Evangeline, Nation-Breaker - An AAR (Chapter 37 Posted)
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killer110 说:Poor Jordan. After I take out the Rhodoks I am so going after the Khergits!
Edit:+50 points for first post on page 9!
They're already gone in mine.
They wouldn't stay away from my fiefs and I couldn't catch them so I took more direct action. 
I AM HOBO OF DOOM
Knight at Arms
Bump
Chapter 30
February 6th, 1258 - February 16th, 1258
"I boast 75 men now, nearly as many as I would feel comfortable under my command. I was told that my last man, Jeremus, has been seen in Shariz where the Rhodoks and their again-allies the Swadians are pounding against the Sarranids holding there. He'll be safe enough; a capable and willing doctor is never a hated thing in these times. Though the Swadians and Rhodoks are again allied officially I doubt this alliance will last any longer than the last: merely to the first victories then they'll be back looking out for their own interests. They will, however, take any Khergit or Sarranid pressure off of me as I reassemble my forces. I'm still unsure as to the cause of my popularity with the Khergits but I suspect some sort of foul political motives. Always jostling, they are, trying to impress each other..."
"I started that fight, I know I did... I... I almost can't believe what came over me. Was it murder? Was it really a fight? Should he have not looked at me that way? What if I'd... I HAVE to get control. A drunk man winking at me in a tavern is no reason to get Annabelle wet. I could have ignored him, I should have let it slide unless he pushed it. I was out of line and out of my mind. Looking back on it now if I were watching from across the bar I'd say the woman that killed that man was far too insane to left out on the street alone."
"It is the 12th of February. I lead 73 mounted men. We are spending some time with the raiders along the Vaegir coast so that I and mine may train them up before assaulting the Khergits and Sarranids down south. For the time being I have made peace with the Vaegirs and they were all too happy to not have me as an enemy at this time. They want to see me set loose on the folk of the steppes and sands instead of their forests... Only now do I look about and notice that I am grateful all of my irregulars have returned to me. I thought some - none specifically, but some - would take the opportunity to run free of this life. I can't say what specifically is wrong with bringing the sword to those who hate freedom but it seems like there should be an easier way to live."
"February 15th - I'm learning a lot about sieges. First Dhirim and now Shariz. I took my first man in the second generation of Lancer Guard into battle today and we fought alongside a dozen or more Rhodok lords as they stormed the city. I see now why this place has been taken so many times: the main gates are shattered and the secondary wall is much too low, ladders scale it easily. At least one thing may be said for the lords in these lands: they are formidable warriors. I itch to test my hand against one in single combat but then I have never been one to give up an advantage so I think instead I'll stick with what I've been doing: chasing them down, beating their armies, and hoping to catch them at the end when I can let my soldiers beat them stupid and then I'll come stomp on their skulls. So far the first half of this strategy has been quite effective but the second half needs work.
During the battle I again used both my Annabelle and crossbow to devastating effect. As the Rhodoks charged the wall I picked off archers and once the swordsmen had cleared the area I drew my own blade and charged in - to meet the enemy reinforcements. My one lancer, Rolf, a few Rhodok lords, and I held the line then pushed them back in a mighty shove. For a moment only the battle stopped and the 7 or 8 of us grinned hungrily and breathed deeply and evenly at the dozens of them. Then our own reinforcements charged and we slammed back into the enemy. I remember clearly thinking how much I hate those flowing robes and head coverings. With a fury I struck several from heads and sometimes heads from shoulders.
When the battle was over Jeremus was easy to find since I knew where all the dying had gone on. I gave him a day to practice his art then asked if he would like to rejoin. The look he gave seemed to be grateful and, out of his familiar surgeon's robes back into his steel on a horse heading out of the conquered city he finally seemed at ease. I questioned him on this, afraid to find he was losing his interest in shorn bodies. Instead he answered that a field was an infinitely cleaner place to work than an oft-besieged city. He and I discussed the differences and his confident theory that many people living and dying in filthy close proximity not only makes them more likely to die by another person but also from some sickness and then if they live are less likely to make a full recovery. I considered his words carefully. If his theory was correct - which simple observation seemed to prove it to be - then cleanliness was to be a serious concern for a leader like myself, bent on revolution. Calling Artimenner over the three of us talked and thought all the way to sun-down when it was time to make camp.
