Post by Just Richard on Jan 14, 2011 19:05:59 GMT -8
Mat is once again at his desk. The black worn bounder set at the upper right corner, his journal in front of him and the ashandarei propped against the wall beside him. He takes his raven-feathered quill in hand, dips it in his ink cup and sets it to paper the text is in a flowing script that is unrecognizable as being from any nationality on Earth.
I am so fucking screwed. So. Fucking. Screwed. I finally get shit in order and this happens. Light, I thought it was going to be good. Sheila and I would have a good life here, build up rapport with the higher ups, do some real good in this war. Now, blood and ashes, it's all done. Or at least, I pretty sure it does. What I suspect is irrelevant. What is relevant Andrick's out of commission. My friend is hurt somehow and what's worse is that I can't help him. I should've given him the amulet, a lot of bloody good it did me that evening. It might've saved him protected him... maybe. I just... I know what's wrong but I won't even be able to see him.
Mat sets the quill down and wipes at his eyes and sighs. He takes a deep breath and sets the quill back to the page.
Other things are pretty fan shitted as well. I was Healed. Not once, but twice. Two bastards used the One Power on me. Well, it's not the real One Power but it might as well be. It serves the same purpose. Although that would make me an Aes Sedai. Note to self, Cantrips are not the same as Weaves of the One Power. Despite that note, I was still healed. The red-chicken-cap didn't know better. He didn't know who I was, or what my situation was, fair enough. But Ulrim bloody Starbreaker. That stupid shitfaced son of a bitch. He knew I hated having Cantrips cast on my person and still he went ahead and did it. Actually, he may not have known, but what else would a person need my artifact for, seriously? People say I would've died otherwise, it was just a scratch, superficial really, could've grabbed that doctor and had him stitch me up. Era has lived through worse. But no he had to go in and "Lay on Hands" me. Bloody ashes, I... I don't know.
Which brings me to the reason I was cut in the first place. That bloody, Oathbreaking, traitorous piece of offal, Dreamsbane. There I was walking out of the wall, sure I was told to leave the room, and I complied immediately. That did not warrant him cutting open my gut with his sword. And then Damien, I don't give a shit what anyone else says I know what he is, decides my head should be the next wall that is brought down. I get the "pooka's" reasons, he had another fight to attend to so he ended the one to get to the other. No big there. But that... Oathbreaker, to the House I Love and give merit to even, didn't even have the sense of honor to tell me I was fine. Maybe he's Winter Court (Unseelie) that doesn't mean he doesn't have to give reason for his attack. He could've used the pommel of the blade as well, no I think he did it as a way to strike back at the House he failed at, actually I know that he did it for that reason. No worries, he'll get his. Erzabeth basically gave us both a slap on the wrist, and I will honor her wishes. But if I see the man out of the streets I will not hesitate to attempt to rip his throat out. That's my two cents on that one.
Mat looks ready to destroy yet another desk with the ashandarei before he closes his eyes, mouths some words, and sighs. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes before turning them back to the pages of the journal.
Now on to other matters. Anthem. Giving someone your love usually comes with it's fair share of pain and I delivered hers in spades last week. Actually, that piece of garbage Dreamsbane did, but whatever. After I recovered, I was mostly comforting Sheila which is understandable with our bond and all. After she was calmed down, I went to Anthem. I don't think anyone beyond Sheila and Bridget has given me that much affection in a simple action as a hug. I reassured her that it was going to be okay that all I lost in it was a bit of blood and the coat and shirt I was wearing. Apparently Erzabeth is going to replace the coat, even though I have a lot of the same type and cut. If she wants to get one for me, who am I to refuse a gift from the Baroness, right?
Now, Sheila. My beloved. My wife. My everything. Now, to add to that list, the mother of our child. I am going to be a father. The poor kid. No, I will be a good father, albeit an absent one. Sheila is moving away. While Spokane is not that far, a couple hours if I push it, I am currently in a wartime situation and can't really leave. I know she'll be safe there, Countess Marged Efan will protect and take care of her and my child once it is born. I will do everything in my power to see that I am there soon. I love her and nothing will stand in my way should she come to harm.
Which reminds me. I think I am going to take a chance and follow his suggestion, albeit indirectly. I am going to pen a letter to Countess Morgan and Bridget. They will be the same letter, Attached will be a message for each of them expressing the necessity that getting the message or Lurk's father is a possible way to postpone or avoid my and Sheila's eventual encounter with him. I have too much on my plate to deal with a blood thirsty Red Cap looking to kill me.
Mat shakes his head again and looks over the pages, something seems to dawn on him and he begins writing anew.
Back on to the topic of "my Baron". I use the term loosely because well... anyway, I've expressed my views on that enough already. He has a real job for me. Something I might be useful at, albeit he couches in it something that is not possible for me to do, but if he wants my help, then I will give it as best I can. Let them draw blood first... bah. Fine, if they threaten me I will make sure they end up disabled. Putting a hole in a person's chest will disable them, right? Or cutting them in two, that will do it too, right? Disable is such a subjective term. Well, we'll see how it goes. We're in a war and he wants to call write out a treaty with the same bloody people who eradicated most of our population here in the first place. Light, who put him in that position!? Whatever, I will do what I can help the cause, and burn anyone who thinks I won't be helping the county by getting rid of a few Leopoldians in the process. (See what I did there, made a new word.)
Well, I think I need to work on the start of this story brewing in my head. Hey, isn't there a way to gather Glamour from yourself in art?
