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 Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:27 pm
Welle, it has been an intresting daye. Notte as intresting as the war, minde youe. I tooke Aeron outte four his walke todaye in the countryside; thate is, he dragged me around the plase whilst I attempted to control him. Notte long after wee arrivved, a younge womman came with her three gryphons. Iris clames to bee parte of an influential familie; I can believe that, as she wore lottes of golde. Her gryphons arre Elrock, Mat, and Sekmet. Aeron gotte along welle with them. He always dose; he likes gryphons. I tolde her of my familie ties; she seemed very surprised.
I believe that Iris comes fromme a more influential familie than she wishes me to thinke; she clames to be the dott … the daggte the girl-child of a politiciane, but I doubte that. She is more importante than she wanttes me to knowe. During our meeting, she was very suspiciouse of me. She madde a pointe of mentioning that she coulde protecte herself withoute her gryphons; only reason for that woulde be if she has been attacked before. Noe one attacks someone who isn’t someone, so she muste be more importante than she pretendes.
As we spoke, her fina … fianse… betrothed snuck up behinde her and helde a dagger to her neck! It was verry odde. It muste be some sort of ritual of courtshippe arounde here. She did notte seem to minde once she realized who it was. His name was Deste, and I doe notte thinke he likes me very muche. Stille, he is obviousley someone with experience in sneaking arounde othere people; he was very stealthy and talented. People like that doe notte truste other people; they knowe better than to doe that.
They are bothe intresting people; I hoppe to meet them againe soone. Since they bothe have connections, it seemes likely enoughe.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:31 pm
Xuan City. My family recently bought a manor out here. It is a lovely country, so long as you ignore the immorality, the complete lack of regard towards basic decency and the fact that the nobility is riddled with lies and deceit. The beautiful country cannot compensate for that.
It’s… strange. It’s been about three years since I’ve last encountered a particular rebel sergeant. I’m almost certain that he is dead by now. I haven’t even thought about him for a while. I guess some part of me sort of hoped he lived, if only because he was fascinating in his own strange way. I bring him up only because of the odd rumors that I have been hearing since I have returned to Xuan City, rumors of a particular dark-haired, gray-eyed young man with a certain slippery character and circuitous way of thinking. It’s too alike to be a pure coincidence.
After the escape, there was that snowstorm. It is impossible for anyone to have survived that. Almost impossible, anyway. I still have his journal, though, and have read through it carefully. Looking at what this man has survived thus far, it’s almost possible to believe that he could survive a blizzard. I would be interested in knowing whether or not this… individual is the same one who I met all those years ago. . I may have to find this interesting individual myself, or perhaps hire someone to find him. Alive, of course, since I have no interest in harming him.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:32 pm
Anothere intresting daye has gonne by. It seemmes that they arre more and more commen here. I tooke Aeron to a groomer’s in orrder to gette reddy for the bigge daye. Despitte the facte that this partickular groomer serveices battle-gryphons muche moore difficulte to handel than Aeron, my gryphon stille managed to escape. But, notte alone; he tooke Sekhmet---Iris’ gryphon---along withe him. We serched alle overe the citie before we founde some clues at the fountaine in the centre of town. Bushes, plantes, and dirte was tracked everywhere and there were lottes of wattre droplets, hinting at gryphon activite. I figured that the paire must’ve flowne off. The gardes at the citie gattes were of noe help.
Aftere a longe hunte, Iris and I managged to finde the paire outside the citie, of all places! I wass forsed to chase Aeron alle around the plase. He stole my monie as well.
Inne othre news, the plans are goinge welle. The partie is planned for nexte weeke. It is notte muche. Juste a smalle gathering of nobles and suche. I figre it wille be the perfect plase to reveale myself to my ‘family’. They wille be rathre surprised to gain a new sone, I wagre!
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:34 pm
The gathering is just next week. I’ve been doing my best to get settled in before then, but it is still rather boring out here. So far, nothing too interesting has happened to me. Griffins are popular pets among the nobility. Stronger than a dog, smarter than a horse, and more loyal than both, they seem a befitting mount for a knight. I’ll have to look into getting one. There aren’t very many breeders, sadly, due to the fact that griffins mate for life. It makes them more difficult to breed than dogs, horses, or cats.
I came across my old journal today whilst I was unpacking. I didn’t even realize that I still had it. I kept a journal since the beginning of the war right up to the end and even when the rebels were in prison. I wonder if this is some sort of portent… after all, my last memories of Lansing were recorded in this journal. I had nothing else to do today, so I read those last few passages. Here is the first of the last ones, the one I wrote at the very end of the war. The unofficial end, mind you, when the last of the rebels were finally rounded up safely. The war had officially ended several weeks earlier.
