Author Topic: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter  (Read 907 times)

BraveSirRobin

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The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« on: March 28, 2018, 05:47:19 AM »
Quote from: First Entry, 28. März 773

First Entry, 28. März 773 BC.

     There is merit, somewhere, to keeping one's thoughts written and confined to a piece of paper that nobody would ever read, or find until he was dead. To take the voice, the internal monologue that you cannot seem to quite silence and give it a body. Something I have overlooked the value of in my years as a simple Farmer back in Falkovnia, where the most troublesome thoughts I harbored were related to feeding animals or harvesting crops. Most of that was utterly and completely automated, the daily habits and routines I went about, not seeing the larger world beyond the farmstead. Born and raised as I was, there was not an inherent fear of what lays beyond, but knowledge that eventually your solace from this life would be death, something ultimately to be welcomed. To many, disease and war brought that to them early; to others it was brought slowly by age. Little room for dissent or free thought and no room for choice. You served because it was what you were born to do, your place in what limited roles society would allow you. You learned duty, albeit grudgingly and you learned discipline. These are the things I can say serve as a constant in my life. Duty. Discipline.

Now I find myself in Dementlieu only a year after escaping the terror that is Falkovnia. A land that I thought far above the murder and tyranny of the KingFürher's men, only to find that it is not whether one is Falkovnian, Dementlieuse, Mordentish, a Blausteiner.. Barovian. Ghastrian? Borcan. It is not the label of which we give upon ourselves as men, that makes us who we are. It is not the brand upon our heads, the color of our eyes, the hue of our flesh. It is the very nature of Humans, of sentient beings to scheme and contrive to win power over one another. This is a constant that transcends nations, ethnicities and even worlds. Humans, if left unchecked are capable of such utter terror and treachery that it truly matters not just where you are from, but what you personally are capable of. I thought the best of this new Country that I call home, I thought of it, the Gendarme to be the utter embodiment of what can be, men, not of war, but of peace, maintaining it. However, given the excuse and freedom, the slack of their leash to let loose their sequestered urges and desires, they are just as much an animal as any Falkovnian at heart. The only true difference between Falkovnia and Dementlieu is that while Dementlieu will attempt to hide what urges these men hold, what these men of Dementlieu - born and held at heart, are capable of - not limited to simply the Gendarme, but the stock from which they are born - that Falkovnia will encourage and reward it. The KingFürher Vlad Drakov recognizes this inevitable truth in a manner I have never given him credit for, and he nurtures it. Grows it - until it reaches a point of perfection, then he unleashes his starved, wild dogs upon the Core to wreak havoc.

In some comparisons, I could attribute what I have heard of the Duc of Ameranthe to be of similar aptitude. What his men, and those who follow his cause are capable of. The murder and defiling of a Husband and his Wife, what their plans for their children would have ever been had we not arrived in due time. When I walked upon that farmstead, I saw what happened to them, as what happened to my own family. My mother, defiled by Talons and murdered. My Sister, a similar fate. My Father? He was given the worst of it. All three of them saw a public impalement, defiled, bloody, mangled. It flashes before my eyes constantly in an endless stream of torment and misery, waking me in the night and distracting me by day. I would see each of those mongrel dogs put to the blade or ended by my bullet. Alas, I am a Falkovnian and whatever words I may have on the subject would fall on deaf ears, even if said ears knew I was right. Even if I could change this place, to make a difference, I am not one who would be granted the honor and opportunity. I am a humble servant of the Republiqué. I am a Soldier, suturing the wounds of the bleeding and dying to sustain the constant bloodshed that forever plagues Dementlieu. I am a man who has loved and lost, over and over again to the point where I can barely recall memories I hold dear, locked away by some mechanism of the human mind to avoid pain.

I yearn for slumber.
   
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:54:14 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #1 on: March 28, 2018, 05:39:17 PM »
Quote from: Second Entry, 28. März 773

Second Entry, 28. März 773 BC.

