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I’ve been in contact with Triden, the King, throughout the whole of my journey. (We’ve been communicating via cyber-com). He’s been checking up on my progress, which I suppose I cannot hold him against for as he did invest almost ю*60,000 in this initiative.
He’s been requesting for my assistance for various state initiatives.
*ю = equivalent to $5000
Today I wake up to the sound of chirping. There is a promise of a violet sky today. The grass is the colour of emerald green; the sky, a cerulean blue.
I climbed out of bed today; the bed that is the small patch of grass sitting under the cover of a large oak tree. It is one of the few spots which dodges the incessant rain that has fallen from the past few days. My Arabian robe has grown damp; its cotton fusing with the early morning dew, and I shiver – half from the cutting whip of the cold air and half from the anticipation I now feel for the day’s offer of imminence.
I decide to take a stroll. Breathing in the smells emanating from the greenery and from the gentle coloured daisies and pastel flavoured tulips, I wander over to where the hills dance with the arch of the sunrise. I near the peak, look down ahead of me, and almost topple over from the sheer impact of the image before me. What normally stood a small local village was now the product of pure destruction. What normally would have been the sounds of busy carts being drawn across to the marketplace is now replaced with despair. The huts have been torn down, the stalls of the market have been overturned, and the sight of another soul rests in dissipation.
I pick through a pile of rubble until I sense movement beside me. Instinctively, I feel the knot of cautiousness; my hand already touching on the hilt of my sword. Before I can even tune into searching for the source of disturbance, the skulker pounces out. The surprise throws me back onto the barky remains on the ground. I recover quickly as I scramble to my feet, only to see the face of the villain. To my surprise, it is not a wretched ogre, nor even a rogue corpse.
It is my brother, Joseph.
Much of the day was spent skulking around the round tower building which sits off the shore of Geransius. There was no sign of too many by-passers on the other side of the Fortian Mote. It gave me time to reminisce about the trials of my life.
I let my mind wander back to the day I took another human’s life. That day has been undesirably etched into my mind. It might not have been that long ago, come to think of it. Death is not uncommon; the average person does not know a life expectancy of more than 40 years – understandable we do live the life of ultimate self-sacrifice to our state.
It was conditioned in us that death was a matter of unimportance.
Death. That was omnipresent in the Battle of Vernese, where almost 60,000 fighters valiantly contested with their own lives. The epic amount of personnel formed confusion over which soldier was on who’s side…too many people died for reasons that were unruly – everyone just wanted to kill someone else.
That day sketches out in my mind in muddy colour and is revived with the memories of the desperately charged yells, frenzied hysteria, fall of weaponry and shrieks of pain. How can anyone even begin to overlook those overbearing sufferings – how can we sell a human’s life away like that?
This morning, I sledged yet another being’s life. The wizard had told me that under the principals that had been embedded into our lives for over 5000 years, we should move on and be unaffected by death. ‘Be indifferent to human life,’ was what he said. I don’t think that’s possible if you are capable of holding any one human dear. All you need is one other.
I say my prayers for the blessed souls that fall victim to death.
I must stay focused to each day, though. Another one crosses itself off from this operation. It has been 5 months and I’ve walked through endless amounts of dim passageways; everytime with a hope of finding an illumination in the mystery that is the Theonopolian armour location. The end of this particular trial would see me walking away from this anarchy.
Still, I know cannot let Triden down.
It’s been an arduous day. I can barely lift the muscles in my arms which have been worn down from the never-ending situations I’ve had to slice down a nymph or throw off an ogre’s hex. The battle to Theonopolis has taken far greater time than was originally planned. So I suppose this quest aimed at bringing back some armour for the Poliniesen family but I suspect a different underlying agenda? For a bunch of rich old royals, they are no different to probably their ancestors who fought their scallywags off to bring home some metal and chicks. I do remember the good old days when I was too young to even notice any of their scandalous deviousness, and all that I had to worry about was keeping up with my brothers Joseph and Nathaniel. The nannies (who were grossly short-staffed) were often busy and I suppose they didn’t get to observe us very closely. If they did, they would’ve noticed that my childhood consisted of many instances of pot banging, and perhaps some sword and duelling chaos and barely any stitching, garment washing or cabbage chopping.
From that very first day where I made the monumental decision of discarding the wooden spoon for the wooden dagger, it has been preserved in me to join the boys in fighting the various rogues and generally bad people. It made sense to me that combat fighting would be more fun than poaching the chicken and bending over the basin to clear up the dirt from the dishes that had been spat on by the sort of people I knew not ever to become. Yes, Joseph and Nath weren’t too pleased – even though they were deathly aware I had beaten them many a time in combat but the fact that I could still wear a skirt was enough for them to exclude me from their games. Being the only girl of the family was difficult enough – twas only when I was a tad bit older that I realised the meaning behind the patriarchal system. You can hardly blame me for this unawareness considering that I busily grew up believing that all I ever had to do in life was skilfully push past two brown headed boys in whatever contest that we’d fallen into.
This juvenile kafuffle did do one thing though: it provided for the foundations required for the agoge. Many, many long hours were spent studying the landscape for any sign of movement (simulated skulks of the opponent). We were chiselled with the habit of preparing for any given stranger and tirelessly prepared for instances in the future where we’d have to stun or charge at them whilst being stealthy and inconspicuous.
I cannot deny that it was a lonely existence. We were disciplined to communally fight, but back in the barracks, during late nights, feeling abandonment was not uncommon…
Now I sit, propped against this thousand year old tree, where I feel weary from the action packed tale that I’ve digressed upon. There is a sense of exhaustion which hasn’t just simply originated from the massive war against the fiery-eyed fiends – although I do have to recharge my energy with possibly a sip from the rejuvenation shrine over at Thebei – but rather, from this life, in general, that demands great commitment and nationalistic values.
Ah, atleast I know I will die a troop in the guild of fighters and not die-hard scraping the floors with my knees buried in urine. So there’s the bright side.
Why spend the first x minutes of meeting someone telling them what you are? Maybe it’d be more useful telling someone the things that you aren’t.
I am not a hero.
It is quite messy to attempt to find direction in an environment that does not offer any form of guidance. All I may see most days are long dark ancient stoned hallways - perhaps with a slither of light when rounding a corner which flitters through a rustic iron window.
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