Stolid

hello its late at night and i really just wanted to get this out so its pretty bad. Sorry in advance i will try and fix + continue tomorrow

PRO☆LOG . Sanctuary
I am stationary.

I am a lot of things, a lot of names, a lot of people, but I take comfort in two things. Constants in every identity, every fracture, every reflection of myself. I am a lot of everything but I am stationary. I am grounded. I am my own sanctuary.

The other constant is that, no matter how many times I brush my teeth, my gums are sensitive and will bleed.

Tonight is a special one. The messenger told me I'd received a summons from a person in the Calliope, the largest encampment on the northern front. I'm not certain on whether my current mask would agree, but I'd say the Calliope is flourishing in these times. I think they've got a good chance at winning the war.

The client has requested I stand under the third lantern on the corner of two makeshift trails in a less active section of tents, where I will be received by someone who will take me to them. I spend the next several seconds tossing a pebble into the grass before a fennec sweeps past me, tilting its head to lock eyes with mine for the briefest of moments drawn out long enough to indicate it was the one, tipping its head forwards towards a small path between two tents. I've been in the business long enough to know a guide or informant if they shoved me into a lamppost and ran in the opposite direction, but I appreciate the gesture and follow after them.

I realize where this is going because we're headed straight for the Calliope's most important tents. Who was it, I can't help but wonder, who thought I was important enough to summon?

The fennec gestures towards a passage in the back of a tent waving the common Jamaasian flag at its peak and slips inside. I follow quickly afterwards, squinting slightly at the light, though even my mask, my borrowed person, cannot help but widen their watering eyes at who I stand before.

"General Greely." A warbling tone draws up from within me and I bow respectfully. The wolf, clad in the dazzling golden of a higher-up's uniform, clinking with the countless medals and chains of a weathered soldier,  turns slowly to face me, his amber eye closing as he nods in response. "It is good to see you've accepted my offer, Marten."

By the way, that isn't my name. I thought you ought to know that. "Of course, sir. I'll follow whatever you wish for me to do."

Greely's gaze returns to the map of Jamaa on the table before him, cluttered by models of tiny figures and flags. "As you may know," he begins, heavily, "the phantoms are pushing back."

"Yes, sir."

"They have grown far more intelligent than we originally anticipated. However. Recent informants point towards forces influencing their power and capability. There are animals actively supporting the phantoms, backed by magical ability. They are essential to the phantoms' forces: the Specters." Greely moves five crude purple animal figurines to the center of the map. "And, to keep things short and simple, they are hidden within our territory, and our typical forces cannot begin to assess and attack them. We don't know any of their exact locations."

"I see." I nod slowly. I am steady, I am stationary. But this, within, is quite a bit jarring.

Greely mutters something to the fennec fox standing by him, the one who led me here, and it nods and procures a large pouch with something wrapped around it. Greely pushes it towards me: an overstuffed satchel of coin, and a golden sash with a copper medallion affixed to it, attached to the sash with fine red ribbon.

"You will receive this as upfront payment. Wearing the sash recognizes you as an ambassador to lands outside the main region, and I will be in contact with you through letter to update you on the situation and objective."

"Where am I to go first, general?" I ask as neutrally as I can manage. Truth be told, this is big. Really big. The biggest job I've had in my entire career.

"We have been informed the first Specter is somewhere around Papertown in the west," Greely replies, leaning forward. "If you accept, you will be transported there tonight."

I eye the bag of coins.

"And what comes after upfront payment?"

"Fame, fortune, respect…"

I cannot help but snort just a bit. I lean forward to meet him, the hood of my cloak falling to my shoulders. "Oh, I accept, general. I just don't think the masses are going to accept a Magicslayer as an acclaimed war hero."

I am stationary.

Steadfast.

I am Stolid.

Yeah, that's me. Stolid.

I . Papermoon
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