Stocks' Waffle

[Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of an in-game trainee that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

Well that went fantastically. I hadn’t even began the first page, and already my face is covered in ink. In front of a room full of folk, too! What a fool I must have looked. Mrs. Dart looked a little offended, but what else could I do? I just ran for it. I don’t know what to make of this place. I’ve been here for a good while and still cannot decide why in the name of Avatar my father would send me here, of all places. The folk are unfriendly and unfamiliar; the jobs don’t require much intelligence and worst of all… They require the ability to fight. Me, Elissa… And combat?!

Admittedly, I’ve become rather adept with a sword, although still fairly shabby. My father is ashamed for me being a trainee after so long, he writes to tell me. And the other guards say I have an attitude problem. I do not have an attitude problem! I refuse to say that it is my fault that half of the men have the stench of a pig sty. And it is also not my fault that I do not obey their orders to run at their discretion. Just because I am sixteen does not mean I am oblivious to hygiene and weight issues. They really need to lose some!

I don’t quite understand why, but the guards around here make me afraid. The one who I fear the most is Captain Dart. I don’t know what it is... So stern and serious. Every time he walks past, I freeze up. It’s what can only be described as a wave of terror that overcomes me. I hope he didn’t see the ink on my face. What a state I was. It took one whole hour to scrub from my face and even now I have a small patch where it refuses to rinse clean.

The weather is harsh today, so much that the icy air hits your face like an avalanche. It has fallen dark now, so the weather is even worse. I feel like some sort of zombie or somnambulist that doesn’t want to edge from the foot of the bed when the sun rises. I do anticipate that I shall not be this ghastly at being a guardsman forever. Maybe that Rookie was right… Only real men can be real guardsmen. It is only now that I am beginning to contemplate that argument and slightly resent it.

I hope Captain Dart doesn’t become angered later. That is when he terrifies me the most. Unless he’s beating people over the head with a mace, of course. I ran from him earlier. A regrettable action now I come to think of it.

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[Louisa Dart]

20 Copper awarded.

[Elissa Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of a footman that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

I cannot believe that my almost-empty journal is still in the bottom drawer of this bunk. The place has been shifted around, yet the book is still here untouched. Glad no-one got hold of it.

I face a dilemma. The guardsmen are still fat, the unfriendliness is still entirely present and I am still as weak as before I took unofficial time away from duties. My duties, however, are not that of substance anyway. My body is still heavily resembling a bean-bole, and remains lacking significantly in any visible muscle. Not the desired features of a guardsman. No-one appears to have noticed that I had even left the Keep, not that I expected them to. I told them not to promote me; I don’t even trust myself to stick to duties.


Despite this, I stupidly decided to approach a Besieger and express my interests in their division. An inkling as to why I did this is at a loss, seeing as I have not even read anything about them or even dug any books or tomes up. As I sit here rushing writing, the said Besieger is stood near me. They are quite daunting, considering you cannot see their faces, not to mention the colour they wish to have their dead protein that sprouts from their scalps. My main concern is that I could never be that bulky, and my skills regarding a sword are just as dire and shabby as they were previously. Going away did not achieve me much, not even the escapism I set out to find. At least I paid the due respects to my father, like was originally planned from the day I set myself away from Stonekeep. It was only today I realised that, without him, I am infact entirely alone.

The factor to stray my mind from this terrifying fact is this job. This job that I loathe. Thinking about it, it is now my everything.

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[Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of a footman that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

*This page seems to have been written in a surge of haste, as the writing is less legible than the previous pages.*

I always expected my first encounter with an orc to be terrifying, when infact, I was only rather curious. He walked past me in the middle of the Keep and started spewing a strange and deranged language at me. The strings of supposed words included a lot of “pagog”’s, whatever that means.

Although not as intimidating, he (I do hope it was not a female) was as ugly, if not even more so, than I anticipated. His skin was all doubled up and... Well... Green. He seemed extremely conversational for an Orc. I did think that an orc would just pelt you with a rock or charge you and pile on top of you like a fat man playing bag ball. This one stood and “talked” to me, if that is what it was. I told him to leave, and he persisted to rambling. He eventually walked towards the crossroads, and I lost him for a minute or two. I peered along the roads and then heard something abstract growl in the background. Turning around, I noticed he was there, nicely blending with the trees.

After many times repeating the same thing, I realised he was saying he didn’t want me to follow him. Being on duty, I thought it best that I at least get him out of the vicinity of the Keep. We argued for a while, and I appeared to be fighting a losing battle with this thing. Realisation came upon me that I was being idiotic, debating with an orc. Surprisingly, after a minute or two, he turned his heavy weight to face in the opposite direction and began pacing away. I urged him to continue backing away from the Keep. During this time, he must have pulled out a weapon. The next thing I know, he’s sauntering back towards me with a big dagger in his hand. He did look as though he was about to strike, although he was too far away to do so. Due to his distance, I saw the way of coming out of this unharmed was to stay still and keep my face as expressionless as possible. I held my position for a good minute or so. He eventually lowered his dagger, turned back around and walked away – This time a tad faster than before.

I stood and watched him leave, and felt – for the first time since being in the Militia – like I had done some sort of duty. A duty that would be insignificant to most, especially seeing as I heard the said orc made a re-appearance later on. My reluctance to just hit the orc over the head would most likely have been perceived by other guardsmen as petty, despite my success in making him leave. To me however, it was one tiny step towards the aspiration of being a Besieger.

Forget tiny step; rephrase to invisible step. They’ll never allow me to be one.