Excerpt from Old War Journal The EndFinally, the last rebels have been rescued from the valley. The war officially ended several weeks ago. Apparently, this small army had been holed up in the snows, with very few rations and even fewer medical supplies. It’s a miracle that any survived at all. It makes me wonder… why did they fight? It’s obvious that their army could not possibly have provided enough supplies for them all. Even the barest necessities were rarities. Why did they fight? Why fight when they have no hope of winning, and when surrender would actually provide more comforts and support? I had hoped to ask a few of the rebels these very questions. Unfortunately, I have been forbidden to speak with any of them. Not that many of them seemed inclined to talk. Led away in chains, they seemed wretched creatures, swathed in bandages and, in the worst cases, their shirts closed tightly to keep the stinking messes from pouring out. They never had a chance of winning at all. They wouldn’t even say who their leader was, or even point him out. One has to admire their loyalty, if nothing else. I imagine they will be more talkative once we get back to safer quarters. Several of the rebels were keeping journals, which I have confiscated. Once again, I have orders not to read them, but I don’t see any real harm in it, right? Still, if there wasn’t any harm, I wouldn’t have been ordered not to read them. There is little time for that now anyway. The big winter storms are due to hit any day now, and we must get to shelter before that happens or we all die.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:35 pm
Nitemares are back. Don't feel muche like writinge.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:37 pm
I did a bit of research on griffins today. As I have mentioned before, they are rather popular here in Xuan City and for a good reason. Several good reasons in fact! More loyal than dogs, stronger than horses, and smarter than both, griffins can serve many purposes. To warriors, they are treasured mounts, prized for their abilities to fly and fight. To merchants, they are precious sources of wealth, since there is a great demand for griffins at any age, from the egg to the adult. To nobles and politicians, griffins are guards, prized more than human guards since a griffin is more difficult to buy off. A well-trained battle-griffin will not balk in battle like a horse and, if worse comes to worse, a griffin can simply fly off, bearing it’s human owner with it. No matter their primary purpose, it seems that griffins are valued companions to their owners.
I have looked into getting a griffin myself to serve as a companion, guard, and mount. The best griffin breeder is reputed to be Lenore Rosaylen, who is known for both an icy demeanor and her Crested Griffins, of which only two exist. She owns one; I don’t know who owns the other one. She is blind, they say, but it has not stopped her in the least, which is very admirable. Still, I am unsure if I want to raise a griffin from an egg; it seems like too much trouble to me, especially since I am not the most paternal of people. I’ll have to do more research on the exact care of griffins before deciding to get one or not. It is not a decision to take lightly. One must not rush when taking responsibility for another living creature, especially if that living creature can easily kill you.
Whilst pursuing inquiries about griffins, I came upon some more intriguing rumors regarding a sudden rise in thieving. A rash of cases involving the theft of seals, letters, and various personal items, has plagued the city. These cases bear the hallmarks of similar cases in other cities attributed to the thief known as the Black Swan, so-called for the crude drawings of, yes, a black swan left behind. Flawless entries into impenetrable rooms, the uncanny ability to avoid traps, and absolutely no evidence.
I cannot help but feel that this has something to do with the mysterious sergeant of the rebels I encountered three years ago…
I am probably just being wistful though.
Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day OneWe have arrived at the prison today. We are only staying here temporarily until the snows give in. It is far from luxurious, but it has the basics. A roof, clean water, warmth, food, and medical supplies. Some progress has been made with the rebels. Their leader has stepped forward, one Sergeant Malcolm Lansing and he was moved to his own quarters. I have yet to meet him (or even see him), but as I looked through the journals I collected I noticed one was by this Malcolm Lansing. Needless to say, I flipped it open immediately to the last entry. It was mud-stained and blood-spattered, but it was still legible. Well, mostly. I was slightly disappointed to discover that Lansing has the apparent literary education of a three year old. Spelling, grammatical, and punctuation errors riddle his writing. I sighed and was about to put the book aside, but something caught my eye: a quick note had been jotted down in one corner, the letters jittery as if the writer had not eaten for a while and had trouble writing. Although, this Sgt seems to have had trouble forming his letters anyway. There were seven names written down, and a plea to keep them separate from the other soldiers. Among these names was Private Aaron Reeds. Aaron kept a journal of his own. Curious as ever, I picked up this journal and leafed through it. I couldn’t believe what I was reading: Aaron referred to himself as ‘she’, ‘her’, ‘girl’, and ‘female’. Unless this was some sort of elaborate sham---which I doubted at the time, given that the rebels barely had energy to move, let alone plot---it appeared that Aaron was female! The list of names turned out to be a list of the female soldiers who were posing as males. I re-judged my opinion of Lansing. He must care deeply about his ‘men’, even those who aren’t men, to take the time to write such a desperate request. And intelligent to do so, planning ahead in order to protect all of his followers. The female soldiers were moved to their own quarters, for their own safety.
Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day ThreeI finished reading Aaron’s (Aaralyn’s) journal today. It feels strange, reading about a war through the eyes of a female. I am beginning to understand the desperate situation that she was in, the one that forced her to such a rash decision to join the army. She has voiced her admiration for her sergeant (which is Malcolm Lansing), saying that he has saved many of the soldiers when no one else could. I scoff at that, as I remember the dire situation they had been in. Dirty, starving, and dying, I find it difficult to believe that he had done everything he could to keep them safe. Several entries caught my eye slightly more than others though: her first entry, right when she joined the war, was about a year ago. She notes that several rumors of the Sergeant paint him as… well… a man who vastly prefers the company of other men. As she appeared to be a very feminine and pretty young man, she endured the jeers of her fellow soldiers, who taunted her by saying, “The sergeant is going to love you” and, “If you value your a**, boy, get out of here as quickly as possible” and similar things. Just a few days later, she was practicing her swordwork and she felt a stare on the back of her neck. Turning around, she saw none other than Sgt. Lansing. The man was grinning and eyeing her, she said, in a ‘lewd fashion, like he was slowly undressing me with his eyes’. She didn’t have a chance to scream before he darted forward and grabbed her and pulled her into the nearby woods. “It’s about time to make a man out of you,” he reportedly said while laughing. Tossing her down, he pulled off his boots and tore his socks off. He shoved these at her and said, “Shove these down your trousers” in a low voice. Naturally, she responded, “What the Hell are you doing?!” “What the Hell are you doing, sir,” the sergeant corrected her, lazily lounging against a tree nearby. He sat down soon enough and explained calmly, “Alright, you don’t bulge where you shouldn’t. That’s good, miss. You’re good. It took me a whole thirty seconds to spot you. But, you don’t bulge where you ought to either.” Here, he gestured to his crotch, making no secret of what he meant. Aaralyn was amazed. Apparently, the sergeant wasn’t sexually interested in her at all! Instead, he was helping her. Or trying to, anyway. She asked him how he knew. Sgt. Lansing simply shrugged and explained, “You don’t walk like a man. You hold your thighs too close together when you walk so they rub together. And you don’t talk like one either. I don’t mean talking about how much you ate, how sick you were afterwards, and how big your… socks are. I mean your choice of language and stuff. It’s little things like that.” I, for one, am amazed that he noticed such little things. My respect for him climbs just a little. I must speak to him, or at least to the men who followed him.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:38 pm
There is absolutely no doubt about it. Sergeant Malcolm Lansing of the rebel army is here in Xuan City. I can hardly believe it. I suppose I always sort of hoped he had lived, but I never seriously thought… I best start at the beginning.
I was taking an innocent walk through the area to get to know the city when I noticed two people up ahead, one man and one woman. Worried that I was interrupting a private romantic moment, I hid. I could not hear their words from my place, but I could see them both clearly.
The woman was gorgeous, with long black hair and golden skin, as befitting an Egyptian princess. A few inches taller than her male companion, she had a haughty stature. One hand rested on a beautiful red and white male gryphon, who radiated a protective aura. This woman, I later learned, matches the description of Iris Nefretiri, the daughter of one of the most influential politicians in the city as well as the fiancée of Deste Kestrysen, one of the princes of Albion.
As beautiful as she was, my attention was focused on her companion. I could see his profile perfectly. At first, I wasn’t sure why this young man with tousled brown hair was so oddly familiar to me. Then it hit me. With the mental subtraction of a few pounds, three years, and the addition of slightly different clothes, it was definitely him.
They parted ways soon enough and I did not follow either one. The sergeant would certainly notice if he was being followed and the Lady’s gryphon, as mentioned before, seemed very protective of his mistress. No doubt, as the fiancée of Prince Deste Kestrysen, she is a prime target and is protected accordingly.
