Winterwald

[The Major]

Walalla, a wintery world​

away from the chaotic politics of galactic war​

But a few star systems away from the First Order/Galactic Alliance border was a backwater of a planet, only briefly seeing relevance hundreds of years ago during the ill reported Black Fleet Crisis. Sitting upon the furthest edge of its sun's circumstellar habitable zone, Walalla was a cold planet with a vast band of temperate forests and chilly steppe across it equator. Further north and south was dominated by massive taiga stretches with the kind of conifers in which one could easily wander into and never return. Somewhere upon this continent was a ruined castle nestled between twin mountain ranges. The once elaborate structure belonged to a line of nobles who had long since been forgotten in the annals of history. Nobody remembered their name or cause for all the signs had worn away, exposed like the battlements encrusted in bramble.

The Major always had a preference for cold since it reminded her of her homeworld, where she learned to hunt and fight in snow drifts and moaning winds. Wearing her signature hunter's coat, the markswoman was quite comfortable as snowflakes peppered her frock.

Sybil passed stone pillars and benches while maneuvering to the center of a park dominated by the shadow of the ruin. Once she reached a circular clearing with a frozen and long broken fountain, the agent stood at the ready with her arms crossed, peering at a multitude of forgotten keeps and store houses.

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

It's hard to be sneaky in the snow.

Between the faint hisses and whines of the hydraulic system that moved his limbs, the crunch of snow being compacted by feet supporting a body far more dense than average, and the muffled swearing, Eralam wasn't sneaking up on anyone today. Not that he was trying to, of course.

This was his first time on Walalla in what, three, four centuries maybe? The last time he visited, this place had bustled with life. It had been the sort of idyllic dreamworld that so attracted poets and young lovers and old lovers who were young at heart. Children had frolicked in the snow, while street vendors sold cider and piping hot cinnamon and apple fritters. It was for some sort of festival, the Shard recalled, and the castle had been elaborately decorated and the grounds opened to the public.

The eerie silence that pressed down upon the abandoned keep was and affront to the memory.

Few could accuse Eralam of being sentimental, but he had his moments. And so, he attacked the silence with gleeful abandon. Well, what passed as gleeful for him. The swearing was less pointed, at any rate.

Finally, he grumbled his way towards the meeting place, an old, broken down fountain where long dead priests had once bestowed joyous blessings on the babes born that year. He was unsure why [member="The Major"] had chosen this place to meet, but here they were.

The lanky huntress cut an imposing figure these days, a far cry from the timid creature he had met the year prior. The Iron Knight approved.

"You've been busy," he said by way of greeting.

 

[The Major]

There could be dozen of reasons why the maligned woman starting to be buzzed about as "The Major" in various circles would choose such a strange planet to hold a meeting. Indeed, why even up by this old ruin? There were far more hospitable areas and even cities on Walalla. Comfortable hovels with warm food and happy thoughts were only a ranges away. Frankly put, Sybil cherished exploration for the sake of exploration. There was so much to see in this great wide galaxy.

And so much to learn.​

Incidentally, she heard the Shard stringing curses far before she turned to greet the Master Metallic Magister. She gave Eralam quite the thorough bow before smiling inscrutably. He, or it, whatever the crystal race of elder beings preferred- briefly appeared to be examining the equipment of the huntress. It was a fair thing to do. Like a sanguine and black dahlia, the Major had blossomed quickly, insatiable for new knowledge and more massive challenges. Seeing the robotic equalizer again reminded her of that strange night at a seedy bar a year ago. For all he knew, it was even Sybil's birthday. Mirth and good cheer were well deserved.

"Oh? What have you heard?"

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

Eralam returned the bow. His wasn't quite as deep; [member="The Major"] seemed like one who could appreciate the nuances of protocol. Their respective stations placed the Shard above the Fallanassi, and to return the gesture in equal measure might be construed as mocking. However, by returning the bow at all, not to mention to that precise degree, indicated that, all else aside, he respected her a great deal. Which was true.

Though the huntress was still young, she'd made an indelible mark on the galaxy. With a little experience and the right guidance, he suspected she'd be a holy terror.

"For starters," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I heard you've got the FOSB in stitches. Half of them suspect you're some sort of ghost. A quarter of them are sure you are, and the rest can't figure out if you're their savior or some sort of elaborate plan to bring the whole thing crashing down. For a very junior agent, that's quite the reputation you have, Miss Shepardt."

