Itrepidinu did not turn up for dinner, for the first time ever. If he too is gone, my heart shall not take it. And there's more, there always is. If I do not find Intrepidinu, and if the rest goes South, there shall be no quandary about what comes next. None at all. We have not had one day of victory, not a moment of peace, ever. That is why we are here now, and this is why we say what we do. Hope long forlorn, comfort long dismissed, love but forgotten, dreams to nightmares, dark nights, scorching sun, and this sterile desert of mankind. We took an oath to strive for the lesser, and we only have one last shield, sword, and banner. The most crucial. Faith. May God not fail us, despite how terribly and often, we have failed Him. Ironblood Lazarite Knight, damned Lepper, Last Baron.
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We have eaten less in 8 weeks than anyone should in seven days. We have upgraded our assault to the maximum human limit. But the sickness has returned, annihilating all in its course. Readily bled out, immensely fatigued, malnourished, the ice we thread runs ever thinner. If we do not break out in the coming weeks, and unless we receive reinforcements, we are finished. No other way to define our immediate and impending situation. We are being annihilated and soon there shall be nothing left. We are ready for everything, anything. And the last round is reserved, chambered and locked.
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Here again, hidden away. If silence could kill... We are here by not by choice, but lack of alternatives. Despite our persistence, we have been sent reeling. In convulsion we remain, making the best of the impossible. But we are always at the fringe of annihilation. The harder we strive, the less there is to strive for. They just keep coming, from all directions. They just keep coming, all the time. They just keep coming!
It is said that when a door closes, another opens. Given what we have seen, it is better if once a door closes, it and the rest remain fucking shut! We have also learned from dire experience, to keep abreast of windows. And yet we fear naught. A Paradox perhaps? Have no illusion, it's no delusion, we know exactly what is out there. The void. Empty, silent, barren, and unsustainable. Inside or outside, we are the stranger who walks you by every day. Such the fate of a Pariah, to walk always among strangers, and remain unknown to all.
Few listen, fewer understand, so many times have we spread our wings to fly, yet fallen, like Icarus and many an angel. But we are nothing more than leaves in a storm. And so we fly after all. Fight or flight has marked our path for so long now, and we have done both. Strategic retreat is crucial, ours best categorised as messy fallbacks after being overwhelmed and overrun by forces far beyond our capacity to confront. We stand and we fall as men of principle, in a world that cares for everything but. We stand for many things. And we fall for even more.
