William's journal and letters

[Aphel]

Factors to determine strength of force: Speed(Mobility), Unit Cohesion, Moral, Training, Leadership, Adaptability, Numbers, Logistics.
  Famine and wars put strain on numbers, speed, moral and logistics but can improve unit cohesion, leadership, adaptability and training. Change of method of warfare? Knight errant concept problematic for paladin, more efficient with logistics etc. Need to look into that.
 

  Asked once: “What do you want to do?” Know answer now: “Get a battalion of men and women, neither afraid of death nor of life, hardened in the fire of war, able to achieve tasks considered impossible by regular military forces. Able to both build bridges and cities or survive in small units on the run, striking targets of opportunity within enemy territory to prepare a path for regular military strike.”

[Aphel]

Dawn breaks red in silence and I have to go,
Yet I long to be with you and hold you tight,
I wish to see you smile, but the fight awaits,
Far away, lost in uncertainty – I love you so

Dawn breaks red in silence and I have to go
Clad in metal skin, I speak a prayer of old
No flag, no army, sun paints the land in gold
No glory, no honor, yet the lies break just so

Long years I have not prayed but searched in my soul
What is the meaning of bloodshed and sacrifice
How could there be good in what turns hearts to ice
Propaganda, speeches, medals all smell foul

“He holds no power over me!” you say with last breath
Couldn't you see – as life is cruel, so kind is death

[Aphel]

Again, he could not find sleep, unable to master the art of simply clicking his fingers and fall into a relaxing slumber. He knew he should, but the anticipation of dreams and nightmares kept him awake. I should not have those, but I still have. There's something wrong with me. Something that claws at what I am now. During the training in the morning, he had found snake shedding its skin. Random happening, no need to worry. He thought of Raelyn, and he felt something stabbing his heart. Was she safe? How was she doing? Was she having multiple suitors already? None of it should concern me, now. There wasn't much he could do about it, anyway.
 

  He could see the stars from his cot – their baracks were half a ruin, for the lower ranks at least. A couple of tarpaulins shielded the men from the sun and the wind, and it was hot during the day and icy during the night. And the sand and dust got everywhere, but William didn't quite smell it anymore – not the sweat, not the stench of the fireplaces that burned dung instead of coal. Coal was for the higher ranks, just like the better food. One way to establish clearly who was in charge and better off. Hiarchy and intimidation. Law and punishment. So, while they are all busy continuing to write tragedies in the name of the Greater Good, I wonder how we can be better at warfare. I must be just as stupid...
 

  The stars were wonderful here, much different from home. It must be the difference in distance, somehow. They weren't much more beautiful than at home, just different, just as mysterious. He remembered the poem he wrote into his diary, knew that they would hang him for it. Censor yourself, yeah, that's really smart. He was fairly certain that being alive meant that one was crazy, one way or another. What should I say to people? I need to talk with them, but how? How can I make them realize that they must not rely upon others to do good, but do good themselves with what skills they have? And we must end this war, these wars, they are weakening us.
 

  And the stars were just as distant and cold and mysterious as ever.

[Aphel]

They had been sitting there for what had felt like days, talking and stumbling through a conversation, she her hands in her lap, calm, quiet. “Please, no. Not yet.” So he didn't put an arm around her. It was not about what they had talked, but about what they had not talked.
 

  The wind was tearing at his cloak, pushing a bit of rain into his face. He didn't even notice that it might be uncomfortable, he just don't cared that much. Nobody dared talk to him since he got them out of that ambush. The training showed.
 

  He felt various things, but he didn't let it phase him. Not here. Not now. He just wanted to get as far away from it as possible for now. Let her have some time, and avoid every high ranking member of the Church if possible. Did he want respect? Tolerance? Something to call his own? Sure, but Raelyn was...somewhere else. And about the rest – he wouldn't get it. No, it always was “Will the angry”, “Will the sad”, “Will the tormented”, “Will the whatever”. Always small, a child, all of that. He wanted to get away, do his work elsewhere. He would give his blade back, maybe, but that was yet to see. He didn't deserve it. He should go to the Desert, but not the Roughlands. Seek wisdom. Seek pain. More pain. Endure.
 

  When they stayed in the Inn for the night, he picked up a crumbled piece of parchment and started to write things down.

[Aphel]

Pain is weakness leaving the body, so the mental pain is just emotional weakness leaving the body.
I does not deserve my title lest I earn it, nor do I deserve my name until I prove to be worthy of it.

