Dear Diary 24
July 24th 2009 20:34
Dear Diary,
Last night the bandits were indeed fool enough to come. In fact, they tried to raid my group's storage wagon; big mistake. Three of us followed them back to their lair, which was an old abandoned farmhouse. It rather surprised me, that we had not stumbled upon it on our way out here; but it was just off the path we had traveled.
There were twelve of them, all with mismatched armour and varying lengths of swords. Clearly, what equipment they had they had stolen. We looked around the area for the best way into the farmhouse, narrowly avoiding being spotted by their guard. At last we spotted a back door; there was a path from it that led to the barn. The three of us walked over to the house, bent below the windows, and then I kicked in the door.
They attacked, but twelve barely-trained men whose only real talent is stealth against three Elves who have been training in swordplay for over a century do not stand a chance. Because I was already injured, one of them managed to get a hit in on me, a blow to my thigh. But he barely broke the skin through my armour and I cut his throat a moment later.
Inside there was a woman, who clearly wasn't one of them. She was tied at her wrists and at her ankles, and her mouth was gagged. I untied the gag and her ankles, helping her to her feet before untying her wrists.
“How did you end up in this awful place?” I asked while my men made sure the location was secure.
“I... I was kidnapped,” she said, “I was very young at the time. I didn't know what to do. One of these men was... my betrothed... so I went for a walk with him-and he tied me up and brought me here.”
Indeed she looked young, and rather beautiful. Her eyes were a very deep brown with a slight tint of red. Her hair was red and brown, two colours. It was somewhat dirty, but you could tell it was very pretty. Her clothes were torn, but clearly she was not simply a farmer's daughter. She was of a higher class than that. I looked at her for several moments, trying to decide what to do.
“Where are you from?”
“A village not far from here; perhaps two days towards the capitol.”
“I see. If you like, we will provide you with a guard and send you on your way home.”
“Please, no,” she said, closing her eyes, “I can't go home. I can never marry after what has been done to me, and all I will face is my father's disappointment and my sisters' sneering.”
“I see. Where would you like to go then? We can't leave you here, nor in the village that sent us; for that village will burn in but a few years.”
“You are soldiers, correct?” she asked, tears running down her face now; she did not sob.
“Yes, we are,” I said, “I am the commander of a group of soldiers; we are traveling now to the Drakor border to help fight off the Fidolian armies.”
“Then take me to the Drakor lands. There I will go to a temple and devote myself to Astarael. And no one will know my past. The Drakor are sure to accept me; and I can go with you.”
“What is your name?”
“My name is Evelyn.”
“We will bring you with us, Evelyn. Only so far as the first Drakor temple we see. They will help you.”
The entire time we had been conversing my men had been gathering together what goods the bandits hadn't used. A live chicken, a small bag of apples, a bag of rice, three bags of lentils, and a chunk of cheese that had yet to go bad. We gathered all the coins we found lying around, nearly a hundred gold coins-more than I wagered most of the villagers had ever seen-and whatever else was still useful. Mostly tools of various farmers. I took two of the swords, and that was the limit to what the three of us could carry.
They had a horse with saddlebags. The poor thing looked half starved. He would be Evelyn's horse. We filled the saddlebags and I rode the horse back to the village; Evelyn would be given the horse in the morning. For the moment she rode behind me, holding my waist. Such men as those who put her in this position frustrated me, disgusted me.
When we reached the village most of them seemed to be awake, as if they knew that we had accomplished our mission. Shalorin rode out to meet us, a torch in his hand. He looked at the woman and raised an eyebrow but did not question; he was used to me bringing survivors to the camp.
“I see you were successful. Were they truly from Fidolius?”
“We could not tell; no symbols of their country could be found. For either side. Except this woman, who is indeed from Appollinia.”
“Some of them were Fidolian,” Evelyn said, speaking up; I pitied her, for the woman was perhaps nineteen human years and those men had ruined her entire life, “five of them. They were criminals though. There were great ransoms on their heads in Fidolius.”
“I see,” I said, frustrated. They would have done us no good dead or alive.
As much as recounting the events is interesting, I did not sleep last night, to be true, and now I must get some rest for in the morn we travel. I will finish this story tomorrow night.