That night Basher came to see me and inquire about our travel deeper into Sarranid lands. 'We'll be turning north,' I told him. 'To meet some Khergit sons of whores.' I tried to grin or smile or wink at the end there but nothing came. I just stared into his face and felt the urge to strike him if he didn't agree immediately boiling up inside me. Rage and fear suddenly threatened to swamp me. We were going for vengeance, simple as that. I was furiously mad and scared tharn. I couldn't bring myself to order any other action. The impossible and unreal thought flittered through my mind to say 'Alright boys, I'm out of here. We've had a good long run but I'm mentally damaged and would like to go home now. No, no, it's not so much that I fear repeated capture it's that I'm scared witless of what I become sometimes, what I became that time - what being captured released in me. So this is goodbye, you guys have fun.' Instead I order the men north for vengeance that I know can't be had.
I think I must be trying to face my fears. Come face to face with men just like the ones I killed to escape and NOT tear their throats out with my teeth. You know, go back to the good ol' days of just staving their faces in with Annabelle through a visor. I want to face them and not lose my mind, instead just fight them like I used to: with sanity. I'm going to make a mess up there for fury; I can only hope that I manage to direct myself enough to make it serve my cause.
At this point it seems as though anything I do against the nobles of any allegiance weakens them as a whole so is a good thing. I know there is a flaw in this logic somewhere but I'm too scattered to figure out just exactly what it is. Until I do the men that will be dying up north might be wasted. As for snapping myself out of this, remembering my old motivations, seeing a burning village again stirred up that unholy bloodlust more than righteous indignation. I had to turn away until the darkness faded to its place, chattering and thrashing in the background."
February 6th, 1258 - February 16th, 1258
"I boast 75 men now, nearly as many as I would feel comfortable under my command. I was told that my last man, Jeremus, has been seen in Shariz where the Rhodoks and their again-allies the Swadians are pounding against the Sarranids holding there. He'll be safe enough; a capable and willing doctor is never a hated thing in these times. Though the Swadians and Rhodoks are again allied officially I doubt this alliance will last any longer than the last: merely to the first victories then they'll be back looking out for their own interests. They will, however, take any Khergit or Sarranid pressure off of me as I reassemble my forces. I'm still unsure as to the cause of my popularity with the Khergits but I suspect some sort of foul political motives. Always jostling, they are, trying to impress each other..."
"I started that fight, I know I did... I... I almost can't believe what came over me. Was it murder? Was it really a fight? Should he have not looked at me that way? What if I'd... I HAVE to get control. A drunk man winking at me in a tavern is no reason to get Annabelle wet. I could have ignored him, I should have let it slide unless he pushed it. I was out of line and out of my mind. Looking back on it now if I were watching from across the bar I'd say the woman that killed that man was far too insane to left out on the street alone."
"It is the 12th of February. I lead 73 mounted men. We are spending some time with the raiders along the Vaegir coast so that I and mine may train them up before assaulting the Khergits and Sarranids down south. For the time being I have made peace with the Vaegirs and they were all too happy to not have me as an enemy at this time. They want to see me set loose on the folk of the steppes and sands instead of their forests... Only now do I look about and notice that I am grateful all of my irregulars have returned to me. I thought some - none specifically, but some - would take the opportunity to run free of this life. I can't say what specifically is wrong with bringing the sword to those who hate freedom but it seems like there should be an easier way to live."
"February 15th - I'm learning a lot about sieges. First Dhirim and now Shariz. I took my first man in the second generation of Lancer Guard into battle today and we fought alongside a dozen or more Rhodok lords as they stormed the city. I see now why this place has been taken so many times: the main gates are shattered and the secondary wall is much too low, ladders scale it easily. At least one thing may be said for the lords in these lands: they are formidable warriors. I itch to test my hand against one in single combat but then I have never been one to give up an advantage so I think instead I'll stick with what I've been doing: chasing them down, beating their armies, and hoping to catch them at the end when I can let my soldiers beat them stupid and then I'll come stomp on their skulls. So far the first half of this strategy has been quite effective but the second half needs work.
