Post by sparky on Jul 25, 2017 15:40:55 GMT -5
The day of riding to meet with Ser Friedrich, Madam Geroux and the young baron, now prince, Wolfgang von Stargfelsen, was spent in silence on Carter’s end, most of his ride spent in deep thought, his near trance only breaking when his friends would catch his attention to follow a direction or when they needed to stop. Occasionally, he’d take out his journal to make some quick notes, perhaps for his Lead Investigator’s Logs, but overall keeping to himself. Once they met up with the young Prince and his current escort, the one boy’s father, now king, Leopold von Stargfelsen, had sent with the group, greetings were exchanged, and conversation had. After this, as most of his friends went to speak with the resident of this clearing, Carter would sit down by the fire, flipping to a new page in his journal, and began writing.
I sit here in the snow, as Sirs Klaus Schmidt and Herzog Klein pack young Prince Wolfgang von Stargfelsen’s things. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve failed this young boy. Sent here to investigate his mother’s death, end up doing his father’s dirty work, fight off the Kaiser’s army laying siege to his home. And yet, my team and I failed to do the one thing that we’d came here to do, and we leave without catching his mother’s killer. We didn’t have the time, but perhaps we prioritized the wrong things. We put the people of this land above this boy and his father. Maybe we were right to do so. Maybe not. I’ll never know, nor should I- that is for Hera to know. What I do know is that I must live with the choices I’ve made, as we all must. When Ser Friedrich learned that I had attempted to shoot his past squire, Ser Jacqueline the Red, the look of disapproval, putting it mildly, was ll too clear. However, I hold no regrets on my attempt- She was the enemy leader, after all, giving the orders on the cannon barrage. If I’d managed to make my shot, perhaps it would’ve ended the fighting sooner. Perhaps it would’ve made things worse. Either way, I’m sure he’ll come to understand, in time, that I hold no personal ill will towards her, or any in his order. I suppose only time will tell on that front.
Carter is interrupted in his journal entry by Kitara, setting his entry aside to speak with her over her woes. After some time, and their friends return, the group parts with the young prince and his knightly retinue, a teary goodbye for some of the newly pronounced Knight Protectors of Stargfelsen. After a short time, those from Calidor mount up to make their way for the city of Neermore, to catch their train. Once Carter is back in town, he rides to his aunt and uncle’s house, the house that the pair had raised him as their own in, with any of his compatriots that would wish to join him.
Arriving at the house, a small abode, Carter and anyone joining him for the visit would be greeted by a tall, broad shouldered, bearded man in his early to mid-fifties, his chestnut hair starting to grey, and red headed Elven woman getting on in years, that would greet each with a kind smile, speaking with a Hellwhyle accent. Carter would introduce the pair as being his Uncle Francis and Aunt Sammie Crenshaw, respectively. Carter makes the introductions for his friends, and goes to steal his seat near the living room fireplace, where his aunt would be questioning him on what has him looking so troubled, and why he’s favouring a shoulder, which Carter would simply tell her that he needs to have a talk with her and Frank. Upon telling them of the events that transpired in Stargfelsen, leaving a few choice details out, such as the severity of the siege, and a certain mythical creature, Sammie would go into a full panic, questions shouted of how he could be so reckless, of why wasn’t he more careful, swatting his shoulder and attempting to shake some sense into him- Usual motherly concerns, with Carter, jokingly, saying that she’s doing more harm to him than the Saderian army did. Francis would end up getting between them, giving assurances that the young man had stood by his principles, and that it was a good thing, resting a hand on Carter’s shoulder and giving a nod, before cuffing him upside the head, and telling him to be more careful, in the future.
Sammie would eventually go to get dinner ready, and around that time another pair of people, a man baring a striking resemblance to Francis, save for some more angular features to his cheeks and jaw, and a red hue to his hair, and a woman, short, with blond hair, who Carter introduces as the newly-wed couple Frederick and Lisa. Everyone who came with Carter would be invited to stay for dinner, and there was evidently not an option to skip out on Carter’s part. Over the dinner, questions would be asked, stories swapped of Francis’ own time in the NRA and the Neermoran Police Force, stories of him and Carter’s father, Robert, and of the news of Lisa being pregnant. After dinner, Carter would tell his friends that he would catch up with them, but must see to something first, heading up the stairs, and up into his room in the loft. There, he’d light a lamp, open his journal, and pick up where he left off in his writing.