Though his mien was as fixed as it had ever been, there was something like a grin in his voice, the subtle distortions caused the the upturn of the corners of one's mouth, the slight change in pitch and timbre that indicated warmth.

Eralam made his way over to a bench and cleared the snow from it. Though it had been fashioned to resemble wrought iron, it was actually durasteel, and still quite sturdy after centuries of neglect. The carefully lowered his chassis down, the nonchalantly leaned back, fingers interlaced behind his head, feet crossed carelessly in front of him. He looked relaxed, and in truth, was. Whatever suspicions he might have about the meeting, the old Iron Knight didn't think Sybil meant him any harm.

"If you manage to survive the next decade, I daresay you'll be one of the finest operatives the galaxy has ever known- if that's what you're truly after."

 

[The Major]

Sybil Shepardt smiled knowingly at Eralam's explanation, quite taken in by his colorful interpretation of events. Even her eyes closed as though listening to a far flung and well remembered piece of music. It was quite a pleasant expression to watch unfurl -a beautiful banner in a melancholic way.

It was quite clear that when around this particular Shard, a lot of Sybil's innate defenses and protective quirks developed in the last year seemed to be lowered or outright ignored. This intrinsically made Eralam extremely dangerous to this very Fallanassi -perhaps even opening pathways for him to manipulate or shape the First Order Agent. Worse yet, if he harbored the ill intent, he could probably easily peer into the depths of her brain. Was it at all necessary? In the Force it was simple to see that the woman harbored no dangerous scheme to the metal menace. Written upon her sleeve were sentiments of friendly, almost blue tinged cordiality towards the space robot.

​

Of course, one should always be cautious that a Fallanassi wasn't showing what one wanted to see.​

​

"I say: people are so prone to conspiracy. Paranoia abounds in every direction you look. And wouldn't you agree to say that it's all just selfishness? Tsk. So many waste their lives clinging to the hope that they are in fact the center of the universe."

You and I know better; don't we.​

​

The Major moves over to the bench besides the Shard, considering whether or not it would be okay to sit and share in amicable discourse. For now.

​

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

Eralam scooched over a bit, leaving [member="The Major"] ample room to sit if she so desired. His cloak, an affectation for a droid that felt not the sting of cold, kept his metal posterior from grating harshly against the metal slats that supported him.

The Shard had never been good at any sort of mentalism. The Force was a powerful tool, but it couldn't overcome the vast differences between the organic mind and his own crystalline one. To him, organics were infinitely complex, messy, at once painfully slow and blisteringly quick. Trying to read more than the surface layer of intent was beyond him, and even that required a particularly dull witted target, or one who wore their emotions on their sleeves. Even a cursory peek into the mind of the woman before him would have required far more concentration than he was willing to devote to the task, so he didn't bother.

Some might accuse him of arrogance. Some might say that he didn't view her as a threat, or capable of causing him any real harm. Those straw people would be morons. The Iron Knight abstained because, even if he were to glean some insight, it would almost certainly be what she wanted him to see. He knew that, and she most likely knew that he knew that, so he spared them both the trouble.

It was a sound decision, backed by sound logic, but it gnawed at a small part of his mind. It was the part that made him such an effective spymaster, the intrinsically paranoid corner of his silicon brain that naturally viewed anyone and everyone as a threat. And yet, Eralam was compelled to trust this woman. He could still hear the faint tick of clockwork coming from another corner, the part that was distantly aware that, in another world, in another life, they had known each other. That told him the Sybil Shepardt he knew was a friend, not a foe.

The two warring levels of attention brought about something very like cognitive dissonance, and it wasn't something calculated to put his mind at ease. After all, the awareness of his other self had gotten him in trouble before. He was not a god. He could be beaten. He could be killed. But the compulsion was too powerful to ignore.

For now, lacking any evidence to the contrary, Eralam decided it was safe to trust her. He didn't trust her unconditionally; he was fairly certain that would be fatal in the long run. He decided to trust her to be true to herself, and to see that, since he meant her no harm, he was far more useful as a friend and ally than an enemy. So long as that continued to be the case, she probably wouldn't turn on him.