During the battle I again used both my Annabelle and crossbow to devastating effect. As the Rhodoks charged the wall I picked off archers and once the swordsmen had cleared the area I drew my own blade and charged in - to meet the enemy reinforcements. My one lancer, Rolf, a few Rhodok lords, and I held the line then pushed them back in a mighty shove. For a moment only the battle stopped and the 7 or 8 of us grinned hungrily and breathed deeply and evenly at the dozens of them. Then our own reinforcements charged and we slammed back into the enemy. I remember clearly thinking how much I hate those flowing robes and head coverings. With a fury I struck several from heads and sometimes heads from shoulders.
When the battle was over Jeremus was easy to find since I knew where all the dying had gone on. I gave him a day to practice his art then asked if he would like to rejoin. The look he gave seemed to be grateful and, out of his familiar surgeon's robes back into his steel on a horse heading out of the conquered city he finally seemed at ease. I questioned him on this, afraid to find he was losing his interest in shorn bodies. Instead he answered that a field was an infinitely cleaner place to work than an oft-besieged city. He and I discussed the differences and his confident theory that many people living and dying in filthy close proximity not only makes them more likely to die by another person but also from some sickness and then if they live are less likely to make a full recovery. I considered his words carefully. If his theory was correct - which simple observation seemed to prove it to be - then cleanliness was to be a serious concern for a leader like myself, bent on revolution. Calling Artimenner over the three of us talked and thought all the way to sun-down when it was time to make camp.
That night Basher came to see me and inquire about our travel deeper into Sarranid lands. 'We'll be turning north,' I told him. 'To meet some Khergit sons of whores.' I tried to grin or smile or wink at the end there but nothing came. I just stared into his face and felt the urge to strike him if he didn't agree immediately boiling up inside me. Rage and fear suddenly threatened to swamp me. We were going for vengeance, simple as that. I was furiously mad and scared tharn. I couldn't bring myself to order any other action. The impossible and unreal thought flittered through my mind to say 'Alright boys, I'm out of here. We've had a good long run but I'm mentally damaged and would like to go home now. No, no, it's not so much that I fear repeated capture it's that I'm scared witless of what I become sometimes, what I became that time - what being captured released in me. So this is goodbye, you guys have fun.' Instead I order the men north for vengeance that I know can't be had.
I think I must be trying to face my fears. Come face to face with men just like the ones I killed to escape and NOT tear their throats out with my teeth. You know, go back to the good ol' days of just staving their faces in with Annabelle through a visor. I want to face them and not lose my mind, instead just fight them like I used to: with sanity. I'm going to make a mess up there for fury; I can only hope that I manage to direct myself enough to make it serve my cause.
At this point it seems as though anything I do against the nobles of any allegiance weakens them as a whole so is a good thing. I know there is a flaw in this logic somewhere but I'm too scattered to figure out just exactly what it is. Until I do the men that will be dying up north might be wasted. As for snapping myself out of this, remembering my old motivations, seeing a burning village again stirred up that unholy bloodlust more than righteous indignation. I had to turn away until the darkness faded to its place, chattering and thrashing in the background."
RL is such a constant bore, but keep it up, you're our only hope.
I AM HOBO OF DOOM
Knight at Arms
Bump
Chapter 31
February 17, 1258 - March 5th, 1258
"The bloodlust has manifested itself again... I think I probably could have taken Unuzdaq Castle all on my own, the way everyone reacted to me - at least after. I don't remember much. Borcha reported that the Vaegirs were taking that castle from Sarranids. Blood thoughts rained through my mind and a little voice said that it would be good to know that castle, any castle, every castle in a siege situation. I ordered my men to join the assault but not to fraternize with the Vaegir troops. I could see that Basher wanted to question my decision, if only to know more about my grand strategy. If only he knew that my grand strategy was to not go mad... And why not tell him? Why not tell all the men? Because then they'd always wonder which decisions of mine were made in bloodlust and which in cold logic. I'm not sure which I would prefer as a soldier but I do know that it'd be best to be lead by only one form of cruelty, not both sporadically; at least then it's predictable.
