IV-awareness
After about twenty days of travel on land Camlannaises, I arrived at last in the Cotswold town at the foot of the ramparts of Camelot. So far, I had no problem finding the food and shelter in the villages that I visited, with some stories and poems. I had also decided to purchase equipment to write my own songs, I felt more rewarding work than to tell the works of others.
However, my mood had darkened a little more to each of my steps. First, I was advised to use major roads busiest and not to ride alone for fear of highwaymen. I had executed the more willingly that I considered myself a poor fighter. I was also told of strange creatures wandering the moors ... At first I thought the legends to scare children and foreigners, but it kept me the same speech in every house where I was producing. So I began to listen more carefully to the conversations of the locals.
is where I became aware of the cruelty of the world ... Since my childhood I lived outside of reality, immersing myself in books and creating me an idyllic image of the outside. I imagined discover lands calm, peaceful in which people lived quietly in the joy and serenity, as during the Golden Age of Arthur's reign. What a mistake! The king had died without designating a successor and the rightful claimants to the throne for tearing each other to power, thereby weakening the kingdom of Albion. Hibernia and Midgard lived similar situations which engendered a huge chaos. Everywhere it was only crimes, robberies, fights between rival gangs or guilds
... At the end of my performances, instead of going straight to my room, So I sat at a table with a plate and a well stocked Claret jug. Often, villagers came to congratulate me and I took advantage of their offer to share my meal. I heard so many stories: a young man whose father had died protecting their homes from an attack of marauders, leaving a widow and six children destitute, a soldier who lost his right leg and with it, all his dreams of glory and many others I could mention. But in every conversation, the same words came back like a litany: war, blood, fear, death ... and in every glance, I read the hatred and despair.
How could I be so blind? I was so focused on my own suffering that I did not notice the others. How dare compare myself only to those people? Basically, I knew neither hunger nor cold, nor the horror and violence of the battlefield. My misfortune seemed, in retrospect, though bearable ...
One night I stayed lying on my bed with my eyes wide open, without sleep. The conversation I had a few hours earlier I had been particularly upset. He was a mercenary in the prime of life, whose forehead was marked with a large scar. He told me that previous spring, he and his twin brother had been hired in a small company to organize a raid near the border with Hibernian. The scout responsible for the information on the enemy troops had proved to be a spy from a rival guild. They had submitted false information and enemies, many more than expected, waited for him. The battle was bloody and the survivors had to retreat quickly. The man's voice broke and his eyes misted over. I was particularly disturbed by such a reaction from a seasoned veteran too, but I stayed silent so as not to embarrass him.
his senses, the warrior cleared his throat and continued, suddenly a light illuminating its aggressive look. When the commander had given orders to retreat, he had naturally turned to his brother to see him lying on the ground, his hands red with blood on his stomach clenched. He rushed towards him to help him recover, but had immediately realized the seriousness of the injury made him intransportable. His sister had then grabbed his armor, begging him to finish it does not drop living in enemy hands.
- I can no, the man exclaimed. We die together, brothers until death!
- No! Had gasped the dying man grimacing in pain. Kill me now and go-thee before it is too late. Survive and fight for us, please! If my death is for nothing.
One of his companions had then approached to take a mercenary by the arm and ordered to leave. His thoughts were numb and had then pulled out his dagger and had driven into the heart of his brother of a specific act fast. He just had time to hear the latest in a whisper thank before death to him with open arms. Then he started running to leave this cursed place, without looking back. After a brief pause, the man confessed, bitterly "I killed the person I wanted most in the world, my only family. Part of me is gone that day!"
I rehashing this story again and again, choked and tears rolling down my cheeks. And finally, I realized that the gods granted me the talent for story-telling to witness the suffering of the world. Maybe I would change and things ...
I spent the rest of the night feverishly to blacken the pages and pages of parchment. Only at daybreak qu'épuisée but satisfied, I went to bed and fell asleep at last. The Cotswold residents are the first to hear the results of my first writings.
Illustration Larry Elmore
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