Dear Diary 16
July 18th 2009 01:47
Dear Diary,
This bloodshed is sickening; they just keep attacking and attacking... and dying. I've seen men on my own side die, but it is like the Fidolians are running into slaughter. Both sides have suffered heavy losses, but soon Fidolius will not have an army left. And then the Demon, sick and twisted as he is, will start sending the children to fight.
They will destroy themselves for their God. There is nothing they can do to fight him; his strength is overwhelming, and those who do not believe in his ways are simply enslaved. They are made to fight, because if they do not fight, they will simply be killed. He has an army of humans who cannot resist his strength. In his kingdom he rules all-because those who disobey are simply made slaves to those who do, keeping them both under control.
He rules with cruelty, showing kindness to only those who are always loyal. The poor stay poor and the rich only get richer; and the rich stomp on the poor, because he teaches them to. The Demon is a very sick minded being.
He will push them to fight until there is almost nothing left of them. Only when his followers are down to a few hundred will he realize what a mistake he has made, that he cannot stand against the three races. And it will take quite somet time; he's been building an army. An army of thousands upon thousands. Over the last ten years he has been building this army.
I know very little of the customs of Fidolius. I will be the first to admit this. But I know from what I have seen that every boy and girl over fourteen has been trained to some extent in the ways of war. I've seen them fighting-children. They don't have the smarts to run the other way, they run towards us in an attempt to fight, to prove themselves. And they are cut down like trees. We cannot simply let them attack us, no; and we know we cannot make them turn back. We can do nothing but fight and watch ourselves kill them.
This war will drive me mad. I am simply grateful that Kaya is safe now, safe with my sister; and that my sister is far from the battle. Though she could easily lead an army to victory, though she has the strength to deal with this, nobody should be asked to see these horrors. I am here fighting for her-and I have so far done a good job, leading my people and fighting with them.
My people look up to me. It is strange. I see them all as equals-they are men who have trained, maybe not as naturally talented as I am but most have trained just as long. I am used to my students looking up to me. I've been training in magic and swordplay for two and a half centuries... since I was old enough to walk. My students are usually young; young boys, either full-out children only a decade old or adolescents.
They look up to me because of my talent and my knowledge. These men... I do not know why they look up to me so; I feel I am nothing special, but it would seem that my people-and even Loki now-think otherwise.
I know that I have so far managed. And I am sure I will continue to manage; I will not fail my people, I have not studied these last two centuries simply to fail when my knowledge is needed. But I will be driven mad by this war, and I will not be anything close to what I was.
My stomach and my ribs hurt. The muscles in my legs are aching, and there's a giant bruise on one of my thighs. My arms are agony to move even enough to write this, but if I do not get this out, I will go mad sooner. My ribs are still bruised, slightly more now than they were yesterday. The Fidolian soldiers have gotten in a couple hits on me-but nothing strong enough to pierce my armour and certainly nothing fatal.
My head is pounding for no reason I can figure out, and my throat is sore from yelling commands to my soldiers. Every part of me is sore and tired. I am grateful I still have plenty of tea of Dreamless Sleep; I bought enough to last me several months. Shalorin and I had tea together and he went to go sleep. I have been writing this since he left me.
I am grateful for Shalorin. He is a strong man, quite talented with both magic and weapons; even with his fists. He has amazing instincts and seems to know quite a bit about warfare, though he only took swordplay for two years. He told me quite a long story, the story of his life. For many years he studied martial arts, which is quite common in the Drakor lands. When he was sixteen he studied swordplay for two years, his own decision; his father had enrolled him in the school for martial arts, as often happens throughout Appollinia and the Drakor lands.
My parents had me go to Elorian as soon as I was old enough, at a tender age of seven. For the first four years I only spent six hours there a week, two learning swordplay, two learning history, two learning myth. And then I began to spend five hours a day there; when I was seventeen I began living at Elorian and studying eight hours a day.
Elorian is the most prestigious and most intensive school in the Elvish kingdom. It has the largest library in any land the three allies own. Appollinia and the Drakor lands have nothing that can compare to it. The entire history of our world and all the myths and all the languages are contained within these walls-and there is a teacher for everything.
It is this background knowledge which makes me able to lead-I have all the studying, and Shalorin is my balance: he has the common sense.
I am too tired to continue writing. I must sleep now.
