Jeria stood at his post, watching the little used tunnel leading down into the confines of the city. He was in uniform, his features half hidden by his helmet, but his red skin and sharp angular bones were visible beneath his half helm giving away his mixed heritage. His mother an escaped prisoner or slave of the fiends that ruled above, leaving her dying and pregnant when they were finished using her. Yet she had not died, instead one of the exceedingly rare convoys between the hidden cities had found her and kept her alive until she gave birth, dying as her baby was born. An unwanted birth, a half blood, a half fiend, a symbol of the oppression and those who had wiped away those on the surface. The caravan leader had even called for the half fiend, the one of tainted blood that emitted from her womb, to be expelled, left to die on the side of the road. Only the intervention of one of the wanderers, the followers of Gerogh, half priest and half warrior had saved him.

“Had he been saved?” in his thoughts Jeria mused, thinking over a life of abuse in an orphanage. Of taunts and prejudice since he was related to the hated invaders. Maybe it would have been better he had died. But he had lived, had become part of the city, had shown his loyalty as a city guard. He still faced prejudice, but within the confines of the barracks, amongst those with whom he lived, trained and fought, he found a measure of acceptance. So now he stood post, watching the road, his last shift as a guardsman.

He hoped for a quiet shift, nothing happening, then a drink with his fellows before he left, going into his new role. He felt a shiver of excitement, his thoughts on the long and gruelling challenges to pass and become an Outwalker. One of the elite, one of the few that would move between cities. Guard those who dared to trade and maintain communication between the few free cities that remained. He would show he was no traitor, no hidden enemy. He would show that he was human, regardless of what his face betrayed about his blood. So, for a quiet last shift. It could be expected, rare were the days when anything came. The ways were hidden, the caravans few, and peace could be expected.

So, when he saw the noses of some of the huge cave lizards used as pack animals appearing, he sighed. He saw them before his human and dwarven companions, his eyes far keener than theirs, and thus why he frequently was in such a role rather than patrolling through the city. Calmly he pulled a lever by his feet, and those around him saw the flags hung on the insides of the gates, not visible to those approaching on the road, change from white to red. Quickly they moved, taking positions to observe those approaching and hidden guards in the ceiling above, their signals changing, quickly taking position aiming massive ballistae downwards on the approaching caravan.

A hundred meters from the gates the caravan came to a halt. Three mounted figures, all in grey cloaks, detached themselves from the caravan. Riding swiftly on the cave bred lizards, they arrived at the gate. One of them, a huge figure that towered over the guard in front of them bowed. Spreading his hands in a sign of peace, the badge of the Outwalkers dangling from them.

“I am Gruzz, Captain of the Outwalkers. I vouch for those that travel with me.” He stood there as the mages cast their spells. A red aura pulsed over him and his fellow Outwalkers.

“We find no taint.” The dry voice of one of the mages stated, flatly.

“I find him ugly!” A laugh rang out and the soldiers relaxed. The voice was that of the city commander, Captain Hult, ”Welcome home, Gruzz. I thought you would be out longer.”

Gruzz looked grim. We are going to need to discuss the paths. The merchants had to turn back. We lost many”.

Gruzz’s eyes swept across the wall, stopping for a second on Jeria then moving on. Jeria quailed a bit. He knew that extra look was from his features. If Gruzz was one of the Outwalkers, he hoped the attitude was not a sign that, once again, he was going to have to fight to be accepted.

He saw as the caravan passed within Gruzz looking at him again. He kept his face stoic, calm. One of the other Outwalkers glanced at him as well and said something to Gruss, who just laughed as he glanced at Jeria again. He said something in reply, his lips moving but the words inaudible to Jeria and the other man laughed. They ride on, not glancing back again, just watching the caravan as their escort duties came to an end.

______

After his last duty and the obligatory round of drinks bought for his fellow guards Jeria wandered light headed towards one of the long abandoned watchposts hanging in the ceiling. Built ages ago, it had become redundant as the city expanded and it was surrounded by those who built their homes nearby, hanging from the cavern roof.

His last watch, his last nightfall before he moved on. Jeria sat in his niche near the roof looking over the city, watching as the floaters faded into darkness and the streets emptied. The calls of the cave beasts faded into silence as night came to the city. The city glowed in the dark as each house and each building lit their lights and glowed from within. The lights from the houses below reflect from the ceiling above by the hanging guard posts like stars in the sky. Jeria sat in his post thinking, reflecting on the time he had spent as a guard, a soldier.

He loved the city below. Longed for acceptance amongst those he considered friends. Yet a simple look in a mirror showed why he was not accepted. Once, the stories said, half fiends were rare, almost mythological. Now they abounded within the cities of the fiends above. Some retained the slave status of their non-fiend parent, too weak to claw their way into the hierarchy. Others became part of the rulers, privileged citizens, their fiendish blood a ticket to status and wealth. Who could trust a half fiend? Many existed in the free cities, yet few were trusted. How could they be when betraying the city could lead them to such riches and glory? Yet he had made it, his acceptance into the Outwalkers proof of that. He looked down on the city, his city, and he was contented. Let those who did not know him despise him, he would still protect them.

The day started the same as any other. The floaters brightened, the city awakened, and the streets filled with people as they moved to shops, to work and out into the darkness of the cavern edges to collect the mushrooms and lichens which supplemented the diet of all. The cave beasts bellows wakening all nearby and the cleaners of night waters dragging their carts as they emptied the slops.

With the rising light, Jeria rose with the others in the barracks. The quiet movement of those around him was purposeful, guided, as each dressed in their uniform for the day. Those who shared the barracks were all members of the City Guard and donned the blue surcoat and chain hauberk of their uniform. The mail was polished and oiled, the surcoats clean, though often darned and showing various levels of skill in their repair. His quick glance at the peg above his bed to his own mail, to the surcoat that until last night marked him as one of the guard hung there but it was no longer his but that of whomever would sleep here in his stead. He watched as his former comrades left one at a time. He stood and gathered his belongings. He would not be returning here.

His grin, a frightening sight on his red face which made his fangs clearly visible, grew as he stood and donned the plain leather armour, ring and cloak of the Outwalker. They may have looked benign and almost innocent, but their magical nature made them more powerful, more protective than the heavier chain hauberk that those who stood at the gates and patrolled the city wore. He walked out in front of his barracks' mates who stood in the dayroom awaiting their assignments. They teased and mocked him, catcalls and whistles coming from the group at his new “finery”. His red skin, fangs and heavily muscled torso looked out of place in the light leather armour, far more so than it ever had in the chain hauberk. The teasing was good-natured; there was no resentment amongst these guards, no hatred or hidden agendas. These were men with whom he had lived in the barracks for years and had long since come to know him, and to ignore his background. Laughingly he slapped Kyl, once a partner on the watch, on his back, his clawed hand clanging on Kyl’s mail. He sauntered out the door, waving farewell to the rest as he left.