Five hundred. That’s how many stood against the Kaiser’s forces. Five hundred, against five thousand, at least. With us, I suppose, and the “wizard” Barry and his oaf, so that’d make five hundred and ten. And five hundred and ten pushed five thousand back. With the help of a blizzard, and heavy losses. Only twenty men made it into the manor with us, but another ten were found in the houses and stables, after the week during and cleaning up after the blizzard. Thirty left, of the men that stood and held the keep, dealing some three thousand, four hundred casualties to the enemy, we held them back. Perhaps pure luck. But still, we held. I’d never thought in all my life I’d see that much death at once. Never before first arriving in Calidor did I think I’d see death, first hand. Sure, I’d seen the dead, but not seen those people actually die before. And never did I think I’d see it this sort of scale. Using tactics of the old ways, of sword, and shield, and knights. Of siege towers, cannons, catapults, trebuchets and cavalry. With some hypocritical use of modern day technology, on the Kaiser’s side. This was the old way of war. If death can be managed on this scale with auto-crossbows, swords, fire and gas, how then might it have been greater with the introduction of guns? If we’d been armed with rifles, with machine gun emplacements, instead of automatic crossbows and catapults? I now shudder to think of the toll that modern warfare would have wrought. What it will bring. Something I’d never thought of before, when I was making guns in Calidor. The forward march of the modern age is written in the blood of those who cannot or will not adapt, and that ink is drawn by what new instruments of mass slaughter we can create. It sickens me to my core, to think that I’ve had a hand in this sort of carnage. That I’ve potentially put firearms into the hands of those that would gladly look upon the rows of dead now lined up outside the keep, and call it a success. I’m not entirely certain I can continue my business, when we are back in that Mother forsaken city. I’ll be taking time off of it, to think, and evaluate whether I can. I think I already know what James’ and Kitara’s response will be, let alone Doc’s and Allison’s. However, while being one of the best, one of the few independents in Calidor, I’m by no means the only one. They can always go to Frazer while I take this break.
While we were stopped at that Crone’s grove, with the rest of the team going to ask their questions, and Grayson asking of young Margit, where we might find her, I was sorely tempted to go and ask about them- The one that has occupied my nightmares since I first ran into it, three years ago, when I was a Copper in Calidor. I still regret staying in that city. Looking over those I call friends, I’m still but a young raven among an experienced flock. Uncle Francis joined the NRA when he was twenty, with my father. I joined the CCPD at that age. I know it’s starting to get to him that maybe I wasn’t ready to see such sights yet. Perhaps he’s right. But, I still feel I owe it to those that fall victim in that city to go back. To try and catch those that do them wrong, and bring them some peace. Perhaps I’m being a bit too altruistic about it. Perhaps this is where my own sense of honour leads me- To get for others what I haven’t gotten for myself. What I do know is that I’m already starting to feel old, even if my body’s still in its prime. I feel tired. But still, I must go on. There shall be time for rest later. My aunt and uncle may try to stop me from going back, but I’m sure that they’ll see there’s no use in trying.
The train shall be calling for boarding, soon. I should go down and get the others going. Perhaps I should consider writing this experience as a book- With certain details changed and edited, it’d make for a good story. But, who’d want to read it?
Detective Carter Crenshaw, Knight Protector of Stargfelsen
Once back in Calidor, and back in his apartment, Carter sits down in his office to finish his final log for the Chesters, for this investigation. Once done, he sits back, looking out of the window behind his desk for a few moments. He then gets up out of his seat, retrieving a canvas, some charcoal, and an easel from the other end of his office, setting it up, and begging to do a charcoal rubbing of a scene. After a few hours work, the beginnings of a full piece is set in place, and he sets out to deliver his log book.
In the coming days, the piece would be finished, depicting a landscape, looking out and over the Stargfelsen parade field, and ending on the keep, under cloudy skies, with the sun beginning to peak out from behind them, at dawn. The parade is a pure white field of snow, with lines drawn in for the crests of snow drifts, which slowly becomes snow covered, broken siege weapons and soldiers as the scene reaches the keep’s outer walls, the gates of the city itself visible beyond, with the azure banner of Stargfelsen still hanging. The ground before the walls of the keep is pitted and cratered, with the wall facing the parade grounds having several chunks taken out, and a pair of ramparts destroyed. Inside the keep itself, burnt houses and fallen men dot the scene, poking up out of snow drifts, the gates of the high walls knocked in, but the azure banner of that proud griffin still standing tall. Once he piece is finished, Carter hangs it over his fireplace with a nod, writing his initials in the corner. Should anyone get the chance, if one checked the back of the canvas, written there would be the name of the piece- Birth of a Nation.