For certain is death for the born
And certain is birth for the dead;
Therefore over the inevitable
Thou shouldst not grieve.

From here, where should I go, my path covered in mist, doubt, resentment and contempt. Valor, Empathy, Conviction, Humility, Sacrifice, Honorable Combat, Restraint. Maybe I can explain these things, but no more to those I once was close to. I burned Raelyn's gift today, after having used it for a bandage. No use. The man died, he lost too much blood. I have to move on, have to pick myself up and not give attention to what they might or might not want from me. I couldn't sleep, it's cold, and Toran doesn't help against that. He's not a blanket, just a man that ascended to the Heavens. I carved the names of the dead into my armor, and it is black with ash and oil and blood. I might have lost direction, but I still can kill and remember the fallen. I can keep some alive, not all. It is not evil to like the rush of battle, to motivate to kill and to fill panic in the heart of the enemies of Toran with my righteous wrath. I know how the men and women look at me. The fear me, I think. I haven't spoken a word since the end of the battle, and I was ordered to take a rest.
But I cannot sleep, or I will dream again of a helmet shaped like a skull, a silver anhk carved into its forehead, my eyes under the helmet glowing red. My armor is black, black but for the silver ankh. By my deeds they know me, by my colors they fear me, and I am an angel of death. I have lost direction. Maybe I die soon. But not yet. Not yet. I feel no more pain inside, but loss for Raelyn, for the men we lost today. All things must pass. All I can do is to move on, and paint my armor black on the day the war engulfs and consumes us all. Can I life a life away from death, from fight? Away from steel and blood and ashes? I have no soul worth saving, but I know those who are, and thus my duty is set. Serve, teach, protect. And in War, my armor shall be black, and my helmet a skull, so my enemies and my allies know that death has touched me, but by my voice and deeds, by my wrath and discipline, my humbleness and carefulness, the flower of life shall bloom.
I consecrate myself to Toran, death and fight, so others must not step upon the same path.
This is the last gift I can offer those around me, and Jhon and Raelyn.
May my spirit find rest, Toran, if you grant me such blessing, at least for this night, so I am strong again tomorrow.

And the day after, and the day after...
He sits on the fire in front of his tent and cannot sleep, edging names into his armor, silently, looking up occasionally, not finding rest until he is too tired to go on and hurts himself. Only then he allows himself to sleep a dreamless sleep.


//The complete post could be found here.

[Aphel]

This is my testament, written with a clear mind in the Light of the Hand of Virtue, signed and sealed by the Temple of Toran in Fort Llast, charged with keeping and opening the testament upon confirmation of my true death.
~William

[Aphel]

I wanted to write poems, but even words, rhythm and stanzas fail me now. There is no hope for me, not in this world or the next, to find peace and solace. An age of strife and war, wastelands with twisted corpses as vast and endless as the ambition of mortals and immortals alike. It will span from eon to eon, and when there will be peace -- never. As long as they draw breath, they will fight and kill and die over some disputed line in the sand, a mate or resources. There will be no peace but war without end. I cannot deny that I see the future as being dark and full of despair and pain, yet I do not claim that in my dreams I behold any truth. The powerful dispute and send the young generation to be maimed in body and soul in the fields of battle. All I can do now, because I am not ready yet, weak, incompetent and in need of training, to merely ask the question who will stand between the innocent that can yet hope to change the fate. Who will dare to face more pain, suffering and odds than others. Who will walk on through endless wastelands when all light has faded and all others despaired, with the teachings of Toran as shield against corruption and darkness. I realize that the followers of the ankh have the Shining Hand -- and I remember the Meat Locker very well. I remember before and after and wonder how often they talked about that they would be a family for me, when I am ready. I run away shortly after because I couldn't take it anymore. I was not allowed to talk to the man who had killed my family, they feared that I might kill him. It was them to work it all out, and for me, just to follow and stand, no matter the pain and the sorrow. The meat locker. The Citadel, where Hector was chosen, not me, per words of a Sir.
They gave me Sacrifice. What did I sacrifice? I just endured. The dying, that was not my part, yet I suddenly understood more about it. Got scolded for it, as well. Every time I opened my mouth, there was trouble. Every time I turned to them, in hope to find a family, I was getting into deeper trouble. I remember Jill. She took me in her arms, just once. I have been a broken child, and there must be something about me that Toran still holds onto me after all the things I have said and done. And this is all in the past now, but still present, even here. I belong nowhere, no home, no feeling of comfort. I have Toran, he is with me, watching over me and what I do, judging me, guiding me with his ideals. But there's nothing anymore I have to say to them. Not after Raelyn returned home. I cannot trust the others anymore, they would just call me mad, insane, unworthy and unready to be a paladin. I can follow them on the field of battle, but I cannot entrust them with the things in my heart, head and soul. Both sides are not ready for this. I wanted to dye my clothes and change to color of my armor, yet, they would frown upon me and I would return into the bad circle of the things that happened before. I cannot be who I want to be, as a paladin with his own mind, thoughts and so forth. They'll always meddle with the things I do, no matter if I request their help or deny it. I feel bad for them, and I feel bad for me. I know what I want, but I cannot do it because of restrictions, social pressure and all that. I re-read my old entries, my old pledges and all that. It made me sad and speechless. But it made me realize what I need to do.
I need to leave all of this behind, leave them behind. But I worry for them as well. But in the end, only the decision will matter, and that's how all the bad things in this world have their root. I hope I can learn from my mistakes, and theirs...

