Author Topic: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter  (Read 4280 times)

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
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 »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #15 on: November 09, 2018, 05:49:13 AM »
Quote
Sixteenth Entry, 9. November, 773 BC.

    The Society of Erudites has impressed me by far, this week. For months, this Gnome, Rhea, has been racially charged and disdaining of me, in almost every encounter. I know it her experiences that makes her so sour, thus I never held it against her. She's a mindset of change, and I can respect that. Dementlieu needs some change, even those of the Nobility can find it stale at times. She has presented me with articles covering some of the most momentous moments in recent Dementlieuse history, and I intend wholeheartedly to make use of them. What are we, as a society, if we cannot learn aptly from our past, to prevent tragedy in the future? As it stands now, if concessions are not made, we will be mirroring a situation as we did in '69 and '70, with the Dementlieuse Revolution. We are a proud, and powerful country, but as history shows; A war on two fronts leaves Falkovnia open to a feast.  I must hope that in some measure, my superiors, my Lords, and my betters will heed this, lest we all become slaves to Falkovnia, as I once was.

Fortunately, with the vacuum of power in the Palais Dirigeant, this leaves the sole deciding body on legislation until the appointment of a new Council of Brilliance to be Capitaine Alphonse DuPré. For the first time in recent history, a decision can be made by a single man, that affects the entire city. A single man, can make a difference, and it is only him we must convince. Even if these measures only last to make life better for months, those are months wherein the common folk aren't bordering on open rebellion during a conflict we cannot afford such, as.. I know, what comes after. Death.


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #16 on: December 09, 2018, 03:22:14 AM »
Quote
Seventeenth Entry, 9. Dezember, 773 BC.

Demoted.

Laurette and I both. I never thought a wound of pride could sting so much, yet it does. The world is filled with those who would see me fail; It is filled with those who would take a demotion as a sign of their accurate intuition. Most, if not all would overlook it's true reason, and leave it forgotten. Sometimes, I wonder if she remembers.

The Hawk continues to siege Ameranthe, and I've heard little from the front lines. Something has become of my dear Wife, something I cannot fathom. Yet, I spend every night alone in our bed, restless. Unable to sleep, without seeing her face. Her amber eyes, her red lips. Her smile which left me filled with warmth from it's mere presence alone. I play the series of events, in my head, over and over again, before I sleep each night. She once told me, the Mists took her from this land, and displaced her for years. She was pulled from her friends that she considered family, then spat back out once more years later, like some fell trick by the Mists of Death. Is that, what this is? Do the Mists of Death fear us? Our union something too majestic, and our Light blinding in it's presence. Did they take her from me?

I'll never truly know. No Gendarme has reported anything, not even those I have undercover in various parts of the City. No word has come from any Outlander, and certainly, if those cretins beneath the City had her, they would make me very well aware of it, by now. They would leverage her capture to stay my hand, to prevent the unyielding hammer of Justice from striking their poorly wrought anvil of dissent, shattering it to it's core. I once told her, should we ever be separated, I would wait for her. I would wait until the end of my days, just on the hope of our reunion. We told eachother; Until Death, we shall never part. So it is, I shall hold true to her, for that a decade of wait would be worthwhile to see her smile once more, and know our hearts remained true to one another. I can only hope she holds the same resolve, deep down, wherever she is. May the Sainted Mother watch over her, and protect her Soul, whatever foul games are being played. I keep her in my prayers, every night.

How things have changed so quickly, and how perhaps she would have changed my thinking. The Ecclesiarchal Court, the execution of Leon Shelks. The execution of Edgard Martel. The Riot. All of it; I wish I had her by my side. But I must have her by my side in spirit and heart, until we once again share each-other's embrace. I shall shine bright, for both of us.

Thus, I remain stalwart in my duties. Corruption in the Gendarmerie must be rooted out, and those responsible for the reprehensible actions within our garrison must be made to accept the burden of responsibility for their actions. I have launched an internal affairs investigation pursuant to such, and in time, I will know. I only pray it is not who I think it is.


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #17 on: December 13, 2018, 03:31:53 AM »
Quote
[This particular entry seems to be left outside of Joachim's personal journal, resting on a desk written as a letter of some form. Perhaps a measure of coping, at the bottom of it rests a Flawless Amber Gem, weighing it down.]




Quote
Eighteenth Entry, 13. Dezember, 773 BC.