I sit here in the snow, as Sirs Klaus Schmidt and Herzog Klein pack young Prince Wolfgang von Stargfelsen’s things. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve failed this young boy. Sent here to investigate his mother’s death, end up doing his father’s dirty work, fight off the Kaiser’s army laying siege to his home. And yet, my team and I failed to do the one thing that we’d came here to do, and we leave without catching his mother’s killer. We didn’t have the time, but perhaps we prioritized the wrong things. We put the people of this land above this boy and his father. Maybe we were right to do so. Maybe not. I’ll never know, nor should I- that is for Hera to know. What I do know is that I must live with the choices I’ve made, as we all must. When Ser Friedrich learned that I had attempted to shoot his past squire, Ser Jacqueline the Red, the look of disapproval, putting it mildly, was ll too clear. However, I hold no regrets on my attempt- She was the enemy leader, after all, giving the orders on the cannon barrage. If I’d managed to make my shot, perhaps it would’ve ended the fighting sooner. Perhaps it would’ve made things worse. Either way, I’m sure he’ll come to understand, in time, that I hold no personal ill will towards her, or any in his order. I suppose only time will tell on that front.
Carter is interrupted in his journal entry by Kitara, setting his entry aside to speak with her over her woes. After some time, and their friends return, the group parts with the young prince and his knightly retinue, a teary goodbye for some of the newly pronounced Knight Protectors of Stargfelsen. After a short time, those from Calidor mount up to make their way for the city of Neermore, to catch their train. Once Carter is back in town, he rides to his aunt and uncle’s house, the house that the pair had raised him as their own in, with any of his compatriots that would wish to join him.
Arriving at the house, a small abode, Carter and anyone joining him for the visit would be greeted by a tall, broad shouldered, bearded man in his early to mid-fifties, his chestnut hair starting to grey, and red headed Elven woman getting on in years, that would greet each with a kind smile, speaking with a Hellwhyle accent. Carter would introduce the pair as being his Uncle Francis and Aunt Sammie Crenshaw, respectively. Carter makes the introductions for his friends, and goes to steal his seat near the living room fireplace, where his aunt would be questioning him on what has him looking so troubled, and why he’s favouring a shoulder, which Carter would simply tell her that he needs to have a talk with her and Frank. Upon telling them of the events that transpired in Stargfelsen, leaving a few choice details out, such as the severity of the siege, and a certain mythical creature, Sammie would go into a full panic, questions shouted of how he could be so reckless, of why wasn’t he more careful, swatting his shoulder and attempting to shake some sense into him- Usual motherly concerns, with Carter, jokingly, saying that she’s doing more harm to him than the Saderian army did. Francis would end up getting between them, giving assurances that the young man had stood by his principles, and that it was a good thing, resting a hand on Carter’s shoulder and giving a nod, before cuffing him upside the head, and telling him to be more careful, in the future.
Sammie would eventually go to get dinner ready, and around that time another pair of people, a man baring a striking resemblance to Francis, save for some more angular features to his cheeks and jaw, and a red hue to his hair, and a woman, short, with blond hair, who Carter introduces as the newly-wed couple Frederick and Lisa. Everyone who came with Carter would be invited to stay for dinner, and there was evidently not an option to skip out on Carter’s part. Over the dinner, questions would be asked, stories swapped of Francis’ own time in the NRA and the Neermoran Police Force, stories of him and Carter’s father, Robert, and of the news of Lisa being pregnant. After dinner, Carter would tell his friends that he would catch up with them, but must see to something first, heading up the stairs, and up into his room in the loft. There, he’d light a lamp, open his journal, and pick up where he left off in his writing.