Basher doesn't come ask me what I am thinking like he used to; Lezalit avoids me entirely except when duty calls; Firentis seems to look at me like he feels he should be my protector but thinks I need my space so warns the others away. I haven't the courage to correct these issues, I fear I'll let the monster slip... That monster whispers to me now...: 'What would be so bad about letting me out?' it asks me. 'I could stay confined to the battlefield, only come out to play then.' 'No I can't let you.' I respond. 'I know you'll just grow and grow and escape your bounds until you're ordering slaughters for no real reason and influencing my campaign strategy with screams for blood. You'll call it vengeance or justice or weakening the enemy but it'll just be madness. You're a fiend and an awful monster that can't be contained again once let loose. Only when you run out of blood to spill and get tired do you subside.' I pause to think here. 'It wouldn't be so bad to let the men know I'm half mad except that they'd doubt me. It wouldn't be so bad to let you loose on the field except that you'd do something idiotic sooner or later and even if you didn't you'd start to bring a stain to my good works. You've stained it enough, you've done enough getting me out of that dungeon. I've heard the stories told and they all max out at 6 guards brutally murdered and then always with a makeshift weapon of some sort. They know nothing of the real truth of it all. And it will stay that way.'
I write all this as it streams through my consciousness while a piece of me sits back, eyes wide, mouth agape. I finish writing and don't want to look back on it but that piece stands up and screams 'Look what you are writing! You aren't just thinking it any more YOU ARE WRITING IT DOWN! You're afraid to go mad but YOU ALREADY ARE.' I wonder if it's true. I argue with the demon and I am berated by some third voice. The question is not what they say or why they are there but from whence do they come? They both say I'm a mad dog when one comes to the core of their message so I am suspicious that they spring from the same source, that the madness is using clever, clever tricks on me. 'No matter,' I think. 'I'll just restrain my behavior, keep myself in check.' The sibilant whispers respond immediately with a wolfish smile 'Are you sure that's all it takes, Evangeline?' The voice pauses and I have doubt, wondering what it is getting at. But it and I share the same mind, it knows what I do and now I've thought of a proof for that question. It asks me now: 'Are you sure that a warped mind won't warp reality and then the things that you DO? You are out of synch with the morals of this world, with the norms.'
I hear what it is saying and, with my shared mind, bend what it chooses to say to give me my out: 'You were already half-crazy before I got here, weren't you? This mad venture to free the peoples, the land, to end the tyranny.' The voice of unrestrained violence, with my help, is trying to tell me that perspective changes actions so even if I maintain actions I consider within reason my mind might have slipped far enough from discussions with this voice to skew that reason and make my actions unacceptable. The part I influenced it to add is where it tries to imply that my cause is evidence enough of the madness I fear already being present. There is a second interpretation that could be had: that the descriptor of insane can already be applied to me because of my quest and that therefore - because my quest might be ill-advised but is righteous and so SHOULD be undertaken regardless - such a descriptor has no useful meaning. In short, they call me crazy but my goals are clean and right so being called crazy means nothing. However, the interpretation I choose of the implication I planted in my own and therefore my enemy's mind is that he, the demon, is trying to tell me I'm already insane. His goal is to force a reaction and he wants that reaction to be me doubting my cause and abandoning it so that he can have all the time he pleases with me with nothing else to feed my will to resist him. However, since I plotted this chain of thought almost from the beginning I know where it is going: he's made me mad by implying that my quest is neither righteous nor beneficial but instead a self-delusion that allows me to pursue bloody activities.
I think of the pig-headed arrogance, entitlement, and continuous warring perpetrated in this world and reassess its sources: am I right that the nobility of the realm are to blame? I think for a moment and decide that yes, their lack of vision and contentment with the state of things are the basis for almost all the ills known in this land. I check my logic again, confirm that it's right to be pissed off at them, reconsider all the alternatives for change and finally come back to where I was: leading a crusade for freedom to end elitism. After this train of thought is concluded I turn my attention back to the demon and feel my anger rise to useful and controllable levels: how dare he insult the cause? I feel my lip curl and I stomp him down; stability returns."
By far the longest but not the last passage dealing with her unhinged personality, we can see first that Evangeline's sanity might have been much more in jeopardy than anyone ever imagined and second that she dealt with it in a disturbing and unique but effective fashion. Reading through this others will marvel that she ever managed to lead a successful rebellion, wrought-through with borderline insanity as she was. I, however, knew in my heart as I read it that she would find a way through. If nothing else she is combative and resistant to others trying to push her around. When she finally began to have a dialogue with the darkness unleashed inside her I knew that she would make it push too far and rise up in anger against it, "stomping it out," as she would say.
This process would prove lengthy and in fact never be fully completed. She was put in touch with the wild animal within all of us and kept company with it for too long, two full days at least wherein her returning sanity comingled with feral impulse in an attempt to devise a survival strategy. Like many who have gone to war and been scared of death for themselves and their friends for long periods, Evangeline was never the same again.