[Aphel]

Dear Lady Commander and Chosen One Daniella Stormhaven,

With deepest regrets I send you this letter. Since I know that I will  not get precise answers out of the chain of command or barred from  voicing my questions and opinions, I have no other choice but to write  to you. I am very aware that you could care less about a letter from me  about the war, however you are the highest ranking officer of the Toran  Military Forces in this theater of war, as such, I have no other place  to go for questions regarding strategy and the study of this topic. A  letter seemed more suitable for this kind of questions, for I might  catch you at an inappropriate time or keep you from important tasks. As  well, I might die during a new attack and not be able to voice my  questions at all, furthermore, my words of apology will get lost. While  we might not agree on many things as of now, I do care about you just as  much as I do about most of other people as well. I might not always  show it yet I care about other people, like them and love them. Life is  precious and short, and should not be wasted with trivialities or spend  in endless entrenched conflicts that bear no importance. This is one of  the many reasons I decided to write you a letter -- now that I have some  spare time and need to rest, it is the best I can do to still continue  my work for these people here, I need to write a letter of apologies to  you, to make you understand a little bit better why I said what I said.  May you will understand me better, maybe you will not -- maybe you won't  even read this letter at all, as it might appear not to be worth you  time. Apart from being the only way to apologize myself in this  situation without losing my face or maneuvering us into a bad political  situation, this letter gives us both enough space and distance to think,  maybe, and discard words said in the heat of a more conflicted  conversation.

It took some time until I found the words for this letter, for many  reasons. Some of those are still to hard to talk about, but I will try  and write them down nevertheless. My grandfather wrote a lot, and I  would like to try and continue that tradition, and without him and the  writings of the servants of Toran that he had collected over the years  of his travels, I would not be able to write this letter. Just recently I  found a small piece of parchment in my diary, it contained the poem of a  former slave my father met during his wandering years. My grandfather  wrote it down for me, and I remember to have copied it again and again  for learning how to write. I would like to share it with you, for I  should have remembered it in my own darkest hours, but in those, there  was no solace to be found, and I forgot even these words:

Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbow'd.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
    Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
    I am the captain of my soul. *