~Alaendril
This bloodshed is sickening; they just keep attacking and attacking... and dying. I've seen men on my own side die, but it is like the Fidolians are running into slaughter. Both sides have suffered heavy losses, but soon Fidolius will not have an army left. And then the Demon, sick and twisted as he is, will start sending the children to fight.
They will destroy themselves for their God. There is nothing they can do to fight him; his strength is overwhelming, and those who do not believe in his ways are simply enslaved. They are made to fight, because if they do not fight, they will simply be killed. He has an army of humans who cannot resist his strength. In his kingdom he rules all-because those who disobey are simply made slaves to those who do, keeping them both under control.
He rules with cruelty, showing kindness to only those who are always loyal. The poor stay poor and the rich only get richer; and the rich stomp on the poor, because he teaches them to. The Demon is a very sick minded being.
He will push them to fight until there is almost nothing left of them. Only when his followers are down to a few hundred will he realize what a mistake he has made, that he cannot stand against the three races. And it will take quite somet time; he's been building an army. An army of thousands upon thousands. Over the last ten years he has been building this army.
I know very little of the customs of Fidolius. I will be the first to admit this. But I know from what I have seen that every boy and girl over fourteen has been trained to some extent in the ways of war. I've seen them fighting-children. They don't have the smarts to run the other way, they run towards us in an attempt to fight, to prove themselves. And they are cut down like trees. We cannot simply let them attack us, no; and we know we cannot make them turn back. We can do nothing but fight and watch ourselves kill them.
This war will drive me mad. I am simply grateful that Kaya is safe now, safe with my sister; and that my sister is far from the battle. Though she could easily lead an army to victory, though she has the strength to deal with this, nobody should be asked to see these horrors. I am here fighting for her-and I have so far done a good job, leading my people and fighting with them.
My people look up to me. It is strange. I see them all as equals-they are men who have trained, maybe not as naturally talented as I am but most have trained just as long. I am used to my students looking up to me. I've been training in magic and swordplay for two and a half centuries... since I was old enough to walk. My students are usually young; young boys, either full-out children only a decade old or adolescents.
They look up to me because of my talent and my knowledge. These men... I do not know why they look up to me so; I feel I am nothing special, but it would seem that my people-and even Loki now-think otherwise.
I know that I have so far managed. And I am sure I will continue to manage; I will not fail my people, I have not studied these last two centuries simply to fail when my knowledge is needed. But I will be driven mad by this war, and I will not be anything close to what I was.
My stomach and my ribs hurt. The muscles in my legs are aching, and there's a giant bruise on one of my thighs. My arms are agony to move even enough to write this, but if I do not get this out, I will go mad sooner. My ribs are still bruised, slightly more now than they were yesterday. The Fidolian soldiers have gotten in a couple hits on me-but nothing strong enough to pierce my armour and certainly nothing fatal.
My head is pounding for no reason I can figure out, and my throat is sore from yelling commands to my soldiers. Every part of me is sore and tired. I am grateful I still have plenty of tea of Dreamless Sleep; I bought enough to last me several months. Shalorin and I had tea together and he went to go sleep. I have been writing this since he left me.
I am grateful for Shalorin. He is a strong man, quite talented with both magic and weapons; even with his fists. He has amazing instincts and seems to know quite a bit about warfare, though he only took swordplay for two years. He told me quite a long story, the story of his life. For many years he studied martial arts, which is quite common in the Drakor lands. When he was sixteen he studied swordplay for two years, his own decision; his father had enrolled him in the school for martial arts, as often happens throughout Appollinia and the Drakor lands.
My parents had me go to Elorian as soon as I was old enough, at a tender age of seven. For the first four years I only spent six hours there a week, two learning swordplay, two learning history, two learning myth. And then I began to spend five hours a day there; when I was seventeen I began living at Elorian and studying eight hours a day.
Elorian is the most prestigious and most intensive school in the Elvish kingdom. It has the largest library in any land the three allies own. Appollinia and the Drakor lands have nothing that can compare to it. The entire history of our world and all the myths and all the languages are contained within these walls-and there is a teacher for everything.
It is this background knowledge which makes me able to lead-I have all the studying, and Shalorin is my balance: he has the common sense.
I am too tired to continue writing. I must sleep now.
~Alaendril
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