     Duty. Discipline. Two constants that will never leave my side or my mind, the very essence of who I am engraved into my bones and burned into my soul. But how it is I am to fulfill these, in a land such as this is forever eluding me and bringing me to a darker, less favorable state of mind. I find myself constantly second-guessing what I am doing, disbelieving everything I am told and scrutinizing it for the mollusk of truth burrowed somewhere within. It is becoming an exhausting task, despite what resources I have at my disposal. This is, however, the land I am within; the duties I am given within it leave me emboldened to the following day. But for how long can one constantly drive themselves upon a goal of which cannot be completed without the truth? Perhaps that is something I will never know; something so sacred to those I serve that I will never find myself truly satiated. I must not allow myself to give quarter to these darker thoughts of deception and hatred. I must not succumb to the very nature of the beast itself, lest I fail to slay it where it stands. I will not allow this land to change me in such a way that I forget who I once was. What I believed in, what I would do. With her absence, I feel as though a piece of the future I once saw has escaped through my fingers into the sea, fallen to depths that would crush any man foolish enough to try to retrieve it. Perhaps this is so. Perhaps it is my fate to be crushed by the endless pressure and forces unbeknownst to me in search of the life I pursue. In search of the future that can be, and the taste of progress that lingers on the tip of my tongue.

I must become unwavering and steel myself. I am not unwise, I am not blind, my mind perceives. I know what is happening around me, I just cannot force the feeling in my gut and the logic of my mind to coincide with one-another. I cannot bring harmony to this, but perhaps tranquility and solace in the knowledge that this is my Duty.

"We are all either Kings or Pawns of men. Pieces on a board.
If the man is not the mover, he is the moved."
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:57:10 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #2 on: March 29, 2018, 06:50:23 AM »
Quote from: Third Entry, 29. März 773

Third Entry, 29. März 773 BC.

     Alas, clarity. I have spent so much time these last few weeks spinning my thoughts and confusion into circles that inevitably stirred the waters around me to the point it was noticeable. It is to my fortune that what I do, is perceived with honesty and merit rather than deception and malice. I feel a mixture of emotions coursing through me on what will be made of the following months. What will be there for me, in the end of it all. I have seen and felt the fire of one life snuffed out in the cold departure of water, splashed over the flames of dreams. Yet, when the moisture left the wood upon which the old fire was set, I was able to ignite it again and once more seek into the darkness that my eyes are not yet able to see within. There is a hope for someone like me, somewhere within this odd web intersecting goals and ambitions. It will just take time for me to train myself to figure out, upon precisely which sticky, alluring and almost invisible strand of the spider's web I must step upon, to proceed to the next, careful not to disturb the spiders that nestle near it's edge.

I will write more on other affairs, later. I have written what comes to mind, and.. While perhaps in my death, someone will read these notes - I won't be here to listen to the critique for how disorganized they are.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:57:02 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #3 on: April 13, 2018, 03:11:12 AM »
Quote from: Fourth Entry, 12. April 773
Fourth Entry, 12. April 773 BC.

     I must admit to myself that I have experienced a rather difficult time in these last few days wrangling my thoughts into something suitable to write on these pages. Nothing quite seems to make sense anymore in the core. I never thought I could face such impossible circumstances and choices here, nor that I could be so blind to their outcomes. I've never before let my mind slip through so weakly into the Night. What am I? What is this place? What am I doing here? What do I even do now? - Questions I keep asking myself over and over again between bottles of cognac and thick, sweetly wrapped cigarettes. It all went so wrong, so quickly, so easily. It slipped into disrepair, disarray like a babe slips into slumber. Yet, here I am, looking back as though it was all so clear - like I am all so perceptive - but to be entirely honest with myself? If it happened all over again before me, perhaps I would let it fall through my fingers again, just like the first time. Dozens dead, butchered like lambs uninhibited. A child pulled from the womb of a dead woman, still breathing. The death of my colleague in the Gendarmerie just hours after she was detained. All of it unquestioned by me, knowing what they would do. Knowing, how they would deal with me. What I coward, I am.