Our fates are different: he endured years of oppression, I endured the  loss of my family, you endured the loss of your loved one. You and he  prevailed where I seemingly broke. You gave me a blade called Sacrifice,  but nothing did I sacrifice. I just endured while others payed the  price, I was made silent when I could speak to the man of evil heart.  And while I know nothing of your pain when you endured, nothing of the  pain of the slave when he was in chains, neither of you can truly know  what I felt or thought. Sacrifice is something that comes with what  those following the Conduct of Virtue do, with what we ourselves set as  our duty to be. The core of sacrifice is to endure and not give up one's  beliefs and aims no matter what happens. Sacrifice is about what you  pay, but enduring is about spending. There are different ways to find  the strength to endure, each person on their own needs to find that  strength inside them. For me, this strength comes from knowing that my  time here is finite, that it can end in nearly any moment -- and it was  finite, the end was known when I was born. One day, I must die, for no  life can be eternal, and this is where the sentence "I am dead" comes  from. I would have to consult parchments to find the name of the wise  man who said that death comes to us all, that it is the end and the  beginning, and that one must realize ones own mortality to be able to  life a good life. There is humility to be found in this statement, at  least for me it was. Humility and Restraint. I must apologize, for I  lack the latter -- as time passes, it will yet grow into a part of me as  I learn, suffer and rejoice. All of life suffers and dies, and true  strength does not come from valor and glory by themselves. If all life  suffers and dies, would it not make sense to simply not get up anymore  and die, since it cannot be avoided anyway? Strength lies in the  decision to accept the fact for what it is and go on. Glory and valor  are something that happen to you, but what you do with your life and  your death is a decision only you yourself can make. This is where true  strength comes from -- to just go on, no matter the odds, to do what is  right. Of course, what is right to do should be discerned first or one  easily go astray. Thus one should accept the fact that death is  inevitable, and that doubt is necessary to learn and understand. Without  doubt, there can be no truth. Without truth, there can be no honor in  doing what is right, and loyalty would be blind and easily led astray.  There is a difference between trying to understand Toran's teachings and  questioning him. Nothing is more dangerous than blind belief, if we do  not doubt ourselves, our ways and what we do from time to time, we  cannot truly understand ourselves and what The Hand of Virtue demands in  his teachings. "Remember that while He is a god, he was a man. A man  who did not stand on a pedestal. A man who did not take for granted  others and who did not use his strength to put others under his heel but  rather assisted and protected." To instill blind faith without doubt  would raise the danger of something like the justicers to happen again,  to allow to let his ways be interpreted in a wrong and twisted manner.  Mortals make mistake, and we are all mortal. Only by understanding  Toran's way and ourselves, we can hope to avoid making great mistakes.  And with understanding for oneself comes understanding for others, this  is empathy as well. Just as most other people, I love and forgive you,  do not fear that I will turn my back on you in combat or in times of  crisis. Our paths are different, but they have a lot of similarities. I  serve Toran, and the best I can say is that I came to terms with what it  could cost me, and that I know what it will cost me. The Hand of Virtue  lends me some of his strength not because I believe blindly in him, nor  because I gave him so much honor, valor and glory for his name, that  much is clear to me. The Hand of Virtue lends me some of his strength,  for he has a special purpose, special trials for me as well as that I  follow his teachings and work hard to do good following a path that he  opened with his deeds and teachings. I try hard to work, fight and be at  the best of my capability every day, and to go and comfort a crying  child that was pushed and expelled by the others, to tell it that it  must not find relief in giving in to wrath and revenge, but instead  accept that there are ignorant people, people with evil and not so evil  hearts on this mortal plane -- and that deeds determine how others see  one, not name or looks or riches. To do such, without invoking the name  of Toran, is more important than kills on a battlefield, at least, to  me, yet both needs to be done.

You see, Lady Commander, when I am done with this letter and the ink is  dry, I need to return to my post against the orders of my commander. He  told me I should rest, and I think the commander is afraid that I might  burn out and loose my powers that are required when we make another  push. But my unit lost so many, lost the mason's son and now we don't  have anybody anymore to be skilled in stonework. We don't have the  strength of giants, and how can I let them down and be idle while they  reinforce the fortifications around the camp? I have a responsibility  towards them to help them, with my strength and the blessings that the  Great Leader bestowed upon me. Can I do more than them? Maybe. There are  always some who can do more, run longer, fight harder, be more cunning,  push themselves further than others, beyond the borders of pain and  suffering. I know I am lucky enough to be able to go a little further  than others, and in times like these I am required to do so if I take my  responsibility and the path I follow seriously. So I share my meals  because I trained to be hungry and to endure hunger, I eat enough still,  do not worry, and when I should rest, I defy orders so I can help the  men and women out there who saw the same as I, who endured and survived  it and who are still enduring and surviving as much as I do. You touched  my shoulder briefly after the final assault, when I comforted the badly  wounded and dying. We lost so many, and I cannot but wonder if at the  end of this fight there will be anything left of what we are trying to  save and protect. Are we doing it right, in the manner of organization,  in the manner of strategy and tactics? What should, what can we do  better? I would like to find the answer to these questions, doing so  while digging graves in this soil with a broken shovel, while performing  the proper burial rites, while writing down names to be engraved in my  armor and to be spoken before falling asleep, so that I will not forget  -- I cannot find the answer to these questions. Should I? I feel I need  to, however, as far as I know, we do not have a unit that goes beyond  what the Shining Hand does. Formidable as they are, it is not what I am  searching. They can push themselves, they can fight, they can suffer and  they can still go on. However, giving what resources we have or can  acquire, by the number of recruits -- all numbers I do not know, not am  allowed to know, as I am being told -- I do wonder if we can somehow  improve the way we go about conflicts. If something needs to be done  differently. Less large battle groups. Smaller, more elite units.  Increased mobility and possibility to deploy more quickly. Advanced  teachings in warfare, specialized to operate in small groups of few  soldiers. Our enemies are legion, and from what I have seen so far, they  do fear a couple of things. They fear the whips of their masters, they  fear discovery, they fear death. Maybe we should add another item to  this list. I am not entirely sure on how the Conduct of Virtue and the  teachings in the arts of war go together, nor on where to learn such  things. Do you know who to trust as a mentor on such things? Lord Jaedon  Siphe? I would like to be able to continue what I do in times of peace,  and to train to be better in times of war -- but I also need to speak  to the people more. Yet, what can we say to them, once all of this is  over? This world is growing darker, twisted. Dragons clash, mortals and  things from the pits. All but strife and conflict all around. I am not  quite sure how to do something about it, but I decided that it would be a  start to apologize to you, and write you a little about what seems so  wrong with me in the hope that some things can finally be laid to rest.