It was a dangerous game, but one that the old and battered Iron Knight suspected would be a hallmark of their relationship, whatever form it might take.

"I've yet to meet a single being who wasn't, when you get right down to it, selfish," he said, thoughtful. "Even the most selfless acts of sacrifice are rooted in the pursuit of one's self interest. You can hardly expect the high and mighty to be immune to that particular vice."

 

[The Major]

She sat, her odd and specifically designed frock coat starving off any contact of cold upon her rear end that would usually send an organic soaring for the sun.

"Oh, I know. Call it youthful exuberance, but I was hoping that someone actually calling the shots would be above the 'vice.' We'll call it what it is: naivety. You know, I've butted heads with admirals, generals, and every neer-do-well in between; each case is another self obsessed phrik-head. Count about four that seem a little different.

• One of them is a bit of a creeper: polite and smart, yet he's more seemingly interested on figuring out how everything and everyone fits into a timebomb.
• Another is an. . .associate of yours who I was told nearly wept when his firearm 'died.' And I like firearms. A lot. But this was like. . . a lover passing on.
• The third is a mass murdering cyborg with a skull mask and a red mouth fouler than yours. They call her a bike. What the Hell is a bike?
• And there's a woman I met by chance on Coruscant. Every time I look at her, I can feel something behind it all. Swirling in the background, masking as familiarity. She claims something similar. Not sure if it's wise to trust her yet, and she seems the most normal of the bunch. Isn't that funny?

"Lastly there's you of course. Someone I can trust -regardless if it's difficult to say why. Possibly more naivety. We'll see."

She paused here just a second.

"Which brings us to why you've been asked to come. Something awful is lurking behind the lot of this. There's no time to waste on formality. I have to be ready, mentally. Hiding in the Force won't be the solution when it rears its ugly head. I need to be proactive. Can you help show me techniques?"

There was a determined edge to her voice that replaced the child like earnestness that earlier colored her explanation.

​

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

"Rusty mentioned your little expedition," Eralam said with a chuckle. "He's an odd one, but so long as he stays in his shop where he can't bother the grownups, I can safely pretend he doesn't exist. Believe it or not, up until a couple decades ago, he was a barely sane berserker. The things he did to any Sith he could get his hands on were cruel enough that there was some talk in the Network of having him eliminated."

Those had been dark days, indeed. The Network had spent a small fortune cleaning up the messes. No one had much sympathy for Sith, but the broken bodies left behind by Rusty's little crusade had been sickening, even for beings without stomachs.

"I'm not sure exactly what it is you want me to teach you in the way of technique," the Shard replied. "When it comes to the Force, I'm a two trick pony. I'm really, really good with what I can do, but unless you've an aptitude for Absorb or telekinesis, there's not much I can teach you there. But there's more to life than being able to throw boxes around with your mind. And from what I hear, you don't need much of that sort of training anyway. What you need is to step out of the shadows and learn how the galaxy really works. That's what I have to offer."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

After imagining Rusty the arms dealing Shard leaving a trail of robotically inclined destruction with an expression that said ‘that fits,’ the formal-stricken Fallanassi pondered upon Eralam’s heavy words. Technically speaking, telekinesis was straight out for being on the training tableau. This aversion to touching objects with the mind was drilled straight out of Sybil by the tribe. It wouldn’t be incorrect to say that the concept was abhorrent or unnecessary to any of the followers of the White Current. Absorption on the other dealt with the theory of channeling various forms of energy into pathways that aided or protected the user -or so this was our heroine's interpretation of the power. On paper it was powerful, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was something she was capable of using. From what she could surmise from his onerous diction was that Sybil was missing something -insight perhaps. Or maybe outsight was the correct term. Deja vu teased gently upon her mind. From whence, she could not say momentarily.

How the galaxy really works. . . What was she missing?​

“Can you expound upon this?” Her tone is neither confrontational or incredulous. Sybil was quite eager to learn as much as possible.

​

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

"If there is one sin that will surely get you killed, it's naivete," Eralam said, suddenly serious. "I don't know a whole lot about your upbringing, but I know your type. You grew up in a small, isolated community. Fallanassi tend to be somewhat clannish, from what I've heard, so I doubt you've had much experience living with people who weren't family, or close enough to it to count. Over the last year, you've made a name for yourself, sticking in the shadows, but let me ask you something: what do you know of the common man?"

