Ashworth's War Journal

[Karp]

Tammuz 7th, IY 7788

Atreya's End

The Cowled Man led us to the Wrothful Shrine beneath the Well. There, Atreya was laid carefully before it. The man afixed his gaze upon the remains of my friend.

"Dull-spear, strike against sunken stone."

He planted his spear into the cracked gutter floor, point-first, where it seemed to be perfectly straight. He produced a small boulder of chalk, and at the same time, Atreya's face was revealed from under her mask. Fury etched upon her visage.

The man shattered the chalk into powder with his hands and spread it upon her blanching skin.

"Into the roots unpulled, buried and suffocate, shelter only bones, picked by the accordance of the Skein. No evil. No disturbance but thine own's. The crease on the Patchworker's head."

The cloud of white-grey settled all around, casting a dismal pale upon the scene, sputtering torchlight.  Atreya's remains somehow became less and less distinguishable.

"Behold, spectre of dispiritude. Enunciate never again your arguments, for you are dead, and likened to death."

I heard Colmes faintly whispering: "The Wroth watches."

The cowled man slowly began to pull the spear from the earth. It did not seem planted too deep, but it took an agonizing period. As if some worm were being coaxed out of a fruit.

As he did so, Atreya's corpse became like dust. I tossed ash over my shoulder. What else could I do.

The man turned and stared at us with strange black eyes:

"The untoward and ashen earth knows only the countenances of earned spite and fateful despair."

The gathered snuffed out their torches.

"Death is the horizon of structured dread, and it will not be laureled with dignity. Only the callow pity it deserves. Your ally in life is obliterated, and justly so. May the ghost of their contempt for the wicked and spurned, proscribed by the Wheel, live beyond any mewling memory, and compound into a history of scorn."

He turned to Rennik Colmes.

"When you, too, perish, know at the mantle that you will, also, leave but regret and the ledger of your transgressions, and those transgressions against you. Leave no alms. Only calumny."

Colmes stood in silence. He understood.

"May the wheel grind your bones."

The Cowled Man left. Atreya was no longer there.

Only one thing remained. Only one thing.

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Tammuz 7th, IY 7788

Atreya's End

The Cowled Man led us to the Wrothful Shrine beneath the Well. There, Atreya was laid carefully before it. The man afixed his gaze upon the remains of my friend.

"Dull-spear, strike against sunken stone."

He planted his spear into the cracked gutter floor, point-first, where it seemed to be perfectly straight. He produced a small boulder of chalk, and at the same time, Atreya's face was revealed from under her mask. Fury etched upon her visage.

The man shattered the chalk into powder with his hands and spread it upon her blanching skin.

"Into the roots unpulled, buried and suffocate, shelter only bones, picked by the accordance of the Skein. No evil. No disturbance but thine own's. The crease on the Patchworker's head."

The cloud of white-grey settled all around, casting a dismal pale upon the scene, sputtering torchlight.  Atreya's remains somehow became less and less distinguishable.

"Behold, spectre of dispiritude. Enunciate never again your arguments, for you are dead, and likened to death."

I heard Colmes faintly whispering: "The Wroth watches."

The cowled man slowly began to pull the spear from the earth. It did not seem planted too deep, but it took an agonizing period. As if some worm were being coaxed out of a fruit.

As he did so, Atreya's corpse became like dust. I tossed ash over my shoulder. What else could I do.

The man turned and stared at us with strange black eyes:

"The untoward and ashen earth knows only the countenances of earned spite and fateful despair."

The gathered snuffed out their torches.

"Death is the horizon of structured dread, and it will not be laureled with dignity. Only the callow pity it deserves. Your ally in life is obliterated, and justly so. May the ghost of their contempt for the wicked and spurned, proscribed by the Wheel, live beyond any mewling memory, and compound into a history of scorn."

He turned to Rennik Colmes.

"When you, too, perish, know at the mantle that you will, also, leave but regret and the ledger of your transgressions, and those transgressions against you. Leave no alms. Only calumny."

Colmes stood in silence. He understood.

"May the wheel grind your bones."

The Cowled Man left. Atreya was no longer there.

Only one thing remained. Only one thing.

[close]

[Karp]

Tammuz 24th, IY 7788

They were talking, but I could not hear their words.

I could read disgust upon Skarn's face. Disappointment from Colmes. Confusion from Reyer and Daoud's pleading eyes. Their mouths moved, but I could not hear the words.

I enlisted many months ago. I had just arrived a few weeks before that, and I smelled opportunity within the Garrison. Fair wages, hot meals and not too much work. Sounded like a dream to someone like me.

But service changed me. I became entranced with the work, as if staring directly into a fire. I could not look away. But I was denied, so many times. So many times. How long must I endure before I break?

I built a case against Radhem Teltinc, for killing Jordan Clearcreek. Vico Rasca denied that for me.

I built a case agains Vico Rasca, on charges of treason and many others. Tokori Koji took that from me.

When I uncovered [An ink stain has destroyed what was written here] I almost lost it all.

War broke out, and I was given command of a dangerous mission. Was it a success, or did my failures and shortcomings cost the lives of Cosine Mevura, Akna Ymir, Baako Mahmoud and... Atreya. Atreya. Atreya.

I AM SO SORRY ATREYA.

And now, this.

I walk through the garrison, and see the men. Some of them think of me as a joke, others look up to me.

Who are the ones in the wrong?

My cloak is green, the band on my arm is black.

Did I fail upwards just to suffer these losses?


And yet, I am still denied.


No justice, no resolution. Only Balance.


I am calm. In this moment, I am calm. I hear them speaking, but I can't make out the words.

Only mine resonate in my mind.

"I quit."

And yet, I'm still denied.


ASHWORTH