Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Mar 29, 2006 21:07:09 GMT -5
Day 1: Today is a good day. My father and grandfather have given me many gifts to celebrate my completion of Hyanda Naia. In a cycle of the moon, I will be given my first command and take them to the North Wall. At parade, my instructors implied that the war was going badly for the kingdom, and that commoners are being pulled off the streets to fight. I, of course, have performed too well to be given such a miserable command, and thoroughly expect to be placed with the Border Cavalry, as befits my position.
Day 26: Ancestors protect me! I have been assigned as the commander of the 51st Levanon Swords. I strongly suspect that this is a plot against me from somewhere in the family... And the MANNERS of these common...riffraff! Truly unthinkable...I shudder to imagine what the march to the Wall will be like.
Day 29: We encountered a group of raiders in the woods today. They were a hideous, gray-skinned people, and they came charging out of this damnable fog, right into the side of our marching column. It was touch and go for a few moments, and of course, these miserable peasants can't be expected to put up any sort of fight before breaking. I had to spur my steed into the center of the combat and leave a path of dead behind me before the troops rediscovered their courage. Admittedly, this was their first combat actio, so I perhaps I have judged somewhat too harshly, but there is still great room for improvement.
Day 30: Accursed cowards! My troops have abandoned me in the night. They seem to have slipped away under the cover of this impenetrable fog... If only I could find my bearings in this place, I could return to the city.
Day 33: I have wandered for three days now...this is a strange land, and I have never seen nor heard of its like before. Even the spirit of these woods is strange to me. They seem ancient beyond reckoning...and yet somehow young and desperate. The mysteries of this otherworld, for that is what I have concluded it is, intrigue me deeply...
Day 34: I encountered yet another group of those gray creatures today. I smelled their stench and heard their foul boots long before I saw them. I faded back into the woods, as their numbers were far too great for me to think of combating, and thought little more of it, as I searched the area for edible foodstuffs. Some time later, I heard the snap of bowstrings, and the shouts of combat, from the direction the beasts had marched. I was curious to see who might be fighting these beasts, and perhaps aid them in someway. i quickly and quietly approached the battle, when a band of them, deserters I believe, sprang up around me, their crude iron bows pointed at me. Their leader yelled something in a coarse tongue, and gestured at me. Considering the situation, I feel justified in having drawn my longsword and gutting him. I pulled my blade through and executed an upward slicing shoulder-roll, lopping off the knees of another of the beasts.
The others had unleashed their arrows at this time, and one was lucky. His barbed shaft penetrated my side, and I put the tip of my blade through his throat as repayment. The others saw that they had stumbled across more than they had expected, and retreated in a confused jumble.
The arrow in my side seemed to have been dipped in some sort of poison, as I was much weaker than I could account for. I stumbled through the woods, eventually coming across a hastily made camp.
|
|
Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Mar 29, 2006 21:26:23 GMT -5
Day 35: I am told I spent the night in a feverish sleep. Two of the warriors here have a knowledge of the medicinal properties of the plants here, and sucked out the poison over the night. My natural elvish vitality seems to have done the rest. There seem to be a number of tribes in this place, working together to build a village that lies near here. Their leader, Alric, has, somewhat grudgingly, I believe, offered me some lodging on the edge of the village.
I have noticed that, with the exception of one weatherbeaten sword, by the name of Oron, they seem fascinated by my ears...it seems impossible, but perhaps these backwards tribesmen have never seen an elf before?
Day 40: I have made my lodgings in the abandoned home of a Duc' Daemont D'Marques. It seems that he was something of a dabbler in magical arts, and a keen recorder of history. He has left many of his notes behind in his home, and it amuses me to see how little these people know about their situation. Scarcely more than I do, to be frank. In the six months they have been here, they have managed to put together a scattered cluster of wooden buildings in the center of a clearing, edged by a moderately sized river. The river seems to have its source in the mountains to the north, though none of them know for sure. The concept of civilization seems lost on them.