As he spoke, the Shard retrieved a pipe from his belt, packed it with fragrant tobacco, and lit it. He'd never had an urge to smoke before meeting Sybil, and he found the idea just as preposterous as he had when she first mentioned it. But something told him that here, with her, this was the right move. It heightened the sense of familiarity, and glazed everything with just a touch of nostalgia. He took a minute to light it with an honest to god wooden match, an anachronism so rare in this day and age, they had to be special ordered.

Within moments, something like the sweet scent of caramel and dried fruit began wafting about the snowy courtyard.

"There's no doubt that you are exceptional. I'm not trying to feed your ego here, just stating plain fact. The problem with exceptional people is that they tend to have a blind spot where the common man is concerned. They stop seeing them as real people with real problems, real hopes and fears. Or they were never able to see them that way to begin with. To the exceptional person, the common man is little more than a useful animal, to be used and discarded as necessary. That's what gets them killed."

Apparently, the pipe hadn't been lit properly. As Eralam spoke, it went out, and required another touch from one of his expensive matches. This time, he took care to see that the cherry was glowing merrily before he flicked the match into the snow, where it extinguished with a hiss.

"It's true, the common man can be used, but there's a lot more of them than there ever will be of you. Push them too hard, and they'll snap, every single time. That's why despots get overthrown, or why elite armies find themselves overrun by peasants with hand tools. That's also why agents and spies have a habit of being dragged through the streets, their naked bodies bruised and bloody. The common man might be apathetic to the point of insanity, but when riled, it's a damned vicious beast.

"I'm not going to tell you I can help you think like one of them. But you travel with me, and I can promise you'll learn to understand them a bit. See what makes them tick. And maybe, just maybe, when your back's up against the wall and you've nowhere else to turn, you'll know how to get them to help you, rather than do the deed themselves."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Swirling snow piles up as it always has, further burying the fountain like it would in peace.

If the Shard was trying to trigger more of what had happened a year ago in a much seedier place by smoking that pipe, then it failed to provide any flooding insight or panicking revelation. Whether Sybil was comfortable with spikes in familiarity, bored of them, or actively ignoring the gnawing and compounding dread provided by them —only she could say. Perhaps all three were true in varying degrees. Her face was inscrutable while she was watched the unassuming and paradoxically dangerous silicate lifeform.

Then he mentioned something about traveling together and a red flag popped up in her brain. Primarily the issue was one of agreeing to spend time with what was a technical stranger to some extent. Entering his domain provide a type of leverage that could only be circumvented by trust, and that wasn't preventative. Trust was only acceptance. What could she say? Humans rarely want to leave their comfort zones, even if it was for their own good. Secondly was the issue of her work. Her position within the Bureau afforded an autonomy that had yet to be checked -frankly because she got results. This only stretched so far until it was rightly called out as abuse. And one does not abuse the assets of the Supreme Leader. Not yet.

A legend once stated Yoda trained Luke in the basics that made him one of the most effectual Jedi in the galaxy. That took seven days. So it was said.

”Respectfully, due to time constraints we will frame this arrangement to a Core’s week: seven 24 hour units. That should give me enough time to get back to the Order to complete any pending assignments. If anything, we should be able to at least cover the basics of your perspective on this journey. Agreeable, Sir?”

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

"Then let's be about it."

​12 Hours Later

​The marketplace was dry and dusty. A chill wind swept through the air, alleviating the suffering caused by the blistering heat of the day. It more than made up for it by pelting the inhabitants with tiny particles of rock; trading one discomfort for another was just a part of life around here.

The planet was barely a blip on the star charts; it didn't even have a proper name. The locals called it Vražji Dom, the Devil's Home. If not for a rare species of lichen that thrived in the mossy forests at the egdes of the desert belts that ring the equator, no one would pay it much mind. The lichen was insanely valuable as the base of an anti-aging drug. It heartily resisted any and all attempts to cultivate it on more pleasant, centrally located planets, but here on Vražji Dom, you couldn't get away from the stuff.