I have spent a few days now, merely trying to wrap my head around what to do. Whether I should do as my heart yearns so eagerly and damn everyone I serve with just to burst out, shouting it into the skies, releasing the truth from my mind and feeling the weight escape. I would return to my suite, sit down and sip on a bottle of cognac. Yet -- I would taste something metallic -- rather than the aged, fine cognac I would be tasting something... Metallic. It would perplex me, it would confuse me, until I realized, I could no longer swallow. It was the dagger of an assassin, through my throat, and the blood draining into my stomach, not the sweet liquor I so yearned for. Perhaps that thought alone makes me an utter coward who is afraid to do as he believes, because he wants to gain something from it. An utterly mortal, human tale. Those who feel as though their cowardice was a weakness, would call it strength - a purpose beyond such small trivialities as right and wrong, but to do as you must. Those are the words of a man who has spun so many lies around himself that he has become trapped in his own lies, forever cursed to believe them at truths, until.. He has lost his grip upon reality, so dearly, that the world is either mad to him, or he? Is mad to the world.

At the least, I am not the only person here who feels this way. I have more in common with Sieur Jerome de La Salle than I care to say, though his methods can sometimes be unsavory, he bends just when he needs to. He arrives just when he needs to. I see the man as a mentor in many ways, and the way he looks at me with pride fills me with such joy. It is so funny, how something so simple - can make you so happy. For someone to see you as a success, to believe in you - to care, for what you want to become. Between him and Juste Marceaux, I feel as though I have a family in Dementlieu that I could have never hoped to expect when I arrived with Corinne, all those months ago. We are supposed to talk before his Council meeting, exchange some final notes and prepare for some maneuvers in the coming battles. I do not feel so crazy, knowing this event burdens his heart as it does mine.


I must look forward, and stop looking back. What unsavory desires plague me will be the end of me, and I must.. I must, stop thinking of them.


 
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:56:52 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #4 on: April 13, 2018, 03:24:26 AM »
[This page appears to have been torn out of the old, worn diary.]
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:57:24 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #5 on: April 19, 2018, 07:01:15 AM »
Quote from: Sixth Entry, 19. April 773
Sixth Entry, 19. April 773 BC.

    Preparations for the upcoming battle are going better than I had anticipated. Many Outlanders from across the core and numerous religious organizations are sending foodstuffs and medical supplies to the Theatre de la Cathedrale. Verinne van Haute has far surpassed any expectations I'd ever had of her, I'd honestly thought she might fall back to her old ways by now. Even someone as optimistic as I. National tragedy tends to form tight bonds, however, and I am beginning to believe the sense of urgency from this war has kept her mind busy and away from that old life she lead. She's successful, not just at bringing the Arts back to life in this City, but engaging the People and soothing their worries regarding the harsh, long night to come. I admire her for that quality, it's something that despite my rather kind presence, I'll never be able to do effectively, what with this gift from my former King on my head.

At the current stockpile rate, within a week we should be able to sustain those civilians for a month or so under siege. As far as I'm aware, Warden Gauthier will be seeing a large number of the locals leaving in an exodus to safety, South through Chateaunoir. I cannot say I truly blame them, this is going to be messy. I ran once, too, when I thought men in armored suits were going to kill me. I can honestly say I know the feeling. I hope those Covenant Dogs keep good on their word and see those good people through to Chateaunoir, and I don't hear word back about them being executed in a mass slaughter to show how 'gullible' we are as Republicans.

To make this entire situation more interesting, there is the daughter of a Baron who came out to the capital even after word of a covenant invasion got out. Laurette Elise Trelliard. She claims to me that her allegiance is with us, and she is here because she believes in that duty. However, I can tell just from looking at her that she's never been in a fight. Never done much work in her life. I've taken it upon myself to see to it that this young girl isn't traumatized by what she is about to experience, and knows how to put a ball of lead inside of someone's chest before the war comes to our doorstep. With any luck, that will dissuade them from trying to take her as a war spoil. Ezra Bless, I do hope she learns quick.

I need to get some proper sleep. I haven't slept much at all since the slaughter at Chateaunoir.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:56:16 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #6 on: April 21, 2018, 10:13:55 AM »
Quote from: Seventh Entry, 21. April 773
Seventh Entry, 21. April, 773 BC.