The next passage is the first since her escape from Dhirim that to me really sounds like the old Evangeline. I admit a glad heart to read of her again. However, the passage and reversion are brief and the "demon" rears his head again in the very next entry. This is, I believe, due to the terrible destruction she was bringing to her enemies in bloody vengeance, a process that kept her fury in the front of her mind. Though I am a peaceful man I am saddened to hear so little from the Evangeline that lived before Dhirim, even if it is a description of her warring against those who wronged her. My belief is that the brevity of the next passage is not a measure of her tenuous grasp on the sanity she willed into herself but instead a measure of that willpower. Remaining brief but focused, the passage shows she has retained her vision amidst furious retribution. However, the lie is put into that theory almost immediately.
"I've seen more sabers now than I ever knew existed. The piles after battles of just those that can be sold are astounding, then there are 3 times as many more ruined on the field... It's amazing to me the destruction we have wrought since Dhirim... An entire Khergit campaign force torn apart first by the Rhodoks, then my own forces. As I fight alongside my later-enemies against my now-enemies I keep it clearly in the front of my mind that the fight is not us against them but me against the world. I have assigned Basher and the rest to study these highland warriors in detail to learn how to best defeat them."
And then the blood she had spilled welled up and drown her out:
"Another drunk, another tavern, I fear for my sanity but I think I have an edge to grip and keep hold. He was singing songs about the greatness of the Rhodok king and praising his might for coming to a hell hole like Shariz and - in his mercy - bringing civilized ways to the savage desert folk. I felt a twitch then and the hatred stirred in the back of my mind. Quickly, I diverted my attention to the meal before me. But it had meat, rare like I like it... Flashes of what the slaughter of that lamb must have been like slammed through my head but I've never seen one taken apart for food, I've only seen people cut open but I know there must be similarities. In a flash I was imagining slaughtering a person for food. I tried to tear my mind away but the best meats must be in the strong muscles that are seldom used - not the arms or legs then but... the BACK... oh god, it's swarming again... I lose my thoughts now just talking about my thoughts then and I have to go back, read what I have written to know where I was...
A voice in my head told me to eat the lamb, it will be delicious. I recoiled, recognizing the monster in me. The singing continued. Another voice stated quite reasonably that the lamb was merely food and food needed to be eaten. I couldn't disagree and no other voices spoke up with objections so I cut the meat and ate the lamb. It WAS delicious. I felt the juices squish out of it as I slowly chewed and felt the red and black veil slipping over my eyes... The drunk bumped me and demanded I sing and dance for the men, sing to the honor or the Rhodok king. The lamb was glorious on my tongue and I ignored him. I feel like my eyes were closed in the ecstasy of juicy meat but I know they were open. He bumped me again, hard, and penetrated my savage serenity. I felt inner eyes open behind that black and red veil, my blodd raised to fever pitch. My men saw how very still I was being - barely breathing - and told him to leave, meat no longer on my tongue but crushed between seething teeth. I struggled valiantly to maintain control but he bumped me again despite the objections of my men. I snapped.
The blade was out, starting out low and flashing up past his nose, trailing his blood as the pain just began to reach him. So quickly, so quickly... My blade changed from a reversed slashing hold in my right to a proper slashing hold in my left and that left hand buried itself inside the man's open chest, right through the gaping wound I'd just left in him from stem to sternum. That left hand, buried in his chest twisted and stabbed farther up underneath his ribs, skewering his heart cleanly. I could feel lungs and other warm slimy bits all around my hand. I refused the urge to rip them out when I pulled my hand free but the DAMN THING GRIPPED ON ITS OWN! I looked at my bloody left hand and screamed, maybe out loud, maybe in my head 'Left hand! What have you done?! What have you done AGAIN?!' I feel like I tore myself in half and raged at the open sky, purple and roiling despite a roof overhead. The scream was half in raging victory, half in desperate anguish, but I'm pretty sure that it didn't actually happen. I'm pretty sure that instead I just sliced him, stabbed him, ripped his guts out onto the floor, and punched him from his feet with a fist full of his own entrails. Over a few impolite shoves on the shoulder I eviscerated a man - and his genitals! - and stabbed him in the heart from inside his own chest in a public tavern then lost my knife in the process and walked out into the street in a trance.