​Collecting it and drying it out was a backbreaking effort. The pharmaceutical company that produced the drug hired criminals and outcasts to perform the work, relying on the age old practice of paying them handsomely, and then recouping their investment by keeping the harvesters in debt. The only offworld supplies came from the company stores, which sold their wares at exhorbitant prices. They were happy, however, to open generous lines of credit, credit that would be used to buy a homestead (from the company), equipment (also from the company), and food, medicine, and other necessities (all from the company).

​Those with a talent for the work could, in fact, pay off their debts and live comfortably. The company knew it couldn't get away with fleecing the workers too much, so it was careful not to push things so far as to garner accusations of slavery. That would be disastrous for their image, even among the super rich who relied on their products to unnaturally extend their lifespans. But by making a point of hiring the sorts of scum that no respectable institution would possibly consider for employment, they were able to play up the humanitarian angle, while also ensuring the public would turn a blind eye to any abuse short of that.

​The marketplace that Eralam and [member="The Major"] found themselves exploring was one of the few such institutions that wasn't controlled by the company. In the last decade, several of the more wealthy harvesters had managed to pitch and buy equipment for farming, mining, and manufacture. Vražji Dom wasn't awash with mineral resources or tillable land, but there was enough that they were able to begin locally producing certain low technology tools, as well as fresh fruits and vegetables that couldn't easily be transported offworld. The company turned a blind eye, so long as their profit margin wasn't gouged too deeply. Uncharacteristically for such a venture, their prices were fair, and their goods of decent quality.

Say what you will about the people who came to Vražji Dom, but whatever paths led them to this miserable little rock, the sweat and toil that came from harvesting the lichen produced a tight knit community.

​The Shard and the Fallanassi were clearly out of place, but they were just as clearly not from the company, so the shoppers paid them no mind as they bustled from stall to stall, bulging baskets in hand. After a good half hour of exploration, they found themselves resting in the dubious protection offered by the leeward side of a partially collapsed building. Whatever it had originally been built for, it was a hollow shell, its roof gone and a wall laying on the ground.

​"Tell me what you see," Eralam instructed.

 

[The Major]

Not being one to be operating from a stance of ignorance, the Fallanassi had run as many background checks as possible on this world, its inhabitants, and the company which owned the lot of it while the pair walked to this specific resting spot. Little was to be gleaned, and though she hated to make an uninformed assumption -or any assumption for that matter- there was not much else to do but play by the rules presented. Possibly, this was a test of her perception, or even him trying to suss out her alignment. There was little to be gained by lying, and so Sybil answered to the best of her ability.

"I see exploitation. The conglomerate this planet's current owner belongs under could afford to keep these workers in better conditions. That said, I also see weakness from the people who are more willing to accept abuse if it maintains a status quo."

This particular woman definitely was the type that did not comfortably function on arid or blazing hot environments. Even in a tanktop she was sweating a fair deal -seemingly thankful to be in the protection of shade.

"There is also growth of spirit. You can see that by the little market these people have established here. It's human nature to try and improve one's condition. Though seemingly it can be crushed at a moment's notice by the corporation. . ."

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

"That they could," Eralam acknowledged. "But only if they're extremely stupid."

The temperature dropped another few degrees as he spoke. By true nightfall, this place would be as frigid as it was scorching during the day. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, this was only false twilight. As the primary sun set, the secondary sun would race across the sky in a span of less than an hour, giving everyone a brief but memorable reminder that they lived at the edge of a desert. The truly bizarre orbital mechanics responsible for the odd day/night cycle were partly responsible for the treasured lichen's recalictrance.

"I brought you here because I wanted you to witness firsthand the most powerful motivator of the Common Man: pride. In order to come here, one has to sacrifice everything: their family, their fortunes, even their lives. The company has them declared legally dead. The final debt they have to pay, and the steepest one, is for a new identity. It takes at least five years of hard labor and tremendous luck at the minimum. Most will live and work their whole lives without paying more than a pittance against it. And yet, knowing that the odds are stacked against them, knowing that the most likely outcome is failure, still they strive.

"This is partly because, yes, they want to eat good food and drink clean water. The company will absolutely let them starve if they refuse to work, and they can't count on the charity of beings who barely have enough for themselves. But beneath that survival instinct is something at once more noble and despicable. By the sweat of their brows, they can earn a new life for themselves. They can stick it to the bastards that marooned them here and laughed. They can prove to everyone around them, but most importantly to themselves, that they're really worth something. This marketplace is a monument to that pride. In spite of everything, the proprietors were able to make something wholly their own.

