Disgraced

Centuries ago, in a realm similarly dominated by human governments, a nation ruled by an emperor amidst a civil crisis and warring states. This nation of Mariyuka had been prosperous and peaceful for generations, but feudal castes had slowly deteriorated relations. As a result, entire provinces fell to the abyss of anarchy, while others absolute rule and greed domineered its lower classes. As a result of the oppressive inequality, few lived without a care, but even the lowest ranks of society found a way to survive the brutality of their world. Those who held no freedom would find that one fateful night, their fortunes would change. A singular event would soon become the catalyst of war that would rewrite history.

In the dead of that night, the dispiriting forest whistled and prowling animals howled to the sight of a new moon. The sky was empty and barren, lacking even the twinkling lights of the stars. Their usual beauty had been hidden to reveal a sinister, darkened world below. Waves of the sea crashed onto the shore, as if the body of water wanted to envelop and swallow the entire Earth.

Despite the looming darkness, the loud, brutish peasantry paid no mind, as they were merry and jolly inside of the bustling Solidarity Tavern, forgetting all the troubles that await them outside as they sloppily chugged another cheap beer down their fat, parched throats. One individual sitting on a wooden stool at the bar, however, was not drinking. His journey was infinitely more important to him than ignoring any sorrow he may have. Some of the bulky, husky natives eyed this strange tourist, as his beaten, crude armor and hakama pants indicated that he was a foreigner from a far-off region, someone who was unwelcome in the tavern. Although they whispered, surprised a sentinel samurai would travel so far into their province, no one directly confronted him due to his aura of unpleasantness. Still, he knew they were staring from behind him, but he paid them no mind either. He was already tense, and he didn't want anyone else to sour his mood further.

On the other side of the bar from where the sentinel was sitting, a dark-skinned barmaid with curly hair tied up with a band and a flamboyant, short, peach dress with a neckline that fell off the shoulders and had puffy sleeves stirred, mixed, and served drinks to the bumbling crowds of men. She showed appreciation and care towards her customers, treating them with feminine charm as she offered and collected the beer mugs.

Soon, she noticed the brunette sentinel with his messy hair, disheveled side chops, mismatched irises, and scar running down his left eye and cheek, as he stared into the wood with empty hands. She ignored the clues that suggested he wanted to be left alone and instead leaned in very close, invading his privacy, to ask him, "What can I get'cha, hun?"

The sentinel looked up to see her tender smile, feeling her breath on his face. Though she was much too close to him, he answered without irritation or pleasure, "Club soda, please.”

The woman noted her attempt at flirting with the man failed, so she backed off curiously to insist, "You sure? You look like you c’ud use somethin’ wee bit harder than a club soda," while still displaying a bright, coy smile.

"I am not planning to stay long," he stated simply again.

The bartender nodded and poured him the soda, but still pressured him. "How 'bout you just take one shot then, to ease your mind?"

The disagreeable man ignored her question, looking away. She held onto the drink, unwilling to give in, and she proceeded to inquire further, nosing into his business. "Some sorta’ important business, you wouldn’t share, huh? Aren’t ya a sentinel? Got some sort of quest ‘round ‘ere? Though I can’t imagine what. We ain’t seen you people ‘round in years."

After so much prying, the sentinel snapped. "Just give me the damn soda and stop talking to me with your whore mouth, honey,”

The barmaid relinquished her smile and playful attitude, taken aback by the sudden rude manners. "Ya mind yo’ own business. What I do for money is none of your concern."

"Then I suggest you do the damn same."

"I was jus’ curious ‘cause we ain’t never seen someone like you. Lords forbid I talk to my customers." She rolled her eyes, handing him the drink before turning away to talk to another customer sitting nearby.

"Hey you!" A deep voice hollered from behind the sentinel, grabbing his attention. The sentinel turned around, unamused, to witness a giant, drunken, unsatisfied man stumbling toward him. As the man hobbled forward, beer foamed out of his mouth and trickled down his long, twisted, unkept beard. He had a powerful stench of alcohol, yet the odor from his body sweat and uncleanliness smelled more disgustingly intoxicating. The man, reeking of liquor, whined and groaned, "Don’t you know the emperor’s henchmen aren’t welcome here in Meraud?" He slobbered over him as he stammered angrily on his words. "We don’t follow his rules. Go back to wherever you came from with all your pretty, little buddies."

