Fiction:06/08/2814

Prologue
Ulran limped down the otherwise wide halls of the Gallonian Central Hospital, which were now made narrow by the throngs of people-- many among them were his own men. The soldiers, still in their tattered, dirty uniforms that denoted them as members of the New Aratacian militia, nodded to the officer as he past, looking at him with however many eyes they had left with a look of sheer respect. Others, too, spared him a glance; Drodo farmers and their families, fresh from the countryside they had since fled, and terrified French tourists who all had one wound or another they cradled. He did his best to walk past them with an air of assurance, but he did give one awestruck French child a sympathetic look with his one good eye.

Making his way past the crowds, the officer then turned a corner, and found himself faced with a small recovery room to himself the staff had provided him for the night.

"Its me."

With that, the door unlocked automatically, recognising his voice. The young Drodo officer twisted the knob and pushed open the door, and closed it behind him with a tired sort of carelessness. He plopped himself on the narrow bed on one side of the room, hunched over as he stared out the window to the far side which was wet with heavy rain and hardly provided a good outside view regardless. Gathering his strength, he peeled the remnants of his military tunic off of himself and stepped over to the desk, which was situated right beside the useless window.

Then, a bright flash of lightning piqued the exhausted soldier's attention, before a loud shout of thunder followed. A startled Ulran gave out a short shriek completely disproportionate to what had just happened, and nearly shot out of the chair in a reactionary sort of spasm. He had barely regained his balance before a very worried nurse burst in to the room;

"By the ancestors-- are you alright?" Ulran instantly spun about and shook his head reassuringly;

"No no! I'm fine, I'm fine-- Just- uh- I just almost tripped. I'm fine." The nurse's concern was hardly reduced.

"You almost tripped, whilst sitting?"

"... Yes." The attractive young woman raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Okay. Just- take it easy, yes?" Ulran nodded, now looking a bit sheepish. With that, the nurse closed the door, a small reassuring smile creeping onto her face.

Ulran sighed, and sat in the little wooden chair for a long while, staring at the ground. He thought about last week. Everything he lost. Everything New Aratacia lost, and was to lose. A sudden burst of life animated him again, and he produced a small sort of laptop from a bag. Flipping it open showed two screens, the front-facing one showed a basic computer interface, and the bottom one a keyboard showing every character in the Aratacian alphabet. tapping an icon, he opened a word processor, and began to write.

"06/08/2814. A great air of ominousness covered the outpost like a coastal fog. I made it ready for battle."

Chapter One
06/08/2814.

Ulran trotted out of the wooded path, and into the generous clearing in which the outpost was situated. Being new, it still lacked a name beyond its designation-- Outpost 456B. Despite that, it would soon need one, as it had apparently become a popular trading post between Drodo and the natives, even at this time in the morning. Ulran shook his head.

''These colonials boggle my damn mind. Have they given even the smallest thought to security risks?''

"Sir!" He heard from one of the stout, earthwork battlements of the outpost, as he neared the compound. The base itself had square walls, about fifty metres by fifty metres long by his estimation, enclosing four large prefabricated buildings off to each corner of the camp; an armoury; a storehouse; a barracks; and a small residence for him, this camp's new officer. Ulran nodded up.

"Come in through the south gate! North is crawling with merchants right now!" Ulran nodded again, and rode through the now-open durasteel gate. It closed behind him as he dismounted.

"Corporal Jirol Havastin reporting sir!" Jirol gave a smart salute- very precise for a militiaman. Really, everything about the man was quite precise for a militiaman.

All of them, Corporal included, wore tidy, formalised uniforms, an imposing shade of black with crimson linings and facings. A stout, Drodo-style kepi sat on his head, and over his shoulder was a wood-furnished X8-45, and an old one at that. He maintained the salute for quite some time, as Ulran scrutinised him and the camp.

"At ease, Corporal. I'm Lieutenant Ulran Tarastar. How are things at the camp?" The two began walking through the courtyard, which was composed of dirt, packed down by tens-of-thousands of footsteps on a daily basis.

"Well sir, they've been tense ever since those damn nomads-- Seruni, they're called-- began raiding into Drodo land a few months ago. Merchants have been coming in thinner crowds, haven't been talking much, and pretty well leave the second their business's done. Dunno why they're so concerned about the nomads, though."

The two men marched up to the battlements, and stood on the low earth walls. Scores of Silvan merchants, and their spear-toting bodyguards and Drodo from the countryside milled about the North Gate, under the casual watch of several sentries. Those merchants who left walked quickly, looking over their shoulder, and urged their mules along with a whack of a stick. Their guards seemed overly attentive.

"That's a small crowd to you?" Ulran choked out, the Corporal chuckled;

"Aye! You should've been here a couple weeks ago-"

"Good gods above man, the security concerns!" Ulran was astounded by just how many civilians were right in front of him, basically rubbing against the wall they were so close.

"Well, we never let them in the compound, so I don't see the issue." The officer, from the mainland of the Empire, shook his head.

"That so? Well, we're inviting one in now. Get a squadron at the gate and open it, we're going to question--" he pointed to an unguarded merchant, who had just finished his business with a relatively poor-looking Drodo family "--that one. Go get him."

Seconds later, Corporal Havastin, accompanied by two of the meaner-looking militiamen marched out of the south gate, to the curious and concerned glances of a few onlookers as they fast approached the merchant targetted. Ulran watched, leaned over the battlements directly above the gate as the Corporal said something he could not hear. The Silvan's big, beady eyes flashed with something like anger, the rest of his expression hidden behind the curious sort of veils their kind wore. It didn't take long for the Corporal to motion for his two men to seize him and his wealth. One grabbed him- tightly- around his left arm, and the other yanked the reins of his anemic pack-animal from his right hand. To the stunned glances of many, he was ushered into the fort and the gate unceremoniously closed. Business continued outside, though the tension in the air only increased.

Inside, however, the merchant was shouting, mostly in his own language, though many harsh Aratacian obscenities- perhaps the Drodo language's most appreciated gift to the natives- were mixed in. Ulran stepped down with a look of indifference on his face, motioning for his men to be at ease. He studied the short native with intense eyes, which quieted the enraged creature for a moment.

"Fuck you!" the merchant then cried out, in unsteady Aratacian. Clearly, the moment did not last long.

"For what? Keeping you? Are you in a hurry?" Ulran responded; evenly, yes, though with eyes narrowed to slits.

"Wha- N- Yes! I am in hurry! So is everybody else!" The merchant huffed, too enraged to much care about his tone around four armed men.

"I understand that you're a merchant, but surely a merchant has time for a few questions-"

"I do not! Let me out." The petulant Silvan interrupted. It was then Corporal Havastin put a heavy Drodo hand on the shoulder of the merchant, causing the shorter and lighter Silvan to stumble under the force.

"Now that I think about it, you've always been in a rush these past weeks. So have most of these salesmen. We don't mean to intrude, but I think you lot know something we don't." The salesman shifted his glance to the ground. Havastin laughed harshly;

"Come on. Be honest."

The Merchant leaned against his pack animal, which swayed unsteadily in response. He put a hand over his eyes and blew a sigh through his ornate veil.

"The Tahla. They make ready for war."