     I feel like I should have more to write here of note, but the last few days have been utterly uneventful. With the passing of dear friends came inheritance, of an unexpected sort. Yet even to accept this inheritance I still yet had to betray my nature once more, just so that the other side would see what I did. Nothing is simple in Dementlieu, I have been given chances no other Falkovnian has had in the past. I must make use of every morsel offered to me, so that I may come out stronger tomorrow. I wonder sometimes, with this inheritance, if I am now stepping into his shoes. If the way I am thinking now, is how he thought then, and simply did not tell a soul? One thing is for certain: I must be careful from this point onward, a misstep could paint the wrong picture to everyone. This is either a boon or a curse, and it is too early to determine which.

However, other than that particular gift from a dead man, the streets have been dreadfully quiet. Every watch is accentuated by light social conversation, but very little substance has passed me since I began my tenure as a Gendarme. I almost feel like the silence of my daily logs may portray inactivity, yet I do not see the point in recording useless information about how uneventful a particular day has gone. If the current endeavors I am pursuing come to fruition, it will make up for that silence tenfold I believe.

That is all, for now.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:55:28 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #7 on: May 15, 2018, 03:15:03 AM »
Quote from: Eighth Entry, 14. Mai 773
Eighth Entry, 14. Mai, 773 BC.

     As far as I can tell, the original timetables for when we expected enemy soldiers to breach our walls have simply been eschewed. Whether someone above me knows the true reason for this, or they're just remaining enigmatic to cover their own bewilderment is beyond my knowledge. Weeks are beginning to roll into months as the Covenant Army remains just beyond our reach, just beyond our manpower to deal with. Locked in a stone-walled cage with little else to do but wait and maintain order. I must admit that the madness begins to set into my own mind just as much as the common man's. When will we see them? When will we finally be able to put all of this behind us? I cannot say for certain if we will survive the assault, but living with this anxiety is enough to push any man to his limits. My superiors seem to have almost entirely returned to their own affairs. My Lord, Vicomte de Roissy Juste Marceaux has been travelling between his titled land and the City, Westward, where the Covenant lines have not yet closed, making his final preparations for the inevitable skirmishes towards his Estate. Sergeant Sieur Remi Rousseau is doing... Whatever it is, Remi does. Caporal Charlotte de La Chaize seems to only arrive when there's a meeting, otherwise remaining utterly absent in daily affairs. Genuinely, I have only witnessed her present three times in my tenure with the Company of the Fox and as a Gendarme. I did not even know she existed until the final days of the Company. I am a man of loyalty, but I am also beginning to feel fear and unsettling discomfort with the chaos of the situation. What defense can be lead this way?

Taking a brief leave from all of this to recollect my thoughts should do me well.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:55:09 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #8 on: May 18, 2018, 05:25:13 AM »
[This page appears to have been torn out of the old, worn diary.]
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:57:34 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #9 on: June 21, 2018, 05:29:46 AM »
[This page appears to have been torn out of the old, worn diary.]
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:58:07 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #10 on: June 29, 2018, 06:52:24 AM »
[This page appears to have been torn out of the old, worn diary.]
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:58:17 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #11 on: September 19, 2018, 11:05:30 PM »
Quote
Twelfth Entry, 19. September, 773 BC.

     She is on my mind day and night. I've written and re-written pages and pages trying to do some justice to the way I feel about her. I confess; I was never a man whose vocabulary was particularly expansive. I've never been rehearsed in how to phrase things so sweetly, but somehow everything I say she smiles broadly at. Every time I see her, I can see the little light in her eyes, the excitement she has just from proximity. I know it well, because it touches me just the same. She is the light of my day, every time I see her. She has given me a new beginning wherein my past and my sins can be forgotten and forgiven. Our Sainted Mother teaches us such forgiveness, but few if ever truly show it. She makes me a better person, and keeps my head on straight. She is my better half, and I love her to no end.