Three years… I wonder what they were speaking about and if she knows of his past… Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day FiveI spoke with the prisoners today, both the men and the women. I will try to include both groups as much as I can, and try to write down everything exactly as they said. First, the men. Once again, there was the feeling that Sgt. Lansing likes other men in a way that ought to be reserved for women. This has caused considerable discomfort among the male soldiers, especially since they feel that he has occasionally been eyeing some of them. Still, they all admit that he is a good leader. Again, there is the general feeling that he has done his best to keep them all safe. One conversation in particular sticks out to me: Me: Why did you follow him? Soldier: He’s very… charismatic. When he speaks, it is possible to see the world in a different light, if only for a little while. Me: What about these rumors about his love life? Soldier: -snorts- I don’t believe them. Sure, he watches, but everyone watches each other. That’s what we’re supposed to do. We watch each others backs. The only reason that rumor exists at all is because he never visited the tents. Me: Tents? Soldier: The brothels. Maybe he just doesn’t have any desires at all or something. Maybe he got it cut off. He’s been in the war longer than any of us. He’s been in it since the beginning. Me: Why would the rumors continue if there’s so little to support them? Soldier: Because that’s what rumors do. In the women’s section, I spoke to Aaralyn herself. She is a slender woman, small-chested perhaps from her binding or maybe because it’s natural, and quiet, but very intense. She is, she says in her journal, the middle daughter of five. Her parents were merchants, she says. Me: Why did you join the war? You could have gone back home. You could have gone somewhere else. Aaralyn: The safest place during a war, sir, is in the army. Me: Why would you say that? You could have been raped, if you had been discovered. Aaralyn: Discovered by anyone other than Mal, you mean. We’re both aware that my journal is no longer with me. Someone has it. And I doubt that they’ve been able to go without reading it. Anyway, my point remains. If I had been discovered anywhere, rape would have been a possibility. That’s what happens to women during war. Since no one looks for a woman in the army, it seemed the safest place. I learned how to use weapons, so now I can protect myself. Me: Mal? Aaralyn: Sergeant Malcolm Lansing. We… well, we usually just call him ‘Mal’ for simplicity’s sake. Me: Ah. What do you know about Sgt. Lansing? Aaralyn: Read his journal. I know you have that one too. Side note: By this point, I had actually put the Sgt’s journal aside, so I hadn’t read it yet. I decided not to mention this, in hopes that she would mention something. Me: I don’t want to hear what he knows about himself. I want to hear about what you know. Aaralyn: No one knows him. We just think we do. Me: Care to explain? Aaralyn: He doesn’t like talking about himself or his past. It’s just his way, I suppose. Not to mention, we’ve been a little busy and all, what with the surviving. He’s impossible to understand. Here’s what I do know: I know that he didn’t betray me, so I know I won’t betray him. Our interview ended here, as she refused to answer any more questions.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:41 pm
A strange thynge hapened todaye. I was speakinge with Iris and some movement cot my eye. As I looked ovre my shoulder, I saw a rathre attracktive younge man. He ducked awaye tho. It seems that this citie is fulle of those. Alas, they alle seem more intristed in wommyn than me. Their loss.
I only cot a glimpse of him, but the blonde reminded me of some one. I can not figer out who… ah welle. Probly notte important.
Iris wille indeede be at the gathring. She is unsure whethre to bring Sekmet or notte. Aftre all, Sekmet is notte the most sociable of creatures. Stille, I hope she bringes Sekmet, as Aeron has gotten rathre attached to her. I plan on bringinge him to the gathring, partly becus I do notte truste him alone, and partly becus of this ‘watched’ feelinge. If some one is followinge me, Aeron wille know before I do.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:43 pm
I could not resist it. I know it is dangerous to make my curiosity about Lansing too obvious---he is bound to learn if someone asks too many questions about him---but I had to ask around at least a little.
He’s not even using a fake name! He is still known as Malcolm Lansing, called ‘Mal’ for short. Hm. Mal. Some of his soldiers called him that. I wonder if any of them knew that ‘mal’ means ‘bad’ in Latin. Probably not.
He continues to hold a veil of secrecy over himself and his actions. Thus far, I have not been able to uncover such. There are certain rumors circulating about himself, claiming that he is the b*****d son of some noble house. It’s amazing! People have accepted this rumor as the gospel truth! Or, at least part of it. There’s no question about the ‘b*****d son’ part. The only curiosity that these people have is which house fathered him. It’s almost as if they expect b*****d children to exist! The immorality of this place confuses me more and more with each passing day.
Lansing apparently owns a griffin, an adult male of wild-birth and coloration. I must exert extreme caution, as ‘Aeron’ is highly protective of his owner. Huh. ‘Aeron’. I wonder if this is a nod towards ‘Aaron Reeds’(Aaralyn), one of Lansing’s female soldiers and his apparent favorite.
