Dear Diary 25
July 26th 2009 02:40
Dear Diary,
I will continue my story now, for these events are to be remembered-and while my Elvish memory is strong, I want them to be remembered by people other than myself. And so I keep them written; someday I hope to put this diary in the library at Elorian. New and old.
Things were settled simply. We kept the chicken and the lentils. The rest we gave back to the village. The swords and armour were sold off to the local blacksmith, who lives just outside of the village and travels to sell his wares in various towns throughout the country. He happened to be in town this week-a stroke of good luck for us.
Evelyn and I have become friends. She is quite a strong woman, not physically but mentally; she is not reduced to mumbling nonsense when I ask questions of her about what happened. Her story truly breaks my heart. In peaceful times, she would have been found and the bandits stopped several months ago. But they came shortly after the war broke out-and nobody before us had the time to devote to helping them. The village that suffered from the bandits have no temple of Bannon, and thus no knights to do justice for them.
She does not speak often of her family. There is, I believe, a part of her that thinks they set her up for this; why else, when clearly they were some kind of noble family, would they not enlist the aid of the Knights of Bannon-or even a sellsword? I do not know what to tell her-or what to believe-on this front, and so I leave that one tender subject alone.
Me, her and Shalorin ate dinner in my tent, the three of us, and had tea together. I gave her some of the dreamless sleep tea; for something tells me in the last few months she suffered as many nightmares as I. The bandits clearly did barbaric things to her. She speaks of it as 'sharing', but I know what she really means. Though she does not avoid the questions, she answers them in terms that are not the most straight forward. She is well educated, for she knows the nuances of language.
Shalorin has agreed to take her to a temple once we reach Drakor lands. Though they do not usually allow humans to serve in their temples, if she is brought into the temple by a Drakor and they are beseeched by said Drakor to help her, they will allow it. She is quite devoted to the Gods; I saw her whispering a prayer before dinner, a practice usually skipped. Though my faith is strong, I have never bothered with such prayers. I only pray to the Gods when I find it truly essential-when I really need their help.
We gave her a small tent, one of those no longer in use; it used to be the tent of one of the men who has now died. She accepted it gratefully, and the sleeping roll we provided. It is little better than the straw the bandits forced her to sleep on, but soon we will take her to a temple, and there they will give her a warm and comfortable bed.
Shalorin and I talked about her at great length. We both wanted to know more about where she came from-but neither of us would pry. Both of us were hoping-and indeed, for her sake I prayed tonight-that the temple would do her good.
I bought, with the money from selling the swords and armour, a new dress for her. Nothing particularly fancy, for they don't have fancy things in villages like these. But a decent dress, comfortable, clean, without a tear. She didn't look poor nor did she look rich. In the dress she looked somewhere in the middle. We threw away the old one, after talking at length about what should be done with it. Finally we decided that it held too many unpleasant memories to be kept; that carrying around such an object was only going to make the memories haunt her further.
Luckily they only had her for a few months, and though they beat her and raped her, they did not kill her. Nor did they completely ruin her. She cannot go home now, but it is quite possible that in three or four years she will go to the capitol of Appollinia and find herself a husband. Someone who truly loves her and does not care for her virginity.
Humanity has such strange concepts of marriage. At least the rich ones. Those which are poor marry often for love, only occasionally for money-because they are not even considered by those above them, usually. Those who are rich marry for power, both political and monetary. They don't choose their brides and grooms; their parents choose their betrothed for them. Evelyn's parents chose a monster to be her betrothed.
Beyond that, humanity is a very strange race. They destroy each other and themselves. It would seem that everything they touch eventually turns to dust. Some are more like us and the Drakor in that they are inherantly peaceful. They choose not to fight, because they do not want to. They choose not to lie or to steal, because they do not want to. But most humans-or at least, this is what I am seeing now that I am truly immersed in the human world-destroy each other... for power, for money, and sometimes for fun. The last group is the sickest group of people.
Today we journeyed. In two days' time we will reach the border between Appollinia and the Drakor lands. There, we will spend a night in the fortress at the border-they will have extra rooms, so some of us will sleep inside, on real beds. We will then pass into Drakor lands after spending one night at the border. The fortress, which has several farms near it that it is supposed to protect-though precautions are not taken seriously enough at the moment-will be able to renew our supplies for the most part.
And then we will be there... I just hope it is not too late.