Today, someone saw fit to get under her skin in the only way he could - by using me. For what purpose I sometimes ask myself; Surely this man realizes his words do not outweigh my actions. He seeks to manipulate the ignorant and incite discord, to further the ends of darker powers like his former master. I am no stranger to his past, this Sävu. I sometimes wonder if his Wife would even recognize him, if she saw him today. I will not draw my blade on a man as misguided as him unless in self-defense, but no longer will I sit idly and spare him a lashing of my tongue should he upset my beloved as he did, this day, the 19th of September, year 773 by the Barovian Calendar. T'is a game of social politics he wants, with a Falkovnian that thrives in Dementlieu - I shall give it to him. But not in the manner he expects.

My beloved has taken to the woods, to cleanse her mind of the anger she has harbored. I lay now, awake and in wait for her return, for I fear I will find little rest worth any merit so long as she is away and on her own.

I think now I shall put down my book, and light the candles in wait.

May our Sainted Mother guide her thoughts, and bring clarity to her clouded mind.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:54:54 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #12 on: September 27, 2018, 04:49:32 PM »
Quote
Thirteenth Entry, 27. September, 773 BC.

     The National Militia has become a personal project of mine in recent weeks. Young men and women from across the country, even, have traveled to Port-au-Lucine to volunteer for the Levy, men and women from Treaty Nations have put aside their personal lives, to help save ours. For this, I am forever grateful for their sense of duty and servitude to our Serene Republic. It is my duty, my charge, to ensure every man and woman wearing the uniform of the Militia is prepared for what they shall face. Of the remaining members of the Gendarmerie Nationale de Dementlieu after the Civil War, I am one of the few ranking Company of the Fox members remaining. Every drill, every sortie, every skirmish, every battle I took part in has given me a tool to prepare these young people for the advance of my former Countrymen, should the Maitriser's Army fall at Ameranthe. None of these men are disposable, to me, and each I shall, with all my heart, see through this time of turbulence. Where they entered young, inexperienced boys and girls, they shall exit the National Militia experienced men and women, prepared to lay down volley after volley of black powder and lead to ensure their liberties, their families, and their ways of life are forever preserved by the fierce and unconquerable spirit of the Dementlieuse. Within their weak heart, soon shall thrum strong the tattoo of war, and the KingFürher will see this incursion into sovereign land a mistake greater than any other.

For weeks they have drilled continuously. Musketry, Carpentry, Foraging, and Civic Patrols. By the order of the Lieutenancy, I will march outwards soon with the National Militia in-tow as a show of force along the Avenue du Progres, to ensure that the supplies heading Eastward are not halted by highwaymen and bandits that otherwise would prey upon their own Countrymen during a time of national crisis. These are the darkest hours, for Fair Dementlieu, and we must be the Stewards of the Light that will dispel the thick veil of darkness that surrounds us, into shadowed myths of times past.

Order must be maintained. Peace must be upheld. The Council of Brilliance must be elected, to fill the vacuum of power that currently exists. Our way of life must never stop for the marching beat of Tyrants or the seditious machinations of anarchist revolutionaries or parasitic vagabonds alike.

We are the Gendarmerie Nationale. The keepers of Peace and Order, the Defenders of the Realm, an Icon of Hope to the Lost.

We shall NOT  falter in our GREATEST hour of need.
« Last Edit: October 14, 2018, 10:54:44 PM by BraveSirRobin »

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #13 on: October 14, 2018, 10:11:07 PM »
Quote
Fourteenth Entry, 14. Oktober, 773 BC.

     Our Serene Republic of Dementlieu has lived up to it's name in the past weeks. Crazy place. Every day, revolutionary elements make headway to stir a second revolution in spirit of the movement of '69. The vehement belief that the Aristocratic Republic that Leon the Blessed once established with the Great Houses of this land, is a farce and antiquated to the rule of the individual man. Yet, these men who hide in gutters, these men who act as firebrands from beneath the cobble and in the shadows of sullen woods lining the Avenue du Progres - Where were their voices, but four months ago? Where were their voices, when the Covenant was but a few miles from the City, and final defenders were being called from the ranks of the Citizenry? Even with the former government, these men were self-serving cretins taking refuge in the refuse of their betters.

