I sit cross legged upon the cold stone floor, wearing brand spanking new leather pants, and a tailored, well made, and utterly comfortable black shirt. They are mine now, and it was sort of a cleansing process for me, to watch everything that was mine, burned and turned to ash, the smoke carrying with it some sort of redemption. Something that attempts to put an end the event that has my mind is such turmoil.
Before me, the surface of the cool black stone calls to me, and I place the palm of my hand upon it as I close my eyes and begin. "Think back" the voice is in my head, its my own, but does not truly sound like me. It is a masculine, calming voice that snakes through my mind, and digs into the shadowed places, "poison the mind, infiltrate their thoughts". My lips move as these words dance over my mind, but no sound is emitted.
A list of questions stand at the ready in my head, and for a moment I resist the process. "I am sick of questions!" I cry out silently against the black backdrop of my brain, the world around me fallen away, the cool stone beneath me no longer felt, now that I have been delivered into the private world of my mind. "Sick of questions! I don't know!!" I insist to the echoing voice, rising around me and drowning out my disobedient anger. The thing is, I do know, I do and I am too angry, too hurt, too wild to focus on the answers and I feel myself raging at the black mist that surrounds me.
"Why did they come at you like they did?" the first question rises in my mind in spite of my best attempts at blatant rebellion. "Why the Soldier second, why the Noble third?" the questions continue no matter how much I resist them. "Why did they attack at the time they chose? Why did they choose where they did to attack?" Finally I sigh, and allow the questions to push out the instinctual rage, the natural disobedience, the urge to rail against them and slice and cut and hurt and kill and force them all to pay. Finally, I let those spinning balls of chaotic memories to be slowed, contained and shelved for reflection later, so I might concentrate upon the questions.
They came at me like they did, because....because.....think woman think! It was the end of my shift, nearly dawn. The streets were practically deserted. It was dark and there was almost no one around to interfere. They shot me first. Not so difficult to calculate, I was the greatest threat in the area. Why the Rookie second? She was simply the next logical target. Her being there was not likely accounted for. More likely...they expected to catch me alone. The guard, the one posted by the corner. He attacked the group that had ambushed us, and then just as quickly, quite unexpectedly, he fled! I remember it, he fled and called the man 'my Liege!'...yes, I do remember it... 'Spare me my Liege'. The words were directed to the one that shot us, first me, then the Rookie and then the Baron, in that order. At least one of the Militia, already in his control. We have already been infiltrated.
I was the target. Why? That one was easy. I am the highest ranking female officer in the Militia. Close to the Commander, the highest ranking female, with access to almost everything he does. They thought I would crack, they presumed because I -am- female, I am automatically weak. They thought, I would bend and cry, and beg and plead, they presumed I would break and they would get usable information out of me before they made an example out of me for the rest of the women in the city. I would be set out there for all to see, to terrorize those who still seek to be free of the repression placed upon them. After I broke, after they had gleamed all the information they could from me, they would display me as a message to the rest. Unfortunately for them, they presumed far too much.
So, why my own home? Why take me there? Certainly it was a calculated risk, that no one would come look for clues in my house, and their gamble paid off in that respect. But no, there is something more to it. Something else, I am missing. But what? The fog roles around my mind, black, cold, cleansing and I take a deep breath far away and redouble my efforts to find the path through. Not...just..my home. Something else...what...else...???
Then it hits me. Why not my house? Where else? They could not use my neighbours house, it might actually be one of theirs! Or someone close to an enemy, or a friend! That's it! I DO know these men. I do! They are our street sweepers, and our bankers. They bake our bread and keep our horses. They tailor our clothing and deliver our milk to our doors. They protect us while we sleep, and fill our plates with food. They are just common men doing common jobs and every single one of them knows about me. They know about the Rookie, they already know where that girl lives. They already know who their next target is. They are already watching the Women who control too much, who take too many liberties against them. They have already chosen the next one to be made example of. They are simply waiting for the right time to set their plans in motion.
My eyes open and without fail I begin to put my thoughts to parchment, the materials to do so had been left here for me before I even arrived. The quill scratches over the page, flowing and continuous until I had it all down so it made sense. I retrieve the parchments upon the stone and rise, turning and moving down the corridor, my bare feet cold upon the damp floor. The heavy steel door opens before me and a tall, blank faced male looks at me. "prepare my things, and ready my horse, I will be leaving shortly" I announce, and to my surprise, he does as I bid him without question and I head to the familiar heavy wooden door, my thoughts in hand. He likely will not be the least bit surprised when I tell him I am going back.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Hostile Environments
I pace the stone room I have been locked in for the last few days. The woman who tends to me is just as sick of my face as I am of hers, but we both know neither of us can leave and so we try not to offend each other. Still, she is not the one keeping me here, its that damned Templar outside the door. Twice I have managed to get up, and past the bloodhound healer as she snoozed in her chair, only to find myself barred by a large, intense looking, red armor wearing, wall of inflexibility, and soon I am back in my cot bitching under my breath. I went from one prison to another.
Pain has become a familiar companion of late, one that motivates me, prods at me, a handy tool the body provides that reminds me to keep breathing. It plagues me still but I simply do not give a damn. I have to get out of here! The Rookie has been sitting here like a mother hen since my rescue and she is almost as annoying as the dusty old healer. She at least has paperwork to do, I am left with the entertainment of staring at the walls.
The Commander came in yesterday and officially relieved me of duty. I was calm when he told me, I understood perfectly. There was likely to be a full debriefing soon, and once again I would be put to questions. They are going to want to know, what I said. They will want to know everything I do about who it was that took me in the first place. The first part is easy, I didn't tell them shit. The second, part, is a bit trickier.
The fact they took me to my own home, just a few blocks away from where they nabbed me, was a stroke of genius. The fact that I was rescued by the Rookie and the most unlikely of allies is utterly baffling. I have to admit, the Rookie is impressing me, and apparently the Commander as well, because she was made temporary Captain in my absence, over a few men with seniority. I hope the kid realizes how that might affect her, and that its not just the Rebels she needs to watch for, but our own men. Sure, most of the men that serve under me, do so willingly, but I know there is one or two in there, that I would just as soon not turn my back on.
Finally, I was released from the infirmary! The old battleaxe after enough pestering from the Rookie, saw the wisdom of my departure and called off the Templars. I was out of that place like a shot, in each hand, my trusted blades, the Rookie managed not to lose them, and for that I was grateful. I was barefoot and moving down the center of the street, not caring a lick for the stares I got, people parting before me their mouths agape. I must look like death warmed over. My face is still a kaleidoscope of purple and black, the beginnings of faded yellow around the edges of my bruises, the cuts upon my brow and lip, red and angry. I had no pride to worry for, none at all, I was simply too pissed off to give a rats ass about what any one of them thought about me.