Day 41: I have gathered that these gray skinned beasts are called "orcs," and their depredations have become more frequent as time passes. The village people, or "Mittelmarchers," as they call themselves are marching out this morning to clear the woods around the village. I have decided to go with them, as they seem to be in something of a losing battle, considering their low numbers, and somewhat dim grasp of strategy. I eagerly look forward to testing my skill against these "orcs" again.
Day 42: We were attacked by a band of monstrous brutes today. These local barbarians call them "ogres" and seemed justifiably disturbed by the attack. One in particular, a certain "Dhugal," seems to have developed a brooding mood after the attack, and fell to quarreling with the one named Alric.
Day 43: We were attacked again in the night, and would have surely been overrun, had it not been for my quick thinking. While fighting the beasts around us, I scented magic in the air, and was able to sever the connection between these monsters and their master. The backlash from this mysterious entity was quite strong, and rendered me unable to walk for some time.
Day 44: We have reached the mountains to the North. Strange that this world's demons should also come from the north. Such strange parallels always have meaning, and I remain sure it will become clear with time. My companions, if I could call them that , have not yet named these mountains, so I have dubbed them the "Iron Mountains." Considering the apparent sharpness of their summits and edges, it seems fitting. We will spend the night camped in the woods before entering in and attempting to cut out the terror at its source.
Day 45: Today has been a long one. We have fought a running engagement from sunrise to nightfall, and the woods are littered with the dead from both sides. The morning began with a host of orcs, ogres, and, to our horror, the walking dead, issuing forth from the gaping maw of the mountains. Our position was woefully inadequate for defense, and our numbers dishearteningly low. Within moments, we had started to fall back into the woods, hoping to negate our foes numbers. The one named Dhugal, however, stood with his mentor, Oron, fighting as a rearguard to allow the bulk of our forces more time to reach the forest. As I fought for my life against a cluster of undead, I saw them actually making headway through the enemy host. Then...then a great beast came forth from the cave, an evil I knew all to well from my own world. Only the accursed air of the Wastelands could have created such a monstrosity, and I had no doubt that he had come from them. Even Dhugal and Oron seemed outmatched, as it drifted sedately over the battle, its many eyes firing rays of death and destruction as it went. The battle truly seemed lost.
But as our forces wavered in the place between retreat and fighting to the death, we were saved. A blue dragon came down out of its nest in the high mountains, sleek and vast and deadly, dropping onto the field and ravaging the enemy's forces. The flow of combat took me away from the area around Dhugal and Oron, but they came into camp after we had finished the rout, and told us the beast was dead for good. I fear that if it came across the worlds with me, that other such monstrosities from the Wastelands may have as well. If so, these rough people will have a difficult time of things.
|
|
Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Mar 29, 2006 21:27:17 GMT -5
Day 47: It would seem that the evil peoples of this world have had their revenge. Our march back to the village was slow, as we have many wounded in our column, and the delay has cost the villagers dearly. Mittelmarch has burned in our absence. Those who stayed behind to defend it were butchered and left to rot where they fell. For the first time, I feel at a loss for the words to describe an event. With the exception of this journal and my memory, the writings of Duc D'Marques are lost, along with much valuable knowledge. This is a black day for this world, indeed.
Day 48: We have spent a sleepless night with little comfort, and many of the barbarians who live here spent it in an almost unearthly wailing and keening over their loss. Today though, they show nothing but determination to persevere. They have invited me to their clan meeting, for reasons mysterious to me. They seem to consider me the replacement for D'Marques, and I suppose the great amount of time I have spent in solitude with his notes has added a degree of mystique to my presence. Nevertheless, I attended and listened as they angrily discussed various strategems and campaigns, before I pointed out the obvious. These villagers are vastly outnumbered, and demoralized. Their first efforts should be to rebuild their village, and create a viable defense for it. Some of the younger ones ridiculed this notion, but I trust that cooler heads will prevail in their council.
Day 63: We have been spared from attacks recently, and the village is well on its way to being rebuilt. I have volunteered to design a wall for the village, and look forward to testing my architectural skills. The wall will have to be made of wood, and we will start with the trees nearest the village. This will serve both to extend the clearing around the village, and to make construction easier.
