Found:
So... This is civilisation. This?! Anyone who believes it to be so is deluded, a fool or both.
What is civilised about breaking into someone's home and place of work, destroying all within and stealing what remains? What is civilised about taking women and old men from their beds to hold them prisoner in a ratty camp? What is civilised about beating a crippled man, half-drowning him for information?
Life on the road may not come with all the comforts of cushions and rugs. It may be filled to the brim with unsavory people, orcs, wargs and all sorts of other dangers, but at least it doesn't put on airs and graces about it. It knows what it is, what it entails, what it wants. It doesn't go around trying to pretend that it's something it's not; a thin veneer of tranquility and gentility to disguise its true nature.
Civilisation is like a warg turd wrapped in gold coloured paper. However shiny it may look on the surface, it's still shit beneath.
All this new knowledge about the recent happenings of Bree-land came courtesy of Rahvic, who came to me in a panic with a whole new host of fresh bruises upon his face. Owena, Brinee and some old official of Bree have been kidnaped and taken to some banished bandits camp. The baker, the maid and the judge; if I hadn't thought it sounded like the start of a bad joke before, I certainly did after my dear little adopted brother asked for my help in storming the castle. Just the two of us. Against a whole camp of angry, dispossessed, hungry, killers and thieves. There is no way that ends well.
I've managed to slow him down, to get him to think and plan. I've helped him concoct one that may work, but it could also all go horribly wrong. And if it does, then what good would we have achieved? Putting our own necks in nooses only to fail. Perhaps getting the captives killed in the process. It's all so risky. Doubly risky considering there are apparently four others with a wish to play at heroics. Four others who may well end up working at cross-purposes to Rahvic and I. We could well end up endangering each other in our separate attempts to achieve the same goal. Add to that the simple fact that I'm no good at fighting people. I don't like violence, I don't like blood, I don't want to kill anyone and I'm not certain that I could. Not again. In such a situation, that renders me more hindrance than help.
So, danger upon danger, variable upon variable, and doubt upon doubt, all for the sake of getting Rahvic laid. As much as I empathise with the prisoners, I have to ask myself if it's worth it. Oh, freeing them certainly is, but should we really be the ones to do it? Isn't that what the bloody Watch is for? Or how about the gaggles of self-professed adventurers and heroes lurking about the Pony? At least one or two of those pointless peacocks must be able to back up their claims, surely?
Don't I have enough to contend with already? With so much already vying for my attention, why did this have to come now? Why are people so bloody stupid? I may have empathy for their plight, but I currently feel very little sympathy. According to Rahvic, the baker had already been attacked once, the maid had been harassed several times. Are they both so horrendously dull witted that they thought him being chased out of a single town would be enough to keep them safe? The thing about madmen is that they don't adhere to sense and the Notorious Mister Puppy Pants is, by all accounts, a whole hamper short of a picnic.
Meanwhile, I still have the problem of Haritha's masks to solve. The Big Book of Angmarim Insanity is exactly that. The ravings of a bedlamite as best I can tell, though translation is slow going because whoever wrote it decided to bastardise the language first, presumably in an attempt to prevent mere novices from reading it.
There's also the issue of Rowan. More specifically, the issue of his health. The man himself is no problem at present; he barely leaves his room except to join me for meals. But even then, he eats so very little. The strong man I once knew is gone, replaced by this withered and weak frame that I barely recognise. He sounds better, the cough is gone, but for all that he's improving in one way, he remains unwell in others.
I don't know what to do for him. I don't know how to help him. I just want to hold him close and tell him that everything will be alright. I won't though. He wouldn't want it and, even if he did, I'm still wary of him. That being said, at least he seems to want to rebuild the broken trust between us. I don't know if we ever can truly trust one another, but it's nice that he's trying. I'm trying too.
However this all goes, whatever happens next, there's only one thing I can know for sure; I'm no hero.
