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Post by Kaybrie on Jul 29, 2016 15:46:09 GMT -5
Dozens of pages are filled with mild day to day routines, people met and places of interest. At the top of each page are small single line scratches which deviate in color to a crimson ink and vary in number from page to page.
Preparation, Leadership, Confidence.
I keep these closest to me now, the docks have fallen into chaos without an authoritative presence... it's become all but impossible to protest here without a show of force. Every day more die and I'm unable to help them, and while we scheme toward acquiring weaponry I pray each day that we might resolve them without their use. Though it's an empty prayer, naught short of a miracle will stop the blood that flows in rivers to the shallows. Four young elves today stood up to the Apple Street Crowders, two were killed on the spot, one taken, and the fourth crippled almost beyond recognition and sent staggering through the streets... his injuries are severe, he will likely never hold more then a fleeting dream of a steady job nor a family to be proud of now. It enrages me to no end, such barbaric behavior is unfit for any living creature that walks on two legs... every time I see kin among their ranks it but fills me further with rancor and disgust.
I've largely kept to myself these past months, I march, I organize, I've done what I can do beat back over eager Crowders trying to impose themselves over our revolution. I pity the elves among them, I truly do... men and women deceived to dance on strings for their puppet master's... with a few I'm sure rising to hold honorific positions... not that I've seen them. I imagine they're there though, if only to present some measure of hope to the downtrodden that they might get somewhere for serving a criminal master. It's still a collar, still shackled, still leashed.
Atisheh keeps my hand steady in these times, encouraging me to avoid violence... to do what I can to work toward equality, she is both my muse and the apple in my eye. A truth that shows that we as humans and elves can work together and stand as equals and work toward better futures... as well as the one to whom I can lay my heart bear, and let down my guard for. I know I love her, and should we make it through this together, I will propose to spend the rest of our lives together... somewhere quiet and removed from these politics. If you're reading this my heart, poke your nose elsewhere!
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Post by Kaybrie on Aug 19, 2016 16:09:59 GMT -5
[ For some length the entries in the journal are little more then light notes. The events of certain days, bullet point lists of occurrences over unnamed expanses of time. Occasional poems can be found set against the pages, apart from normal entries. The writings summarize protests, riots, skirmishes and the like that continue to occur throughout the months. List injured and the names of the dead, noteworthy injuries and scars. The tone would abruptly shift with the flip of a single page, from a few bullet point notes remarking about a protest in the trade quarter, to panicked scribbling and despair. Powerful, emotional messages left in brief without any sense of meaning. When the flow of text begins anew the writing has lost it's crisp lines, and flowery style. Instead hen-scratching dominates the text as though written by a withered, or broken hand. ]
'I hope perhaps today, I can coherently place my thoughts to parchment.
My worries, my fears and doubts.
They shot her, there was no rhyme or reason... but they shot her.
Gods above I don't even know how everything fell so awry, do you even still watch over me now?
Morgan... Atisheh had decided to help organize a peaceful march in the trade quarter, a bold voiced protest to show that the riots in the docks weren't a problem that the CCPD, the merchants and the government could simply ignore. I chose not to involve myself directly in this instance, stepping outside the docks as an elven woman whom had participated, even lead some of these protests and riots. It was a tactical blunder in my eyes, but we weren't getting help and things weren't getting better for us fast enough. Elves, dwarves, and human alike all were burying loved ones, and something had to push us away from that path. So I don't begrudge her for her choice to take part in something so noble...
...I can't now even if I wanted to.
In spite of the march itself being a peaceful one, I chose to wear my armor, and carry my weaponry. I had seen how terrible and cruel the CCPD could be in the past, and while there were a few good men among them... they were utterly outnumbered by those of cruel or power driven intent... So I followed from a distance, choosing side streets and alleyway's to duck in and out of, skulking in shadows to avoid being spotted in the open. I didn't follow the events unfolding around the protest as closely as I could have, I would have fit right in with a number of mercenary units slowly moving up on the crowd, armed to the teeth like they were marching on the holy city rather then a gaggle of men and women trying to voice their concerns amidst the smothering despair of Calidor. The CCPD were the first to publicly move against the protest, surrounding them and caging them in like animals, their ranks swelled with the presence of mercenary dogs, eager to bark for whatever pay was offered.
