Note; it won't be a journal because in her and Draignean's current state, they'd probably struggle to pick up a pen /engrave a tablet. It's just their thoughts. Additionally, a Lurit piece will come below Fischer and Draignean, because I have time.
Fischer
I suppose it is how all the champions fall, in due time. Queen Tholtig died of old age, not in battle.
Is it Armok's form of irony? No, He is not a spiteful god. He is not an angry god. I would be his champion, simply because I am good at one thing, and one thing only: killing. Killing draws blood. Blood honours Armok.
Why, then, would he stop one of his champions from drawing blood? I can hardly lift myself out of bed most days, let alone fight adequately.
It's the same with that fool Draignean. Though I'm loathe to admit it, even to myself in my own head, he is just as good a fighter as I am. Just as fast, just as strong, nearly the same amount of kills and service, and he was not even a veteran of the Vampiric Wars, like Splint, Stova, Talvi and I. And yet, here we both are, possibly the strongest dwarves the world has known outside of those who make compacts with demons and gods and we're struck down by a simple gas breathed on us.
I'm sure if Ballpoint or any of those other blasted offworlders knew that we were susceptible, they'd gas us without a second thought. I've lain unconscious from exhaustion and had tens of Spawn beating at my armored head, and not taken any more than a bruise, but this illness, whatever it is... I believe it to be from Lomoth, that gas-spewing unholy chicken Tomio sent my squad and I to kill.
Tomio. That little ratbastard. I want to throttle him but I can't get out of bed. He should count his blessings that I can't do anything. I had better tell Dauros to be careful of him... but then again, I have not seen our dear former overseer since Splint took power.
It's strange, this drowsiness. I remain awake, well, as awake as I can be, at least in my own mind while my body sleeps. Sometimes I just switch off and sleep, but nowadays I have time to think, a thing I have not done in a while. Well, that is a lie; I think all the time; I think the best place to put my pike into Tomio to extract the maximum pain from him before I accidentally tap him to death with it. Splashslowed sits by my side... It has been a fine weapon all these years, but try as I might, it cannot fight the illness I have. Not even my own body can overthrow this illness... I wonder, does that make Lomoth more powerful than I? It can bring its opponents permanently unable to defend themselves even after its own death, whereas I simply am a machine of death, not debilitation.
Is debilitation a greater weapon?
The Spawn, those bloody Spawn, they debilitate their victims as only Spawn can. They turn them.
I count my blessings that I am not made into one, that Lomoth has confined me to my room. That is a better ending than being a spawn, but then again, I doubt that a Spawn could hold me still long enough to make me one of them.
I do not know which is worse, though. My room is fit for Queen Sibrek, perhaps fitting for a Champion, but I am not worthy of the word now. That being said, I do get a lot of time to look around my room, when I am awake; while the drowsiness strikes me, I do not necessarily sleep, but sometimes lay in a state of semi-sleep, able to take in my surroundings and understand things albeit weakly. Even after how long has it been... well, at least a year now, I am still finding intricacies within the room. The engravings are amazing; if I can trouble myself to roll to the side of my bed, I can study each one in turn. My eyes are still sharp, so often I will lie and look at each engraving; a little bit of history. A bit of cheese there, a scene of me striking down the Spawn General, scenes of my lifelong exploits, and occasionally, ones of other people. There is a recurring image of Splint too; he appears a few times, every time merely admiring some pie or some such thing.
Draignean lies in his room too; I do not see him anymore.
I remember what I said to Reudh, back when Dicer's little one Lokum was frightened. I did want to have children some day, as doubtful as finding a dwarf man worthy of being my husband (I would most definitely be the superior one in the relationship, because I am me) was, it still would be nice. The children would have a lot to live up to; but no doubt I would raise them well.
I do not know why now I feel the need to start a family, quite ironic now that I'm not physically capable, and the only males I would find worthy are either dead, or part of my squad.
Back when I was a young grunt, back when Splint and Talvieno and Stova and I served, when I was a young woman, I found Splint quite dashing. That, well.. that wore off after the reality of battle. Something did change in me after my first fight. He seemed... changed too. Not the youthful, rosy cheeked dwarf he was anymore. Now that I think about it, not one of us came out of the wars unscathed. Splint has been having little bouts of madness from time to time. Stova turned... as we all know, and was killed. Talvi went flat out insane. I do wish Splint hadn't told her about the Spawn. I'm the only one who came out unscathed mentally, and even then I just feel cold and hateful. I never wished I would feel that way, but detachment is better than madness.
