal elemental make its way toward him. Looking almost exactly like a crystal well, these elementals sit motionless, waiting to attract unsuspecting prey. It then paralyzes its prey, and drains it dry when it crawls on top of its helpless victim. Small animals, children, and in some cases, adults, have fallen victim to this creature, but any half-decent warrior can handle one.
Stark steps out from behind the tree and bows with a closed fist held to his chest. The hum of his sword as he unsheathes it sends a tingle through his spine.
"Now we end this."
The creature seems to feel the same, as it tries to paralyze him once again. He watches as the air wavers and attempts to roll his shoulder with the force of the impact, attempting to evade its affects, as the spell makes contact. The sword sings his reply. Each swing strikes with precision, attacking the joints in what is both the creature's camouflage and armor.
A few moments more, and the battle is over. He bows once more toward his fallen opponent, and honors it. "You have taught me well this day." He picks up proof of his kill to later redeem for gold.
Stark wipes his sword clean and walks back toward West Luna. He takes a break at the forest edge to eat the lunch he prepared. After he finishes, he kneels down, completely folding his legs with his butt touching his heels, places one hand in another so they form a circle with his thumbs, and meditates. His sword isn't the only weapon that needs to be maintained.
Round after round, he watches and learns. He counts the steps in between buildings and walks with eyes closed to test himself, takes in the sounds of saws, chisels, and hammers, and purposefully takes in whiffs of the odd smells emanating from the House of Poison. He will know West Luna as well as he knows the Book of Chivalry when he is done.
Night falls, and he hardly notices as the moon rises, not many more days until a full moon. He doesn't return to his quarters however, West Luna needs to be guarded by night as well, so his rounds continue.
The lights go out early at the House of Poison, while those at the Magic Arts and Crafts burn on. Merchant Vendor Melfina seems to stay awake at the oddest hours at times.
With the moon well overhead the sound of laughter drifts in from the east, and Stark can make out a pair of young men making their way west, almost on a path that would cross West Luna. He opens his mouth, ready to hail them, but as soon as they see him they angle away and go silent.
Such a distrust of strangers out here.
Later on, another pair walks nearby, this time keeping hidden beneath the hoods of their cloaks, and moving silently, looking over their shoulders with nervous glances. Stark moves to catch their eye, hand on sword hilt, and they get the message and hurry on by, making sure he doesn't follow.
I hope the other two will be safe. But I can't leave with this many people about.
When the guard captain finally judges that his shift is done, he heads back to the manor house of his lord. He eats a simple sandwich, then heads back to his room to remove his armor. After a quick bath, decides what time to wake the next morning, writes down in his journal and knows it will be easy to wake up in only a few hours. The paladin then kneels by his bed and begins to pray.
* * *
Version 1.50