Imrae,


      I pray nothing terrible has come of you. I lay awake every night in constant contemplation, worry, fear. Every moment my eyes are closed, I see your face, and I wretch in pain in thought of what could have tore you from me. How I miss your guidance, your sure hand, your reassurance. How you assuaged my stress and fears, and made everything align before me in a straight line. You were my guiding Light, you were the one who cast the shadows within me aside. You made me better. In your absence, I strive every day to think what you would say, what you would think of every action I take. So that once we meet again, pride may swell in my heart, and tears in my eyes when we see each-other once more in remembrance of the covenant we struck with one-another. That no matter the fear nor cost, when the other should ever falter, we will stand there by each-other's side.

I placed the flowers you loved most dearest, those blue carnations that I would always get you. Blue, was your favorite color. Keen, my uniform was wrought from it. I placed the bouquet on the grave of Leon Shelks, knowing you would've wished to say some final words. I hope in some measure, he knows those flowers were from us both. Chaotic Leon, you always called him. We both could feel his presence from what felt like a mile away. His temptations into darkness are no-more, and his crimes atoned for in Death. May our Sainted Mother now guide his spirit somewhere more kind to him.

The City itself has began to fall into shambles, piece-by-piece. When you were taken from me, I was a Sergeant. Now, Corporal once more. Something I thought, perhaps, you'd be proud knowing the reason of. That it was done selflessly, for the sake of these People. To stop the blood from flowing in the streets, to stop the evils of manipulating men from sending the innocent to their deaths. That it was done, because you bolstered my heart with strength. Knowing that I would come home to you, I cared not for what the world saw me as, for that I was purest in your eyes.

Now, with your absence, I feel but coldness in my finger-tips. Even as I write this letter, my arms are weary, my eyes are haggard with exhaustion. My own, closest allies, some of them, are now questionable entities. I'm placed in positions of moral turbulence once more, and I am without your aid. I am without the Church's aid. I am, utterly alone once more in a sea of corruption and wayward currents, drifting me left and right. It exhausts me, to fight the currents of change. Through all of it, for my Light to remain true.

I miss you.


Your Love,
Joachim


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #18 on: December 14, 2018, 01:44:12 AM »
Quote
Nineteenth Entry, 14. Dezember, 773 BC.

     I have to get a grip on myself. This City will fall apart without me at my sharpest, and everything around me, everyone whom I love, depends on me and my stability. I cannot afford to be unstable, when so many others suffer worse than me. Yet, the pain lingers, and every time I think of it, the wound is re-opened. I wasn't proud of the state, Verinne found me in, stumbling into her Theatre, drunk on cognac and sorrow. I've never broken down like that before, in-front of anyone but her. Yet, she was there for me. She cared for me, and she even -- Even in my anger, she kept me from falling over, crashing into the floor. All the nights I have spent watching over her, and all the days I've spent aiding her Theatre, I never expected the favor to repaid, nor a debt to be owed. Yet, she selflessly kept me safe, and assured me. She dedicated her time and heart to making me feel better, to help me through this, with genuine worry in her eyes for my well-being. Of all the people I've known, come and gone, the one I've felt most guilty for ever mistrusting is her, Verinne van Haute. Even in the early days, when I suspected her of worse, she was ever pure in her intentions, and that purity only ever blossomed into something beautiful and true. She's of a warm, good heart. She's loyal, and she's someone irreplaceable. She's the closest friend I have ever had.

In this time of turbulence and uncertainty, when the winds of change rush about us, assaulting us from all fronts, I musn't fail her. She needs me, and she needs her family. I must not let myself become further distracted by my own pains, lest she lose critical support in this most crucial hour. If she loses me, she may lose her guiding hand. And without that, I fear of what deception may take hold of her.

So for you, Verinne, I write this, as a measure to steel myself for the coming torrent. I cannot promise I will not drink; I cannot promise I will not hurt. Yet, I shall not falter when the hour comes.

I shall be by your side, always.
 


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #19 on: December 18, 2018, 03:50:07 AM »
Quote
Twentieth Entry, 18. Dezember, 773 BC.

