Dear Diary 17
July 18th 2009 10:32
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning still stiff from the fight yesterday, and had to continue fighting because otherwise they'll break through the first line of defense in the camp. We're barely holding on to that first line; though we are much better trained for the most part than the Fidolians, their sheer numbers are exhausting us and some of us are bound to die.
Today I lost my first soldier. I'd never been very close to him, and I'm somewhat grateful for that, but it was still heartbreaking. His name was Elric, and I know he has a wife and two children who will never see him again. One of his children is in Elorian at this moment; the other is still too young for school. When his poor wife hears the news... I cannot imagine the pain it will cause her to break it to the children.
He was stabbed in the back while trying to fight someone off. They got through the armour-that was a surprise-and must have stabbed right in between the ribs. Shalorin killed the man that killed him, but it means little in war. Elric died while I was trying to carry him to a medical tent, in my arms; I wish I could have saved him, but my body is too tired to risk using that powerful magic.
Not only the blood of my enemies was spilled on me today; and believe me, I was almost sick to my stomach washing the blood off of my hands and my armour. Someone managed to get me in the shoulder, cutting me, but it's not too bad. It does mean I'm excused from the battlefield for a couple of days-thank the Gods. Shalorin will take my place commanding my men. I trust his judgement on the battlefield. He has always given me good advice in the past.
My shoulder is wrapped in a bandage. It's hard to maneuver writing thanks to that, but it will recover and rather quickly. They put healing salves on it and then wrapped it up with a small spell; the wound will heal within a week. Shalorin and I had our nightly tea together and he was eyeing the wound. He seems to think that I got injured because Elric's death distracted me from the battle on hand. I'm not sure if I agree.
He is just as sick of this war as I am. He talks of his beloved, and I know that each night before he sleeps he says a prayer, begging the Gods that he will survive this war, that he will make it home and be able to marry her. I hope he makes it back. He is a good man, and he truly loves this woman; you can tell by the tone of his voice when he speaks of her.
These days we drink our tea together and neither of us dreams. Both of us are grateful, especially after Elric's death. He was not merely some nameless soldier to us, like the men we kill from Fidolius; he was an ally and a friend. We were never as close to him as we are to each other-but we did speak to him every now and then about things other than the battle. I asked him about his family, and he told me. About his wife and his two children, who he simply adored.
His loss cuts us all deeply, and though usually my men are in an almost cheerful mood at dinner-the day is over and we're still winning this war, after all-tonight there was a solemn silence at the dinner table. Everyone knew it but nobody was speaking of it. In war, men die. Elric is just one of those men. He is gone now, and though we will miss him, we cannot dwell on it.
How do the Fidolians keep fighting when they lose so many? How do they not simply give up? I know the truth: the Demon will not let them give up. If they give up they will be killed, and not quickly. They are losing many more than we are, but they can only keep fighting. Their God enslaves them, rules them with terror and pushes them to keep fighting. And so they fight this battle they will never win.
I am somewhat relieved to be injured for the time being. I no longer have the strength in that arm, my dominant one, to swing a sword properly more than three or four times. If they let me continue fighting, I would most likely die on the battlefield tomorrow. And I am one of their most essential generals, so I have been given the week to rest. I'm grateful; the muscles which ache and the bruises which have not had a chance to fade should all be gone by the time the week is up. I'll be fully rested and renewed, though my heart will still be heavy.
I wrote a letter today, to Elric's wife. Her name is Vemina. He described her to me once: long, curly red hair and dark green eyes. Pale like most of my race. Born and raised in the town of Elorian, in the mountains. It was when he travelled to visit Elorian for a three week course on history that he met her, and she convinced him to stay and finish his full education there. He was one of my students several years ago, I remember...
I've sent it with a human messenger. It will take him some time to get across the country and up to Elorian, and this is what I am counting on. Elorian is built in a mountain village, the only one in our kingdom, just like it was in a mountain village on the old continent. He must climb that mountain; if I had sent the message in the usual Elvish way, it would reach her within three days. This way it gives her at least a week longer of thinking that he's alive.
I wish I could do something more to comfort her, but I've done everything that I can; now I must recover myself and prepare to go into battle once more.
Tonight I will sleep... and for once, I will not rise with the sun.
