Deep in the eastern reaches of the human realm lay a mountain range known as Jatharis Range. Here, a single fortress protects humanity's edge with what waits beyond.
A soldier bearing a brown cloth wrapped around his neck and armor that covered his body well sat in a chair. His helmet was off, revealing dark brown hair that mopped his equally darkened eyes. A piece of bread and a lamb chop sat on a plate in front of him.
Around, dozens of other soldiers joked. Their post was easy in Reauford. For it had been long since Reauford was ever threatened by the forces past the Jatharsis Range.
Barrels of ale lay upon countertops, and drunken men wasted the stone floors of the impenetrable fortress's break room. The soldier was off duty, yet he still sat with a solemn look. In his right gauntlet, a painted picture sat—his wife, and a daughter. He gazed upon it with unease.
"What's the matter, Merk?" a voice called out. Another soldier with blonde hair and green eyes made his way over. He held a mug of ale in his hand, and a smile too big for his face—likely because he was pisspoor drunk.
Merk only shook his head.
"Ah, c'mon buddy. You'll be home soon enough. Your wife and daughter will be delighted."
"Dev, you don't know that," Merk finally said. "Our line of duty comes with conflicts all too often."
Dev sat down, and rested a hand on Merk's shoulder. "But this is Reauford we're talking about! Ain't nothin' to worry about here but missing a post! For real, commander don't mess about that!"
Merk could only force a smile now. One that didn't come naturally.
"Right… right. I'm stressing too much. Hand me a mug, would you?"
"That's my boy!" shouted Dev, before swiping a nearby mug and pouring ale like a madman. The men had begun to sing a hymn to Eramu, the God of Man and celebration. He was Chesamere's deity, and the one who chose their Summoner. Though Reauford acted for all of humanity, its territory fell under Chesamere's claim.
Dev sat back down, and slammed a fist on the table in unison with the dozens of other soldiers. Merk's smile faded from force, and merged with sincerity.
The songs of the night gave men courage and spirit, as their terms would shortly be over in Reauford, and they'd soon return home.
Another soldier patrolled the top of the bridge conjoining the fortress of Reauford with the mountain across the Horned Pass. He wore the same armor as the men in the breakroom.
A torch sat in his left hand as he trudged the top, scanning the environment around. Nothing per usual.
Though, it was protocol to walk to the opposite edge—the side that connected to the untouched mountains.
The man, maybe a few years older than twenty, made his way to the edge of the bridge, before turning from which he came. His head moved from side to side, searching every corner, but yet again, nothing.
With a sigh, he prepped to return back within the open doors of Reauford's armory that connected to the bridge. However, one final look to the right—the side that Reauford was built to contain—he saw a light. The red-orange contrast of a flame, likely a torch. It burnt out as quickly as it lit, and the soldier peered over the edge searching for the source.
It was too late, when the man saw the arrowhead pierce his skull. He fell off the bridge in complete silence.