     The journey made today wrought more pain upon my heart than I ever thought it could. It was long, and tiring on the bones to travel the Sea of Sorrows, through the misty clouds blanketing the seas towards Richemulot. I did it because I love her, because she's family, and I think she means more to me than I could ever care to admit. Waves crashed against the vessel, and perhaps endearingly the woman befell sea-sickness that rattled her for almost the entire trip. Others with us, convened with our hired Captain to plot a course, I knew where my place was. Keeping her safe, and comfortable. Preparing her for what may lay at the docks of Ste. Ronges. They chartered an unexpected shortcut through a narrow strait that allowed us to link up from the Ardent River into the Musarde without my overseeing it, not that I would have known better. I probably would have agreed, taking us to the Musarde was our original intent, but if we entered around the coast going North, we'd add days to our travel, and be forced to directly cross the front lines of the siege at Castle Ameranthe. It was wiser for us to land near Mortigny, and take a foot journey from there; But this path meant we could save hours on foot, and at sea. It was brilliant, or so we thought. As I said to Verinne on the bow of the ship's deck, "All shortcuts come at an unannounced expense."

As Verinne and I returned below deck, I came to a familiar gaze of companions around a table, reading cards and jovial chatter by candle-light in the ship's hull. For a moment there was calm and levity, despite the grim cards drawn by that Half-Gypsy. I didn't let them bother me, I have to be strong, and I have to be unmoving. If not for her, for the sake of myself. Then, the ship lurched and we were drawn to alert. We clambered to the decks to peer about as the Captain turned the vessel sharply into the narrow strait, and tall, dark trees threatened to tear at our sails as he deftly navigated the small canal of water as a smuggler would, which I partially suspect he was. As we lingered, the grim scene continued as we entered into a darker sun, a heavier cloud, a thicker canopy of tree and debris above us. Then, it seemed almost as if the woods themselves called out to us. Wails, at first -- Stalwart, unwavering, true. I thought of my Wife, in that moment as I drew my Zweihänder and moved to ensure Verinne was safe. .. I- .. I didn't prepare, for what I heard next.

I heard her voice. Imrae, over the port side of the vessel. I swear by Ezra, it truly sounded as if it was her. Wailing to me, screaming for help. Her familiar voice, it compelled me. It tore at my heart, O' Imrae. What may have become of you? For a moment, logic left me. I walked to the edge of the vessel, my senses leaving me. I considered it. I considered jumping, just to see her eyes again, just to feel her tender lips upon mine. To know I was there for her, even in the darkest night, the bleakest hour. That familiar hand grabbed me, it held me. Verinne. She started to talk sense into me, what it was, it was the haunted woods condemned by Legion to tear at my deepest pains. I went limp, and she dragged me back. I would have jumped, and it would have been to my death, because my heart is so sore, and my mind empty without her. I slumped against the deck, and I made Verinne promise me, in that moment, it wasn't her out there, wailing in terror as we continued onward, the voices leaving. She reassured me, she told me -- That is not what came of my Wife, and that wasn't her -- She's still out there, somewhere. But is she?

It didn't take long before those damned spirits played another fell trick upon my senses, hands of a child trying to crawl onboard. Tears streaming my eyes as I gathered myself and stood. I almost knew for certain it would be a trap, perhaps a monster to pull me in. Yet, still. What if it wasn't? I walked to the edge of the ship, those with me grabbed my cloak, held on to me as I reached down to grab it. Yet, as I did, it seems I permitted some manner of fell entity passage to our vessel, and then half a dozen of those wistful spirits boarded us. Yet, with my Light, my Conviction. I cut them down with my allies, with little more than a scratch upon my person. Slain, as the Legion should be, though I imagine not for long. That dreadful strait of haunted trees is place I shan't ever endeavor to return, even if it costs us a day or two on the trip. We passed it, and into the open waters once more, to Ste. Ronges.

There, we found him. We found the man we were looking for, Crespin van Haute, and I was delighted to see the two reunited. A smile brought to my lips, but a wary eye and concern as I noticed all who surrounded him. All men, all employed, all corrupted. Who can know who, when, and where, beyond the one? I've purged corruption from Dementlieu every turn, I've made it a better place, but Richemulot.. It is a whole different game of interests, a Government run by puppet-houses serving one. Special interests. More prominent there than back in Dementlieu. We managed to get him back on the ship, and I couldn't help but feel relieved, and even moreso when we took him home, to see the progress his daughter made in the world. He already plans to start anew, and I'm rather glad for it. I couldn't be happier, with them reunited.