It went exactly as the first riot had gone in the docks some six months ago. Shouting and profanities, barking and screaming continued to escalate... I moved out into the open to observe everything more clearly and the mob was already working into a frenzy, with guns, blades and all manner of killing instruments all aimed into the pit they'd been corralled into. I saw Atisheh amidst the crowd, she was shouting, screaming at those involved to quiet themselves, to calm down and not let the CCPD antagonize them. I tried to break through the line formed by the authorities though was immediately thrown back and restrained... told to remain calm by some man with pale skin and a dark beard. I watched helplessly as she clambered atop a lamppost, shouting out over the crowd... I pray I could have heard what she said, just to hear her voice one last time before that shot rang out.
My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest as I watched first her grip loosen, then her form tumble limply into the sea of men and women. She was gone from my sight, I screamed, I fought and tore at everyone and thing around me, I just wanted to see her again, I just wanted to make sure she was alright. To hold her in my arms again as I had for so long, even a chance to say goodbye...
Now I rest in the hospital, my legs both in splints, my ribs bound, I can't feel my left arm and my head continues to pound without respite. An officer said I would be moved to a cell when the doctor's thought I could handle the transfer. They didn't tell me how long I would be held, indefinite I heard one of them mutter under his breath. It doesn't matter now, I don't even have the will to care, my body is broken, my mind lost to apathy, and my heart left wounded and dying. I can't believe they would do this to us...
She's gone... she has been stolen away from me.
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Post by Kaybrie on Aug 26, 2016 16:44:59 GMT -5
[ Pages roll on with bullet-point offenses listed, particular names penned down with simple or no notations of their significance. Events ranging from mild offences, to spots of relief and optimism to tragic occurrence make their way through in point form. A few entries stand out as more unique then the others, often turned to more then the points between. ]
I'm not sure how I've made it this far.
My daily routine has been to wake up and go through an effort to make my cell as presentable as possible for the jailer's. It wasn't easy on a crutch with one usable arm, but I've made due so far. The guard's don't mind me as much since I don't give them trouble, not that I could if I wanted to at this juncture. But the isolation is starting to get to me, I started marking the walls with a piece of charcoal I was given, off near my cot so it's not anywhere anyone wants to look. Just keeping track of light that leaks in from outside passing into darkness. Something to keep my sanity in check.
Someone comes by each morning and afternoon with food, it's never anything palatable but it keeps my belly from twisting in a knot. I eat it quickly, picking out as much of the mould and as little of the food as I can manage, before sweeping it into my bucket before I relieve myself. Another prisoner had the 'audacity' to complain about it and they stopped feeding him for a few days... then dragged him out of his cell in a wrapped cloth. Dead no doubt.
The jailer's themselves don't seem to wear anything indicating them as member's of the CCPD, private contractor's perhaps? I almost regret writing that article the way I did in the paper. I can fix that later though. I hope.
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We all felt winter set in, the jail wasn't insulated so every night I've taken it upon myself to huddle under my mattress, wrapped in my blanket. The springs under my bed didn't serve any comfort to my restless nights then, but I was guarded from chills in the evening hours. I heard about someone dying on the floor above me one particularly chilly morning. Icicles were dangling from the cracks in the ceiling where rain normally dripped through. He was an older man, just quit his fight half way through the night and was carted off unceremoniously. A few prisoner's barked up at the guard's but when their blankets were threatened to be taken away, they quieted themselves.