It seems that Lansing has lost no time in settling in the city. He arrived just a few months ago but is already accepted as an acquaintance of the Lady Iris. Very clever of Lansing to become friends with her. If there is trouble, there is little doubt that she will shield him. With her family’s power, he is virtually untouchable.
Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day ThirteenI finally gave into my desires and read Lansing’s journal. It is simply amazing. Not just the quantity of errors, but exactly what was going through this man’s head at any given time. There are no clues as to his desired lovers. Very little mention of his past is made. He focuses more on the future and the present than anything else. Interestingly enough, the dates given for Aaralyn’s ‘discovery’ differ from the one given in her journal. Sgt. Lansing freely admits that he had begun to lose track of the days by that point. I can’t help but admire this leader and I have to wonder how he kept going. Especially during those last few days in the valley. He writes that, by the start of that last battle, he had around one thousand men under his command. When the fighting stopped, there were only two hundred. By the time that we got the rebels out of there, there were only forty-three left alive. How did he keep fighting? Why? Even when things were at the worst, he kept fighting. And, even more amazingly, he kept the other soldiers fighting as well. During those last few days, he was promised aid if he could hold but for three days. Three days. He notes with despair that it seems fate that they should all fall within the first few hours. They manage to hold for one hour. Two. Three. It turns into a day. Two days. Three days. Four days. Five days. By the tenth day, Sgt. Lansing knows what has happened. But he keeps fighting. I don’t know whether to admire his courage or pity him for his stupidity. I must meet this man, at least talk to him once.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:46 pm
Some one has been askinge questions about me. Quite alot, ackshually… it’s a little concerninge.
The man is supposedly blonde, notte too talle, and rathre handsome. Itte maye be a coincidence but, this matches the description of the man I saw notte too longe ago… I wondre…
I asumed it was Deste at first. Aftre alle, I was talkinge to his betrothed and he is supossed to be a expert thief. Nowe I doubte it becas he is supossed to be a expert thief. A goode thief or spy is notte seen unless he/she wantes to be seen. It is too obvious for him.
Dante---Deste’s brothre---is anothre suspect. I do notte knowe why he woulde be intristed in me tho, beyonde my acqu… accain… knowing Iris. I woulde have thot him to be more sutle. I give him too muche credite, I suposse.
Altho I am doinge nothynge ronge, I wille take more care. I do notte care for it when people poke their noses into my lyfe.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:47 pm
I was not careful enough. Lansing has all but disappeared once more. He is still in the city, I know that much, but he has quieted down. Whilst I do not believe he knows who is watching him, I must take care. The man is skittish; he’ll bolt if he realizes I’m here and asking about him. I can’t blame him for that, considering everything. I don’t wish him any harm, but he won’t realize that. He survived the war because he truly believed that everyone was after him, which was pretty damn accurate. He probably still has that paranoia, even if he doesn’t show it. If he finds out about this, I just know he will vanish and I’ll never get another chance.
Going after him myself is dangerous. I’m far from stealthy enough to track him. He would discover me and then take violent actions. There’s no question of that. Still, paying people for information makes me uneasy. This is Malcolm Lansing, after all.
Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day SeventeenI finally did it. I finally got to talk to Sgt. Malcolm Lansing. For the past few days, he has refused to speak to me at all. This is my first chance. He was far from what I expected. I expected a grizzled veteran, perhaps twice my age, and three times my girth. I expected gray hairs, and a scraggly beard. Instead, I met a young man who was actually a few years younger than myself. In his journal, he made no description of himself, nor did he ever mention his age. He is a slim young man, somewhat emaciated due to the lack of food and water, of twenty-three twenty years with dark brown hair. There was no beard, but he did have some growth on his chin from the lack of shaving. It only made him seem younger to my eyes. I was disappointed. Then I looked at his eyes. I can understand what the soldiers meant when they mention his charisma and intensity when I looked at those gray eyes. Everything else about him seemed downtrodden and depressed, but those eyes were the eyes of a wild creature, one that could never fully be tamed. I could see the wheels of his mind whirring away all the time, constantly wondering how to work things to his best advantage. He was chained before me, but he was not a prisoner. His first words were inquiries after the welfare of his men, including those that weren’t men. Once I confirmed that Aaralyn and the other females had been moved to separate cells, he seemed to relax a little. I had a feeling that I had gained some points of some sort. Here is our conversation, as closely as I can remember it: Me: So… you’re Sergeant Malcolm Lansing. Lansing: The one and only. And you must be the crazy Lieutenant who’s been reading my journal. Don’t mind me. I just get a little jittery when I begin to realize that someone has been stalking my inner-most thoughts for the past few days. Me: …how did you know my rank? Lansing: Because you’ve got the mark right there on your shoulder. And, before you ask, you must have read my journal. Someone must have. I find it difficult to believe someone would have read only that tidbit at the back without reading the rest of it. Don’t try playing Silly Buggers with me, ‘cos I can play it better. Me: Hm, yes. I’m Lieutenant Remiel Quillan. You were raised on the street, weren’t you? Lansing: On the street and by the street. Me: Why did you join the war? The… the quality of life is higher among the empire. Everyone knows this. It’s not perfect, of course. Nothing is. But, it would have been better than the life you had, squabbling in the dirt for the smallest scraps of food. Lansing: I grew up with nothing. Me: …excuse me? Lansing: I grew up with nothing, except for my own freedom. When you have nothing else, you tend to defend what you DO have as best as you can. Me: What are you talking about? You would have still had your freedom. No one would have taken that away. The only thing that would have changed is that the streets you grew up on, which are the property of some noble in some far off hill, would become the property of some far off king. What difference does that make? Lansing: Why did you fight? [I was taken aback by this question and by his stare.] Me: Well, it’s what I was brought up to do. I had my orders… Lansing: And you tell me that you have freedom when you didn’t have a real choice in joining the war. I chose this war, Lieutenant. I made my decision. Me: To fight for the wrong side. Lansing: To fight for the losing side. I don’t believe it was the wrong one. Me: … does it really mean that much to you? Lansing: It was the only thing I had while growing up. Didn’t we just go over this? Me: Don’t get smart, Lansing. You are a prisoner here. Keep that in mind. Lansing: Ah. Would it be better if I was stupid then? Me: You know what I meant. Lansing: Oh, I don’t know about that. After all, I’m just a poor commoner who was raised without your fancified education. Maybe I don’t know what you mean. Me: It’s common sense. Lansing: Is it really? Oh. Seems to me that common sense thing isn’t very common at all. You see, to me, it seems common sense to leave another country alone, if they ain’t bothering you. Starting wars isn’t common sense. Common sense is leaving other people alone, less they bother you first. Me: Leave people to squabble in the dust without food or shelter? We should have done nothing to help people, people who are like you when you were a child? Children like you were should be left among themselves with no one to look after them? Lansing: You’ve already admitted that the Empire has the same exact problems with poverty. If anything, this war has deepened poverty. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, since you’ve been busy reading people’s journals and whatnot, but this war is hard on everyone. Men, women, and children. If turning their lives into a war is ‘morality’, you can keep it. I’m happy being immoral, unreconstructed, and rebellious. Me: Won’t yo-- Lansing: Nope. Me: Just con-- Lansing: No. Me: Jus— Lansing: Not a chance. Since he refused to even listen to me at this point, I had no choice but to leave. Torture was an option, but, with his stubborn nature, I doubt it will work. If anything, it’ll just make him even more obstinate.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:49 pm
My stalkre apears to have stopped. I do notte believe it. Who ever he is, he is keepinge closre tabs on me than I thot. He knows that I know and is takinge cares to keep his presense a secret. I was too rash. I shoulde have fein faked ignorance and allowed it to continu. Then I woulde know that he woulde notte knowe that I knewe. Hindsite is of little use now.
Dante, brothre of Deste, is still the primary suspect, altho he lacks a motive. I doubte that he woulde waste time and money askinge about me without a purpr porps reason. Notte unless he is planninge some thynge? Fromm what I knowe of him, he is more intristed in wine and wommyn than politics. The only connection between us is that I knowe Iris and Deste.
Speakinge of Iris, her brothre is anothre suspect. I have nevre met the man. I do notte knowe his hair colour eithre. But he has a motive; it is no secrit that he and Iris do notte gette alonge. It coulde be that he hopes to use me as some sort of toole in some political game.
Back home, we call this Silly Buggres.
