The Mountain Avenue (Closed)

[Aithem]

Dew covered the grassy foothills of Taras as the dawn of a new day broke over the region. The damp, crisp air hung over the surrounding mountains and corresponding valleys that funneled the winds blown eastward from the Western Isles, to release them into the plains beyond the border. The result was a cold, strong wind, gusting every so often, and slowing the progress of the lone plainsman as he approached the border crossing. The drag that the Sacaemans traditional garb created was enough that he could lean almost forty degrees into the wind, and still remain upright. He considered abandoning the coat temporarily, eager to exit the plains and enter into Etruria. Though he quickly dismissed the thought as the cold air slapped against his face in another chilling gale.

He bore the minor inconvenience of representing his heritage, and continued onward until he reached the plinth of a forest. While he had never actually been to the border that joined Etruria and Sacae, he had been informed by a few rather weary travelers in passing that the location of the border's crossing lay just within. He had also been advised that the border guards were holding a training excersize to the south. Not keen on being spotted by a small army of fanatical zealots in decidedly ethnic clothing, he decided to forgo the southern route, and had chosen to avoid the display altogether. The Sacaeman was unsure of the nation's position in regards to the unrest in Bern, and the effect it had had on other countries apart from his own. However, he presumed that they had taken a "better safe than sorry" stance on the matter, which probably meant that immigration might be more unforgiving than it had been in the past.

He stepped into the thicket, and his mind began to wander. Countless landscapes lay just before him, where he could seek out and capture that sense of wanderlust that so plagued him. Not only here, in densely forested areas that too were foreign to him. Also in the mountains that flanked the avenue leading to the border. Broad rivers, vast seas and even vaster deserts. He began to consider the challenge of conquering one of the many desolate peaks, but before long his train of thought was cut derailed as a man in armour advanced toward him.

"You there." said the guard.
"Me there." replied the Sacaeman.
The mans voice rang with a strict, commanding tone, somewhat reminiscent of his own tribe's chief. The guard pursed his lips, apparently not one for jokes or light-hearted responses. "You mean to cross the border." he said flatteningly.
"Yes." The Sacaeman replied singularly.
Also not accustomed to being disobeyed, he retorted "Follow me." and spun around, marching promptly back from whence he came. Agreeably. The Sacaeman complied.

As the Sacaeman had expected, the armoured man was a guard, and they soon after arrived within a sizable clearing, a number of similarly uniformed individuals mulling around the exterior of a tower.
"Come along." the guard who was leading him said, and they quickly walked through the clearing, to the center were the tower lay. He promptly seated himself at a shaded desk outside of the tower, and acquired a pen and well of ink from seemingly nowhere.
"Name." Asked the armoured guard as he leaned over the page, though it seemed like more a bored statement than a question. Though if it was the man's job to interview people wishing to cross into Etruria, by now it probably was.
"Aithem Lly'onbardas." the Sacaeman replied.
"What's your business in Etruria." said the guard, as he scribbled down Aithem's previous answer.
Aithem likely would have said something whimsical, should the situation have called for it. The situation however, did not seem in the least bit appropriate for any degree of whimsy. So instead he replied "I wish to visit Aquleia" so as to spare the guardsman his life's story.
"You a merchant?" The guardsman asked without looking up.
"No, just-" Aithem began, but the guardsman grunted and he was cut off.
"Are you bringing any weapons or illegal contraband into the country?" the guardsman continued.
"If I were bringing illegal contraband into the country, do you think I would tell you?"
With surprising ferocity, the guardsman slammed down the pen he had been writing with onto the desk, sending a spray of ink over the side. He finally looked up from the paper and regarded Aithem with a cold, lifeless stare. It was then that Aithem reach a powerful conclusion. The guardsman was dead inside, and it was his mission in life, to define poor customer service. "Yes." the gaurdsman responded without a hint of feeling in his voice, and they both looked back down to the paper.

Mercifully, the parchment had been spared a staining tidal wave of ink, that would caused need of the two men having to restart the entire process. However, something did catch Aithem's attention. The guardsman had spelled his name wrong.
"Excuse me sir." he began. This earned him another mournful stare from the guardsman, but he persisted anyway. "My name. It's not spelled l.o.n.b.a.r.d.a.s It's actually spelled with two L's at the beginning, followed by y." The guardsman crossed out the name he had written, and repeated the process as he had been dictated.
"Ah." Aithem said, and the guardsman winced as though he were in excruciating pain. "My name..." Aithem continued. "There's an apostrophe in between the y and the o.
"Of course there is." Said the guardsman, as he placed a tick between the appropriate letters. Although his tone was entirely devoid of life, love, or happiness, the expression still managed to seep with sarcasm. Which Aithem found impressive. If not a little aggravating.