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A week ago I took it upon myself to crack the casing on my cast, I had asked a guard if she could help me though instead I was mocked. She said that I wanted to fight for the elves' right to do things on their own, so now I could sleep in the bed I had made myself. It didn't bother me as much as it would have a year ago, I expected the answer truth be told. So it took me several days to tear away at each of my cast's when I had the energy, before finally pulling each of my limbs from them. The smell was awful.
I didn't notice it before, everything hidden under the casings that protected my arms, but I've become very thin, and deathly pale. I lifted my tunic and found my ribs jutting out under stretched skin, like I were already a standing skeleton. It is any wonder why I feel sick all the time now. All the moisture and coolness, I've developed a unhealthy cough to accompany my failing health. I wonder how long it will be before my body gives out, or if my spirit will break first. I don't think about fighting much anymore, just the pain, the isolation... I barely breath a few words each week to anyone else now. My only use of my voice comes in trying to comfort myself with song before I sleep, and when I read my journal aloud.
At least now I get the privilege of going out into the yard for a brief walk each day. It's still hard moving my legs, and I'm expected to keep pace chained to other inmates. They put a bag over my head with some small eye holes cut into it, poorly placed. I can see just enough to keep myself from tripping over rocks most of the time. My feet have been getting blisters since they didn't give me any shoes to wear once the cast's were off. So while I can walk again, I still keep to my bed most of the time, letting my feet rest as I can.
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Last night one of the other inmates managed to slip into my cell, he was thin and sickly as I was, probably squeezed through the bars judging by how small he was, I still haven't figured it out. I had barely any fight in me, woke up to him saying it was all the fault of that 'knife-eared bitch'. He loomed over me with a sharpened bed-spring in his hand, jumped down onto my bed and pinned me there before I could finish shaking off my exhaustion. We struggled for a few minutes, he was overpowering me though, that weapon slowly dipping down and cutting into my ear. I screamed, and the guards came in before he could get too deep, pulling him off me and beating him relentlessly with their clubs. They dragged him back to his cell after he fell unconscious and left him there... a few minutes ago the guards came with that white blanket and rolled him into it, carrying his limp body off to who-knows-where.
I had to use the water that was dripping down from the ceiling to clean the wound as best I could, the spring was rusty, and without medical treatment...
Is there a god?
I don't know anymore...
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Post by Kaybrie on Sept 15, 2016 13:27:06 GMT -5
[ For a dozen or so pages dietary lists are scratched onto the paper, as well as rough drafts for news articles and important names along with their associations. ]
My journey from that warehouse hasn't taken me far, but there have been countless steps.
Nyssandre is still here and easily slipped into the role of my confidant since we started talking and travelling together once more. She is as sure handed with her rifle as she ever had been, soft stepped in a way that I try to emulate now, and calm of mind when her pride isn't getting the better of her judgement. She's spiteful toward the gnomish people, which I cannot fault her for, I've only ever met a few of their kind who I can so much as tolerate let alone befriend. And she is wary of most non-elves whom haven't proven themselves personally to her.
I met up with another girl whom I'd known of but never really befriended, Luca. Another spritely little elf with the temprament and bluster to match or even shout down any dwarf I've met. She dresses in spiked armor and brazenly sports crimson cloth for highlights, using two blades in close quarters combat, a skillset I've moved to learn in light of my body's inability to take a blow any longer. And while we've had some... troubling encounters together, she remains a steadfast ally I pray, in the days to come.
I've seen a few doctor's, Roaen, Emmanuel (surprised he's still around, at least he isn't wearing blue anymore), and a dark skinned human woman, Octavia. Each of them has contributed in their own way to my recovery, and with each of them cross referencing each other, I think I can say that none of them could try to hurt me with their treatments without collaborating. I hope my trust isn't misplaced in regards to them, but private doctor's off the streets are less likely to be paid off by anyone who matters.