He then shoved the sentinel onto a nearby table, toppling it over and causing the glasses on top of it to roll off and shatter on the ground. The sound made the bartender shriek in panic and hide in a corner of the tavern. The sentinel swiftly stood up and regained his footing as he took out his katana to block each hefty swing coming from the obese, towering man. Because the other man’s senses were dulled, the sentinel easily dodged each punch and dropped him onto his face with a simple sweep under his legs. He kicked him in the head, rendering the drunk man unconscious.

The sentinel breathed in relief before dropping a bag of coins on the counter. "For the drink and the damages," he explained. "Sorry for the inconvenience." He apologized to the bartender, as he noticed that everyone was watching the fight. "I'll be going. No reason for me to stay here anyway."

Recognizing a symbol on the sword the sentinel was carrying, the barmaid realized exactly the type of soldier the man was. "That sword… You must be from Odalion! Oh, I beg forgiveness! I promise I’m not one o’ them revolutionaries nor any sympathizer! I appreciate the emperor very, very much!" She pleaded pitifully, though there was no sincerity in her posture.

"I don't give a damn. I'm not here for you, just visiting an old friend." The sentinel responded brashly.

Immediately, the barmaid changed her tone to reflect her true loyalties. "Well then, I see why you sentinels stir up so much trouble. Y’all think you are all noble heroes, but I’ve seen rat infestations more heroic than the lot of ya. Wouldn’t the world be in bettah shape if the ones ruling it were bettah people, don’t ya think?"

Her question lingered in his mind, reminding the man of another time when he was more youthful, mannerly, and lacked any scars. In his memory, he had been laying down on the soft grass underneath a tree on top of a hill. As the wind blew clouds gently across the cerulean sky, he gazed at the shapes made by each cloud, enjoying the tranquil day. Beside him lay a familiar, young girl with a gentle look in her lavender eyes. He knew her not only as the lady of Aisling, heir to a seat of royalty and his responsibility to protect as a high-ranking sentinel, but as a friend and confidant. Her wavy, ivory hair fell gracefully below her shoulders and underneath her back. She wore a flowing, white dress with pieces of turquoise material and gold spirals embroidered along the sleeves and skirt. She, too, was watching the clouds, mesmerized with the sky.

Suddenly, the girl broke the silence between them, rambling about her random, fleeting thoughts aloud. "You know, Garth, in all these stories you share with me, I always have this sense they are hyperboles. How could it be true that someone faced against hordes of samurai all alone to save his homeland and bride from the clutches of a demon? Obviously, these tales are myths and heroes who could do something as incredible as that do not truly exist. Fairytales are much too exaggerated. Poetic, yes, but fatally misleading; would you agree?"

The sentinel, Garth, chuckled, intrigued. "Aneta, why the unexpected assertion? I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one. You have a more optimistic outlook on humanity than that."

"Surely, you understand what I am saying, though. I do believe in overcoming gargantuan odds, but there must be a divergence between ignorance and optimism. My father has always encouraged me to know the truth, to keep myself from being blinded by desire." Aneta remarked, describing how she did not want to deny reality, "But idealistic wishes are not impossible. If compassion exists, I know at least one person can be saved. Yet, if I believe people have goodness within them, there of course will always be a possibility that good might not succeed." She sighed heavily. "It is too unfortunate that few heroes exist. The future needs to appear hopeful, so stories must create those figures who are so strong they can break through a curse through sheer willpower. The type of people who will fight for others even if they're terrified. In reality, we all struggle; we all fail. Courage is never easy.”

Garth met her eyes, directly making eye contact in hopes to dispel her doubts. "There are still people who are resilient and selfless, despite opposing forces that slow them. There has to be.”

“I think so. You are among some of the better men I have known,” Aneta assured as her eyes shined admirably.

The comment surprised the sentinel, leaving him speechless and unfocused. To him, his deeds seemed dutiful and oath-bound, not altruistic nor compassionate. It was not his choice, only a reflection of his loyalty and samurai honor. To hear another perspective and respect for his actions made him blush from embarrassment.