~Alaendril
Last night the bandits were indeed fool enough to come. In fact, they tried to raid my group's storage wagon; big mistake. Three of us followed them back to their lair, which was an old abandoned farmhouse. It rather surprised me, that we had not stumbled upon it on our way out here; but it was just off the path we had traveled.
There were twelve of them, all with mismatched armour and varying lengths of swords. Clearly, what equipment they had they had stolen. We looked around the area for the best way into the farmhouse, narrowly avoiding being spotted by their guard. At last we spotted a back door; there was a path from it that led to the barn. The three of us walked over to the house, bent below the windows, and then I kicked in the door.
They attacked, but twelve barely-trained men whose only real talent is stealth against three Elves who have been training in swordplay for over a century do not stand a chance. Because I was already injured, one of them managed to get a hit in on me, a blow to my thigh. But he barely broke the skin through my armour and I cut his throat a moment later.
Inside there was a woman, who clearly wasn't one of them. She was tied at her wrists and at her ankles, and her mouth was gagged. I untied the gag and her ankles, helping her to her feet before untying her wrists.
“How did you end up in this awful place?” I asked while my men made sure the location was secure.
“I... I was kidnapped,” she said, “I was very young at the time. I didn't know what to do. One of these men was... my betrothed... so I went for a walk with him-and he tied me up and brought me here.”
Indeed she looked young, and rather beautiful. Her eyes were a very deep brown with a slight tint of red. Her hair was red and brown, two colours. It was somewhat dirty, but you could tell it was very pretty. Her clothes were torn, but clearly she was not simply a farmer's daughter. She was of a higher class than that. I looked at her for several moments, trying to decide what to do.
“Where are you from?”
“A village not far from here; perhaps two days towards the capitol.”
“I see. If you like, we will provide you with a guard and send you on your way home.”
“Please, no,” she said, closing her eyes, “I can't go home. I can never marry after what has been done to me, and all I will face is my father's disappointment and my sisters' sneering.”
“I see. Where would you like to go then? We can't leave you here, nor in the village that sent us; for that village will burn in but a few years.”
“You are soldiers, correct?” she asked, tears running down her face now; she did not sob.
“Yes, we are,” I said, “I am the commander of a group of soldiers; we are traveling now to the Drakor border to help fight off the Fidolian armies.”
“Then take me to the Drakor lands. There I will go to a temple and devote myself to Astarael. And no one will know my past. The Drakor are sure to accept me; and I can go with you.”
“What is your name?”
“My name is Evelyn.”
“We will bring you with us, Evelyn. Only so far as the first Drakor temple we see. They will help you.”
The entire time we had been conversing my men had been gathering together what goods the bandits hadn't used. A live chicken, a small bag of apples, a bag of rice, three bags of lentils, and a chunk of cheese that had yet to go bad. We gathered all the coins we found lying around, nearly a hundred gold coins-more than I wagered most of the villagers had ever seen-and whatever else was still useful. Mostly tools of various farmers. I took two of the swords, and that was the limit to what the three of us could carry.
They had a horse with saddlebags. The poor thing looked half starved. He would be Evelyn's horse. We filled the saddlebags and I rode the horse back to the village; Evelyn would be given the horse in the morning. For the moment she rode behind me, holding my waist. Such men as those who put her in this position frustrated me, disgusted me.
When we reached the village most of them seemed to be awake, as if they knew that we had accomplished our mission. Shalorin rode out to meet us, a torch in his hand. He looked at the woman and raised an eyebrow but did not question; he was used to me bringing survivors to the camp.
“I see you were successful. Were they truly from Fidolius?”
“We could not tell; no symbols of their country could be found. For either side. Except this woman, who is indeed from Appollinia.”
“Some of them were Fidolian,” Evelyn said, speaking up; I pitied her, for the woman was perhaps nineteen human years and those men had ruined her entire life, “five of them. They were criminals though. There were great ransoms on their heads in Fidolius.”
“I see,” I said, frustrated. They would have done us no good dead or alive.
As much as recounting the events is interesting, I did not sleep last night, to be true, and now I must get some rest for in the morn we travel. I will finish this story tomorrow night.
~Alaendril
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