Five hundred. That’s how many stood against the Kaiser’s forces. Five hundred, against five thousand, at least. With us, I suppose, and the “wizard” Barry and his oaf, so that’d make five hundred and ten. And five hundred and ten pushed five thousand back. With the help of a blizzard, and heavy losses. Only twenty men made it into the manor with us, but another ten were found in the houses and stables, after the week during and cleaning up after the blizzard. Thirty left, of the men that stood and held the keep, dealing some three thousand, four hundred casualties to the enemy, we held them back. Perhaps pure luck. But still, we held. I’d never thought in all my life I’d see that much death at once. Never before first arriving in Calidor did I think I’d see death, first hand. Sure, I’d seen the dead, but not seen those people actually die before. And never did I think I’d see it this sort of scale. Using tactics of the old ways, of sword, and shield, and knights. Of siege towers, cannons, catapults, trebuchets and cavalry. With some hypocritical use of modern day technology, on the Kaiser’s side. This was the old way of war. If death can be managed on this scale with auto-crossbows, swords, fire and gas, how then might it have been greater with the introduction of guns? If we’d been armed with rifles, with machine gun emplacements, instead of automatic crossbows and catapults? I now shudder to think of the toll that modern warfare would have wrought. What it will bring. Something I’d never thought of before, when I was making guns in Calidor. The forward march of the modern age is written in the blood of those who cannot or will not adapt, and that ink is drawn by what new instruments of mass slaughter we can create. It sickens me to my core, to think that I’ve had a hand in this sort of carnage. That I’ve potentially put firearms into the hands of those that would gladly look upon the rows of dead now lined up outside the keep, and call it a success. I’m not entirely certain I can continue my business, when we are back in that Mother forsaken city. I’ll be taking time off of it, to think, and evaluate whether I can. I think I already know what James’ and Kitara’s response will be, let alone Doc’s and Allison’s. However, while being one of the best, one of the few independents in Calidor, I’m by no means the only one. They can always go to Frazer while I take this break.
While we were stopped at that Crone’s grove, with the rest of the team going to ask their questions, and Grayson asking of young Margit, where we might find her, I was sorely tempted to go and ask about them- The one that has occupied my nightmares since I first ran into it, three years ago, when I was a Copper in Calidor. I still regret staying in that city. Looking over those I call friends, I’m still but a young raven among an experienced flock. Uncle Francis joined the NRA when he was twenty, with my father. I joined the CCPD at that age. I know it’s starting to get to him that maybe I wasn’t ready to see such sights yet. Perhaps he’s right. But, I still feel I owe it to those that fall victim in that city to go back. To try and catch those that do them wrong, and bring them some peace. Perhaps I’m being a bit too altruistic about it. Perhaps this is where my own sense of honour leads me- To get for others what I haven’t gotten for myself. What I do know is that I’m already starting to feel old, even if my body’s still in its prime. I feel tired. But still, I must go on. There shall be time for rest later. My aunt and uncle may try to stop me from going back, but I’m sure that they’ll see there’s no use in trying.
The train shall be calling for boarding, soon. I should go down and get the others going. Perhaps I should consider writing this experience as a book- With certain details changed and edited, it’d make for a good story. But, who’d want to read it?
Detective Carter Crenshaw, Knight Protector of Stargfelsen
Once back in Calidor, and back in his apartment, Carter sits down in his office to finish his final log for the Chesters, for this investigation. Once done, he sits back, looking out of the window behind his desk for a few moments. He then gets up out of his seat, retrieving a canvas, some charcoal, and an easel from the other end of his office, setting it up, and begging to do a charcoal rubbing of a scene. After a few hours work, the beginnings of a full piece is set in place, and he sets out to deliver his log book.
In the coming days, the piece would be finished, depicting a landscape, looking out and over the Stargfelsen parade field, and ending on the keep, under cloudy skies, with the sun beginning to peak out from behind them, at dawn. The parade is a pure white field of snow, with lines drawn in for the crests of snow drifts, which slowly becomes snow covered, broken siege weapons and soldiers as the scene reaches the keep’s outer walls, the gates of the city itself visible beyond, with the azure banner of Stargfelsen still hanging. The ground before the walls of the keep is pitted and cratered, with the wall facing the parade grounds having several chunks taken out, and a pair of ramparts destroyed. Inside the keep itself, burnt houses and fallen men dot the scene, poking up out of snow drifts, the gates of the high walls knocked in, but the azure banner of that proud griffin still standing tall. Once he piece is finished, Carter hangs it over his fireplace with a nod, writing his initials in the corner. Should anyone get the chance, if one checked the back of the canvas, written there would be the name of the piece- Birth of a Nation.