Though he recalled that more happened that day, the sentinel’s memory faded away, shifting to a much more recent memory. Horrific images invaded his mind: A dagger in his hand, blood spilling out on the wooden floor, a lord dead beside him, Aneta returning to the scene, instantly paralyzed with confusion and dread. Her words echoed hauntingly, “N-no, no, NO, NO, NO! H-How? How could you? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS, GARTH?!”

Rather than relive the traumatizing moments, he distracted himself with the present. He had long left the Solidarity Tavern and had traveled to a house hidden deep within the woods. Standing in front of it, he could see that it had been falling apart for years, the home forgotten and decrepit. It seemed abandoned, as vines were growing on the sides and the horrendous lawn was filled with tall weeds that blocked the main entrance. However, a small candlelight peeked through the foggy window, proving that someone still lived there. Garth knocked on the moldy door and heard a croaky voice from inside.

"WHO IS IT OUT THERE?” The old lady inside bellowed. “If you’re part of the Meraud Initiative, I have no valuables and nothing to give! Please, have mercy on my soul and leave me alone! Do not hurt me!” She wailed in fear.

Rather than raise his voice at the woman, in response, Garth remained calm. "It's me, Miss Summers.”

Upon hearing the voice outside, the woman hastily opened the door and smiled crookedly at him. “Garth Roh-nigh! Come, come in dearie!" The elderly woman was short due to her hunched back, and she stood wearing a habit that covered her head along with a black robe and cross. She sauntered back and forth funnily, unable to stand properly to support her body weight.

Garth felt guilty as he corrected her, but he was embarrassed that the woman who helped raise him still forgot his name. "It's pronounced 'Ronye' actually, like 'rune.' But yes... it has been a very long time since I saw you last."

Miss Summers found her way into a grimy kitchen and grabbed a kettle to boil water over a fire. "Last time you were here… why, you were still in training! Back then, you had this courteous and slightly squeaky voice, too… You were such a bright-eyed boy with dreams of being the best defender in all the land!" She smiled earnestly.

“How could you have known if I was as ‘bright-eyed’ as you say, Miss Summers?” He wondered uneasily.

“I may be blind and cannot see, yes, but I remember how you acted, even if it was so many years ago. You always talked with such sincerity and excitement to do good. The years have not been kind to you, have they? You’ve matured but I hear pain in your voice…" She spoke softly.

Garth disregarded her comment. "Do not worry, I am quite all right. Sadly, I did not come to see you to reminisce over the past.”

“Then what is your reason for this unexpected visit? Are we not quite far from your home as well?"

"I cannot tell you why I have come. I only ask for a few nights of shelter, if it would be no trouble for you.”

The nun nodded knowingly. "Oh, I understand. All of you sentinel types are the same. You all burrow your fears and doubts to keep anyone from becoming involved, and then you brood from the loneliness that brings." She scolded.

He explained further, telling her, "If I told you why I had to come to Meraud of all places, I would put you in an unreasonable amount of danger, Miss Summers.”

"Oh dear, Garth, this does not bode well! What sort of conspiracy are you mixed up with during these horrid times?" She worried for his safety sympathetically. "Hopefully not those terrorists."

Garth tried to ease her mind. "No, no, not at all. Where I was, it was quite the opposite. Very harmonious and content.”

Miss Summers's voice lowered to a grave tone. "Well here, there have been raids and riots nearly every week. Talk of revolution seems to be popular. Whatever you are doing here, be careful."

"Trust me, I have this situation covered. I am capable of taking care of myself." He insisted.

The blind woman paced around as she checked the boiling pot of water. "I wonder how true that is these days. The nobles’ greedy, unholy schemes have unsettled the populace. Now, sentinels all have targets on their backs, being their protectors. It is too dangerous for most, especially in this part of the country."

"Do not worry, I will not stay in Meraud for long."

“You can at least stay here with me, Garth. Here, have some tea,” Sister Summers set down a tea cup in front of him and poured the tea from a porcelain pot.

“Sorry, Miss Summers. I would like to stay for longer than a few days, but I must keep moving before they catch me. I managed to throw them off my trail tonight so they could not track me here right away, but it will not be long before they find me again."

"Who, Garth? Who is looking for you?"

