Once again, we step into a much larger world. Where a young man, worth no more than a private’s stipend, becomes a faithful companion, who swears his allegiance beneath a shaded flag of white and black. When this started, our aim was a tyrant, an abomination upon the land. We picked apart his people, removed each brick, then built our home in his fallen castle.
Now we face the same, every day is a needle pricking at us. Scraping away our patience, our resolve, pushing our dark desires to the forest. The Lebeda house would never have suffered refugees placing themselves upon their land, they would have slaughtered them. While I cannot wholly bring myself to applaud their methods, I can see their design. I cannot say it isnt effective, if brutal. We send a party to tilt against otherworldly beings, things we would engage ourselves, but cannot, lest our own walls crumble. Why, by Iomeade’s grace, should such things even BE here? In some way, small though it be, I understand the Stag Lord’s stupor when we approached him. The burden of command is one that snaps weaker steel in twine. Some, break worse, some deeper imperfection, exposed like a chink in the cleanest mithril suit.
I often find myself longing for the days when we could simply leave the merchant’s crumbling fort in the north, caring not what he thought or needed. He was easy to make the target of our blame and angst. These days, it is not easy by any means one could measure. We have people, many sycophantic, to whom we report. Our every action directed by the plebeian, “to whom do you give your gold m’lord?” Myself! You foolish mink. I step in front of some fire-spewing demon with a chain that tears limbs from body, shits ashes that burn the eyes, and you want to know to what I spend my gold on? A bath and a whore.
Very different these days. Now we face an ever widening responsibility. The scope of our mandate growing. I think the Sword Lords overstep themselves. Pushing our boundaries with no risk to themselves. Probing our ever growing list of enemies. An undead prince, lords of Tigers, a woman who whispers to beings who could tear our city down without a thought. I wonder what the color green holds for this…woman. It is more and more difficult to find proper motivation with each passing moon. Very different, these times.
Still, I find myself drawn to Varn’s Daughter. She is youthful, full of spirit. There is a brashness, but unexpected cleverness that invites me. It is invigorating in a way. I cannot quite name it, and I think, I do not wish to just yet. I will enjoy what I can, a fine meal, a patrol, and simply let it come to pass. I have earned no quarter in that department, and will expect none. Much more to that story, I hope,
yes, even dour as the situation feels that there is still more pages in this diary to explore it. That it is not written yet, is something I will hold onto.