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[Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of an in-game footman that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

Today I made my way up to Yew Mill, to pay my respects. A memorial had been placed by me and a fellow Footman a few months previously, but I had not been back since then. That day had been the most terrifying which I had ever had to endure. Although my remorse was for all of the people that were murdered there that day, my flowers were for one in particular. My orders had been to care for a boy, a young boy who was bleeding pints of blood from various wounds all over his body. I do not say “had been bleeding”, because this boy was still alive, lying in my arms as I sat there telling him it was going to be alright, wiping blood from his wounds hopelessly. The only humane thing I could have done was lie, and I still feel that conclusion is justified today.

I had watched him die, whilst people – citizens and guardsmen - flustered around me in both anger and distress. I remember the place holding a stench that was only to grow worse and the increasingly faint sound of the boy’s breathing as he lost his last moments of life. These vivid memories of what happened make me feel sick, and I feel sick as I write. I will always feel sick when I think about it.

When the faint breathing was no more, I did not remember the act of crying, although I do remember my tears falling onto his bloody face. I do not remember anything from that moment. According to the other guardsmen, I carried the boy to line him up with the rest of the victims and wrapped him in sheets. My recollection of this isn’t there for me to take the anger I have out on this page. Until this happened, I had not ever seen any murder, any deaths, any upset. Since the incident, I no longer have the complete sense of happiness and safety that I once had. In the place and job I currently hold, I do not see any room for an increase in that same happiness and safety, either.

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[Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of a footman that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

My shift at the Court last night made me ache. After seven hours sleep and some movement, I’m still aching. I definitely got a highlight from the shift though, which I was too scared to add to my official report: I got to sit in the judge’s chair! For a whole minute! Then I had heard footsteps coming from outside the door, so I had felt that I had to move. Too shame. I nay even know if there is a punishment for such an action, but I am however sure that it is frowned upon, especially whilst I was supposed to be on duty.

Today I was stood in the Keep, with two Marksmen and a Waywatcher. I think the Waywatcher is called Annwyn. I am not too sure of the others. They spoke about their immaturity they possessed at around the age I am now. I expressed my concerns that I am not fitting in too well here, and that I am a fair amount shabbier than the other Footmen. They said that a Footman’s job is to do the jobs that the Rookie’s are too lazy to do for themselves. If this is the case, I am wondering why I am here. I said I need money to provide for myself, and they percieved it as comical, because I am thinking of such things at a young age. I wonder if they were parentless and without family at sixteen. They also said how I am lucky, because most don’t even get past the rank of Trainee: They all tend to die before promotion. This was more scary than encouraging. Thankfully, I have only been injured once since I got here, and that was nowhere near fatal. I won’t count my blessings, though. I am wondering whether my actions whilst I am young will give me the scars that the Marksman said he had.

Mr. Nottinbury has given me my first task, which is to be less shy. I don’t think I’m too shy, and he rephrased it to “forthcoming”. He is sat here as I pen this in, as is another Besieger and a lute-strumming fellow. Hopefully there will be more worthwhile tasks upcoming.

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[Stocks]

(OOC: These are the ramblings of a footman that have been written in her journal. Naturally, this means that unless obtained from somewhere logical, these happenings and rants in this post and any following are unknown by any other than Elissa in-character. /OOC)

*The odd bit of blood has been wiped away and the ink has blotted in a few places on this page.*

I wasn’t expecting to see the Vesperian this morning when I did. It was early morning, on my patrol along the eastern road. He was rather shabby-looking, and his attire stood out more than most things along the lines of trees on either side of the road. When he saw me he looked alarmed at first. Then, I reckon his eyes had adjusted, noticing both my rank and sex. A force of habit, I simply said good morning to him, then asked his business. He said he was gathering companions – of a non-Vesperian nature – to help him invade Stonekeep. I took this as a joke, as the time was not exactly the best to go invading the Keep. I stated that he had best be on his way, and he wandered off. This man had a very friendly manner about him, despite the fact that he is one of the enemy.

Nevertheless, I quickly paced back up to the Keep to warn any people who may have been about or in their beds that a stray red man was walking around the Eastern Road.

I slept for a few hours early this evening as I had been on duty all morning and the afternoon, and awoke later to find that I had missed the battle against what has been referred to as the “Red Menace”. I have only taken part in one act of combat against these men, and they are rumoured to use Wytchcraft wherever they possibly can. Wandering out of the dormitories, there were many people from many places all discussing the battle. After it had died down, I made a joking remark towards a guard called “Madsen”, and he didn’t take it too jokily. He got rather defensive, as did I, admittedly. He is a peculiar man, not unlike a lot within the Militia. Only differences are that he isn’t as fat as most of them, and he tends the bar in his spare time. Seems he has a personal vendetta against me, however.

I went into the King’s Deer to enquire a Besieger about what my tasks to be a Besieger might be, if I ever get that far (give me a few years and I may have completed the first task). As he was telling me, “Madsen” persisted to interrupt and insult, telling me to shut my mouth when he was the one opening his. I over-reacted a tad, and the next thing I know, I have shards of an ale glass bottle hanging from my face. Miss Annwyn tried to sort my face out and stop the cuts from bleeding, and I am grateful. However, all I wanted to do at that moment was get away from him. I sat outside and concluded that I was not wrong about him. The Besieger came outside and ordered me to apologise to Madsen. I hesitated. I hesitated a lot. After a few minutes, I decided to swallow my pride and go ahead with it.

Madsen gave me a lecture on how I need to do this and that and blah blah blah. The Besieger even agreed with me that he is difficult. Anyone would have to be mad to disagree. I gave the Besieger a pleading look and he dismissed me. I proceeded to getting shards of glass from my face, a painful process. Who ever thought my first facial injury would be inflicted by a fellow guardsman? I hope my interactions with this one improve, for I cannot bear to be at verbally abusive war with him constantly throughout the years of my duties. He annoys me, I annoy him. Hopefully we can just let it lie.

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OOC: 125 Copper awarded.