I make my destination without incident, and without hesitating, I land a solid kick to my own front door and splinter the wood around the latch, sending it slamming to the wall behind. Stepping into the room, I look around and assess the damage. My house, was a write off. Rebels had come and gone from this room for days, using it as a temporary holding cell and hideout. I could see evidence of their presence everywhere and the longer I looked, the angrier I became.
Finally my feet move, and I go to my bedroom door and stand in the open frame, staring at the empty chair at the foot of my bed. I spent nearly five days in that chair give or take the time I spent silently begging to be back in it again, and the old hunk of junk looks as if it was finished. It lies upon its side, broken, blood staining the old wood. The carpet too, all around shows blood stains, heavily pooled in a few places, somehow those make me smirk, and I revel in the memories of how they got there. "He had it coming." manages to find its way past my teeth and somehow my own voice jars me from my thoughts.
I move quickly, now wishing to be anywhere but here, and I cross to the chest in the corner, sighing with relief when I find my armor intact. I quickly dress, leaving nothing behind but my Captain's pauldron, tucked away safely in the chest, and I lock it again. My sheaths at my belt, feel the familiar presence of my daggers and I turn, pausing again at the door, looking back at the little house that had for years offered me quiet sanctuary, and I stare at the disarray the place, and I can not bear to think of staying another moment. I close the door, lock it, and tuck away the key and lift my hood, cloaking my face and disappearing to the west, moving up into the slums. It's another less than friendly place to lurk, but hell, now that I am relieved of duty, I am free of all sorts of restrictions aren't I? So this, is where I will begin.
Pain has become a familiar companion of late, one that motivates me, prods at me, a handy tool the body provides that reminds me to keep breathing. It plagues me still but I simply do not give a damn. I have to get out of here! The Rookie has been sitting here like a mother hen since my rescue and she is almost as annoying as the dusty old healer. She at least has paperwork to do, I am left with the entertainment of staring at the walls.
The Commander came in yesterday and officially relieved me of duty. I was calm when he told me, I understood perfectly. There was likely to be a full debriefing soon, and once again I would be put to questions. They are going to want to know, what I said. They will want to know everything I do about who it was that took me in the first place. The first part is easy, I didn't tell them shit. The second, part, is a bit trickier.
The fact they took me to my own home, just a few blocks away from where they nabbed me, was a stroke of genius. The fact that I was rescued by the Rookie and the most unlikely of allies is utterly baffling. I have to admit, the Rookie is impressing me, and apparently the Commander as well, because she was made temporary Captain in my absence, over a few men with seniority. I hope the kid realizes how that might affect her, and that its not just the Rebels she needs to watch for, but our own men. Sure, most of the men that serve under me, do so willingly, but I know there is one or two in there, that I would just as soon not turn my back on.
Finally, I was released from the infirmary! The old battleaxe after enough pestering from the Rookie, saw the wisdom of my departure and called off the Templars. I was out of that place like a shot, in each hand, my trusted blades, the Rookie managed not to lose them, and for that I was grateful. I was barefoot and moving down the center of the street, not caring a lick for the stares I got, people parting before me their mouths agape. I must look like death warmed over. My face is still a kaleidoscope of purple and black, the beginnings of faded yellow around the edges of my bruises, the cuts upon my brow and lip, red and angry. I had no pride to worry for, none at all, I was simply too pissed off to give a rats ass about what any one of them thought about me.
I make my destination without incident, and without hesitating, I land a solid kick to my own front door and splinter the wood around the latch, sending it slamming to the wall behind. Stepping into the room, I look around and assess the damage. My house, was a write off. Rebels had come and gone from this room for days, using it as a temporary holding cell and hideout. I could see evidence of their presence everywhere and the longer I looked, the angrier I became.
Finally my feet move, and I go to my bedroom door and stand in the open frame, staring at the empty chair at the foot of my bed. I spent nearly five days in that chair give or take the time I spent silently begging to be back in it again, and the old hunk of junk looks as if it was finished. It lies upon its side, broken, blood staining the old wood. The carpet too, all around shows blood stains, heavily pooled in a few places, somehow those make me smirk, and I revel in the memories of how they got there. "He had it coming." manages to find its way past my teeth and somehow my own voice jars me from my thoughts.
I move quickly, now wishing to be anywhere but here, and I cross to the chest in the corner, sighing with relief when I find my armor intact. I quickly dress, leaving nothing behind but my Captain's pauldron, tucked away safely in the chest, and I lock it again. My sheaths at my belt, feel the familiar presence of my daggers and I turn, pausing again at the door, looking back at the little house that had for years offered me quiet sanctuary, and I stare at the disarray the place, and I can not bear to think of staying another moment. I close the door, lock it, and tuck away the key and lift my hood, cloaking my face and disappearing to the west, moving up into the slums. It's another less than friendly place to lurk, but hell, now that I am relieved of duty, I am free of all sorts of restrictions aren't I? So this, is where I will begin.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
In the Hands of the True Sons
I take two steps, perhaps three away from the corner we rounded, headed up towards the slaver market, and I see a last glance of the gazebo, and the Baron struggling to his feet. This somehow calms me as he and the woman by his side disappears from sight and then....nothing. From the dull, low pulse throb in the back of my skull, I would guess, someone clipped me, hard. And now, I am staring at my knees, as I have been for the last few minutes. My hair hangs down around my face, shadowing the glaring light that hurts my eyes. I remember thinking idly, that the light had to be a mage spell, it was so bright, yet gave off no heat. But now, its harsh gaze was shielded and my head rests limp at the end of my bloody neck.
"She's out cold", I hear one of them say, and I am content for the moment to allow them to believe anything that brought me a moments peace. My hands have long since gone numb, tied painfully tight behind my back, seated in a crude wooden chair. My feet, tied at the ankles to the legs of the chair itself, not long after I kicked one of them in the family jewels. I doubt he will be leaving an heir behind, I made sure the shot counted. Oh certainly, I took a pretty decent shit kicking for dropping the guy, but even still, it was so worth it, just to see his face.
"She's not going to talk." the voice coming from the one I dubbed 'Dumbass'. He did not care for the term, and I must admit, he knows his stuff. "Can you believe this bitch? I have worked guys over three times her size and they were crying like babies hours before this". Somehow, his words bring me comfort, and a for a moment, my lip curls into a smirk. It was my undoing, because the sudden unexpected sting of my lip causes just the slightest hiss from my teeth.