One might believe when I speak of their betters, I insinuate the aristocracy. I do not. I speak of yet even the lowliest beggar and commoner who struggles in the Guildhouse at all hours to feed the mouths of his beloved Wife and children. I speak of the man whose fingers bleed as his labors serve his Country, day by day. It is not an unknown facet of existence in Dementlieu, that the lower class suffers moreso than the upper. It is something I believe many of us would see change, if it only could. Some Nobles have adhered strictly to their belief of the Noblesse Oblige. Their duty by birthright, as Lords, Barons, Viscounts, Counts, Dukes of the Land -- To ensure the well-being and livelihood of their serfs and servants. Of the working class that props up everything they have. Others drown themselves in decadence and glory, seeking only to further themselves rather than the land they share title to. This difference between Nobles and Commonfolk are not all that different. They are parallel. The Noble of which acts in selfish greed and cares little for his charges, whilst reprehensible, is at the very least remaining within the legal bounds of the Law. However, it is so often that the man who neglects his Noblesse Oblige has indeed, neglected yet more. His family, his fortune, his morals, or his piety. Perhaps any combination of those values, in whatever order one should so wish. He is a create of excess and entitlement, and without the sweat and labor of his ancestors, and their serfs and servants, he would be nothing. A fact they all-too-often forget whilst on their porcelain latrine wearing ostentatious silvers and golds. When they are angered, when even by legal means, this thing they have grown both addicted and reliant on; The desire and pleasure of their depraved obsessions - They will lash out. They will retaliate, and often far more extreme than was warranted. If you threaten all they hold, they will perform every criminal act, crime, lie and trick to see to it they are indeed the survivor. It is this kind of man I am most familiar with, in the Dementlieuse Arisotcratic circles.

The same, however, can be said of the allegedly downtrodden and misbegotten commoner. A man, of simple name, of simple designs, of simple family, destined for none and beholden to all. He may live his lot in life, he may continue onward and elsewhere. However, all too often, these men believe that they must take what is not theirs at birth, by any means necessary. They plea of the plight of their people, whilst holding innocent men and women at knife and gunpoint in the seedier parts of the City of Lights. They steal what is not theirs, unknowing of what true wealth the individual holds. All men are wealthy to these commoners -- For they have nothing. They have forsaken their lot in life, and have instead turned to a life of fantasy and violence to see their ends' meet. All in the process, abhorring the aristocratic privilege of their liege-lords in hope that some day they may become their equal. The painful irony of their situation, is that.. The 'Good' Noble, who believes in his duties and sees to it those beneath him are treated well, often are disenfranchised and convinced of the fruitlessness of their duties, for that men yet still will grow to be this way. Will still throw it all away, for want of more. Even if they are, themselves, being treated with all due care and respect by their liege-lords, turning their liege-lord to the mindset of the 'Bad' Noble. Who cares little for his men, for they spit in the face of hospitality. The same applies for the well-behaved commoner and his corrupt Noble liege-lord, who works his good heart and spirit into the ground until it is no more. A regrettable truth.

However, amongst men and women, the throes of Leadership will take upon themselves different names, different titles, and different forms. Yet always, will there be a ruling class of men and women of a financially powerful background, who will find their way into leading the men of lesser fortune. No amount of bloodshed and revolution will ever change this. In '69, they had what they wanted, and by the time the Falkovnians were routed, a new Council with a new Lady-Governor was put into power. They abused their authority as though this was their land, for their values, not for the people who lawfully elected them. Not for the Nobles who offer their armies, and their wealth to the Government to see the whole of society maintained and protected. That it is, through their guile and political maneuvering -- through the sacrifices they have made to both their mind, heart and soul through immoral and vile acts, that they earned the seats they sit upon. As such, none would remove them from whence they sit. An endless cycle of vying for power, good men deceived into believing bad things, and the bloodshed of the masses. It is tragedy.

Now as a new chapter of my life begins, I must face this endless cycle with a stern gaze and a firm hand. I have devoted my life thus far to saving this land from itself, and to saving the common person and Nobleman alike. To seeing this Serene Republic remain serene and calm. This is hardly, if ever the case, but it is my duty to try. No longer just for myself, but for the woman I now call my Wife. Whatever future I shall endure here in Dementlieu, if my future is truly to remain here, she will share the same fate with me. No longer can we be separated, now forever intertwined into whatever the Mists of Death shall throw at us.