Yet, I lie to myself in my own Journal. Imrae is gone. I have to accept it; There's no criminal evidence of her departure, and from what I understand, she left once long ago as well from what she told me. Claimed the Mists did it. Maybe they did, or perhaps, perhaps she was using me to solve her own problems. I can't discern the truth. Part of me believes she's left me, at this point. Something I've only ever admitted to Verinne, but a pain shoots through my heart to admit it. Then confusion sets in, remorse, concern. Depression. One of those instincts, 'Hawk's Instincts,' as some of my superiors in the Gendarmerie have come to call them. Always right, even when I don't want them to be. Always painful, in the end. Dementlieu has honed my paranoia to something of perfection, sorting out misinformation, solving cases in days or weeks. Checking the doors every minute, wary of my friends as much as my enemies. Our marriage was short-lived, less than a month. It's almost been two months since we've truly spent time together, those last few weeks almost always out with foreigners, seeking tombs or something else, whilst I tended affairs in Port-a-Lucine.

What curse have I? What curse, have I earned from the ire of this land? Forever alone. Forgotten. Misbegotten in my pursuits. Some part of me wishes I would just die, and then perhaps I'd have some comfort in knowing it was for something good. As I seem to have no talent for fostering happiness in life. What I build, I build for those after me. For what I bleed, I bleed for others. Perhaps I can leave that legacy behind, before it's buried under bureaucracy.
 


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #20 on: December 21, 2018, 05:16:30 AM »
Quote
Twenty-First Entry, 21. Dezember, 773 BC.

     I awoke last night finding myself drenched in sweat, my heart racing as though it would burst from my chest. Those damned night terrors are back again, and I can smell the burning wood and brimstone in my nostrils as fresh as ever again. I thought I put those days past me, but like a snake they've bitten me in my sleep and returned the bitter pain and fear to my mind once more.

Scythe's Crescent, Falkvonia, 29. Dezember, 770 BC. The night that will forever haunt my memories. That I lost everyone I loved.

       It was early in the morning, a bitter frost and the crops harvested. We weren't much, then. Just a small farmstead, on the outskirts of Lekar, just barely kissing the Scythe's Crescent. My Father always told me that was a good position, it made taking our tithes to the Capital that much simpler, and afforded us the protecting of the KingFürher, and equally his scrutiny. My Father was Adalric Willhelm Schrötter, a former Hauptmann of the Falkovnian Military, seasoned, and retired to the farmstead to live out his days with my mother, Eliza Sieglinde Schrötter, formerly Günsberg. We never kept in touch with her side of the family, given their fanatical loyalty to the KingFürher's Law. My Father, he was a bit different. He eventually receded from the Military, and found himself in mortal sin for his past. My Sister? Annaliese Eliza Schrötter .. Ezra bless her innocence, though it lasted not long. She was younger than I, nineteen and kept sheltered under our roof. Then, I was twenty-five years of age, and my Father's sway with some former officials kept us together through the three-year intervals of Census Day. The morning started as usual, we rose from our beds, and admired the frost caked to windows from the early morn. We sat about the table, and ate a light breakfast consisting of pork and bread, and peas pottage. That sounds luxurious, but of course the portions were small, all of it was washed down with beer. Then I left to tend the stables, feed the horses and what livestock would weather the winter months, before returning within.

My Father, he was always more than what he let on, and my Mother knew. He'd taken to rebelling against the KingFürher in private, he was a Freeman of Falkovnia, though he never told us. I could tell, because he kept his Zweihänder and Maille maintained, and often returned with small holes in the maille, or a knick in his blade. He insisted to us, brigands. Elves in the forests, coming to take what we have -- But I think I always knew, somewhere, from how he regarded his former colleagues with such disdain. I was proud of him for it, in some small measure. He was everything I had to look up to. In the afternoons, he would teach me swordplay out on the pasture, constantly kicking my ass and throwing me to the dirt. I never understood, at first, when he told me to do it -- He never wished me a military life, nor did I wish it of myself. But he told me that a day would come when I must defend the woman I love, and my children. When I would start a wonderful, bountiful family and carry his blood onwards to a better Falkovnia. This day was much like any other, only there was frost, and bitter cold. We wrapped up and dressed warm, the steel of my blade felt like ice in my hands, even through my gloves he bade me to wear. I can hear his voice as shrill as the whistle I blow on patrol, haunting my memories.

"My Son, stand! Put your feet on the ground, I'm here to kill you! Look me in the eyes, see my Brand, know my being. Strike me!"

And so I would strike, only be parried and thrown aside.

"Have I your Wife?! You know my intent, I'll muddy your blood, and bare her a Bastard! Stand up!"

