It occurs to me as I count the steps from one corner to the next, putting the information away in the back of my mind just in case it comes in handy, that even when I am fully employed, tasked with a monumental job like controlling the city under a lock down, I am without purpose. Odd, isn't it?
My patrol is going quietly, my third one of the day, taking a tour of the trouble spots, making sure I pass repeatedly through the slavers market. This is another attempt to get a message across to those who think they hold domain over other's lives, that I am watching the whips, and the shoddy paperwork attached to these unfortunate souls that stare hollow eyed from behind the bars. I have been a stickler about every T crossed, every I dotted, so that no one who does not have legal cause to be in chains, lingers long within them. I am forcing these Slavers to play by the book, and so far, it has not earned me many friends among their numbers.
I pass through without incident and move on towards the poorer end of the city, my pace unhurried and my attention to my surroundings, absolute. However, my mind does trip back and forth to the different problems that have been set to me to resolve. First, what do I do with the goblin that lingers in the stockade? The raid on the city cost the lives of thirteen civilians and one militia recruit. I piled twenty six goblin carcasses just outside the grassland gates and ordered the bodies burned. I am convinced my theory on the raids is sound, and that they are sending these minimalistic attacks at the city during broad day light simply to panic the people, to ensure the gates remain closed. The caravans are down and so is what they bring in, armed escorts are getting harder and harder to provide. It leaves the goblin forces nearly unchecked when their small groups punch through the borders, and in this way, they slowly whittle us down to nothing. Soon, if we do not reinforce the Badland borders, they will come en mass, and overrun us once and for all.
I take a corner and glance northwards, looking up a large log building in the depths of the slums, and pause before its door, simply listening. A few bellowed laughs, the murmur of idle conversation, the clinks and thuds associated with glasses and bartops. All seems well, and so my feet begin once more to move, passing the darkened door of the pawn shop. Nothing open this late at night, and I had noticed, for some reason, this area is rarely included in the mapped out patrols. I am going to have to change that, if there is anywhere in the city that could use a little extra security, its here.
My mind wanders back to the stack of files on my desk, odd reports of people with strange, non-life threatening injuries, petty assaults, in many cases, memory loss. It smacks of something I recall, from my homeland, something that was going on when I was young. I can not quite put my finger on it, it just seems...familiar. I shake off the thought and focus once more on my surroundings, striding past the temple, casting a look through the massive double doors to see the ever present flickering candlelight that welcomes the lost souls of the city.
My path carries me over a long stretch of blood stained street, the eastern market, the walls too, bearing record of the raid that hit us a few days ago. Its clear the efforts to clean up the mess have only gone so far. I am sure the whitewash will be reapplied promptly as to try to erase the evidence and return a sense of oblivious calm to the masses. It's a waste of time if you ask me, but in a way, they have a point. Sheep require little to keep them happy, and a wise Shepard will provide for those small needs without fail if he wishes to keep his flock intact. Patrols have been stepped up, now all we need is a decently supplied caravan to arrive without incident to help ease the pressure further.
Something reminds me of the goblin captive we have sitting in one of the cells in the stockade and leads me in turn back to the problem of how to make him useful. The cells are once again empty, besides our newest guest compliments of the raid, and due to a brilliant suggestion I was given. 'If they are well bodied and causing problems in a time of crisis for our people, then put them where they are best suited. On the front lines'. And so, I did. I made their departure a public one as well, having called in a favor from a field commander I knew, who I knew would put them to the best use possible for their kingdom. Seems I am sending messages all over the place these days, to all sorts of people. I can only hope that they take me at my word, and do not test the limits I set for this city. I will do what I must to maintain order.
Perhaps, that IS my purpose, perhaps that is why I am here, why I am driven to persist even when I fail to remember why I started in the first place. Still it leaves me to wonder, when the task at hand drives you, but leaves you without satisfaction or fulfillment, no matter what the of your efforts, successful or otherwise, where do you turn for guidance?
Perhaps...it is time to pray again.
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