My hair is suddenly yanked back, and my head goes with it, revealing the blood stains upon my leggings where my split lip had been hovering above. The light once again assaults my eyes and I flinch, and a very loud man with nasty breath is once more screaming in my face. "well look who's awake..." he growls loudly, "I want names!" he spits at me, and through one eye, I peer back at him, "fuck you, you rebel shithead" I spit back, literally, doing my best to spray enough of my own blood back at him as to get him to flinch. It works, but I am repaid with another solid crack to the jaw, that sends me reeling, and my ears ring so loudly I can barely hear the asshole barking at me.
"What you fail to understand here, is your presence here is not welcome, nor will it be peacefully accepted". These words, come from the one calling the shots, standing somewhere off in the corner behind me, where I can not see him. But still, I know exactly where he is. I know he is a blue blood, through and through to my marrow I know the man is nobility. "Your time here is coming to an end, but before we make an example of you, you will be providing us with some much needed information. Failing to do so will only make this go far, far worse for you."
For some reason, his words strike me as incredibly funny, and I can not help the maniacally laughter that lifts from me, "Imagine that...someone does not like me". I can not help it, it just hits me as the best damned joke ever told and I lose it. I presume I was clocked again, because I really do not remember anything until I woke up staring at my knees again. It is significantly later, it is lighter in the room, but not by much. At some point, someone shoved a sack over my head and left me to smother or not as I would. I sit there pondering my very small list of options when I hear voices lift from the next room.
"You two head back, we will wake her up and start again". Somehow that idea does not sit well with me and I wrack my brain, and then do the only thing I can. I slow my breathing...to nearly nothing, and wait. I hear boots approaching, followed by another pair, slower, heavier. I do not move, I do not breathe, I wait as they approach. "hit her with the water" I hear Dumbass command his cohort, and I silently thank him for the warning. I am able to completely ride out the shock of the cold, and remain motionless. Taking the moment to draw in another long, slow, unseen breath. It is enough. "shit...check her" I hear, and suddenly the sack is yanked off my head.
I hold my breath, and as my head is tugged back, I am utterly resistless, and I feel the warmth of his hand beneath my nose, "She's not breathing..." there is a slight panic to his tone, and I feel a sharp sting to my cheek, "Come on bitch, we ain't done yet" he informs me, but I am utterly disobedient and continue to feign my death. "Shiiiiit" the sound he makes is beginning to take on the panic of a small child in a deep amount of trouble. "He said leave her alive....he specifically said...". My head is dropped and I sneak another shallow breath beneath my hair, and listen "If he finds out...dammit!!" the words rising in volume as the repercussions begin to build in his mind. "No, no, no".
Finally, what I had been waiting for, happens. I feel my bonds cut from my hands and I allow myself to fall to the floor, head first, and simply collapse there. "Fuck!!". Now his minion was beginning to panic, and was pacing the room, "What if we get a healer?". This got something thrown at the man, who quickly shut his mouth and left the panicking to Dumbass. I must say, he truly does throw himself into whatever it is that is occupying his mind, because he committed himself fully to the process, "I told you not to put that damned sack on her head!". Instantly his companion pipes up again, "Oh no you didn't, you told me to!!".
Excellent, while those two bickered amongst themselves, my hands were slowly experiencing an agonizing case of pins and needles. My feet were still tied to the chair, but that was okay, I was working things out in my head while those two twits worked themselves into a tizzy. I had most of it mulled through when Dumbass provided me with the opportunity I needed. He squats down over me, to do what, I will never know, because as he reaches for me, I do the same to him, grabbing at him suddenly and jerking my knees suddenly towards my chest, tugging the wooden chair with them. I tug as hard as I can and slam his face into the corner of the seat and a most satisfying crunch of teeth on wood is my reward. It's enough to ring his bell, and with that, I have his weapon from his hand in a heart beat.
He did not have a chance after that. Truly the look of shock on his face as his own blade cut his throat, will never leave my minds eye. Not ever. You can not do that to a person, you can not, and not remember it every time you close your eyes. I do not have time to dwell on it, for as Dumbass bleeds out, his cohort is already on me. I am now at a serious disadvantage, and much to my dismay, as his shouts lift, two others enter the room. I had hoped it was just the two of them, but clearly I had miscalculated. I manage to get the dagger in my hand deep into the inner thigh of that loud mouth, knowing precisely where to cut, and soon, he too is down, bleeding out on the floor, far faster than his friend. It's just one of those things you pick up, little details that matter.
It takes a minute or two more, but soon I am back in my chair and my hands are once again tied firmly behind my back. However, this time, the view is far better than it was just a few minutes before. Now, instead of my lap, I am staring at two dead rebels, and somehow, once again, it strikes my funny bone. I do not think I have laughed so hard in my life. It causes the men in the room to take pause, each one staring at me with a mix of fear and revulsion upon their faces. Not one of them willing at that moment, to even approach me. It makes it all the funnier and I giggle my fool ass off, grinning through bloody teeth.
I hear boots upon the floorboards and that voice returns, "Clearly we have under estimated our guest gentlemen. I suggest we up our efforts to persuade her". These words do not bode well for me, but at the time, I could not find it in me to stop laughing. The boys came up with an idea, and started hitting me again. It worked, I stop laughing. Clever boys.
"She's out cold", I hear one of them say, and I am content for the moment to allow them to believe anything that brought me a moments peace. My hands have long since gone numb, tied painfully tight behind my back, seated in a crude wooden chair. My feet, tied at the ankles to the legs of the chair itself, not long after I kicked one of them in the family jewels. I doubt he will be leaving an heir behind, I made sure the shot counted. Oh certainly, I took a pretty decent shit kicking for dropping the guy, but even still, it was so worth it, just to see his face.
"She's not going to talk." the voice coming from the one I dubbed 'Dumbass'. He did not care for the term, and I must admit, he knows his stuff. "Can you believe this bitch? I have worked guys over three times her size and they were crying like babies hours before this". Somehow, his words bring me comfort, and a for a moment, my lip curls into a smirk. It was my undoing, because the sudden unexpected sting of my lip causes just the slightest hiss from my teeth.
My hair is suddenly yanked back, and my head goes with it, revealing the blood stains upon my leggings where my split lip had been hovering above. The light once again assaults my eyes and I flinch, and a very loud man with nasty breath is once more screaming in my face. "well look who's awake..." he growls loudly, "I want names!" he spits at me, and through one eye, I peer back at him, "fuck you, you rebel shithead" I spit back, literally, doing my best to spray enough of my own blood back at him as to get him to flinch. It works, but I am repaid with another solid crack to the jaw, that sends me reeling, and my ears ring so loudly I can barely hear the asshole barking at me.
