No Unwounded Soldiers [Closed]

[Xavier]

In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. ~José Narosky

A sly-looking young lad walked into the Inn, marched up to the desk, and slapped down a letter. After waiting what he felt was long enough, he looked around, anxious for someone to come and take possession of the letter. After waiting for about fifteen more minutes, he muttered something about being an errand boy, walked around the counter, located the first thing that looked vaguely valuable, and pocketed it. Payment for services rendered, and screw anyone that had a problem with it. He had been assured that he would be going to sleep with a full belly, and on a soft bed, for at least a few days after he delivered that letter.

Whenever someone happened upon the letter and opened it, all questions regarding it would be answered. It read as follows:

To My Family:

I've dreaded writing this letter for some time now. Since I know how much Dad hates paperwork, I'm addressing the most likely reader, which is you, Madeline. I am afraid what was supposed to be a few weeks' worth of trip has turned into something much more time-consuming. As I was crossing the border with Jalin to get some fresh supplies for a few of his clans, I ran into the new head of the Borderland armies. Since we had served together some time ago, he recognized me instantly and served me with my papers. It would seem that I am once again in a bloody army. You know, one of Dad's favorite comedians once said that fighting for peace was like screwing for virginity. I agree one-hundred percent. This latest exercise seems to be mopping up the remaining Shadowspawn near the Blight and policing the area. Having had time for nothing but to read until I fall asleep for some time now, I've been catching up on a great deal of reading. First of all, Maddie, and I apologize for this, but I read three chapters of that book about the vampire, the wannabe werewolf, and the chick with necrophilia and offered it to a few of the guys for kindling. If you wish, I'll buy you another one, but honestly, did that so-called writer have to turn the werewolf into a child predator? Seriously! Anyway, the other one, the one with the Rincewind guy, was outstanding. I hope you'll keep the address on this envelope and send me another, if you have the time. Anyway, I felt the need to explain why I haven't been in touch, and while I'm aware that I can Gate there and back, these people really need me. This is one of the saddest excuses for an army I've ever seen. There was this one guy...Maddie, he was huge! Built like a castle wall, but unfortunately for him, he was about as smart as one as well. He blustered day and night about how many trollocs he was going to kill for the first two weeks we were out here. When he saw one, it became clear he had never seen one before, as evidenced by the smell, the amount of piss that went down his leg, and the fact that he had a head for precisely fifteen seconds after they got to him. I guess I should say he was lucky that they put him out of his misery quick, he had the look of one they'd have liked to have in their stew-pot fresh. So went another day, marching, fighting, cleaning my blades, etc. I kind of can't let on around most of the guys that I'm either a Channeller or a werewolf. Both seem to freak them right the hell out. I took one hell of a wound from one of the others, since they seem to not know the pointy end of the sword from the handle end. It's healing fine, so there's that. Tell Dad thanks again for that particular gene. Anyway, it's getting really dark here, the asshole in requisitions is stingy as hell with the candles, and I'm almost out of ink. I'll sneak out to see you guys as soon as I can. Love ya, little sis.

Xavier Cauthon

PS-Tell Dad I'll see him soon, and not to worry. This charade of being just another sword-swinger is going to last about as long as it takes for the situation to go balls-up and pear-shaped. Oh yeah, and make sure he knows I'm racking up kills left and right and leaving his arse in my dust. That should get him.