I feel like I should be overcome with shame and emotion but I feel numb and only now does it occur to me as lucky this was not the same tavern outside of which I killed a camel those months ago. Or perhaps it is unfortunate: soon there will be no tavern in Shariz I will allowed to eat at. Though, of course, maybe at this one they will be too scared to stop me, might even give me a discount and the very best food they have. That would be convenient as I stop through here often now as I circle about looking for Sarranids and Khergits to kill."
Author's Notes:
February 17, 1258 - March 5th, 1258
"The bloodlust has manifested itself again... I think I probably could have taken Unuzdaq Castle all on my own, the way everyone reacted to me - at least after. I don't remember much. Borcha reported that the Vaegirs were taking that castle from Sarranids. Blood thoughts rained through my mind and a little voice said that it would be good to know that castle, any castle, every castle in a siege situation. I ordered my men to join the assault but not to fraternize with the Vaegir troops. I could see that Basher wanted to question my decision, if only to know more about my grand strategy. If only he knew that my grand strategy was to not go mad... And why not tell him? Why not tell all the men? Because then they'd always wonder which decisions of mine were made in bloodlust and which in cold logic. I'm not sure which I would prefer as a soldier but I do know that it'd be best to be lead by only one form of cruelty, not both sporadically; at least then it's predictable.
Basher doesn't come ask me what I am thinking like he used to; Lezalit avoids me entirely except when duty calls; Firentis seems to look at me like he feels he should be my protector but thinks I need my space so warns the others away. I haven't the courage to correct these issues, I fear I'll let the monster slip... That monster whispers to me now...: 'What would be so bad about letting me out?' it asks me. 'I could stay confined to the battlefield, only come out to play then.' 'No I can't let you.' I respond. 'I know you'll just grow and grow and escape your bounds until you're ordering slaughters for no real reason and influencing my campaign strategy with screams for blood. You'll call it vengeance or justice or weakening the enemy but it'll just be madness. You're a fiend and an awful monster that can't be contained again once let loose. Only when you run out of blood to spill and get tired do you subside.' I pause to think here. 'It wouldn't be so bad to let the men know I'm half mad except that they'd doubt me. It wouldn't be so bad to let you loose on the field except that you'd do something idiotic sooner or later and even if you didn't you'd start to bring a stain to my good works. You've stained it enough, you've done enough getting me out of that dungeon. I've heard the stories told and they all max out at 6 guards brutally murdered and then always with a makeshift weapon of some sort. They know nothing of the real truth of it all. And it will stay that way.'
I write all this as it streams through my consciousness while a piece of me sits back, eyes wide, mouth agape. I finish writing and don't want to look back on it but that piece stands up and screams 'Look what you are writing! You aren't just thinking it any more YOU ARE WRITING IT DOWN! You're afraid to go mad but YOU ALREADY ARE.' I wonder if it's true. I argue with the demon and I am berated by some third voice. The question is not what they say or why they are there but from whence do they come? They both say I'm a mad dog when one comes to the core of their message so I am suspicious that they spring from the same source, that the madness is using clever, clever tricks on me. 'No matter,' I think. 'I'll just restrain my behavior, keep myself in check.' The sibilant whispers respond immediately with a wolfish smile 'Are you sure that's all it takes, Evangeline?' The voice pauses and I have doubt, wondering what it is getting at. But it and I share the same mind, it knows what I do and now I've thought of a proof for that question. It asks me now: 'Are you sure that a warped mind won't warp reality and then the things that you DO? You are out of synch with the morals of this world, with the norms.'
I hear what it is saying and, with my shared mind, bend what it chooses to say to give me my out: 'You were already half-crazy before I got here, weren't you? This mad venture to free the peoples, the land, to end the tyranny.' The voice of unrestrained violence, with my help, is trying to tell me that perspective changes actions so even if I maintain actions I consider within reason my mind might have slipped far enough from discussions with this voice to skew that reason and make my actions unacceptable. The part I influenced it to add is where it tries to imply that my cause is evidence enough of the madness I fear already being present. There is a second interpretation that could be had: that the descriptor of insane can already be applied to me because of my quest and that therefore - because my quest might be ill-advised but is righteous and so SHOULD be undertaken regardless - such a descriptor has no useful meaning. In short, they call me crazy but my goals are clean and right so being called crazy means nothing. However, the interpretation I choose of the implication I planted in my own and therefore my enemy's mind is that he, the demon, is trying to tell me I'm already insane. His goal is to force a reaction and he wants that reaction to be me doubting my cause and abandoning it so that he can have all the time he pleases with me with nothing else to feed my will to resist him. However, since I plotted this chain of thought almost from the beginning I know where it is going: he's made me mad by implying that my quest is neither righteous nor beneficial but instead a self-delusion that allows me to pursue bloody activities.
