| Letters and Liberties |
| Summary: | On the eve after battle, Clarke t'Cauthone sends a letter home. |
| Date: | 1867-10-04 |
| Related: | The Rise in Banditry Plot |
| Players: |
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~A letter is sent by Clarke t'Cauthone to his father in the Blackfens~
Dear Father
I hope this letter finds you well. The eve finds me not quite hurt so much in body as in spirit. The bandits were routed, but at a great cost in men. Experienced ones. Friends, comrades. That we can ill afford. I'm reminded that there is no good battle. Merely finished ones. It was as bad as any I have seen in a long time. We attacked the bandits head-long into their camp and we paid the price for it. None got away, so I suppose they all face the Justice of the One in the end.
But bloody Sword of the One, we let too many good men and women die. Their deaths shall not be in vain, for they died to free our country from those who would plague it. But how many of them died because we were foolhardy and went in headfirst? I've not had fighting so bad since we engaged the Barbarians. They were willing to fight and die to the last, they didn't break ranks and run, they fought well. Even with all we knew about them being dangerous we still went on and hit them headfirst in camp.
We will survive, and be the stronger for it. We always do. But we cannot waste things so wrecklessly. Much less with the Rivanans over the border growing stronger by the season. That's something beyond my power. I can fight, and I can die. But I can't lead men nor tell those who lead what to do. I don't want anymore battles like this, Father. None of us do. Least of those those who lead us into battle. And I can't say nor do anything to sway them. I'm just a soldier. I don't want any more battles like this. But if we have to I shall be ready for them.
Hopefully the season shall bring with it fresh spirits. The Masque season is some days away, something to always look forwards to. How fare things at home? Is Mother well? And how is Uncle Remy? I would have enjoyed getting a chance to see what he would have said of the battle. I miss the Blackfens. Perhaps I shall try to take a path back to them in the coming months before the season sets in and the ground freezes to spend some time at home.
Ever loving, ever dutiful,
Your son, Clarke t'Cauthone