I say this, you men of Revolution. I say this, you men of the Legion. I say this, you Mists of Death. My Zweihänder, "Le Faucon Trouvé," has been reforged into something of awe and power. My sword-hand is firm, and my concentration infallible. I will stand as a deterrent to the Chaotic and Vile. I will stand a stalwart defender of what Justice and Civility is remaining in Dementlieu. I will stand against the Legion of the Nights, and the Mists of Death, for that they truly mastermind all that opposes us.

We stand together, against it all.
« Last Edit: October 18, 2018, 06:30:25 AM by BraveSirRobin »

BraveSirRobin

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Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #14 on: October 18, 2018, 06:26:21 AM »
Quote
Fifteenth Entry, 18. Oktober, 773 BC.

    What cruel twist of fate brings a man out from his home the day after his wedding? I've ridden this horse for days now, attempting to bolster recruitment into the National Militia as the first reports of conflict return from Castle Ameranthe. As news comes of specialized Falkovnian Talons raiding villages near and about the Duc's seat of power, fear and uncertainty spreads. Some men who might not otherwise volunteer, may now do so, if only for the sake of their Wives and families. However, as I appeal to these men who'd not yet volunteered to bare musket and saber in-hand, giving them a chance to fight for all they love, I cannot help but let my mind wander back to my home in Port-au-Lucine, and my Wife. Thoughts that cross my mind every moment and never leave me. A face that is there every time I close my eyes. I yearn for when this assignment is finished, so that I may return to her, and my duties in the city. As much of a farm boy as I may have been born, it feels somehow alien to me out here, seeing all of these farms and rustic houses. Sometimes you don't realize how much you've truly changed over the years, until you're brought back to where you began.

As I was riding at a steady pace through a small village, I heard a man -- who clearly had not the slightest good sense about him -- making a jest at the expense of his Country. Admittedly, if my former Countrymen weren't at the borders of this Country seeking violent entrance, I might have passed a chuckle. Though I suspect the visage of a Gendarme Officer on horseback bearing the Zweifalk within earshot left him speechless, when he realized I overheard.

How did it go..

"Marcel, why did the Dementlieuse plant trees along the Avenue du Progres?" The first man would ask, tossing hay over his shoulder, with which he fed and warmed the horses.

"I don't know Paul, why don't we just get back to wor-" The second man would reply, a look upon his face as though he had been both intimately familiar, and exhausted by his compatriot's rancid humor, however he was hastily cut off.

"So that the Falkovnians could invade in the shade!" The first man interjected with glee, before they both set eyes upon me, and quickly, their eyes averted my sight, somewhere back to their work. Perhaps keen on hoping I'd not noticed, perhaps because they were afraid of me.

These young men, of levy age, were likely allowed absent of their enlistment on account of their necessity on the farm. It looked as much, the small, simple crop seemed untended compared to others, and they were wearing dirty, common clothing, poorly kept. They were doing the work of five men, the two of them. Like as much, I expect the others heeded the call of the nation, and are somewhere in Port-au-Lucine now. The Republic has fallen on hard times, and these are merely the beginning. It is not simply Falkovnia, I must worry about. Nor must those who liberated the Capital on the Fourth of July.

It is the Council, in the North, who hide yet still, waiting opportunistically to seize power as better, more honorable men fight a bloody war, tooth-and-nail, to ensure the survival of Dementlieu and our way of life. It is imperative, now more than ever that the elections are held, to fill the void of power. However, I ask myself nightly, 'Why has it not started, yet?'

Perhaps I will find myself curious, and wonder evermore what could possibly be halting the progress of the Provisional Government, into the proper Aristocratic Republic that Marius de Mortigny fought to return.

No matter the result, no matter the victor in this political battle. One thing is certain: Siegmund von Krauss's forces must not despoil the soils of my new home. Many look at me as though I am one of the enemy. However, I am more Dementlieuse at heart, than Falkovnian. This, I place upon my honor.

« Last Edit: October 18, 2018, 06:34:29 AM by BraveSirRobin »