Dearest Marta,
Greetings my love, from so far away. I hope this letter finds
you and your family well. How is everything in our little village of Diris? Are
you still working for the milkmaids? How about your father, is he still the
village's blacksmith? Your father is the best smith in Telengard; we could sure
use some of his steel now. How is my mother holding up? She took it very hard
when I left, as I know you did. I know too you're giving each other the love
and support you need during these troubling times.
I miss you Marta. I miss seeing you, and holding you in my
arms. I long for your touch, and your kiss. Thinking of you, and the hope of
one day being together again helps get me through each and every day.
Sometimes, it is the only thing that gets me through. It is torture being so
far away from you. Each night I go to sleep, thinking I couldn't possibly miss
you any more than I do now. Then I wake
up the next morning and somehow my heart aches for you just a little bit
more. Oh how I wish I was home, with
you.
I think often of our first kiss under the oak tree. You
remember that old tree, with the lightning marks on one side? I can still
remember when we noticed those marks; it was right after our kiss. Remember I
said it was our passion that had struck the tree so. I still feel that passion,
my love. Those feelings are what gets me up each day, and helps me to march
forward with the army.
My fellow soldiers are small compensation for your absence.
And despite having been with them for almost a year now, most of them are still
strangers to me. The men from Thrice are all bullies, walking in our tents and
taking whatever they want. We fight with them constantly, sometimes it's hard
to believe we're on the same side. The Sivilar are the same way, and the
commanders are constantly breaking up fights between the soldiers from those
two kingdoms. Sometimes I think it's a wonder we've gotten as far as we have
against the enemy, with so much fighting going on amongst ourselves.
Does news of the war get as far north as our village? No one
is supposed to talk about the war to anyone outside the army, and letters to
home are strictly forbidden. I've managed to bribe a friend I made in our
supply train to get this to you, so please keep it secret.
The war has been going our way for the last several months.
We've pushed the Arcanians all the way back into the Narrow Way. But our
progress has halted now. The Arcanians are not retreating any more. And things
are turning worse for us, once again.
Something has happened to the sky. It's been dark for at
least three days, as if the night is never going to end. The commanders keep
saying it's just some kind of natural phenomenon, but we can tell they're
lying. The Arcanians have cast some kind of spell, and that's not the worst of
it. At the battle lines, the ground has become cursed somehow. The dirt smells
like decay, and the air itself is nauseating, far worse than the smells of battle
ever could be. Our men come back to camp stricken with some kind of disease.
There are strange-looking boils all over them, and it hurts just to have their
armor on. I've heard rumors too that some foul sorcerers are mixed in with the
Arcanian soldiers; wizards who can raise the dead right there, and force them
to fight. Our own men who fall in battle are being made to fight against us.
Gods, I hope that isn't true.
Lately, a group of nine people, five men and four women, have
been moving through our camps. Someone said they’re called ‘monks’. The monks
are from some place called the Order. No one's ever heard of it, and we were
all suspicious of them when they arrived. It was strange, them showing up just
when the Arcanians had begun casting their evil spells. But then they started
curing the disease, so the commanders let them stay. Now that they've been here
for a few weeks, I've gotten to know them fairly well, and I like them. They're
all quiet, they don't talk much, and when they do, it's quick and to the point.
But they're always polite. Most everyone seems to like them, except the
Sivilar, but I don't know why that is. Then again, the Sivilar don't seem to
like anyone.
The generals all say we're winning the war and that soon the
Arcanians will break and the war will be over. But no one believes them. The
generals are wearing the same masks of fear that everyone else is wearing. The
unnatural darkness, the cursed ground and this disease, it's obvious the
Arcanians are planning some kind of counterattack. I'm hoping our leaders are
indeed planning some kind of strategy for ending this war, but every day that
nothing changes is another day my hope fades away.
The thought of seeing you again is the only thing that gets
me through each day, the only thing that keeps me from running back now.
Because if I run I won't see you. We've had a lot of deserters lately, and
every one of them has been caught and executed. That's how bad things are
getting. Oh how I wish these Arcanians would just give up, I want to come home,
to hold you in my arms. I love you Marta.
Think of me, my love, and know that I'm thinking of you,
every minute of every day. Sometime soon, we'll be together again. We'll get
married under the oak tree, and live long and happy lives, forever after.
Yours forever, all my love to you,
Stigon Aquaria.
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