And I can playe it bettre.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:50 pm
My luck is holding thus far. Lansing appears to have no idea that I am the one asking about him. He suspects several others. Of course, this could just be some sort of ploy of his. For all I know, he could know and is merely pretending that he doesn’t know in hopes of flushing me out. I would not put such a game past him. It certainly is his style. During the war, he was known for deliberately planting both true and false information in any spies that were planted and never ever letting anyone know exactly what he was thinking. Reading his old journal---I have kept it---has given me a little insight into the labyrinth that is the mind of Malcolm Lansing. It’s a bit like trying to traverse a maze of razor-sharp thorns at midnight with only a penny candle. Damned paranoid b*****d…
Because of his reputation for using spies against their hirers, I take all information about him with a grain of salt. I do know, however, that he will be at the gathering tonight. Tonight, the nobility of Xuan City will wine, dine, and dance the night away. Such things are not my style, but I ought to go and meet the neighbors. I always feel out of place at such events… not to mention, if Lansing does show up, he won’t be able to run away or make a scene.
Excerpt from Old War Journal Prison: Day TwentyI spoke to Lansing again. Or, rather, I tried to. Once again, he twisted my words around. He even attempted to flirt with me a few times! It seems that he, at least, has recovered from the ordeal of being left behind in the mountains for those several weeks. I wonder if his mind is always set on ‘Sex’ or if that’s just because he’s… interested in me personally. I hope it’s not that. It’s not that I have anything against people like him, people who are interested in their own sex. It’s just that it’s not right. It’s not morally right. Here’s our conversation: Lansing: Morning, Lieutenant. Come to join me for a lovely candle-lit dinner? We’ve got some real prime slurry today. Me: I… already ate today. Lansing: Ah, well, your loss, I suppose. When you get the chance, be sure to tell the cook that it could use a bit more salt. Me: I’ll be sure to bring it up to him. I was hoping to speak with you more today about your childhood. Lansing: Already? We’ve only known each other for a few days, Lieutenant. Me: Excuse me? Lansing: I’m not sure if I’m ready for such a huge leap in our relationship. Me: What relationship? You’re a Prisoner of War and I’m a lieutenant of an opposing force. Well, ex-opposing force, anyway, since the war ended… Lansing: Yes, that’s our relationship exactly. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to talk about my childhood. Normally I wait until at least the third date to discuss such things. Me: Are you mad? Lansing: No, not really. A bit disappointed that you would expect me to talk of such things after knowing you for such a short period of time. Me: Fine, fine! We won’t talk about your childhood then. What will you talk about? Lansing: Well, I wouldn’t mind getting these chains off. It’s very sweet, keeping me chained up like this, but it’s having a negative impact on my lifestyle. It’s difficult to stay in shape while being chained. Me: … wait, start at the beginning again, please? Lansing: Look, I understand if you’re into the kinky stuff involving chains and all that. Really, I don’t mind some of it, but being chained up for days and days is a little worn, sweetie. Me: ‘Sweetie’? Lansing: Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer to go with ‘honeybutt’? Or maybe ‘Mr. Fluffensnug’? Me: What are you talking about?! Lansing: Well, you’re taking an active interest in my words, my history, my well-being, and you keep me chained up. The only logical explanation is that you’re interested in me, right? Me: No! No, I mean… well, I am, I suppose, but not like that. I am not attracted to you, Lansing. Lansing: Are you suuuure? Me: Yes! I am quite sure! Lansing: I dunno… seems to me like you’re in denial. Happens to the best of us. For a long time, I fought my natural tendencies too. Made me miserable. I’m much happier just being who I am. Me: So happy that you keep it a secret from your men? Lansing: Hm? Oh, yes, you’ve probably spoken to them. You know, for someone who is not interested in me that way and who doesn’t even swing my way, you show a lot of interest in my sex life. Going around and asking my men about who I take an interest in… well, I’m starting to wonder if you know… Me: I am NOT interested in men that way, Lansing! Answer the damned question! Lansing: Oh, very well. I don’t keep it a secret from my men. There are rumors, are there not? Me: But… Lansing: They’ve never asked me, you see. I don’t tell if they don’t ask. I’m hardly keeping a secret if no one cares about it. Me: You never took a lover… Lansing: Your point? I doubt that you have either. You’d have to calm down for five minutes to get your play in, and I imagine that would be one helluva miracle. Why are you so uptight anyway? Seems to me that you could use a drink and a good lay. That would help your temperament immensely. Me: I am irritated because of you, Lansing! Lansing: Really? Huh. Again, you give me reason to believe that you’re interested in me. How flattering. And romantic, too! Forbidden lovers and everything. To think that my presence could influence your mood so much. It’s really very sweet. Me: For the love of God, listen to me! I do NOT like men in that fashion and I never will! I am attracted to women! It is what is right! Lansing: What is ‘right’, eh? You know, funny