Day 100: Construction has been long, but we have finally completed the palisade around the village. The wall stands 15 feet tall, and is between 3 and 4 feet thick. We have left two gates, facing north and south, each of which can be barred shut at night or in times of danger. At a height of 11 feet, there is a walkway running around the inside of the wall, to allow archers and warriors to prevent any enemies from attempting to scale it.
Day 101: I did not realize it at the time, but yesterday marked the 100th day since I was given this journal. I could never have guessed that events would play out as they have. Truly, the heavens move in strange ways.
// More as I find the motivation to write it...
|
|
Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Mar 29, 2006 21:27:48 GMT -5
In the midst of the journal, dozens of pages have been torn out. Across the remaining margins, a brief note is written.
My name is Kammu, and I am a builder of houses, like all of my family before me. I found this journal wrapped in oilskin as I dug up the foundation of one of this city's oldest homes. I have read it all, and now I return it to its place under the new foundation.
I do not feel that it was ever meant for all the world to see, and am reminded of this saying.
"Every man who has ever had a statue made of him, has been one kind of son of a bitch or another."
|
|
Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Mar 29, 2006 21:28:29 GMT -5
Another note is found later, sprawling across the journal's torn center pages.
I am Toyotomi, and Kammu is my blessed ancestor, 12 generations before me. I have thought for some days on what to do with this journal. The man called Taos is a hero to my people, a man who, almost by himself, brought our world out of darkness and into the light.
The real man, if this journal is true, is much different from the stories we were told as children. At first I thought I should bring the truth to light, but now I know I will respect my ancestor's wishes.
I think on it now, and I see that I am more inspired by a flawed hero than I ever was by the stories of a perfect man, but I do not not think that others would see it the way I do.
So, if you should find this journal again, after I replace it, I ask of you that you also return it to it's place, and let the legend live on.
|
|
|
Post by berengaria on Feb 14, 2007 16:26:16 GMT -5
Touché Taos! Look forward to more...
|
|
Taos
Grunt
Airstrikes for Everyone!
High Born, High Elf...Need I Say More
Posts: 358
|
Post by Taos on Dec 4, 2007 5:09:32 GMT -5
Day 2202: Blood is on my hands. The Stone Men began pouring over the fortress walls before dawn, and by noon, it was finished...hundreds died at their hands, and our plans and stratagems did nothing to save us.
And I must tell someone, the spirits, if no one else, or my shame will be too great to bear...when they came pouring through the Wind Gate, the last barrier, I should have died then. Died, sword in hand and a curse on my lips.
But I did not...I fled, fled in terror, and left those others to die in my place...
Blood is on my hands, and I cannot wash it off, no matter how I try.
Day 2203: I returned to the fortress today. There was a man there, barely alive. He had been the blacksmith, churning out swords and axes for the last two months, believing when I told him that I would be their hero, that they would stop an army that had never been stopped.
I gave him water when he asked, tried to find the words to say, but he spat it back at me and with his dying breath, cursed me and all my kind.
I am not ashamed to admit that there, in that city of the dead, I knelt down and wept, with only the ravens to hear me.
Day 2204: This morning I swore, swore on my own right hand that I will not leave this world until my honor is restored. I shall see if the mists and the cursed Land that sent me here, will abide by my oath. If it does not, I will not stop searching until I return, and set right my wrongs.
This blood will always haunt me, but I will put the spirits of the dead to rest, or join them in the afterlife.
Day 2207: The dead have sent their own watcher. In the sky, I can see a raven following behind me, and it has been since I left the fortress. I recall years ago, when Alric, with his Visigothic foxation on totem animals told me that mine was the raven. It has become a darkly prophetic statement.
Day 2209: As I travel further south and west, I have crossed the mountains into real civilized land. Conquered land. I met three soldiers out today, gathering food for the army. I left behind me three bodies, hanging from the trees for their companions to find and the crows to feast upon.
As I moved on, looking for somewhere to camp for the night, my watcher came down onto a nearby branch in a flurry of wings, and I swear that I saw approval in its eyes.
|
|