Do I even matter anymore? Since I came back I've heard no signs of any elves still putting up any fight... I see them swinging from ropes occasionally, killed or gutted in the streets, and I'm the recipient of no end of racism. It reminds me of before the rebellion started, before everything we fought for went through. Was I wrong? Emmanuel's plan wouldn't have gone anywhere... I know that now... Would have given those elves a false sense of comfort before the Privateer's moved in and kicked everything back to status quo. Sad to see people fighting with them, like it'll change anything. If anything, I somewhat see those privateer's as the force of entropy within this city now. If the highest bidder gets their services, then the only people those in those companies will serve are the high master's of Calidor.
A final thing I feel obligated to write about, though part of me just wants to forget and move on; Artorius. A bushy tailed green reckless idiot... He got some measure of payback for us on that Vincent crowder, taking his eye out after he sold us out to Apple Street. More recently, in the past few days, him and Nyssandre took job for the Wolves. Those privateer's blasted in through the door of the warehouse they were hired to protect and wiped out all the crowder's inside, set a bunch of murderer's loose (no prison's my ass), then executed Artorius for cutting out that fuck's eye.
Not that fair means anything, I'm just as sure the human who put Artorius down would have just as happily killed any of us. Glad Nyssandre made it out... But we lost a good boy there, he believed we could be something worth respecting as a people.
I pray every night we still are.
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Post by Kaybrie on Oct 23, 2016 0:41:05 GMT -5
 A woman stared off into the endless dunes of a forgotten world, grains of sand and the bones of the long dead was all that was within sight... a familiar yet alien landscape to one whom was so intimately familiar with death and loss. She affirmed to herself that it wasn't real, that it was a dream that couldn't hurt her, and so she began to walk. Her steps carried her forward into the desert, across dunes and sandy pits without end. It was how the world was to end, that is what she was told by the sage before she came here. And she believed it, it was more real to her then she knew... she experienced it back home, the last gasp of elven civilization stranded on a raft in a sea of endless death and heat. This wasn't a battle she could win, it wasn't a foe she could slay, it was the last gasps of a dying world... she could taste it in the thin air, the tingling sharpness against her skin.
Her eyes continued to quietly gaze about as she drank it all in, the first sign of life she'd seen in who knew how long, the skeletal remains of a beast from some timeless age before. It's body was massive as such that it would have dwarfed any living thing she knew had it been in the prime of life. And yet still, this dragon lay dead amidst the sands of an all consuming erosion... battling against time itself. It was unwinnable, and she felt it in her bones.
A hand reached up to brush beneath her nose as she felt a light sting within, but when her glove retracted it was covered in blood... another brush across her cheek and more of her blood stained her cloths. She looked upon herself and saw the sand had been cutting away from her body since she arrived, wearing her away like water upon a stone. Her tireless advance finally came to an end, and she looked down into the sand, watching her blood drip down, staining the dunes crimson. It didn't matter though, this was inevitable... she had understood that from the moment she arrived.
She noticed buried in the sand between her feet a strange shape as she slowly felt the strength leaving her body, sagging to her knees. Her blood red gloves dipped into the sand and pulled forth the skull of a long dead child. She couldn't tell now, her vision so blurry, be it an elf or human of origin... it didn't matter though. Her blood cried out to both, smears of it wiped across the bone marrow and she weeps inside, an itch in her minds eye screaming at her for being worthless to her kind for not bearing healthy children while she was strong. Another part lamented that any child born into this world, would inevitably be cursed with this fate, this battle against a foe that would never yield... entropy.
She pulled the bloody skull close to herself, wrapping her arms around it and pulling her knee's under it protectively as her body collapsed on its side, her head turning skyward, seeking one final glance to something of beauty before it ended. Was this real? Did it matter? Could it finally just end here? Her vision continued to blur as she felt the sands swallowing her up. She gazed upon an unfamiliar sky, verses haunting the back of her mind from the teachings of her faith were silenced by her plea for a moment's peace as the final rest took her. So did her eyes slowly drift shut, under a sky filled with unfamiliar stars, and a sun rising upon the wrong horizon. |
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