27 – Town Gate

“What do you plan to do when you get to that gate, huh? Assault some grunt and play into their nation’s propaganda?!” she questioned, assuming that at least part of the apparent prejudice against Ikesians had to have come from wartime propaganda.

To her surprise, he blinked a couple times and seemingly snapped back to his senses. She could almost see him mentally putting the mask of stoicism back on. “A’ight,” he rumbled calmly. “You’re right. Now get off me ‘fore you shatter my pelvis, yer fuckin’ heavy.”

Zelsys let out a brief, surprised chuckle and did as he asked. By the time he got up and dusted himself off, the others had caught up, and the group resumed their approach of the town without any further incident. A melancholic mire still hung over them, but that little incident seemed to have relieved the worst of the tension - or at least, to Zelsys it seemed as such.

After no more than perhaps a minute of further walking, it became clear that both of the guards were Ikesian. Their snow-white foreheads glistened in the sun, covered by a thin layer of sweat. They had muskets with long bayonets, which neither of them bothered to hold at the ready, instead just leaning them against the wall much in the same way they themselves did.

In fact, they weren’t particularly attentive at all - it took until the group had approached within a stone’s throw of the gate before one of the guards snapped out of his daydream and stood at attention, reaching for his rifle and holding it at the ready as he waited for them to approach.

They both had strong builds, but while the Left Guard was a youthful, well-groomed man, the Right Guard was the visual personification of a tired soldier. Greying unkempt hair, a short untrimmed beard, and a swelled, pinkish nose that stood out from the stark white of his face. Both of them wore uniforms that were very obviously repurposed Ikesian military uniforms, combined with casual clothes. The young man kept an attentive eye on them, though particularly on Zelsys - she wagered it was only partly due to the fact she was a towering foreigner among a group mostly composed of Ikesians.

“Welcome to Willowdale, please state your business,” the young man said cautiously when they finally reached the gate, looking them up and down in turn. The three soldiers stated their intentions in turn, and the guardsman did nothing but smile and nod at his countrymen to let them know they would be let in, only to turn his eyes toward Zelsys once more. Despite his impressive height, he still had to look up to meet her gaze.

“Especially you, foreigner,” he prompted.

Zelsys smiled at him. He was clearly young, very young. Perhaps in his late teens, barely more than a child. This up close, she could make out scraggly blonde threads that poked out of his chin, barely visible against his face - far less visible than the fear in his eyes as he stared up at her. “Oh, I’m just looking for honest beast-slaying work,” she said.

“Truly?” doubted the boy. “Or are you here to stir conflict? To undermine us even more after what your kin have done?!”

Accusations spilled from his mouth, misdirected anger blazing out of him as he gripped his rifle. The noise woke the old guardsman from his stupor, and the old man admonished his counterpart, “Fool, what did I tell you about antagonizing foreigners?! Shut your mouth before you get us in trouble!”

“Look, I wasn’t even on the continent during the war,” she interrupted, drawing stares from both the guards. A raised eyebrow from the old man and plain confusion from the boy.

“A treasure hunter, then? Count yerself lucky, then. I’d take a hundred cannibals o’er this travesty of a war anyday,” the elder responded, drifting off into a nostalgic daydream for a brief moment before he snapped back to reality. “Still, that don’t explain yer purpose fer bein’ here. Why come to a war-struck town at the edge o’ the Exclusion Zone?”

Something about the way the old man looked and spoke to her told Zelsys that he saw a reflection of his younger self in her. Whether that impression was reality or merely a misplaced assumption, she decided to play along. After all, she had begun walking this path the moment she told her purpose for entry to that officer.

“Just a Fog-breather looking to do some honest beast-slaying,” she said, knowing full-well it would draw attention to her.

“Truly? A’ight, I won’t try to stop you,” the old guard said, much to the younger man’s visible frustration. Nevertheless, the youth refrained from challenging his elder, and so they were granted passage, this being no more than the old man retrieving a bulky keyring and unlocking a smaller door in the gate for them to walk through.

The four stepped onto a main street of white cobbles, white-painted buildings, and bright red shingle roofs. They leisurely strode down it as they looked about and took in their surroundings, with Makhus surprisingly taking the lead. “Gotta sell off a bottle or two, you’ll get a proper payment yet,” remarked the swordsman offhandedly, momentarily turning his gaze to Zelsys.

Few people were out and about, and even among them there was considerable disparity. It took a moment to realize, but it quickly became obvious after the third granny passed by and shot them a scared look. Willowdale was inhabited mostly by the young and the old, with a very small minority of those in-between. Zelsys took to mentally categorizing the people she saw, and it only confirmed this suspicion.

“Old. Old. Old. Young. Old. Young. Young. Old. Old. Young…”

She drifted away into a dissociative state, remaining aware of her surroundings as she followed the swordsman’s lead down the street and into a small shop on a street corner, counting people as she went. Makhus spoke with the surly man across the counter, momentarily breaking into an accent so thick she could barely understand.