I now have to return to my duties as a man who loves the men and women  around him, and cannot be anything else but insubordinate and stubborn  and help them, despite the order. I will not let go to waste my skills  and knowledge when I could help those outside. They are not my family,  nor will they ever, the bond that is between us is different, much  different. We are soldiers, and we will be an unit until we are  disbanded. It is different than a family. I once was told that I would  find a family again, yet, this bond is so much different. Maybe my heart  is tainted in a way, I am not sure, just as with the things that haunt  me. Time will tell, until then, work beckons.

Remember the dead, protect the living, stay true in spirit and heart,
~William Leox

//* Invictus, William Ernest Henley.  

[Aphel]

It was good to go. He would have liked to help the people there, but he did not have the time to bother with Jaedon and Daniella. It like betraying those he helped, protected, fought with. Well, not that Jaedon or Daniella cared – or if they did, they still had to prove that to him. On the other hand, others were probably better with words and such work.
Blind fate...we're going the fast road into some real trouble soon enough.
He had noted a few last words in his notebook, it was nearly full now. Nearly. A few pages remained, and he intended others to fill them, when the time came. While the carriage to Sundance bounced over the rocky so called street, he noticed that with little people left, Fiorez would have quite something ahead of them in terms of economy. But, faith overcame everthing, no?
This is going to be very interesting. So, they play their games, I shall play mine. Let's see where the things I learned lead me, apart from into new pits of suffering and pain.
Nobody dared to speak with him after they noticed the ankh around his neck and on his cloak. It was time for a plainer cloak, so he wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb all the time. Again, that would bring him into trouble with other followers of the Great Leader, and he didn't think even the oligarchs in Port Hempstead could afford it to pay him for another debate on dogma and other such things with any cleric or, worse, the Chosen One. A shouting match with her would, most likely, help improve his rhetoric, and the punishments afterward steel his body.
We need more spellweavers and clerics...different tactics as well. Different training, different recruiting, or the price of blood we pay with each of these wars will be too high one day. It was too high already. Not that it bothered anybody, so it seemed. He knew too many graves and too many ways to die by now. One would think we could prevent these things from happening in the first place. Best way to prevent war is to win it before it begins. Or if you wage it, at least wage it better.
He hadn't seen Daniella doing something in regard to the dead. Only a lone bard of Ilsare – a certain Andrew William Reid – who sang for them. Because that's what bards do. He had been nothing but a companion who walked the last steps with so many. So far, he could keep their faces in check, their words and wishes. He had done what he could, wrote their families, buried them with what they wished to be buried. Had been respectful. No woman or man should die alone or with false hopes. Dead were statistics, and the living got some pieces of metal they called medals. He found it pathetic. Personal opinion, of course. They would be forgotten before the year was out, memories blended into meaningless nothingness, with some rousing speech value, perhaps. They took it too easy in his opinion. Maybe they were afraid of death, and of the dead, of memories and the hurtful past. Maybe.




And on the last page, with some free at the end, only stood:

From sacrifice comes endurance,
From sacrifice and endurance comes conviction and humility.
From conviction comes duty and doubt,
From duty and doubt comes understanding for the path
The Great Leader walked before us.
Honor him, understand him, serve his ideals the best you can
He expects nothing less, and nothing more.