Aqueducts everywhere, but not a drop will flow.

Narit, young templar of the Sun, stood on the marshy banks. Nearby was the main hall of of his orders barracks. Aqueducts stood above his head, questing from the swelting, stinking human city to the chilly high lakes. He could feel that he was being watched and it definitely was making him uncomfortable.

His armour creaked in the cool air as he shifted from one foot to the other. The loosened straps slapping against his armour. His sunsword embossed with the words of his faith, his forefathers names who had held the blade, and had a new leather grip that creaked as he held on to it for support. Although the templars where modeled on a monastic order it was only until one had proven himself in battle that one had to live like a monk. Once the sunswords blade had quenched its first then so could his own.

The cold should have helped him stay alert, the wind as it whispered through the leaves of the willows certainly added to his annoyance of being examined. The willows and himself swayed in the brisk wind carrying with it the first beginnings of winter chill. He adjusted his stance and bent backward slightly. Then he heard the footsteps lurching towards him through the haze of the dawn.

He brought his sword up one handed as he adjusted his blade for maximum protection. This was not turning out how he liked at all.

“Who treads this sacred ground?” he barked into the darkness of the willows.

“Narit!, its just I. Calm down would you. Its not like you are the farking only one who wishes to take a leak on the riverbank.” Rosteau swore back at his squadling.

“Sorry Sir, I just find it difficult to go for a piss with someone else watching. Even with my bladder full I’m hopping from foot to foot and I still can’t piss with the feeling that someone is watching.”