Vampires, spawn, they're all the same. Enemies. I'm glad we wiped them out, but it did take our innocence. I was barely an adult.
The tiredness that strikes me is just... well, it is an inconquerable thing. I don't know why, but my body demands I sleep, and my liverbrain says that that's a good thing, so I sleep. I just... don't wake up. But sometimes, I think it's related to the food I've been having, sometimes I stay awake inside and so I get to think, like now.
I wonder, I have heard of 'stimulants', strange things that Parasol and Ballpoint and Mr Frog have used to help their soldiers. I wonder, I really hope, and I wonder, if I could get Mr Frog to make me a stimulant that would let me stay awake. That way I could fulfill my duties. Even if I get back to active duty, Dauros would be the champion and I just his soldier... A heck of a demotion for me, but I could live with it, if ONLY I COULD MOVE.
I think, considering how badly I have been affected by Lomoth's gas, would that work? If it did, would I even want to fight anymore?
A journal, or an instructional manual, or even memoirs of my life. I would never have seen the point before this, but I think the things I have done should be catalogued for the future.
If Spearbreakers has a future. No, I mustn't think that way. Dauros is just as strong as I or Draignean. Dauros wears my helmet, and so he is the next Fischer. When he inevitably passes on, in the future, he should pass it to the next Fischer. I must remind myself to give him Splashslowed too, because I can realise that it is as much my appearance as my strength which unnerves our weaker, more mundane foes. If word spread that two of Spearbreaker's finest were unable to fight back, on top of the ones already killed in action, we may well see a horde we cannot defeat.
Then again... we have lost so many of my bright dwarves. Jack Magnus is a pathetic facsimile of the dashing man he once was. Niccolo is barely able to fight. There are more like them, and I shouldn't dwell on them because Fischer is not a maudlin woman.
It is tough to avoid this, going so drastically from being vital and strong and hale and hearty to being downright useless. It drives a Fischer mad, it does.
I wish my friends would visit me more, but they're training hard to keep us all safe, so I suppose that's fair. I feel so tired, and I really want to sleep.
Draignean
Oh! I'm awake! What a grand time. I would like to take this time to dictate to myself just how amusing I can be, and dashing! And how strong and fast I am too.
It is terrible though, how much I feel tired these days. Lomoth spewed fine peach-smelling perfume at us all, though the grand Fischer and the equally-if-not-more-though-just-as grand Draignean were the only ones hit. That's a good thing! Only two of us were hit!
I cannot feel unhappy about my indisposition, it is a well earned rest to lie here, without Fischer telling me what to do. I miss the Spearbreakers Salute; when I am awake enough to speak, I insist my friends do it when they visit, but they say 'we do not hit crippled dwarves'. That makes me sad, but I do not mind! I am resting, am I not? I do not enjoy the combat as much as Fischer does, so my rest is not as infuriating.
That being said...
I want a mirror.
I want a mirror, that sits above me.
I want a mirror, that sits above me, so that whenever I wake up, I see my own face, and it reminds me just what a wonderful world I live in, that my face is still unharmed even after all these years. I think that if I could not see my own face, I would just want to die. There is no worse thing in this world than being ugly.
The humans do bring such things from time to time; when I can hold a pen again, I must scratch a note to Simon Tam (wherever he is) that we must buy a mirror for me. Better yet, a mirror that covers the entire roof! It could be done! To see all of the glory of Draignean, in all of its bed-ridden glory!
The worst thing about it tough, besides being unable to smile at the lasses and make them faint (I am just that handsome), is hearing myself speak. A tired Draignean is not a handsome Draignean. No, what am I saying?
I am always handsome, whether I am bedridden and exhausted and unable to speak with my sultry voice, or when I am upright and effervescent, prepared to throw wave after wave of dwarves at Fischer's disposal!
Oh sod-blast-it-all... Here is another wave of exhaustion... I must sleep again. I don't want to sleep, but when I wake up, I hope one of my sexy, sexy maids has a mirror ready for me. I must see my face!
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2197471 times)