And I would stand again. Over, and over again, his heavy-footed words beating into my mind. He referred to the practice of Falkovnian Officers taking first night, with a man's Wife. Having that first pleasure -- Though, I think it was all-too-common for most intendeds to lose their purity to one-another far before that, just so that they know they've been in one-another's arms, before the opportunity would arise. Though I stray far from the nightmare. It wasn't of my father. It was of the eve that followed.

I was in the woods, gathering firewood and cutting it before returning with the assorted lumber beneath my arm. The sun was setting in grey skies to paint the thin cloud layer a crimson-orange. There was a breeze in the air that chilled through the bones, and the snow was pure and white. Though the scent carried for miles, the smell of fire, and as I left the canopies of the woods, I could see the belching, black smoke in the air. The KingFürher sent a dozen men or more, on horseback, his Talons, to the Farmstead. They torched it, and there was open fighting in the fields. I could see my mother, and my father, surrounded, my Sister behind my mother as my father practiced a maneuver, a wide-sweeping reach with his Zweihänder, and another man stood beside him, likely another Freeman. He was keeping a dozen or more men at bay, occupied, but exhausting himself constantly. I ran towards the field, dropping my wood in the snow and making all due haste, yet -- Once I was within a hundred yards, I watched as one of the Talons lunged forward. My Father dismissed him with three blows or less. The first to strike his weapon aside, caught by the fanning motion of his Zweihänder, then the next was a cut across the throat, the third, a bash from the pommel, throwing him to the ground. Then a second, and a third attacked, then with mustered bravery, they all did. The Freeman beside him had a Longsword, he held with two hands, using several maneuvers one might find in manuals to attack and defend at the same time, yet, I paused in my tracks as one of the Talons ran a spear through my Mother, behind my Father, raising her to the air and watching her slide down it's shaft. Blood poured down it, her wails of pain like lightning through my bones. It caused pause to my Father, who was then run through the stomach, and his ally was cut down without abandon. My Sister was.. Left, and she was then descended upon.

I ran to the stables, and saddled the mare we had there. I could hear her screams, her agony. Her pain, by father alive just long enough to watch. I had a Zweihänder, but it was in the farmstead, on fire. I settled for whatever I could find in the room, a pitchfork, in this case, and I mounted onto the steed and kicked it harshly in the thigh with boots not spurred. It burst forward from the stables, and I made way towards them. One Talon managed to catch my gaze, riding towards them -- In some deranged fantasy, a pitchfork in my hand like a spear. I rode forward hard, only to see that they were defiling my Sister, and once the -- Highest ranking amongst them, seemed to expeditiously conclude his affair, standing up with parts of his armor aside, I threw the pitchfork from horseback and it landed in his backside. I know not if he died from his wounds, for I attempted to ride to the sides, to gain their attention, to give her a chance to perhaps escape, I could see several others leaping onto their horses. Within moments, I was being chased, and as I rode back around to try to catch her eyes, they were cold and unmoving. They strangled her in the process, leaving her lifeless on the ground. With my family dead, I couldn't stay, and I had no-where to go. So I rode my horse, and I rode it hard, kicking it wildly in intervals through the woods I knew well. I lost some of them, and others yet more, though my mare was nothing for the KingFürher's steeds. Within an hour, it's heart gave out, and I was forced to run with impunity, ducking behind hollows and hiding, before running yet some more. When I couldn't run, I walked. .. And when I couldn't walk, I crawled. Eventually, I fell into a small pond of freezing water, and within minutes the heat left my body, and I passed out somewhere in that forest.

I woke up, what I'm told was a day after I'd been found, in the comfort of a stranger's home. Someone who knew my father, recognized me. Knew what happened. They hid me, cared for me, and when it was time, I left them lest I endanger them, and made due Southeast, only to find the Mists choking me in that forest, only to awake in Barovia. If I'd only known then, in my ignorance, that was Ezra's Grace reclaiming me from the hell I'd been born to.

I see that day in my dreams, in bits and pieces. I used to every night, then they subsided as I acclimated to Dementlieu. Now, like a Daemon, it plagues my mind again. How I desire to be in the East, to fight the Good Fight, and stop pissing around in the Capital.

How I desire to avenge my dear Father, Mother and Sister for the State's disgusting acts. I hope I can manage my sleep for the rest of the night, I will need it.
 