"What you fail to understand here, is your presence here is not welcome, nor will it be peacefully accepted". These words, come from the one calling the shots, standing somewhere off in the corner behind me, where I can not see him. But still, I know exactly where he is. I know he is a blue blood, through and through to my marrow I know the man is nobility. "Your time here is coming to an end, but before we make an example of you, you will be providing us with some much needed information. Failing to do so will only make this go far, far worse for you."
For some reason, his words strike me as incredibly funny, and I can not help the maniacally laughter that lifts from me, "Imagine that...someone does not like me". I can not help it, it just hits me as the best damned joke ever told and I lose it. I presume I was clocked again, because I really do not remember anything until I woke up staring at my knees again. It is significantly later, it is lighter in the room, but not by much. At some point, someone shoved a sack over my head and left me to smother or not as I would. I sit there pondering my very small list of options when I hear voices lift from the next room.
"You two head back, we will wake her up and start again". Somehow that idea does not sit well with me and I wrack my brain, and then do the only thing I can. I slow my breathing...to nearly nothing, and wait. I hear boots approaching, followed by another pair, slower, heavier. I do not move, I do not breathe, I wait as they approach. "hit her with the water" I hear Dumbass command his cohort, and I silently thank him for the warning. I am able to completely ride out the shock of the cold, and remain motionless. Taking the moment to draw in another long, slow, unseen breath. It is enough. "shit...check her" I hear, and suddenly the sack is yanked off my head.
I hold my breath, and as my head is tugged back, I am utterly resistless, and I feel the warmth of his hand beneath my nose, "She's not breathing..." there is a slight panic to his tone, and I feel a sharp sting to my cheek, "Come on bitch, we ain't done yet" he informs me, but I am utterly disobedient and continue to feign my death. "Shiiiiit" the sound he makes is beginning to take on the panic of a small child in a deep amount of trouble. "He said leave her alive....he specifically said...". My head is dropped and I sneak another shallow breath beneath my hair, and listen "If he finds out...dammit!!" the words rising in volume as the repercussions begin to build in his mind. "No, no, no".
Finally, what I had been waiting for, happens. I feel my bonds cut from my hands and I allow myself to fall to the floor, head first, and simply collapse there. "Fuck!!". Now his minion was beginning to panic, and was pacing the room, "What if we get a healer?". This got something thrown at the man, who quickly shut his mouth and left the panicking to Dumbass. I must say, he truly does throw himself into whatever it is that is occupying his mind, because he committed himself fully to the process, "I told you not to put that damned sack on her head!". Instantly his companion pipes up again, "Oh no you didn't, you told me to!!".
Excellent, while those two bickered amongst themselves, my hands were slowly experiencing an agonizing case of pins and needles. My feet were still tied to the chair, but that was okay, I was working things out in my head while those two twits worked themselves into a tizzy. I had most of it mulled through when Dumbass provided me with the opportunity I needed. He squats down over me, to do what, I will never know, because as he reaches for me, I do the same to him, grabbing at him suddenly and jerking my knees suddenly towards my chest, tugging the wooden chair with them. I tug as hard as I can and slam his face into the corner of the seat and a most satisfying crunch of teeth on wood is my reward. It's enough to ring his bell, and with that, I have his weapon from his hand in a heart beat.
He did not have a chance after that. Truly the look of shock on his face as his own blade cut his throat, will never leave my minds eye. Not ever. You can not do that to a person, you can not, and not remember it every time you close your eyes. I do not have time to dwell on it, for as Dumbass bleeds out, his cohort is already on me. I am now at a serious disadvantage, and much to my dismay, as his shouts lift, two others enter the room. I had hoped it was just the two of them, but clearly I had miscalculated. I manage to get the dagger in my hand deep into the inner thigh of that loud mouth, knowing precisely where to cut, and soon, he too is down, bleeding out on the floor, far faster than his friend. It's just one of those things you pick up, little details that matter.
It takes a minute or two more, but soon I am back in my chair and my hands are once again tied firmly behind my back. However, this time, the view is far better than it was just a few minutes before. Now, instead of my lap, I am staring at two dead rebels, and somehow, once again, it strikes my funny bone. I do not think I have laughed so hard in my life. It causes the men in the room to take pause, each one staring at me with a mix of fear and revulsion upon their faces. Not one of them willing at that moment, to even approach me. It makes it all the funnier and I giggle my fool ass off, grinning through bloody teeth.
I hear boots upon the floorboards and that voice returns, "Clearly we have under estimated our guest gentlemen. I suggest we up our efforts to persuade her". These words do not bode well for me, but at the time, I could not find it in me to stop laughing. The boys came up with an idea, and started hitting me again. It worked, I stop laughing. Clever boys.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Reflection
My eyes open, and for a time I simply lie there, staring at the surface of a blanket, and the entire world is rocking, and for some reason I can not for the life of me understand it. The snort of a horse draws my attention and I shift my gaze towards my feet, and I see my little black mare walking behind me. Odd. Why is she walking?
It dawns on me that I am moving, and my horse is tethered behind the wagon that bears me home. Right. I forgot. I feel like shit. That is when I try to move and every muscle, every inch of me screams at my brain to STOP DOING THAT! And so, obediently, I lie still, letting the wagon rock me back to sleep.
A whip cracks out of the dark and cuts into my skin and I scream!! It is no use, the shackles bear me to the stone and there is no escape. Questions come, endless, probing questions, and the whip flies, again..and again...and again! A rock sends the wagon into a tussling jolt and I moan in my agony and once more I am staring at a blanket, tossed over a pile of hay, and the tops of passing trees as we navigate our way around the edge of Blackwood forest.
I am taken through the city in the dead of night, and a messenger is sent to fetch my commander. It occurs to me as I groggily spend the time weaving in and out of consciousness, that he was going to be pissed about this. I doubt I will see my feet to the floor sooner than I week, and somehow that just annoys the hell out of me. I hear the two men sent along with me talking to each other, their hushed whispers exchanging theories about exactly what had happened to me. I did not offer my point of view to the conversation. Let them talk.
It is some time later when I hear my commander's deep voice, looming somewhere over me, and yet I truly lacked the interest to open my eyes and so I left him to rant at the men bearing me home. When my eyes finally do open again, it is because of the tearing pain that rips my wounds open and sends a fresh soaking of crimson into the bandages. I am being carried into my home, over the shoulder of someone who's face I have yet to see. He is gentle when he puts me down, though he seems relieved to be done with me and hurries from the room. I am just as glad to see him go, and I forget him entirely as my eyes close again.