Mat closes the journal. Opens a drawer of the desk and sets it beside two ornate knives. He then gives a long look at the black binder. He pulls it to him and opens it up. WIth a soft snort, he grabs a normal pencil and flips to a blank page and writes in large letters,[color=Red][/color] "What Happened on the Darkest Side".
I am so fucking screwed. So. Fucking. Screwed. I finally get shit in order and this happens. Light, I thought it was going to be good. Sheila and I would have a good life here, build up rapport with the higher ups, do some real good in this war. Now, blood and ashes, it's all done. Or at least, I pretty sure it does. What I suspect is irrelevant. What is relevant Andrick's out of commission. My friend is hurt somehow and what's worse is that I can't help him. I should've given him the amulet, a lot of bloody good it did me that evening. It might've saved him protected him... maybe. I just... I know what's wrong but I won't even be able to see him.
Mat sets the quill down and wipes at his eyes and sighs. He takes a deep breath and sets the quill back to the page.
Other things are pretty fan shitted as well. I was Healed. Not once, but twice. Two bastards used the One Power on me. Well, it's not the real One Power but it might as well be. It serves the same purpose. Although that would make me an Aes Sedai. Note to self, Cantrips are not the same as Weaves of the One Power. Despite that note, I was still healed. The red-chicken-cap didn't know better. He didn't know who I was, or what my situation was, fair enough. But Ulrim bloody Starbreaker. That stupid shitfaced son of a bitch. He knew I hated having Cantrips cast on my person and still he went ahead and did it. Actually, he may not have known, but what else would a person need my artifact for, seriously? People say I would've died otherwise, it was just a scratch, superficial really, could've grabbed that doctor and had him stitch me up. Era has lived through worse. But no he had to go in and "Lay on Hands" me. Bloody ashes, I... I don't know.
Which brings me to the reason I was cut in the first place. That bloody, Oathbreaking, traitorous piece of offal, Dreamsbane. There I was walking out of the wall, sure I was told to leave the room, and I complied immediately. That did not warrant him cutting open my gut with his sword. And then Damien, I don't give a shit what anyone else says I know what he is, decides my head should be the next wall that is brought down. I get the "pooka's" reasons, he had another fight to attend to so he ended the one to get to the other. No big there. But that... Oathbreaker, to the House I Love and give merit to even, didn't even have the sense of honor to tell me I was fine. Maybe he's Winter Court (Unseelie) that doesn't mean he doesn't have to give reason for his attack. He could've used the pommel of the blade as well, no I think he did it as a way to strike back at the House he failed at, actually I know that he did it for that reason. No worries, he'll get his. Erzabeth basically gave us both a slap on the wrist, and I will honor her wishes. But if I see the man out of the streets I will not hesitate to attempt to rip his throat out. That's my two cents on that one.
Mat looks ready to destroy yet another desk with the ashandarei before he closes his eyes, mouths some words, and sighs. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes before turning them back to the pages of the journal.
Now on to other matters. Anthem. Giving someone your love usually comes with it's fair share of pain and I delivered hers in spades last week. Actually, that piece of garbage Dreamsbane did, but whatever. After I recovered, I was mostly comforting Sheila which is understandable with our bond and all. After she was calmed down, I went to Anthem. I don't think anyone beyond Sheila and Bridget has given me that much affection in a simple action as a hug. I reassured her that it was going to be okay that all I lost in it was a bit of blood and the coat and shirt I was wearing. Apparently Erzabeth is going to replace the coat, even though I have a lot of the same type and cut. If she wants to get one for me, who am I to refuse a gift from the Baroness, right?
Now, Sheila. My beloved. My wife. My everything. Now, to add to that list, the mother of our child. I am going to be a father. The poor kid. No, I will be a good father, albeit an absent one. Sheila is moving away. While Spokane is not that far, a couple hours if I push it, I am currently in a wartime situation and can't really leave. I know she'll be safe there, Countess Marged Efan will protect and take care of her and my child once it is born. I will do everything in my power to see that I am there soon. I love her and nothing will stand in my way should she come to harm.
Which reminds me. I think I am going to take a chance and follow his suggestion, albeit indirectly. I am going to pen a letter to Countess Morgan and Bridget. They will be the same letter, Attached will be a message for each of them expressing the necessity that getting the message or Lurk's father is a possible way to postpone or avoid my and Sheila's eventual encounter with him. I have too much on my plate to deal with a blood thirsty Red Cap looking to kill me.
Mat shakes his head again and looks over the pages, something seems to dawn on him and he begins writing anew.
Back on to the topic of "my Baron". I use the term loosely because well... anyway, I've expressed my views on that enough already. He has a real job for me. Something I might be useful at, albeit he couches in it something that is not possible for me to do, but if he wants my help, then I will give it as best I can. Let them draw blood first... bah. Fine, if they threaten me I will make sure they end up disabled. Putting a hole in a person's chest will disable them, right? Or cutting them in two, that will do it too, right? Disable is such a subjective term. Well, we'll see how it goes. We're in a war and he wants to call write out a treaty with the same bloody people who eradicated most of our population here in the first place. Light, who put him in that position!? Whatever, I will do what I can help the cause, and burn anyone who thinks I won't be helping the county by getting rid of a few Leopoldians in the process. (See what I did there, made a new word.)
Well, I think I need to work on the start of this story brewing in my head. Hey, isn't there a way to gather Glamour from yourself in art?
Mat closes the journal. Opens a drawer of the desk and sets it beside two ornate knives. He then gives a long look at the black binder. He pulls it to him and opens it up. WIth a soft snort, he grabs a normal pencil and flips to a blank page and writes in large letters,[color=Red][/color] "What Happened on the Darkest Side".