"Pride will drive the Common Man to do great and terrible things. They can accomplish awesome feats, and commit terrible atrocities, if only you learn how to harness that pride. What do you think would happen here if the company were to shut down this marketplace?"

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Perhaps something was lost in translation. Sybil inferred to mean Eralam's explanation that these people were the type that needed a clean slate. One might even imply that these folks were criminals of some sort. Refugees perhaps. Is that why Pride was the lesson here? Their past mistakes had caught up with these maligned people, causing them to give up all creature comforts for survival. It sounded like the melodrama of a reprobate. For a Fallanassi dropping and picking up an identity was little more than a matter of convenience. Whatever was most effective in the moment was suitable. Each and every member intercepted this as freely or as strictly as they wanted. Some of the tribe relied on intelligence and cunning, others delved into seductive and manipulative arts, and yet still more challenged themselves upon the lines of philosophy. Even amongst her three sisters the differences were stark.

But what did pride exactly have to do with Sybil?

She pondered for a few beats on this issue, and it clearly clouded the expression upon her face.

No, this was about understanding the common man. They were dominated by pride, and its use destroyed and emboldened them to commit acts the likes of which are easily studied in history.

So it was a resource to be used and tapped into. Obviously. Why did it feel like the Shard was explaining something she already knew? Perhaps the devil was in the details. The presentation was the lesson in and of itself. Regardless of the doubt, the Major felt it was best to continue down this path and line of inquiry.

"Literally anything: they might start a new illegal enterprise, they could fight in rebellion for their last string of individuality, they may seek assistance off-world, they may submit to the weight of the company, or outright be destroyed by its grand schemes; take your pick upon the exact iteration. What is important here is any of these results can be influenced by an outsider by recognizing the motivating factor, Pride, and manipulating upon these collective desires to achieve a goal -however altruistic or selfish it may be."

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

"These are people for whom packing up and leaving isn't an option. All they have is crushing debt and hard labor to look forward to. If they get caught trying to leave before their debt is paid, and since the only spaceport is completely controlled by the company they will​ get caught, their equipment, property, food, and everything ​they bought on credit is repossessed. They're basically left to starve."

The Shard wasn't surprised that [member="The Major"] didn't seem to get it. She simply had no frame of reference for what drove these people. If they had the time, he could give her an in depth object lesson by having her adopt one of their identities and live here for a couple years. This planet was one of his favorite training spots for that very reason. Taking up a preexisting identity was easy enough; the harsh climate meant that the locals tended to favor homespun robes and cover their faces during the day. A week or so spent gathering data, a quiet kill in the night, a body dumped in the desert, it was easy. It was much harder to infiltrate the normal way, as the company tended to be pretty thorough with their background checks. There were a couple of classes of criminal that not even they would take, so they liked to have a good idea of what they were dealing with. Plus, if someone caused too much trouble, they could always blackmail them with their past.

But they didn't have a couple of years. They had a week, and this was far from their only stop.

"Tell you what: you really want to figure out what makes them tick? Find a secluded corner, work your magic, then take a stroll through here in the body of one of the company's law enforcement officers. Those guys we saw at the spaceport? Same uniform, just with a little more dust."

 

[The Major]

There was an impending sense of doom as she processed the logistics of Eralam's challenge. She had a dark feeling that he was baiting her into being hurt or beat down upon by some kind of trick. Her skittish nature and innate teachings screamed an instinct that pretending to be a guard would be a very bad idea. It was clear however that something was missing in her understanding of the lesson. If this was the only way, then it was best to comply. Besides, she wasn't without a means of self defense. Certainly, the trustworthy Shard wouldn't put anyone here at risk for lethal harm unless it was deserved. Right?

"Okay. Got it."

Like a click of an old roach's wings, the Major in all her sweaty glory was gone and a guard of the company had taken her place. Rather than push the illusion too far she now equipped her hunter's tool forged by another Shard upon her right shoulder. The LCR revolver was holstered low on the left side of her hip.

Without any further hesitation this guard marched down with a lazy, tilted gait that could almost be interpreted as a challenge to the folk surrounding the market.

[member="Eralam"]

 

[Eralam]

To the casual eye, not much changed.