A blur of a woman arrives, floating around my room like a ghost, talking to me as she pokes and prods at my wounds, driving me to a fury. However, I am too tired to complain beyond a soft groan or a grimace of protest. For a week I lie this way, slowly regaining my strength, allowing my mind plenty of time to play over the events that brought me to my unexpected leave of absence.
And so it goes, until one day, I place my feet to the floor, stand up under my own strength and look at the woman who has nursed me dutifully, and tell her, 'thank you, your services are no longer required'. She nods, rises to her feet with a graceful curtsy and collects her things without a word, departing with a small nodded bow. I collapse back to my bed and struggle to wrap my covers around me, my facade having worked just long enough to get rid of that ever present invasion of privacy. Now then, perhaps I can finally get some sleep.
It dawns on me that I am moving, and my horse is tethered behind the wagon that bears me home. Right. I forgot. I feel like shit. That is when I try to move and every muscle, every inch of me screams at my brain to STOP DOING THAT! And so, obediently, I lie still, letting the wagon rock me back to sleep.
A whip cracks out of the dark and cuts into my skin and I scream!! It is no use, the shackles bear me to the stone and there is no escape. Questions come, endless, probing questions, and the whip flies, again..and again...and again! A rock sends the wagon into a tussling jolt and I moan in my agony and once more I am staring at a blanket, tossed over a pile of hay, and the tops of passing trees as we navigate our way around the edge of Blackwood forest.
I am taken through the city in the dead of night, and a messenger is sent to fetch my commander. It occurs to me as I groggily spend the time weaving in and out of consciousness, that he was going to be pissed about this. I doubt I will see my feet to the floor sooner than I week, and somehow that just annoys the hell out of me. I hear the two men sent along with me talking to each other, their hushed whispers exchanging theories about exactly what had happened to me. I did not offer my point of view to the conversation. Let them talk.
It is some time later when I hear my commander's deep voice, looming somewhere over me, and yet I truly lacked the interest to open my eyes and so I left him to rant at the men bearing me home. When my eyes finally do open again, it is because of the tearing pain that rips my wounds open and sends a fresh soaking of crimson into the bandages. I am being carried into my home, over the shoulder of someone who's face I have yet to see. He is gentle when he puts me down, though he seems relieved to be done with me and hurries from the room. I am just as glad to see him go, and I forget him entirely as my eyes close again.
A blur of a woman arrives, floating around my room like a ghost, talking to me as she pokes and prods at my wounds, driving me to a fury. However, I am too tired to complain beyond a soft groan or a grimace of protest. For a week I lie this way, slowly regaining my strength, allowing my mind plenty of time to play over the events that brought me to my unexpected leave of absence.
And so it goes, until one day, I place my feet to the floor, stand up under my own strength and look at the woman who has nursed me dutifully, and tell her, 'thank you, your services are no longer required'. She nods, rises to her feet with a graceful curtsy and collects her things without a word, departing with a small nodded bow. I collapse back to my bed and struggle to wrap my covers around me, my facade having worked just long enough to get rid of that ever present invasion of privacy. Now then, perhaps I can finally get some sleep.
Friday, August 12, 2011
The Journey Home
It is dusk again before I step out of structure that currently suits me as shelter, and pull and lock the door behind me, then lifting my hood against the curious and hostile stares. Even now, even without my uniform on, I see the disgust in the eyes of the men who know me, or know of me. There is still that ever present hostility that lurks as a palpable tension that seems to cocoon itself around me, yet no one, not a single one of them, steps forward to challenge me. I am unarmored this night, I bear no weapon, I wear nothing but my street clothes and a cloak, and yet those who recognize and hate, dare not bar my path. Somehow, this soothes me, calming my jagged nerves, as I head to the stables to collect the mount that is, without a doubt, prepared and waiting for me.
I lay a pair of gold coins in the palm of the boy who fetches me the familiar black mare, fully tacked and ready for the journey. She is a calm, fleet footed little thing, and somehow having her to bear me to my fate, is another pacifying influence, and I smile and lay my gloved hand upon the length of her nose, murmuring my hello's to the beast. My leg is up and over her back and with a glance back I urge her to a sprint with the heels of my boots, "come now, Mother is waiting" and we are off like an arrow into the gathering darkness.
Just beyond sight of the lumbering walls of the city, I reign her in and we settle to a comfortable canter, and I feel my nerves rising. It has been a long time since I truly returned home. Nearly seven years ago I lost my way, and I have wandered directionless ever since. Will Mother even recognize me now? Will she be able to look upon me, and not turn away in revulsion? Will she hate me? These questions, chatter like small birds perched upon my shoulders, the words sharp in my mind, poking and prodding at the shadows of my past, finding those tender, infected memories that taint my dreams. I shiver beneath my cloak as the cool night settles in once and for all in the realm and the mists of the forest begin to send fingers of fog over the fields, spreading from the edge of the woods like a silent hunter.
I arrive at the gate after what seems an entirely too short journey, and I dismount, leaving the little mare in the hands of an gnarled man with very few teeth. Another few coins slip from my hand and I walk the street alone. Each step I take, carries me past small homes, lit from within by candle and lanterns, each one taking more effort to complete. Inevitably I am brought to a familiar iron gate, and as I pass through, I lay my hand upon a stone statue and speak to it as I pass, "watch the door" I command the gargoyle, who does nothing in return but stare at me through dead, stone eyes.
I pull the cord that sends the bell on the inside into a momentarily clamour, and soon the door opens and a small, meek woman steps in side. "He is expecting you" the familiar voice offers. "Take me to him" I reply, offering no smile, no courtesy to the woman. I am brought to a large wooden door and I waiting for the reply as the tiny woman knocks to announce my arrival. I am led inside, and as quickly as she arrives, the woman flees, closing the door behind her, leaving me to my fate.
I stand there, facing my host again, and he asks me if I am prepared. Prepared? Is that even possible? No, of course not, and yet, my own lips betray me and tell the man, that yes, I am ready. I marvel at my own insanity, as I calmly turn and follow him out of the study, and he leads me into a part of the structure I had never seen before. Once I step past that threshold and the door closes solidly behind me. I know it is now too late. I must face her and be judged. There is no going back.
I step down the stone corridor, lead to her without fail, and I stare at what awaits me. Well, ready or not Mother...here I come.