~Alaendril
All caught up again
I woke up this morning still stiff from the fight yesterday, and had to continue fighting because otherwise they'll break through the first line of defense in the camp. We're barely holding on to that first line; though we are much better trained for the most part than the Fidolians, their sheer numbers are exhausting us and some of us are bound to die.
Today I lost my first soldier. I'd never been very close to him, and I'm somewhat grateful for that, but it was still heartbreaking. His name was Elric, and I know he has a wife and two children who will never see him again. One of his children is in Elorian at this moment; the other is still too young for school. When his poor wife hears the news... I cannot imagine the pain it will cause her to break it to the children.
He was stabbed in the back while trying to fight someone off. They got through the armour-that was a surprise-and must have stabbed right in between the ribs. Shalorin killed the man that killed him, but it means little in war. Elric died while I was trying to carry him to a medical tent, in my arms; I wish I could have saved him, but my body is too tired to risk using that powerful magic.
Not only the blood of my enemies was spilled on me today; and believe me, I was almost sick to my stomach washing the blood off of my hands and my armour. Someone managed to get me in the shoulder, cutting me, but it's not too bad. It does mean I'm excused from the battlefield for a couple of days-thank the Gods. Shalorin will take my place commanding my men. I trust his judgement on the battlefield. He has always given me good advice in the past.
My shoulder is wrapped in a bandage. It's hard to maneuver writing thanks to that, but it will recover and rather quickly. They put healing salves on it and then wrapped it up with a small spell; the wound will heal within a week. Shalorin and I had our nightly tea together and he was eyeing the wound. He seems to think that I got injured because Elric's death distracted me from the battle on hand. I'm not sure if I agree.
He is just as sick of this war as I am. He talks of his beloved, and I know that each night before he sleeps he says a prayer, begging the Gods that he will survive this war, that he will make it home and be able to marry her. I hope he makes it back. He is a good man, and he truly loves this woman; you can tell by the tone of his voice when he speaks of her.
These days we drink our tea together and neither of us dreams. Both of us are grateful, especially after Elric's death. He was not merely some nameless soldier to us, like the men we kill from Fidolius; he was an ally and a friend. We were never as close to him as we are to each other-but we did speak to him every now and then about things other than the battle. I asked him about his family, and he told me. About his wife and his two children, who he simply adored.
His loss cuts us all deeply, and though usually my men are in an almost cheerful mood at dinner-the day is over and we're still winning this war, after all-tonight there was a solemn silence at the dinner table. Everyone knew it but nobody was speaking of it. In war, men die. Elric is just one of those men. He is gone now, and though we will miss him, we cannot dwell on it.
How do the Fidolians keep fighting when they lose so many? How do they not simply give up? I know the truth: the Demon will not let them give up. If they give up they will be killed, and not quickly. They are losing many more than we are, but they can only keep fighting. Their God enslaves them, rules them with terror and pushes them to keep fighting. And so they fight this battle they will never win.
I am somewhat relieved to be injured for the time being. I no longer have the strength in that arm, my dominant one, to swing a sword properly more than three or four times. If they let me continue fighting, I would most likely die on the battlefield tomorrow. And I am one of their most essential generals, so I have been given the week to rest. I'm grateful; the muscles which ache and the bruises which have not had a chance to fade should all be gone by the time the week is up. I'll be fully rested and renewed, though my heart will still be heavy.
I wrote a letter today, to Elric's wife. Her name is Vemina. He described her to me once: long, curly red hair and dark green eyes. Pale like most of my race. Born and raised in the town of Elorian, in the mountains. It was when he travelled to visit Elorian for a three week course on history that he met her, and she convinced him to stay and finish his full education there. He was one of my students several years ago, I remember...
I've sent it with a human messenger. It will take him some time to get across the country and up to Elorian, and this is what I am counting on. Elorian is built in a mountain village, the only one in our kingdom, just like it was in a mountain village on the old continent. He must climb that mountain; if I had sent the message in the usual Elvish way, it would reach her within three days. This way it gives her at least a week longer of thinking that he's alive.
I wish I could do something more to comfort her, but I've done everything that I can; now I must recover myself and prepare to go into battle once more.
Tonight I will sleep... and for once, I will not rise with the sun.
~Alaendril
All caught up again
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