A Squire's Journal

[Monster_Duck 128]

A Squire’s Journal

Spoiler

The musings of a young squire on what he sees within the war. These writing are not freely accessible, since they are found within Emilio the Younger of house Varoche's journal 

 28th of Sun's Smile:

 

Tonight we camped in the woods around Eulersburg. I never imagined myself saying this but I miss the smell of mud.

 

I fondly remember running through the swamps with my brothers and sisters near home and coming back caked in mud from head to toe. I miss the sweet wrath of our mother when she made us change out of our muddy clothes before dinner. I miss the bustle and clamor of family gathering around the dinner table. I know I fight so that the mud back home will still be our own and so all those faces I love can still sit and eat, but those memories grow foggy and the smell of mud mixes far too easily with the blood all around this camp.

 

For being on the path to righteous victory this war certainly seems wicked. Wrath is not seen these days cleaning mud from happy children, but in smiting down fellow sons of Horen. Right before I fell asleep last night I thought I could hear the clamor of the dinner table, but then I realized it was the clashing of swords. Another bundle of Adrian warriors found their way in our midst. I can’t believe I miss the smell of mud.

 

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29th of Harren's Folley:

 

Last night I rode with my knight back to Valdev. I never thought I would miss the sound of babies crying.

 

From the barracks when I first heard a man wounded in battle, I just assumed it was a crying baby. The days before I ever had heard a man wail in pain were better. The only thing worse than the wails of these men are the looks on the faces of their children when we ride through the gates and they don’t see their fathers among our numbers. More Adrians die each day than covenant folk, but that doesn’t make the memories of these children's faces worth it.

 

The babies in town seem to cry less as of late. Even they realize that something is not right in the world. I honestly doubt I will live to hear children of my own crying and do I even deserve to? I cannot help but think of the Adrian children whose fathers I have made wail in pain, and in turn given them the same sad soulful stare as their own tattered battalions return to Winburgh. Both of our ranks have lost numbers, but each of these numbers had fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, children and spouses. I hope I never hear the scream of a wounded man again, that sound is not meant for anyone on this earth to hear.

Edited January 29 by Monster_Duck