I lay a pair of gold coins in the palm of the boy who fetches me the familiar black mare, fully tacked and ready for the journey. She is a calm, fleet footed little thing, and somehow having her to bear me to my fate, is another pacifying influence, and I smile and lay my gloved hand upon the length of her nose, murmuring my hello's to the beast. My leg is up and over her back and with a glance back I urge her to a sprint with the heels of my boots, "come now, Mother is waiting" and we are off like an arrow into the gathering darkness.
Just beyond sight of the lumbering walls of the city, I reign her in and we settle to a comfortable canter, and I feel my nerves rising. It has been a long time since I truly returned home. Nearly seven years ago I lost my way, and I have wandered directionless ever since. Will Mother even recognize me now? Will she be able to look upon me, and not turn away in revulsion? Will she hate me? These questions, chatter like small birds perched upon my shoulders, the words sharp in my mind, poking and prodding at the shadows of my past, finding those tender, infected memories that taint my dreams. I shiver beneath my cloak as the cool night settles in once and for all in the realm and the mists of the forest begin to send fingers of fog over the fields, spreading from the edge of the woods like a silent hunter.
I arrive at the gate after what seems an entirely too short journey, and I dismount, leaving the little mare in the hands of an gnarled man with very few teeth. Another few coins slip from my hand and I walk the street alone. Each step I take, carries me past small homes, lit from within by candle and lanterns, each one taking more effort to complete. Inevitably I am brought to a familiar iron gate, and as I pass through, I lay my hand upon a stone statue and speak to it as I pass, "watch the door" I command the gargoyle, who does nothing in return but stare at me through dead, stone eyes.
I pull the cord that sends the bell on the inside into a momentarily clamour, and soon the door opens and a small, meek woman steps in side. "He is expecting you" the familiar voice offers. "Take me to him" I reply, offering no smile, no courtesy to the woman. I am brought to a large wooden door and I waiting for the reply as the tiny woman knocks to announce my arrival. I am led inside, and as quickly as she arrives, the woman flees, closing the door behind her, leaving me to my fate.
I stand there, facing my host again, and he asks me if I am prepared. Prepared? Is that even possible? No, of course not, and yet, my own lips betray me and tell the man, that yes, I am ready. I marvel at my own insanity, as I calmly turn and follow him out of the study, and he leads me into a part of the structure I had never seen before. Once I step past that threshold and the door closes solidly behind me. I know it is now too late. I must face her and be judged. There is no going back.
I step down the stone corridor, lead to her without fail, and I stare at what awaits me. Well, ready or not Mother...here I come.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Revelations
I sit there in the cool leather chair, and wherever it touches my pink skin, it feels soothing. I am clean. Cleaner I think than I have ever been in my entire life. I sit across from my host and wonder as he smiles pleasantly at me from across his desk, if I have not perhaps fallen into the hands of a maniac. It is entirely likely, and yet the matter does not seem to bother me much. No, what was really shattering my world in this man's presence, is the fact that every tiny little verbal push he ushers my way, seems to cause me to accidentally stumble into an undeniable truth as to my own crimes. I confessed them out loud to him, and he patiently spoon feeds me little snippets of reality until I am able to puzzle out my own conclusions. And much to my dismay, my conclusions do not bode well for me.
I am guilty. I have so utterly failed in my task, that my mere presence here is a gift, one I am truly unworthy of. How could I have strayed so far off my path? Without me even noticing it was happening? I thought, that all along, I had been luring him to her, and all the while, he had been tugging me away. How cruelly I have insulted her, and how utterly patient she has been with me. I am so beyond regretful, that I can barely look at my own reflection.
I leave his office, find my horse by the gate and mount it with considerable difficulty. The ride down the road is pain filled, and yet I bask in it. I deserve it. Night is nearly upon the land, and dusk has stretched its grey hands into the depths of Blackwood forest. I ride at an easy pace, not pushing the little black mare past her casual effort, reflecting on the ride home, enjoying the sting of the motion the horse brings to my skin.
"Do you wish to find salvation in your storm?" he offered me, "return to me tomorrow night". It is my greatest wish to make this right. I have made arrangements for my extended leave and get myself home to set my things straight and get some rest. Something tells me, I am going to need my strength.
I find my bed, and set myself to it, tucking beneath the blanket and wait for sleep to come. But in spite of my best hope, sleep eludes me again. I lie there well into the night, staring at the dark thatched roof above, but all I see is the ghosts of my past, the obligations of my present suddenly clashing within my mind and it leaves me to wonder, will I have paid my penance when I find myself at the other end of this journey?
I have no idea how long I laid there before sleep finally came to me, and when my dreams come, they are brutal in their naked revelations, of just how far I have fallen. Oh the regret. The dawn finds me this way, crying my remorse into my empty room, unaware, unheard, asleep and yet still unable to rest.
I am guilty. I have so utterly failed in my task, that my mere presence here is a gift, one I am truly unworthy of. How could I have strayed so far off my path? Without me even noticing it was happening? I thought, that all along, I had been luring him to her, and all the while, he had been tugging me away. How cruelly I have insulted her, and how utterly patient she has been with me. I am so beyond regretful, that I can barely look at my own reflection.
I leave his office, find my horse by the gate and mount it with considerable difficulty. The ride down the road is pain filled, and yet I bask in it. I deserve it. Night is nearly upon the land, and dusk has stretched its grey hands into the depths of Blackwood forest. I ride at an easy pace, not pushing the little black mare past her casual effort, reflecting on the ride home, enjoying the sting of the motion the horse brings to my skin.
"Do you wish to find salvation in your storm?" he offered me, "return to me tomorrow night". It is my greatest wish to make this right. I have made arrangements for my extended leave and get myself home to set my things straight and get some rest. Something tells me, I am going to need my strength.
I find my bed, and set myself to it, tucking beneath the blanket and wait for sleep to come. But in spite of my best hope, sleep eludes me again. I lie there well into the night, staring at the dark thatched roof above, but all I see is the ghosts of my past, the obligations of my present suddenly clashing within my mind and it leaves me to wonder, will I have paid my penance when I find myself at the other end of this journey?
I have no idea how long I laid there before sleep finally came to me, and when my dreams come, they are brutal in their naked revelations, of just how far I have fallen. Oh the regret. The dawn finds me this way, crying my remorse into my empty room, unaware, unheard, asleep and yet still unable to rest.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
When Sleep Finally Comes
A black veil lifts over blurred, greyed vision, and for a moment, I am utterly lost to myself. It seems an eternity has passed, and I have long since fallen to oblivion, does something come into focus, and I see before me my old Master.
