Nothing quite like the kick of whiskey, eh? Nothing quite comes as close anymore, ‘less I have a blade in my hands. Perhaps the kick of life, but, recently I've found myself less 'kicked' and more stampeded upon by horde of, let's say less than pleased, oliphaunts. But, I digress, I can't say things haven't been interesting lately. If anything, I've been delightfully surprised at some of my more current affairs. Though the fact I need to wander around Bree with a bottle of whiskey in hand as my only comfort is a matter I must address at some point.
Sergeant of The Bloody Dawn. Who would ever have thought that me, the silver-tongued stallion, would-..hey, I like that one actually. I should start using that. By Eru, I hope someone has the decency to ask me for my 'titles' sometime soon. Sorry, anyway, yes. I now sit in a position of power. Minute power, meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but a position of power no less. And a decent increase of silver with each contract I partake in, to boot. Bet Father wouldn't have ever predicted I'd be a 'Sergeant' of anything.
“Dirty little scut born into wealth and power.”, he used to so lovingly call me.
Bet he would be real fucking smug about the fact that it's not really an official title, more of a fallacy for a company of less than honourable men to feel more honourable than they perhaps are. It seems moot at this point, from the tales I've heard of the men who used to run this damn company of sellswords. Used to be more of a cult back in its prime. Fingers being lopped off left and right, some mad bitch who liked burning people. Needless to say, I'm thankful for the change. And I'm thankful for a man like Ebold to be in charge. A good friend, even if he's full of shit most of the time, ay?
Aye, I'm thankful for my place in the world today. Even if foreigners still proclaim that: for me to be ‘truly honourable’, I should be dying side by side with my people in some war that has fuck all to do with me. Fuck off. I suppose my feelings on the matter are summed up quite well by how I treat my own natives like outsiders. Bree has become my home now. Certainly more of a home than Minas Tirith was ever going to be. After all, where else would accommodate a handsome, young rogue fresh from killing his own father? Miss Deorda, that bitch who keeps slapping me for whatever reason, and Ealstan, that old man who's company I enjoy too much to tell him as I'd give him hope that he was still relevant with the youth, told me so. Told me that I was as much of a man of Bree as anyone else around me. Suppose it's funny, in a way. Who knew a man of Gondor would fall devoted to a glorified farmer’s market in the center of the northern lands. I don't think it's so much the town itself, either. More so its inhabitants. I've shared a lot of beds around town, it's no secret. But even still, the people here intrigue me evermore. Simple-minded, and without a care in the world… Save for the foreigners brandishing weapons at their doors. I envy them. I envy the ability to turn this little fucker off. And by that, I mean you. Yes! You. You fucking nitwit. To think I've shared a body so long with the voices in my head, that even they grow bored of my antics. I hate politics.
Flirting! Flirting. Now that’s something that I enjoy. Something that comes easy. Natural. As is in my blood, so they say. My father was a man of many talents, and ruthless in his abilities to take whatever he so desired. I will always respect him for that. Even though he was a cunt. I like to think I take after him, in that regard, though for some reason I seem to have a conscience... Probably Tailia's doing. Crazy bitch. Who knew that a fucking Kolten, of all people in Eriador, could instill some kind of moral code within the cogs of my mind? Wonder how Blince is getting on now... Seen him with a few women here and there. Not spoken much since the tragedies. A shame. We are more alike than I first thought.
This fucking conscience be damned, though, while I’m on the topic. Murderous towards any arousal I’ve been feeling lately, save for one. Ever since meeting that damned copper-haired girl, I've been unable to keep my brain and my cock in check. Oh, I've tried so very hard to get myself past this. Nothing more than a blip in the road, so I’ve been saying. But no. I manage to burn down any bridges I had built with other women, all because of a tiny flicker of guilt. Women who tickle my intrigue too. Women like Romilley. Not often you get offered the promise of sex, and someone to listen to you, without asking anything in return. I should’ve bedded her when I had the chance. Or, perhaps more fittingly in my recollections, Lisbaeth. The one who's so suddenly wed to marry, so I hear. Peculiar girl. Exquisite mind. Beautiful face. I wonder what she looks like-
Naked ambitions of winning over the interest of the huntress. Claims so brazen that I tousled with her man the other day. Taraborn, huh. Bloke didn't take too kindly to me probing him about his hate for 'nobility'. I mean, I may dislike pretentious arses as much as the next man, but my line of blood meant something back in Gondor. Someone has to defend the family honour. So, I asked him if he was raped as a boy! Never got much of a response. Naught much else than a seething bravado of masculinity and anger. So much angst behind a man's eyes, one can only wonder what kind of beast mated with his mother to produce that… And Taala said I would like the man. I suppose if there wasn't such an unspoken tension then we would get along famously. Though that’s my own doing, as much as it is his lover’s. Even still, I'd like him a lot better if he'd keep his filthy, big mittens off my throat. At least I won, in the end. As I always do. Would’ve embarrassed him further and smacked him one, if Narys hadn’t been around.
Narys. What the fuck is that woman doing to my head? Why can't I concentrate whenever she decides to swagger into a room, all flirts and laughing? Why is she everywhere? I would've fucked her by now if she hadn't been spoken for. But from the way we are, would that truly have been the best option anyway? Desire can blind a man’s mind. I hate how relaxed I am around her. The way we can so carelessly spend nights talking away, and watching fireworks flash across the sky, like lovers in our own regard. But not of each other. Where is my honour when I undress her with my gaze? When my fingers grace the side of her neck. When her hand graces the side of my face. I hate the way she smiles at me.
I hate the way she smiles at me.
The way she smiles at me…
Fuck! Where's my sword? I need my sword. My presence was due at the Dawnhall. Almost forgot. I need to stop drinking. I need to remind myself to stop drinking. And I need to get these damn emotions off of me. They're unbefitting. I'm Dagramir fucking Audun, damn it. I'm in control of my own destiny. I'm in control of who I bed, and I'm in control of my life. Fuck the Gods, and all entities who ever dared to be worthy of worship! I don't need you!
I need a drink.