I think of the pig-headed arrogance, entitlement, and continuous warring perpetrated in this world and reassess its sources: am I right that the nobility of the realm are to blame? I think for a moment and decide that yes, their lack of vision and contentment with the state of things are the basis for almost all the ills known in this land. I check my logic again, confirm that it's right to be pissed off at them, reconsider all the alternatives for change and finally come back to where I was: leading a crusade for freedom to end elitism. After this train of thought is concluded I turn my attention back to the demon and feel my anger rise to useful and controllable levels: how dare he insult the cause? I feel my lip curl and I stomp him down; stability returns."
By far the longest but not the last passage dealing with her unhinged personality, we can see first that Evangeline's sanity might have been much more in jeopardy than anyone ever imagined and second that she dealt with it in a disturbing and unique but effective fashion. Reading through this others will marvel that she ever managed to lead a successful rebellion, wrought-through with borderline insanity as she was. I, however, knew in my heart as I read it that she would find a way through. If nothing else she is combative and resistant to others trying to push her around. When she finally began to have a dialogue with the darkness unleashed inside her I knew that she would make it push too far and rise up in anger against it, "stomping it out," as she would say.
This process would prove lengthy and in fact never be fully completed. She was put in touch with the wild animal within all of us and kept company with it for too long, two full days at least wherein her returning sanity comingled with feral impulse in an attempt to devise a survival strategy. Like many who have gone to war and been scared of death for themselves and their friends for long periods, Evangeline was never the same again.
The next passage is the first since her escape from Dhirim that to me really sounds like the old Evangeline. I admit a glad heart to read of her again. However, the passage and reversion are brief and the "demon" rears his head again in the very next entry. This is, I believe, due to the terrible destruction she was bringing to her enemies in bloody vengeance, a process that kept her fury in the front of her mind. Though I am a peaceful man I am saddened to hear so little from the Evangeline that lived before Dhirim, even if it is a description of her warring against those who wronged her. My belief is that the brevity of the next passage is not a measure of her tenuous grasp on the sanity she willed into herself but instead a measure of that willpower. Remaining brief but focused, the passage shows she has retained her vision amidst furious retribution. However, the lie is put into that theory almost immediately.
"I've seen more sabers now than I ever knew existed. The piles after battles of just those that can be sold are astounding, then there are 3 times as many more ruined on the field... It's amazing to me the destruction we have wrought since Dhirim... An entire Khergit campaign force torn apart first by the Rhodoks, then my own forces. As I fight alongside my later-enemies against my now-enemies I keep it clearly in the front of my mind that the fight is not us against them but me against the world. I have assigned Basher and the rest to study these highland warriors in detail to learn how to best defeat them."
And then the blood she had spilled welled up and drown her out:
"Another drunk, another tavern, I fear for my sanity but I think I have an edge to grip and keep hold. He was singing songs about the greatness of the Rhodok king and praising his might for coming to a hell hole like Shariz and - in his mercy - bringing civilized ways to the savage desert folk. I felt a twitch then and the hatred stirred in the back of my mind. Quickly, I diverted my attention to the meal before me. But it had meat, rare like I like it... Flashes of what the slaughter of that lamb must have been like slammed through my head but I've never seen one taken apart for food, I've only seen people cut open but I know there must be similarities. In a flash I was imagining slaughtering a person for food. I tried to tear my mind away but the best meats must be in the strong muscles that are seldom used - not the arms or legs then but... the BACK... oh god, it's swarming again... I lose my thoughts now just talking about my thoughts then and I have to go back, read what I have written to know where I was...