How angry I recall I was, how desperate I was to unleash my fury upon him. He took me off the street, and gave me direction, focus, turned my anger in a sharp, efficient weapon to accomplish my goals, and I was grateful and devoted. That is why when he put me aside, for a new student, I was crushed. He tossed me off, to a brutal man, and was instructed to complete my training for him.
I stand there, in my dream before him now, facing down the man I felt had betrayed me. Then I heard soft words rise in my dream, "the pupil surpassed the master". It was true, I was stronger than Yuen ever was. He had not thrown me aside, he had given me to someone who could further forge me. I understand. As those words come to me in my mind, the images, the faces attached to those memories, fade from thought.
I stir in my sleep, out cold on my own bed, dressed and pale, dreams probing at my pain, "bleed for me" the words echo, the grey mist swirls, and new faces rise out of the ashes of my past and push themselves uncomfortably into my mind. A beautiful face, hers was. The dark hair comes to light, and I know the face before I can even see her eyes. "Rachel". The word spoken desperately into the empty room, a beaded sweat upon my untended brow. Her voice, her laughter comes to my dream and lilt in my ears and I ache for her. How I miss her, my only real friend. She had accepted me in all my flaws and still supported my choices, even when they went against her own. Oh the regret I felt, I never should have left! I feel the ache of betrayal again, but this time, it is I who have betrayed, and I am unable to stare at the heart of it. Words again come to me, soft, deep, masculine, "you will see her again in time"
Without fail, my body does not move, it barely recalls how to breath in and out, but luckily for me, it does manage to muddle through the process. A million miles away in my room, a soft groan parts from dry lips, as dark swirling clouds of memories tangle with new information, new revelations. Another face, is dragged against my will, to the forefront of my mind, and agony seems to rise up and consume me, somehow guilt becomes everything, and far, far away, in a bed, I stop breathing.
Now the words that have guided me, rise again, though now their tone is chastising, harsh, the tone is disgusted, "he is a mangy dog, weaker than you, there is no fault in leaving the weak. The failure is his, for losing his strength". I reject these words, I do not want to accept them, but the truth of them is something I can not find objection to, I can not deny them. Somehow this strikes me as physical blow that causes my far away body to jolt suddenly.
"He was weak", these words are murmured into a dark, cool room, the fireplace having long since turned to ash. It is at this point, my body recalls to breath again, and I suddenly gulp for air unseen in the dark, and when both my dreams and my body begin to settle, my breathing calms. My own words lift in my mind, spoken aloud into the empty room, "I did not fail". The deep, soothing, masculine voice lifts again in my dreams, and begins to fade as the words are spoken, "we will meet again". These words, seem to draw closed a dark curtain across my mind, and I drift into unknowing, still far away from my room and the world beyond it, as I ever was.
How angry I recall I was, how desperate I was to unleash my fury upon him. He took me off the street, and gave me direction, focus, turned my anger in a sharp, efficient weapon to accomplish my goals, and I was grateful and devoted. That is why when he put me aside, for a new student, I was crushed. He tossed me off, to a brutal man, and was instructed to complete my training for him.
I stand there, in my dream before him now, facing down the man I felt had betrayed me. Then I heard soft words rise in my dream, "the pupil surpassed the master". It was true, I was stronger than Yuen ever was. He had not thrown me aside, he had given me to someone who could further forge me. I understand. As those words come to me in my mind, the images, the faces attached to those memories, fade from thought.
I stir in my sleep, out cold on my own bed, dressed and pale, dreams probing at my pain, "bleed for me" the words echo, the grey mist swirls, and new faces rise out of the ashes of my past and push themselves uncomfortably into my mind. A beautiful face, hers was. The dark hair comes to light, and I know the face before I can even see her eyes. "Rachel". The word spoken desperately into the empty room, a beaded sweat upon my untended brow. Her voice, her laughter comes to my dream and lilt in my ears and I ache for her. How I miss her, my only real friend. She had accepted me in all my flaws and still supported my choices, even when they went against her own. Oh the regret I felt, I never should have left! I feel the ache of betrayal again, but this time, it is I who have betrayed, and I am unable to stare at the heart of it. Words again come to me, soft, deep, masculine, "you will see her again in time"
Without fail, my body does not move, it barely recalls how to breath in and out, but luckily for me, it does manage to muddle through the process. A million miles away in my room, a soft groan parts from dry lips, as dark swirling clouds of memories tangle with new information, new revelations. Another face, is dragged against my will, to the forefront of my mind, and agony seems to rise up and consume me, somehow guilt becomes everything, and far, far away, in a bed, I stop breathing.
Now the words that have guided me, rise again, though now their tone is chastising, harsh, the tone is disgusted, "he is a mangy dog, weaker than you, there is no fault in leaving the weak. The failure is his, for losing his strength". I reject these words, I do not want to accept them, but the truth of them is something I can not find objection to, I can not deny them. Somehow this strikes me as physical blow that causes my far away body to jolt suddenly.
"He was weak", these words are murmured into a dark, cool room, the fireplace having long since turned to ash. It is at this point, my body recalls to breath again, and I suddenly gulp for air unseen in the dark, and when both my dreams and my body begin to settle, my breathing calms. My own words lift in my mind, spoken aloud into the empty room, "I did not fail". The deep, soothing, masculine voice lifts again in my dreams, and begins to fade as the words are spoken, "we will meet again". These words, seem to draw closed a dark curtain across my mind, and I drift into unknowing, still far away from my room and the world beyond it, as I ever was.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
In Lieu of Sleep
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Peace Keeper
My arrival to the thorn covered gazebo that inhabits the busy intersection, goes largely unnoticed by those who linger nearby or hurry past. It's nearly midday now and the foot traffic has been steadily thickening since dawn. The little faceless pick pockets that skitter like vermin along the edges of the market, like to work this corner for the way it tends to jam up, making up close contact sometimes necessary if you wish to get from here to there without a lengthy detour.
It is my first patrol with my polished captain's pauldron on display, and as expected, I got a few lingering, slack jawed looks. I paid them no heed, those who knew me, knew I had nothing to prove....not anymore. I stuck to my usual route through the city, starting at the stockade and moving towards Merchant's Bazaar at a steady, practiced pace. As I halt by the old wooden gable, the wooden platform nearly engulfed with an ancient rose bush, I habitually scan the crowd for signs of mischief and find myself relieved to have encountered little so far today. With the gates closed and tensions rising, there have been a rash of petty assaults and thefts and the nobles have wisely retreated behind their walls. Until word comes down from the palace, this city is under lock down, and no one gets in or out. It has taken me nearly four years to manuerver myself into this position, and by the gods, I plan to do the job right.