~Alaendril
-------------------
Note: Haha! I managed... won't be doing anything else productive, my wrist hurts like an SoB
I will continue my story now, for these events are to be remembered-and while my Elvish memory is strong, I want them to be remembered by people other than myself. And so I keep them written; someday I hope to put this diary in the library at Elorian. New and old.
Things were settled simply. We kept the chicken and the lentils. The rest we gave back to the village. The swords and armour were sold off to the local blacksmith, who lives just outside of the village and travels to sell his wares in various towns throughout the country. He happened to be in town this week-a stroke of good luck for us.
Evelyn and I have become friends. She is quite a strong woman, not physically but mentally; she is not reduced to mumbling nonsense when I ask questions of her about what happened. Her story truly breaks my heart. In peaceful times, she would have been found and the bandits stopped several months ago. But they came shortly after the war broke out-and nobody before us had the time to devote to helping them. The village that suffered from the bandits have no temple of Bannon, and thus no knights to do justice for them.
She does not speak often of her family. There is, I believe, a part of her that thinks they set her up for this; why else, when clearly they were some kind of noble family, would they not enlist the aid of the Knights of Bannon-or even a sellsword? I do not know what to tell her-or what to believe-on this front, and so I leave that one tender subject alone.
Me, her and Shalorin ate dinner in my tent, the three of us, and had tea together. I gave her some of the dreamless sleep tea; for something tells me in the last few months she suffered as many nightmares as I. The bandits clearly did barbaric things to her. She speaks of it as 'sharing', but I know what she really means. Though she does not avoid the questions, she answers them in terms that are not the most straight forward. She is well educated, for she knows the nuances of language.
Shalorin has agreed to take her to a temple once we reach Drakor lands. Though they do not usually allow humans to serve in their temples, if she is brought into the temple by a Drakor and they are beseeched by said Drakor to help her, they will allow it. She is quite devoted to the Gods; I saw her whispering a prayer before dinner, a practice usually skipped. Though my faith is strong, I have never bothered with such prayers. I only pray to the Gods when I find it truly essential-when I really need their help.
We gave her a small tent, one of those no longer in use; it used to be the tent of one of the men who has now died. She accepted it gratefully, and the sleeping roll we provided. It is little better than the straw the bandits forced her to sleep on, but soon we will take her to a temple, and there they will give her a warm and comfortable bed.
Shalorin and I talked about her at great length. We both wanted to know more about where she came from-but neither of us would pry. Both of us were hoping-and indeed, for her sake I prayed tonight-that the temple would do her good.
I bought, with the money from selling the swords and armour, a new dress for her. Nothing particularly fancy, for they don't have fancy things in villages like these. But a decent dress, comfortable, clean, without a tear. She didn't look poor nor did she look rich. In the dress she looked somewhere in the middle. We threw away the old one, after talking at length about what should be done with it. Finally we decided that it held too many unpleasant memories to be kept; that carrying around such an object was only going to make the memories haunt her further.
Luckily they only had her for a few months, and though they beat her and raped her, they did not kill her. Nor did they completely ruin her. She cannot go home now, but it is quite possible that in three or four years she will go to the capitol of Appollinia and find herself a husband. Someone who truly loves her and does not care for her virginity.
Humanity has such strange concepts of marriage. At least the rich ones. Those which are poor marry often for love, only occasionally for money-because they are not even considered by those above them, usually. Those who are rich marry for power, both political and monetary. They don't choose their brides and grooms; their parents choose their betrothed for them. Evelyn's parents chose a monster to be her betrothed.
Beyond that, humanity is a very strange race. They destroy each other and themselves. It would seem that everything they touch eventually turns to dust. Some are more like us and the Drakor in that they are inherantly peaceful. They choose not to fight, because they do not want to. They choose not to lie or to steal, because they do not want to. But most humans-or at least, this is what I am seeing now that I am truly immersed in the human world-destroy each other... for power, for money, and sometimes for fun. The last group is the sickest group of people.
Today we journeyed. In two days' time we will reach the border between Appollinia and the Drakor lands. There, we will spend a night in the fortress at the border-they will have extra rooms, so some of us will sleep inside, on real beds. We will then pass into Drakor lands after spending one night at the border. The fortress, which has several farms near it that it is supposed to protect-though precautions are not taken seriously enough at the moment-will be able to renew our supplies for the most part.
And then we will be there... I just hope it is not too late.
~Alaendril
-------------------
Note: Haha! I managed... won't be doing anything else productive, my wrist hurts like an SoB
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