Back at the Solidarity Tavern, a squadron of sentinels, decked in samurai armor and helmets made from brass, arrived on the premises, bursting into the establishment. They broke through the doors and windows, caring little about property damage as they surrounded and blocked all exits, preventing any escapes.

The man in charge of the squadron, a sentinel captain with fair skin and knotted ginger hair named Sir Richard Flemming, paced back and forth with a disgusted look on his face. "All right you sick and filthy degenerates. Worry not, as we will make this nice and simple for all of you. All you need to do is pay attention! We have come here in search of a fugitive. We know he must have stopped here, so do NOT play dumb with us and pretend he never came here. We know one of you must have seen him and likely talked to him. His name is Garth Ronye and he looks like a sentinel from Odalion. If I find out any one of you are harboring or abetting this piece of shit I will have you arrested and you will be sharing the same punishment he is. No excuses. I do not care that Meraud no longer has a lord. This land belongs to Emperor Miervaldis so you will cooperate with the his laws.”

After the captain’s speech, everyone kept silent for a while. Soon, the same man who was knocked unconscious earlier by the sentinel stood up to jeer. "We don’t listen to your kind. We won’t tell you nothing about no one that came through ‘ere, not even your dying grandma. You better just hurry home back where you scum-sucking freaks came from!"

After he complained, everyone else joined in hurling insults toward the sentinels in the tavern, all yelling for them to leave.

The sentinel captain grabbed the man's throat and pressed his wakizashi against it. "Since you decided to volunteer to speak up, you better tell me what I fucking want to know, or else I will not hesitate to cut out your windpipe and tongue and make you swallow them." He threatened forcefully, causing the background noise to cease.

The other man instantly backed off, acting very squeamish. "H-hey, I didn’t talk to the guy! But the bartender lady did!" He pointed to her with a shaky finger, accusing her. The sentinels turned to look at her, and the captain let go of his neck. He walked over to the counter to talk with the bartender of the tavern.

"Well, why did you not say so?" Sir Flemming sneered with a condescending tone.

The bartender played dumb, reacting defensively. "Oh my goodness, I did not remember him coming by, I am truly sorry! There’s just so many people who come through ‘ere and I serve ‘em all. It’s easy to forget…”

The captain was not buying into her story and slammed his hands on the bar. "Cut the bullshit, you repulsive bitch. What did he tell you?!”

"Nothing, nothing, I swear to the Emperor! I really tried to talk to ‘im but he just kept ignorin’ me before stormin’ out! He knocked over one of my tables and was just actin’ so strange, but I got no idea why!" She stuttered nervously.

The man remained unconvinced by her confession. "Why would a woman like you be interested in talking to a sentinel?"

She spoke honestly, clearly upset with his mocking tone. "I wanted his money, alright? Sentinels give good tips if you play nicely. Probably ‘cause they get paid gold to kiss the butts of the nobles!"

Furious, Sir Flemming spoke directly. "I am tired of this game." He grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the table as he prepared to cut it off. Asking calmly, he gave her one last chance to speak truthfully. "Do you know where he went?"

"H-He’s from Odalion, right? I saw the symbol on his katana. He’s probably on his way there. Said he had to 'visit an old friend' or somethin’. I don’t know, I was so glad to be rid of him. He’s clearly trouble." She cried as she squirmed in his tight grasp, fearing for her limbs.

He let her go. "Thank you, you slut. Now clean up this mess you call a tavern," he demanded as he knocked another glass onto the floor. His subordinates laughed and followed behind him as he walked out, grimacing intensely.

As the sentinels walked out of the bar, the barmaid ignored his command and continued to inquire flirtatiously about them. "Y’all are from Aisling, aren’t ya? You’ve come a long way, all the way from the so-called 'land of democracy and equality.' Isn’t that what they’ve been callin’ it? Anyway, why are Aisling sentinels hunting one of their own?"

The sentinel captain slightly turned back towards her, stopping to answer her question. "Miss, that is none of your concern."

The squadron left the tavern, but they reconvened outside where no one could listen to them. The captain of the squadron barked orders at the other sentinels. "We might have narrowly missed him this time, but he cannot be far now. We just need to find this 'friend' of his, and then we will find him. We will make him pay for what he has done. He will pay,” he paused for a moment, still shocked by his crime, “for killing the Lord of Emelle.”