I am about to move off, when I spy someone in the distance I have not seen in some time, moving purposefully through the square with a brooding expression upon his face. Anyone around him could easily tell he was nobility, clothing, stance and demeanor all demanded recognition. As I follow him with my eyes, he glides effortlessly through the crowd as the peasantry seems to part for him without prompting. Something about seeing him, simply walk through the square, sends me back to the voyage here, and the reason behind it. Curiously, I am overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia, and a longing for people I thought I had put behind me.
I recall the charming man with the smooth voice, as we talked for hours below deck in a small cabin he was informed was his quarters, larger than most, but still clearly less accomidating than what he was used to. Oddly, I know very little of him considering how much time we spent idly passing the time in conversation, but I am at the same time, grateful to him for it. It was quickly established when we met, that neither of us wished to discuss ourselves or our pasts, and we both abided by those unspoken rules during our voyage and so, we passed the trip in each others company and yet learned very little of each other doing so. Another thing I recall, which I was pleasantly surprised, is the man was a perfect gentlemen, never once pressing advance, or making suggestions that would perhaps offend my 'delicate sensibilities'. Which, is just as well for me, for I would have had to resort to less than lady like behavior to rebuff him, and I was at the time trying to keep a low profile. It made the journey easier to have him to talk to and easier still not to have to dump his presumptious backside overboard.
I am jolted from my thoughts as the object of my memory begins to move off and I wonder if I will cross his path again. I grumble a moment as I sharpen my attention back to the crowd and begin to head towards the temple, continuing my patrol. I nod to a wide mouthed women who stares at me as I pass, my captain's pauldron apparently some sort of visual distraction for her. So far, only one direct confrontation from a couple of men thinking the decision to make a woman the captain of the Delmarii Militia was a bad idea. But with a lack of able bodied males, who had the skills for the job, it fell to someone who could actually do the work.
The war had dwindled the numbers of healthy young men in the city, and its male population was either too young, or too old and infirm to perform much of the work still required in the city. Thus, it fell to the women to take up the slack. When I arrived in the city, many women were now doing normally male oriented work, and doing it well enough for the city to struggle on. I knew I was going to have to face a few egos when I put on the pauldron and that I would have to put them in their place quickly if I was going to last a week in this job. When the first pair of them pressed their displeasure of my appointment, I made sure their arrest was public and that I dropped them both quickly and that they were hauled away in chains. I will release them in a few days when they have cooled their heels a while, but in the mean time, the general population gets the message that I mean business.
As I walk the streets, I see a sense of desperation in the people, that look a wolf will get in its eyes once its been caged. So far, the calm is holding, and that is all I can hope for until the Queen lifts the lockdown and casts open the gates so supplies can flow once more, and this tension can ease. If I want to avoid this city exploding into chaos and violence on my watch, I will need to keep a sharp eye on things for a while to come yet. I approach the temple and then move on past it, continuing through the market place. There will be plenty of time for prayer later, for now, I have work to do.
It is my first patrol with my polished captain's pauldron on display, and as expected, I got a few lingering, slack jawed looks. I paid them no heed, those who knew me, knew I had nothing to prove....not anymore. I stuck to my usual route through the city, starting at the stockade and moving towards Merchant's Bazaar at a steady, practiced pace. As I halt by the old wooden gable, the wooden platform nearly engulfed with an ancient rose bush, I habitually scan the crowd for signs of mischief and find myself relieved to have encountered little so far today. With the gates closed and tensions rising, there have been a rash of petty assaults and thefts and the nobles have wisely retreated behind their walls. Until word comes down from the palace, this city is under lock down, and no one gets in or out. It has taken me nearly four years to manuerver myself into this position, and by the gods, I plan to do the job right.
I am about to move off, when I spy someone in the distance I have not seen in some time, moving purposefully through the square with a brooding expression upon his face. Anyone around him could easily tell he was nobility, clothing, stance and demeanor all demanded recognition. As I follow him with my eyes, he glides effortlessly through the crowd as the peasantry seems to part for him without prompting. Something about seeing him, simply walk through the square, sends me back to the voyage here, and the reason behind it. Curiously, I am overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia, and a longing for people I thought I had put behind me.
I recall the charming man with the smooth voice, as we talked for hours below deck in a small cabin he was informed was his quarters, larger than most, but still clearly less accomidating than what he was used to. Oddly, I know very little of him considering how much time we spent idly passing the time in conversation, but I am at the same time, grateful to him for it. It was quickly established when we met, that neither of us wished to discuss ourselves or our pasts, and we both abided by those unspoken rules during our voyage and so, we passed the trip in each others company and yet learned very little of each other doing so. Another thing I recall, which I was pleasantly surprised, is the man was a perfect gentlemen, never once pressing advance, or making suggestions that would perhaps offend my 'delicate sensibilities'. Which, is just as well for me, for I would have had to resort to less than lady like behavior to rebuff him, and I was at the time trying to keep a low profile. It made the journey easier to have him to talk to and easier still not to have to dump his presumptious backside overboard.
I am jolted from my thoughts as the object of my memory begins to move off and I wonder if I will cross his path again. I grumble a moment as I sharpen my attention back to the crowd and begin to head towards the temple, continuing my patrol. I nod to a wide mouthed women who stares at me as I pass, my captain's pauldron apparently some sort of visual distraction for her. So far, only one direct confrontation from a couple of men thinking the decision to make a woman the captain of the Delmarii Militia was a bad idea. But with a lack of able bodied males, who had the skills for the job, it fell to someone who could actually do the work.
The war had dwindled the numbers of healthy young men in the city, and its male population was either too young, or too old and infirm to perform much of the work still required in the city. Thus, it fell to the women to take up the slack. When I arrived in the city, many women were now doing normally male oriented work, and doing it well enough for the city to struggle on. I knew I was going to have to face a few egos when I put on the pauldron and that I would have to put them in their place quickly if I was going to last a week in this job. When the first pair of them pressed their displeasure of my appointment, I made sure their arrest was public and that I dropped them both quickly and that they were hauled away in chains. I will release them in a few days when they have cooled their heels a while, but in the mean time, the general population gets the message that I mean business.
As I walk the streets, I see a sense of desperation in the people, that look a wolf will get in its eyes once its been caged. So far, the calm is holding, and that is all I can hope for until the Queen lifts the lockdown and casts open the gates so supplies can flow once more, and this tension can ease. If I want to avoid this city exploding into chaos and violence on my watch, I will need to keep a sharp eye on things for a while to come yet. I approach the temple and then move on past it, continuing through the market place. There will be plenty of time for prayer later, for now, I have work to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)