Tales from Etheraz: Judge Sable’s Journal

Journal of Judge Sable

Entry 27: Stillness before spring

Location: Agarion’s Fort, Outer Barricade

They were miners, once.

Drawn by the promise of silver mines and the shimmer of riches buried in the ribs of Arancis – “riches for the bold,” they were told. The South Bowers was never meant to be a garrison. And, yet, here they are: these soot-handed dreamers, now clad in boiled leather and makeshift armor, sleeping with their backs to the stones and their blades in reach.

It’s late winter now. Spring threatens on the wind, but the thaw brings no mercy — only hunger. Only rumors of the Lodge’s influence in the bowers reaching beyond, and the forces of Blakka growing bolder each day at the barricade, coming closer and closer to our warren in the rock. Only a brittle quiet settles over the courtyard when no one’s pretending anymore. 

They miss their homes. I see it in the way they hold their mugs at the fire—two hands, as if cupping the memory of something warmer than this. Some were only ever chasing enough coin to buy their penance for mind. A stretch of green land of Allethia, A song at a hearth in Zelmore. Now they only know the soldiers’ rhythm: march, hold, watch, bleed, repeat.

The coalition is still holding, but barely. We are not a banner anymore — we are wound, scabbed over the grit and defiance. Agarion keeps the watch keen. Stick tries to keep spirits alive. Forthwind keeps their blades sharp. I keep the record.  
But how long can calloused hearts carry this war?

Tomorrow, I will speak to the quartermaster. Rations cut again. Another message sent to Kostel unanswered. Another dozen eyes scanning the horizon, hoping to see anything but smoke.

If this is what becomes of silver dreams, then let history know: they did not break. They burned-steady as coals in the cold.
-Sable