Trevisi! Fourth-largest town in Sefonia.

Neide was already a little tired of it, though.

She'd been there for three weeks so far, and somehow there was just something a little irritating about it.

Maybe it was just that after one had spent time living in Vierna, the capital, as had Neide, almost everywhere else seemed pretty second-rate by contrast. The markets had less variety, the criminals were of a cheaper and less-sophisticated level, the parties were less exciting.

Not that Neide went to any parties. But she saw revelers, carrying earthen mugs of ale through the streets as they sang, and thought in Vierna, they'd be carrying Northland-made glass flutes of wine through the streets, and the songs they sang would have a lot less barnyard humor...

Not that Neide longed to be a sophisticated urbanite.

...But she longed for something, that was for sure, and she had a feeling that soon she was going to be able to put her finger on what it was exactly.

Not that she was trying to put her finger on it, because Alara frowned on giving in to one's secret longings.

Alara frowned on a lot of things.

Right now, Neide was on guard duty at the front entrance of the Temple of Alara.

The Stronghold of Alara might have been a more accurate name for it. It was the most solid and impervious building in the city.

But whom are we worried might attack? Neide thought.

There. That was the kind of thought that'd been popping into her head lately. Those kind of thoughts eventually led to trouble... but Neide couldn't help having them.

It was a gray sort of day, complete with a very light drizzle. If she'd been on march, it might have been almost refreshing. After 5 hours of guard duty, it just made her feel damp all over.

Neide glanced over at the other side of the main entrance, at her fellow guard.

(--Who is Neide's fellow guard?
--What does Neide know about her fellow guard?
--What sort of relationship, if any, does Neide have with her fellow guard?)

OOC: Neide's fellow guard is tall, broad-shoulder man named Irgen. He's nearing thirty. Neide doesn't know him too well - she didn't have many occassions to talk to him after she arrived. Also, he doesn't seem to be a very gregarious type - he's somewhat stiff and doesn't keep that much company with other people.

Irgen notes Neide glancing at him, and he grunts. "...Been wetter'n this," he comments, resuming staring straight ahead. "...In The Western Isles. On Irla, the biggest one, with all the ruins." He pauses again, for many long seconds. "...Still annoying, though."

"Agreed", Neide shuddered, "Don't really like standing in all this rain..."

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

"So... you've been to the Western Isles?"

Almost a minute passes. "...Yah," replies Irgen. "...In the service of Our Lady Alara. Like you. Like this. As always. Only that mission was punishin' them Westerners. Y'know how they are. Always wantin' t'blow somethin' up. Or otherwise destroy somethin'. 'Cause'a stuff what happened a'fore any of us were born. Y'know how Westerners are."

"Right", Neide replied, without much of real conviction in her voice.

"So... how long have you been there?", she added after a pause, "How was it?"

"How long was I there...? Eight months. How long since I've been there? Little over three years. How was it...?" He grows quiet again. "Nasty... Whole island of people who hate you for being Sefonian, and they can immediately tell by looking at you who and what you are..." Unsurprising, as Irgen's skin was sun-tanned and his brown hair bleached almost sandy from years of outdoor guard duty under sunnier conditions than the present. "...As if it wasn't enough that our breastplates showed that we served Alara and were therefore there to put a stop to them making trouble for Sefonia... But... what're you gonna do? They hate us for the history between us, they hate us for keeping a tight rein on 'em now, some of 'em want to kill us, so we can't not keep a tight rein on 'em..." Another long pause. "...The final action was bloody. Bad business. We put 'em down, all right, but they killed a couple of us, too. Dangerous folk, Westerners, when they've got their mind set on it... I'd rather face 10 Easterners in a dark alley than 5 Westerners..."

Neide didn't comment on Irgen's words... She had no experience with Westerners and she didn't feel like she could add anything. From what she has heard, Westerners were just like Irgen said: violent and hateful. But was it true? Neide couldn't tell. Based on her own experience, she knew that the common opinions might not be true...

"And when it comes to Easterners...", she decided to change the subject, "... did you meet any of them? What are they like?"

"Mm." Long silence, but Neide was getting used to that. "...They're tough. Strong. Perhaps not as tough as you or me, individually... or even a Westerner... but they're very good at teamwork. And they don't think like you nor me nor anyone else, especially when it comes to battle. It doesn't even occur to 'em to retreat when it'd seem like a certainty to anyone else. If they do, it's 'cause they're actually leading you into a trap. That's what my old sergeant always said. I've only met any once, years ago, when my company went to back up a negotiation up in the Northlands, in the northeast. Was glad I wasn't going t'have to fight 'em. They don't flinch."

Neide nodded slightly.

"So, you haven't been in the Eastern Lands...", she muses, "But you went to the Northlands. What were the Northlands like, then? And the Northlanders?"

"Nah, no Sefonian goes there except diplomats. Or spies. Or mercenaries, but that's not me either."




"Mm. They're all right. A little wild. Party harder than anyone around here... Great weapons and armor, not that I could afford their best. ...Odd, though. But those northern winters'd make anyone a bit odd. They huddle down in their mines when the worst of it comes-- and the worst of a Northern winter'd kill you or me in three seconds. I could hardly believe they could stand what I saw them call autumn, up there. Made me understand why they're such party animals-- I figure it's a result of surviving up north, every day you're still alive must be cause for celebration. But... they're decent folk, more or less."