People still went about their shopping. Most of them only had a free day once every three weeks or so. There was a fairly tight schedule for cultivation and harvest, not to mention maintenance, and in order to get a day off, they had to work that much harder to make up for it. They weren't about to let the presence of a security officer ruin their hard earned break.

Nonetheless, there were still the occasional looks of fear, and once or twice, undisguised hatred.

To the trained eye, the eye that had spent some time belonging to a trained spook, there were the unmistakable signs of panic. No one ran, no one screamed, but there were all kinds of signs. Sideways glances, baskets clutched tighter, that sort of thing. But there was also something more sinister, if one knew what they were looking for. Wherever [member="The Major"] went, a series of subtle signs followed. Maybe a vase would be placed on a counter, a sign turned a particular way, or a subtle hand signal.

She was clearly being watched, and as she walked, the tension ratcheted upwards. The market was holding its collective breath, waiting to see what would unfold. If she continued on her way, perhaps nothing would happen. After all, no one wanted the sort of trouble that would come from attacking a security officer, however hated they might be. But, the market was on the rain-slicked precipice of imminent violence. Would she give it a push?

 

[The Major]

She kept on glaring, waiting for gunfire to erupt or a cold knife to plunge into her back. It was at this point that the Major realized she was letting the fear take hold of her. Rather than control the situation an all consuming predilection for avoiding pain was smearing her better judgment.

Pause. Be brave, my child.​

​

Memory served the huntress; memories of patiently awaiting in snow and brush as a quarry filled up frosty iron sights. Breathing deeply with a telltale slow blink, Sybil awakens her instincts, and those eyes were now harsh not with mistrust or fear -but with understanding. These people would kill her true if she interfered. Pride dictated that had to defend what little was left. And what was that in the background? Something sticky and cold to cause the hairs upon a neck to prickle in agitation.

Hatred.​

​

Purity in its finest form and all of it was concentrated upon the Major. It was aimed directly at her uniform and everything that it stood for. These people were animals pushed to a brink, and she felt a deep compassion for them in this very moment. Childlike naivety was shoved aside for the reality. They didn't want anyone's help. They were suffering on their own and would deal with it on their own. Otherwise, they would have not chosen this abused type of life.

Little motions came into her perception: moving of hands, glances darting about, subtle exchanges and symbols fraught with clear, visceral purpose.

What a magical place this was.

Sybil turned to the nearest stall full of food and walked up to the counter.

"Excuse me, how much for the veggies? They look finely grown, and fresh for a great dinner." There was no sarcasm dripping from her voice, and yet all the same the concentrated glee in stabbing eyes foretold of a capacity for great manner deal of things. For their sake, she hoped they clearly were sensing her generosity bubbling.

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

The woman running the stall was barely out of her teenage years. Whatever she had done to earn exile to this place, she had done it young. She might have been pretty once, but her left ear had been sliced off at some point in the distant past, her forehead branded with a rune faded into illegibility by time and a network of other scars that crisscrossed her face and ran down below the collar of her loose fitting tunic.

It was clear why she was working the stall; her left hand was missing the index and middle finger, and her thumb was missing the above the first joint. There was no way she could work the harvesting equipment in her current state. On another world, her only source of income might have been begging, or prostitution. Here, where prostitution was strictly forbidden and no one had enough to share with cripples, she would have likely starved to death had she not found a job running the stall.

Her eyes were cold and dead, her movements languid, dreamlike.

The entire market held its breath. The girl rarely spoke, and no one knew her name. They called her Nešťastná Dívka, the Wretched Girl, or Nest, for short. There were all sorts of rumors about her, that she had been tortured or abused by the guards, that she had sold herself to get this job. All anyone really knew was that she hated their masters more than anyone else.

If she responded with violence against the interloper, they would have no choice but to back her.

She regarded [member="The Major"] with inscrutable eyes. Several moments passed, and then she passed the indicated wares over to the huntress.

"Thirty credits," she whispered, her harsh voice grating over scarred vocal chords.

That was three times what they charged the locals. But, it was something. Their pride had been preserved, the status quo maintained. Had Sybil tried to seize them by force, or even offer to buy them with even a hint of condescension, the market would have exploded.

She had walked a fine line. Eralam, for one, approved.