A voice in my head told me to eat the lamb, it will be delicious. I recoiled, recognizing the monster in me. The singing continued. Another voice stated quite reasonably that the lamb was merely food and food needed to be eaten. I couldn't disagree and no other voices spoke up with objections so I cut the meat and ate the lamb. It WAS delicious. I felt the juices squish out of it as I slowly chewed and felt the red and black veil slipping over my eyes... The drunk bumped me and demanded I sing and dance for the men, sing to the honor or the Rhodok king. The lamb was glorious on my tongue and I ignored him. I feel like my eyes were closed in the ecstasy of juicy meat but I know they were open. He bumped me again, hard, and penetrated my savage serenity. I felt inner eyes open behind that black and red veil, my blodd raised to fever pitch. My men saw how very still I was being - barely breathing - and told him to leave, meat no longer on my tongue but crushed between seething teeth. I struggled valiantly to maintain control but he bumped me again despite the objections of my men. I snapped.
The blade was out, starting out low and flashing up past his nose, trailing his blood as the pain just began to reach him. So quickly, so quickly... My blade changed from a reversed slashing hold in my right to a proper slashing hold in my left and that left hand buried itself inside the man's open chest, right through the gaping wound I'd just left in him from stem to sternum. That left hand, buried in his chest twisted and stabbed farther up underneath his ribs, skewering his heart cleanly. I could feel lungs and other warm slimy bits all around my hand. I refused the urge to rip them out when I pulled my hand free but the DAMN THING GRIPPED ON ITS OWN! I looked at my bloody left hand and screamed, maybe out loud, maybe in my head 'Left hand! What have you done?! What have you done AGAIN?!' I feel like I tore myself in half and raged at the open sky, purple and roiling despite a roof overhead. The scream was half in raging victory, half in desperate anguish, but I'm pretty sure that it didn't actually happen. I'm pretty sure that instead I just sliced him, stabbed him, ripped his guts out onto the floor, and punched him from his feet with a fist full of his own entrails. Over a few impolite shoves on the shoulder I eviscerated a man - and his genitals! - and stabbed him in the heart from inside his own chest in a public tavern then lost my knife in the process and walked out into the street in a trance.
I feel like I should be overcome with shame and emotion but I feel numb and only now does it occur to me as lucky this was not the same tavern outside of which I killed a camel those months ago. Or perhaps it is unfortunate: soon there will be no tavern in Shariz I will allowed to eat at. Though, of course, maybe at this one they will be too scared to stop me, might even give me a discount and the very best food they have. That would be convenient as I stop through here often now as I circle about looking for Sarranids and Khergits to kill."
Author's Notes:
My first thoughts on rereading this chapter were "OMFG this woman is completely NUTS!" Then I wondered if I should stray from the subject of Evangeline's insanity a little more, include other characters or some gameplay events a little better but I'm afraid this is another one of those chapters that wrote itself; I just channeled and edited it.
I feel like I should apologize for the crap screenies: Sorry.
Also I feel like I should confess that I was listening to a lot of Cindergarden and Switchblade Symphony while writing this, especially "As Above So Below" and "Invisible"
I feel like I should apologize for the crap screenies: Sorry.
Also I feel like I should confess that I was listening to a lot of Cindergarden and Switchblade Symphony while writing this, especially "As Above So Below" and "Invisible"
I AM HOBO OF DOOM
Knight at Arms
It's just a matter of time before Evangeline's on the bus to nowhere. Good job.
I AM HOBO OF DOOM 说:
I know what you mean... I write as I play and come back to edit later when I don't even remember what I've written and I too was
Lord Brutus 说:
I'm not sure I understand. Do you mean she's going to be so consumed by her inner turmoil that she will be won't be able to function in a useful fashion? Or that (and I'm revealing some of my own writing anxieties here) the character and her story are running into a dead end?
Her own failings threaten to leave her virtually catatonic, unable to act because all options seem wrong to her.
You misjudge me, killer. I have followed Evangeline and her descent into madness through the collapse of her own system of values and she her as being close to the point where no option will appeal to her.
Pointless update!
The sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've written for this AAR is "instead."
Six hundred and sixty six internet points for the first person to find it in the next chapter! Please include the whole sentance and remember: this is the sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've written for this AAR, not the sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've posted.
Six.
The sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've written for this AAR is "instead."
Six hundred and sixty six internet points for the first person to find it in the next chapter! Please include the whole sentance and remember: this is the sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've written for this AAR, not the sixty six thousand, six hundred and sixty sixth word I've posted.
Six.
667 is across the street from 666.