term, that. To me, ‘right’ is leaving another country alone… Me: Don’t start on that again, Lansing! We already went over that! Lansing: We did, didn’t we? As I recall, you left sort of flustered. You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know, and so easy to fluster… Me: Where is your morality?! Lansing: I think I left it in my other pants. You see, I accidentally left it in the pockets and it went through the wash. It’s impossible to get it all neatly unrolled after it goes through something like that. You know how it is, I’m sure. Me: Fine… we’ll play your game, Sergeant. Lansing: Strip Poker? Me: What? No! Lansing: Well, now I’m thoroughly confused. Me: I’ll try to keep the questions short and simple then. Why did you help Aaralyn and the other female soldiers? Lansing: Just because. Me: Because why? Lansing: We needed all the men we could get, even those that were not, strictly speaking, men. Me: You were desperate enough to accept women into the ranks then? Lansing: Well, yes. Me: Not openly though. Then again… you weren’t exactly open either. Lansing: True. To a point. No one directly asked Aaralyn or any of the others if they were men. That was sort of expected. No one asked me if I liked women either. It really is one of those things that’s assumed. If someone wears pants, then they are male and males are assumed to be interested in women. Not to mention, I thought it was funny. Me: … you thought it was ‘funny’ to watch women run around in pants, terrified that their gay sergeant might flirt with them? Lansing: N’yeah. What can I say? I find it amusing when people are scared of that, especially since the majority of them aren’t attractive at all, at least to me personally. Me: Well, they did LOOK male… Lansing: Your point? Me: You like males? Lansing: I like lots of people. Me: Not just ‘like’, but like ‘like like’. Lansing: Excellent! Now that you’ve used the same word three times in a row, we can continue. Wait, where are you going? Come back! I’m not done flirting with you yet! I left in an irritated state, trying to figure out what game he was getting at.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:52 pm
No sine of my stalkre. This makes me nervos. If there was some sort of sine, I woulde be able to followe them. Alle I knowe is that, who evre he is, he knowes me welle.
The gathring is tonite. Alle this stalkinge makes me wondre if it is safe… but, I have already prommissed to go. Besides, it woulde be foolish of my stalkre to make any movements in fronte of every one.
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:55 pm
What a crazy night. ‘And not in a good way’, as Lansing would say. He was there. Lots of people were… unsurprisingly, the first thing he did was spread rumors about himself. I must have heard at least a dozen conflicting rumors about him before I even saw the man! Interestingly enough, he’s been identified as an acquaintance of Iris… and as the only son of House Rosaylen.
Rosaylen! Absolutely insane… Rosaylen is one of the highest Houses in Albion, directly connected to the throne through marriage! Well, the up-coming marriage, that is. Prince Dante has been betrothed to the Lady Norene of Rosaylen for the past seven years. Dante had quite a bit of influence during the peace talks for the war. During these same peace talks, Mal and his platoon were stranded. I wonder how Mal feels about that…
Not long into the evening, I met the most enchanting woman named Nyhali Mrndraebon. She is absolutely gorgeous and a very charming woman besides. She seems to be friends with Laura. I have yet to ask Laura about how they met, but it appears that they met through their gryphons.
Anyway, on with the story. I managed to trap Mal in one of the upstairs rooms and get some of the story out of him. He claims to have come here searching for a family. I half believe him. But, he is a slippery b*****d and will lie and charm about anything. Our reunion was cut short due to an attack. I don’t know what happened. I never saw anything like it in my life. A huge black gryphon---if it was a gryphon; it looked more like a demon from the hearts of the Abyss itself---attacked several gryphons, including Mal’s Aeron. I grabbed Laura and ran back inside the house, on the basis that neither of us could have done anything to help the fight.
There are times when it is better to retreat.
Old War Journal Prison: Day Twenty-Seven Damn him! I was looking forward to speaking with Lansing once more today, as I have finally come up with a good point about his beliefs. He believes himself to be free with the rebels, and yet he must hide who he is. He hides his own sexuality, his own desires for the male sex. How is that freedom, I wanted to ask. Obviously, he must hide his desires, since no one knows what they truly are. But, when I went to the prison, he was gone. It’s impossible. The door was still locked. The manacles were exactly as they were just earlier, only this time they no longer restrained a certain rebel leader. Everything was exactly as it had been left, although the guard had been knocked out and had no memory of what happened. He swears that he wasn’t hit over the head or anything at all. I see no way that Lansing could have escaped, but he must have since he is no longer there. He has left no clues as to how he got out. No one knows anything. The mystery of Malcolm Lansing deepens. I keep looking over our conversations in an attempt to find some sort of clue. He did mention that he enjoys these sorts of games, where he leaves little clues in hopes that someone will find them.
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