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #21 on: December 22, 2018, 08:18:40 AM »
Quote
Twenty-Second Entry, 22. Dezember, 773 BC.

     Fate is a bitter-sweet mistress of love and desire. Even in dark hours, a light always somehow shines through, radiant and resplendent in it's virtue. In the same day, words I'd fear, and words I'd coveted both entered each ear, each equally unexpected. Some part of me pined for this, and yet, that makes me all the more guilty in it's hearing. Yet, it comforted me more than even the words of my Imrae did. How can words ever replace the sensation of a lover's.. Embrace, so easily? Perhaps I've misjudged my emotions all this time.

I asked myself, what conviction she gave me, if she were gone; Yet I found that lacking in myself, at the thought of my own demise. Yet, all the same. .. Disarmed. The Grand Scheme is a truly mysterious machination of Fate and Faith. Why would Ezra present this to me, now? .. Maybe Faith is my issue. Maybe I've lingered onto that far too long, spurned at every turn except by one. My loyalties are where they must be, and I won't betray them. I've come too far, for far too long, now.

Yet, my mortality is a fact I must face, and perhaps, face alone when it comes. She will carry on without me, and.. She will know happiness, without me. I pray she does not mourn long, but I will always watch over her; Even if Death, if it is possible.

You shan't tear me away yet, you cretin.
 


BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #22 on: December 30, 2018, 06:18:21 AM »
[In this entry, clipped to the corner of a page is an artist's rendition of a Zweifalk perched on a branch, it's twin heads scouring all about it, seeing all at once as it awaits it's prey.]

Quote
Twenty-Third Entry, 30. Dezember, 773 BC.

     It's going to be a new year soon, a chance for me to start the year off positively, and get some work done. I'm proud of how Verinne has pulled herself together these last few months, and I find myself enamored by her enthusiasm. Even in the darkest hours, she sees a bright sky, and the stars beyond. Though sometimes, she needs someone to hold her head so she looks up towards them. Her future is looking more clear now than ever, and hopefully, we will be able to learn something from the latest treasure trove we brought home with us. A step closer to making her life normal again, and ending her constant suffering.

She's lucky to have all the friends surrounding her that she does, to protect her and care for her. The world isn't keen on being kind to people like us. People who have virtue, and a good heart to try to make changes in the world. Change is abhorrent to many, and threatens the rest. Even the most promising flowers wilt away when faced with the changing of the seasons, as I've come to find personally. I'd write more on it here, but I fear somehow my own thoughts would betray me if I spoke too soon. Perhaps, once it is taken care of, I'll detail it here for the sake of memory.

Now, as my eyes lay upon the skeins of fate before me as presented by the Grand Scheme, I must ask of Ezra, what measure of a test have I been given? At first I knew Guilt, then I knew Ignorance, then came Conviction, and with it, Truth. Now that I have Truth, I have Clarity, and I can see it all. I doubted myself, at first, and so did Verinne. I wanted to believe her, desperately so. To sway my mind into a false, if comforting belief. Yet, in my stomach brew the discontent of the past, knowing what came of my blind-eye then, and how it festered into an abomination that I never could stop. Manipulated, deceived, and forsaken by the threat of death. I have lost my remorse, I have lost my pity. In the Clarity, Ezra has given me, I have now been able to find Peace, to cleanse me of Guilt.

Guilt. Ignorance. Conviction. Truth. Clarity. Peace. Justice.

Do not underestimate the Zweifalk, for that it has two heads, and four eyes -- it's gaze, omniscient.


« Last Edit: December 30, 2018, 07:55:37 AM by BraveSirRobin »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #23 on: January 06, 2019, 11:33:59 AM »
Quote
Twenty-Fourth Entry, 6. Januar, 774 BC.

     I awoke in the mid-night again. Sweat about my face, my head fortunately not striking the top-bunk as I took top this eve. It wasn't the same dream, this time, though it caused me struggle, no-less. Vividly in my mind, I could see her -- So close, yet so far from my grasp. Grey eyes, and one who knows me all-too-well for me ever to forget. Then I saw her die, before my eyes, unable to stop it. The poison coursing through her blood, my hand mundane, my Grace bereft of relief. I couldn't save her; My heart felt as though it would stop, a dagger in my back. My breathing paced, crooked, ragged. As her eyes went cold and numb, I could see another set of eyes resting upon me in disappointment and grief, and my own guilt compounded into insanity. I looked over my shoulder; Only to find that the dagger in my heart was true, and that the pain was material. I slumped over, numb, unable to move and I awoke with the percussion of a military drum in my chest. I nearly called the apothecary -- It wouldn't stop. It kept going, for what felt like hours but it was merely minutes, until it dulled into a warm relief.

