- Pronoun
- they or she
The Ranger Union was founded long ago, to serve the common law across the whole of the Soja'. Not for any one polity or faction, but through cooperation between every community, with peacekeepers from the most remote village, to warriors and wardens from regional clans, to mountain monks and even wanderers from still more distant tribes. It was as much a symbol of cooperation as it was an actual emergency services institution – strange and wondrous, that disparate pokémon could work together.
Small wonder that the place they headquartered their operations was itself a strange and wondrous union.
Long before reaching the Soja Ranger HQ, one could spot its central signifier standing tall over the arid middle-Soja' desert shrubland. This was the same region as Little Scriven – marked by ruddy sandstone buttes and sparse sagebrush. Sometimes, natural arches and other fanciful rock formations would rise out of the earth, looking like something carved by intelligent paws. In this case, an improbably balanced spire of sandstone jutted up from a shimmering heat mirage that blanketed a broad area of dry grassland. Atop it sat a skinny windmill of wood and canvas, and a crow's nest tower sporting the Union colours of gold, red and white; a welcoming beacon for Rangers returning from a mission, and a landmark for any seeking their aid.
As one drew closer to the prominent milestone of the lookout tower, the rest of the headquarters would melt into view. Adobe mudbrick structures nestled up against the foot of the spire, stacked densely, one on top of the other. Roofs became porches became walls became terraces became foundations, on and on, spiraling down into the canyon carved beneath the sandstone spire's overhang. Among the reddish stone and clay, splashes of greenery could be found on those rooftops that didn’t rest in the permanent shade of the canyon walls. It seemed the Rangers kept their own gardens of dungeon berries, including some more exotic cultivars.
A lattice of ladders and rough hewn logs served as the means of access to the labyrinth of pueblos the Rangers called home. It was a wonder anyone here knew how to get around without getting lost; each building looked much like another, yet every ‘mon crossed the Headquarters with a purpose, never seeming confused or lost. Was that Ranger navigational skill at work, or something else a newcomer could only guess at?
If one were to look long enough, the shimmer of a heat mirage would occasionally appear to shroud a given cluster of pueblos, regardless of how shaded they were from the daytime heat. And if one were to look closely – and not blink – they might see the pattern of doors and windows in such an area shift. As if the structure had, unaccountably, rearranged itself...
Regardless of the shifting architecture, one space in the Headquarters could be relied on to orient oneself by. The central plaza, standing open at the base of the canyon, served as a place for friends to gather, meetings to be held, or visitors to be welcomed. Awnings over the adjoining buildings sheltered low benches and loose belongings, and a commissary and small community library that appeared to operate on the honour system. It provided shade almost all hours of the day from the spire above, a welcome respite from the sun's glare. But despite its cooler temperature, the atmosphere there was always warm.
Small wonder that the place they headquartered their operations was itself a strange and wondrous union.
Long before reaching the Soja Ranger HQ, one could spot its central signifier standing tall over the arid middle-Soja' desert shrubland. This was the same region as Little Scriven – marked by ruddy sandstone buttes and sparse sagebrush. Sometimes, natural arches and other fanciful rock formations would rise out of the earth, looking like something carved by intelligent paws. In this case, an improbably balanced spire of sandstone jutted up from a shimmering heat mirage that blanketed a broad area of dry grassland. Atop it sat a skinny windmill of wood and canvas, and a crow's nest tower sporting the Union colours of gold, red and white; a welcoming beacon for Rangers returning from a mission, and a landmark for any seeking their aid.
As one drew closer to the prominent milestone of the lookout tower, the rest of the headquarters would melt into view. Adobe mudbrick structures nestled up against the foot of the spire, stacked densely, one on top of the other. Roofs became porches became walls became terraces became foundations, on and on, spiraling down into the canyon carved beneath the sandstone spire's overhang. Among the reddish stone and clay, splashes of greenery could be found on those rooftops that didn’t rest in the permanent shade of the canyon walls. It seemed the Rangers kept their own gardens of dungeon berries, including some more exotic cultivars.
A lattice of ladders and rough hewn logs served as the means of access to the labyrinth of pueblos the Rangers called home. It was a wonder anyone here knew how to get around without getting lost; each building looked much like another, yet every ‘mon crossed the Headquarters with a purpose, never seeming confused or lost. Was that Ranger navigational skill at work, or something else a newcomer could only guess at?
If one were to look long enough, the shimmer of a heat mirage would occasionally appear to shroud a given cluster of pueblos, regardless of how shaded they were from the daytime heat. And if one were to look closely – and not blink – they might see the pattern of doors and windows in such an area shift. As if the structure had, unaccountably, rearranged itself...
Regardless of the shifting architecture, one space in the Headquarters could be relied on to orient oneself by. The central plaza, standing open at the base of the canyon, served as a place for friends to gather, meetings to be held, or visitors to be welcomed. Awnings over the adjoining buildings sheltered low benches and loose belongings, and a commissary and small community library that appeared to operate on the honour system. It provided shade almost all hours of the day from the spire above, a welcome respite from the sun's glare. But despite its cooler temperature, the atmosphere there was always warm.
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Many thanks to @Panoramic_Vacuum for assisting with the writeup.
