01-19-2014, 04:50 AM
A Warden's Journal
In a room of her own with the armor off and the glaive stored away, behind locked doors she would sit on a chair with the table in front. On the table is a small candle, a notebook with a satchel below leaned against one of the legs of the table. The woman stands up and walks to the window on the side, she draws the curtains to a close and the room becomes darker. With a sigh she would turn back to the table and sit down. As she looks to the pencil she shakes her head and takes it only to lean onto her free hand as her elbow rested on the table supporting the hand. In the notebook would be many things, a mix of her emotional outlet and the alchemical hobby. Here and there would be reminders underlined for one thing or the other. She finally begins to write.
"We were victorious again. I wonder how many victories can we go through until we suffer defeat. Times have been hard for me and my little militia of volunteers. Sometimes I miss the silence of Desolace, the emptiness. Alanndarian came to me the other night. We have talked once more and our conversations come down to a circle of absolute optimistic and desperately pessimistic. He reminded me why my father and mother died and what they fought for, that I should not forget that. As if I ever could. I am the offspring of their demise. A warden. Everything I have ever done was to somehow sate my own need for vengeance against those who had taken their lives. Yet they lay dead and those times are long gone. For ten years now this hollow feeling on the inside will not leave me.
Everywhere I look I see darkness, nothing makes me happy. Not even him anymore."
She would stop instantly and go through her notebook, flicking several pages until she finds 'his' name. In the center of the page there is the name Bananor. It is circled and on all sides from the circle are lines leading to several other words. The first being happiness yet it seems as if it was crossed over several times in rage of Elune knows what. Right below that word is love, it too was crossed over, but only once. The line seems as if it was drawn with a shaky hand and in the end there is one last word, mistake. The woman underlines it for a third time as it was underlined two times now possibly on seperate occasions. She then flicks back to her writings and continiues.
"I fight these battles instinctively now. They make me feel as if I still have something here as if there is still reason for my existence. Without these battles I feel empty and alone. I could sit in a room with many people yet all I would see is figures which mimic each other in an attempt to live their pathetic lives in happiness. Happiness this world no longer knows. War, destruction, heresy and crime. All those fill this world for reasons which are beyond me. It has been one thing after the other."
The Darkshore night grows restless and the tides pick up, a lightning strikes somewhere in the distance. The warden merely turns to look towards the window which has curtains over it. She stares for a moment pointlessly as if seeing through it. In the end she would turn back to her notebook.
"I wonder what is the point of all this? Did I give Bananor too much credit and had my hopes a little too high? It is too late now. These writings, as if I were a child. Lost between chaos of my own thoughts, love and war only maintain maturity to them. Even so I would not call it that. ...All this is pathetic. So am I. I find my self caring less and less of those around me. My mind wraps it self around the idea to be the force which guides our efforts in Darkshore. With every strike upon the enemy my heart races and a timid smile appears, with every wounded warrior of our own, I feel guilt and doubt hanging over me. Yet all that is a momentary matter. It would not take long before I just... accept things the way they are. I simply do not care..."
She closes the notebook and blows out the candle quickly only to slump down into the bed on the side and stare at the cealing as her white glowing eyes give her away in the darkness. The time passes slowly and in turn she uneasily falls asleep some time early in the morning.
In a room of her own with the armor off and the glaive stored away, behind locked doors she would sit on a chair with the table in front. On the table is a small candle, a notebook with a satchel below leaned against one of the legs of the table. The woman stands up and walks to the window on the side, she draws the curtains to a close and the room becomes darker. With a sigh she would turn back to the table and sit down. As she looks to the pencil she shakes her head and takes it only to lean onto her free hand as her elbow rested on the table supporting the hand. In the notebook would be many things, a mix of her emotional outlet and the alchemical hobby. Here and there would be reminders underlined for one thing or the other. She finally begins to write.
"We were victorious again. I wonder how many victories can we go through until we suffer defeat. Times have been hard for me and my little militia of volunteers. Sometimes I miss the silence of Desolace, the emptiness. Alanndarian came to me the other night. We have talked once more and our conversations come down to a circle of absolute optimistic and desperately pessimistic. He reminded me why my father and mother died and what they fought for, that I should not forget that. As if I ever could. I am the offspring of their demise. A warden. Everything I have ever done was to somehow sate my own need for vengeance against those who had taken their lives. Yet they lay dead and those times are long gone. For ten years now this hollow feeling on the inside will not leave me.
Everywhere I look I see darkness, nothing makes me happy. Not even him anymore."
She would stop instantly and go through her notebook, flicking several pages until she finds 'his' name. In the center of the page there is the name Bananor. It is circled and on all sides from the circle are lines leading to several other words. The first being happiness yet it seems as if it was crossed over several times in rage of Elune knows what. Right below that word is love, it too was crossed over, but only once. The line seems as if it was drawn with a shaky hand and in the end there is one last word, mistake. The woman underlines it for a third time as it was underlined two times now possibly on seperate occasions. She then flicks back to her writings and continiues.
"I fight these battles instinctively now. They make me feel as if I still have something here as if there is still reason for my existence. Without these battles I feel empty and alone. I could sit in a room with many people yet all I would see is figures which mimic each other in an attempt to live their pathetic lives in happiness. Happiness this world no longer knows. War, destruction, heresy and crime. All those fill this world for reasons which are beyond me. It has been one thing after the other."
The Darkshore night grows restless and the tides pick up, a lightning strikes somewhere in the distance. The warden merely turns to look towards the window which has curtains over it. She stares for a moment pointlessly as if seeing through it. In the end she would turn back to her notebook.
"I wonder what is the point of all this? Did I give Bananor too much credit and had my hopes a little too high? It is too late now. These writings, as if I were a child. Lost between chaos of my own thoughts, love and war only maintain maturity to them. Even so I would not call it that. ...All this is pathetic. So am I. I find my self caring less and less of those around me. My mind wraps it self around the idea to be the force which guides our efforts in Darkshore. With every strike upon the enemy my heart races and a timid smile appears, with every wounded warrior of our own, I feel guilt and doubt hanging over me. Yet all that is a momentary matter. It would not take long before I just... accept things the way they are. I simply do not care..."
She closes the notebook and blows out the candle quickly only to slump down into the bed on the side and stare at the cealing as her white glowing eyes give her away in the darkness. The time passes slowly and in turn she uneasily falls asleep some time early in the morning.