My dreams may never be realized, and I may never have what it is I desire truly, but I will never fail those I have promised my aid to; I will never fail her, in this hour most dark surrounding us all. Yet, I may never know the reward my heart truly desires in the end. A life in the middle, forever absent of satisfaction for that of which I yearn. Is this truly what Ezra has condemned me to? Or perhaps I've misplaced my faith in the Grand Scheme, for that it has only shown me suffering and never relief. It certainly seems to have abandoned her -- Thus, perhaps, it is my place to abandon it. For that my love and faith in her far outstretches that of a book of a religion that does not deign to condone me. Does not deign to aid those who need them most. My Grace is not Ezra's. Perhaps another brought me into this world, to burden me with this responsibility. Perhaps it is merely my Will made manifest, as I once thought.

Until I have an answer, I will be remaining in here, in this building, until I have some measure of what must be done to move forward. It's the only way to keep her from going herself. The only plan or answer I have. In the end, truly? If I cannot convince her otherwise, I will go with her; I will die, with her, for her. It will be the only way I could ever show the utter passion my heart holds, and the only way satisfaction I think, can ever be had. That I gave something, that could not be replaced. My unyielding loyalty. My life.

For now, I will try to return to my sleep, and hope these dreams do not plague me so, again. I cannot serve when I am an exhausted, walking corpse.

 

« Last Edit: January 06, 2019, 11:57:24 AM by BraveSirRobin »

BraveSirRobin

  • Dark Power
  • ******
  • Posts: 2028
  • "Common sense is not so common." - Voltaire
Re: The Journal and Diary of Joachim von Schrötter
« Reply #24 on: January 09, 2019, 10:26:00 AM »
Quote
Twenty-Fifth Entry, 9. Januar, 774 BC.

     Doing what is right, what is .. Truly, right, is always such a painful thing. The tips of my fingers feel cold, and uncertainty swells within my chest; Yet I know what I must do, despite how much I despise it. How much I have always despised it, how unsettled my stomach should become, how errant and wild my mind wanders. I will never know the world I have dreamt of in my head, nor shall I ever know the comforts I have desired. Emboldened by duty, dedication, love and loyalty. Even if it is simply pointless.

I tread a path I find most unstable, to a land and place where I expect no success. I expect no positive outcome; No matter how much I wish the world to see it. They are likely, already dead, and I, too, walking in my boots. I've felt it for months, going on a year, this impending doom and malice that looms over me like a cloud. When I am in my darkest moments, I am my most unwavering, my most foolhardy and dangerous. Not to others, but to myself. I prepare a vessel to take me there, and soon, I will know a truth or a lie. I will know satisfaction or demise. I have been encouraged to tell the others, but I don't think it worth the time. They will try to do things their own way; But it will condemn them for years to come, the method they should choose, until a fate that has befallen others marks them for an eternity. It is in this foresight, I have decided to go myself. At the very least, in my absence, the world would continue peacefully. She will still know love, and my anguish smothered out like a dimming candle. -- I've tried for so long, to find my place, to change the world. Only to be reminded of my mistakes, and flaws. To love, and lose, eternally. To love, and never receive, eternally. I miss my family, I miss my father, and my sister. I miss the farmstead, and the flowing fields of golden wheat and the patches of gourds and the leaves of the beats. I miss the scent of freedom, and lack of burden.

I only hope in the end, she's able to do this all without me, if I do not return. Perhaps my place in her life was never one so critical, I fooled myself into an illusion of necessity, and importance. I made myself feel, what I wanted to feel, through my own delusions. But not the actions of others; My duty is a thankless one, at heart -- Words falling upon deaf ears as the hour nears.

I will leave this journal behind, where she knows to find it. So she knows, perhaps everything going through my mind. Since before, and after. That someone should truly know me, as my struggles throughout the months turn into a small biography. So.. If you are reading this? Do know, I love you. To never regret, never fear. In your weakest moments, appear strong, and in your strongest moments, appear weak. You are the star that the sun hides when it shines it's brightest, and the twinkling light that shadows the moon on the clearest of nights. Often overlooked, by all but the most appraising of eyes. Never forget that.