The two sat in silence. They sat for a long time. The second droned on for what felt like minutes as Aithem waited for some indication of what to do next. He looked around at the surrounding guards. They had all been watching them, but as he lifted his eyes to meet theirs, they looked away. In the split second he saw them, Aithem thought he saw something in those eyes. Was it pity?

He was beginning to feel very uneasy. "Is that all?" he inquired.

[Aithem]

In conjunction with Aithem's prior statement, the guardsman looked back down to the piece of parchment and loosed a guttural grunt into the crisp morning air. He raised his eyes and finally, he asked what was probably the most important question of the whole interrogation.

"Are you a follower of Saint Elimine?"

It is here that Aithem's preconceived plan to enter the country on a foundation of optimism and principle honest hit a snag. Aithem could not say yes and decline any affiliation with his native religion. What little cultural pride he beheld would not allow it. Even so, if he decided to abandon the mantle of unwavering honesty every Sacaeaman carried, It occurred to him that spinning a tale that he was not even a resident of Sacae would likely also be seen through right away. The aforementioned decidedly ethnic clothing he wore would expose him immediately. Perhaps he should have removed it after all. So he began to reason. Just because one was dedicated to the spirits, did not invalidate another's religious devotion. He noticed that he had been silent for an extended period, and took this opportunity to look around the clearing that he, the man across from him, and the three other guardsman occupied, so as to buy himself some time. As he looked over one shoulder, and then the other, it appeared that all eyes had shifted onto him. Their collective gaze expectant as they anticipated his response, and as his time to answer ran out.

"Out with it." the guardsman commanded, a twinge of aggression penetrating his monotonous tone.

"Well," Aithem started, again facing the guardsman.

"I'm certainly no follower of spirits of fortune!" he said, and released a genuine sounding laugh for good measure. This was not entirely true. Or at least, this was not entirely 'the truth.' While it was true that Aithem did not believe there were any spirits of fortune, and only spirits of a natural orientation, he was not a follower of Saint Elimine, nor did he at any point reject belief in the spirits.

Aithem heard the sound of armour shifting, as three heads turned to the guardsmen, now looking a him expectantly. The guardsman narrowed his eyes and leaned forward over the desk. Though Aithem flashed him another wry smile, the guardsmen continued to scrutinize him, and he was afraid it had come off as weary, instead of confident.

"Alright then." said the guardsmen to his surprise. His voice sounded begrudging, but nevertheless, he waved Aithem off with a mild flick of the wrist that seemed to exert more energy than the guardsmen was willing to expend. "You can go."

Understandably, Aithem was not keen to hang around for the guardsman to change his mind. "Right then!" Aithem said excitedly, jumping up from his chair as though it might catch fire. "Thank you gentlemen, it has been a pleasure-- I will be on my way now, and it has been wonderful getting to know the four of you."

The guardsman had not moved from his seat and looked up witheringly at him. His eyes shifted unto his companions, and as Aithem turned to face them, he found they all looked at him skeptically, faces adorned with arched eyebrows and rigid frowns. Be that as it may, they did not seem to be moving to apprehend him, so he stepped toward them. He took another step, and another, and before long, the outpost was behind him, and he was approaching the edge of the clearing. He had just reached the forest line and was beginning to congratulate himself on his cleverness, when he heard the familiar twang of a bowstring, and before he could pinpoint the source of the noise, an arrow buried itself in the trunk of a tree just inches from his head with a loud thunk. Aithem released a loud shriek of shock and whirled around to determine just where the arrow had come from, and possibly prepare to defend himself. Although they didn't seem to be preparing a charge, the border guards guffawed mockingly at him, and Aithem's eyes immediately fell upon a vital detail that he had overlooked. Upon the tower that stood in the middle of the clearing, an archer lowered his bow, which had seconds before been aimed at Aithem, and loosed an arrow toward him. It did not appear that the archer was laughing. In fact, he seemed very serious. However, Aithem was not content to inquire as to why, and it had been made clear, that he had overstayed his welcome. So, without further adieu, he stiffly returned to the woods at a more than generous pace.

"They must be out of their minds!" Aithem thought to himself as he practically rand through the forest.

Nevertheless, he recognised the he had completed his objective, and was now indisputably within Etruria's borders. Not long after this revelation, he resurfaced on the other side of the woods. There was a town nearby, information he had gleaned from the travelers he had met early, who now he understood and appreciated their weariness. With intentions to stop to ask directions, he continued, making haste toward it, still quite content to put as much distance between himself and the bow-happy guardsmen as possible.