White Ribbon

Not all friends fight on the same side. This I have learned painfully so. What tragety it is to be fated to fight one whom's blood you wish not to spill. So too is the dilema of the kind heart, what monster truely wishes blood on his hands? So we wait, we hesitate hoping to glimpse a dash of humanity within our enemy. No one wants to fight a war... And yet we fight regardless. I am no fighter, it's true. My arms are weak, so too my will. I have not the stomach to take a life. So in indignant fury you may accuse me of ignorance. "YOU WHO HAVE FOUGHT NO BATTLE have NO place to judge." And to that I say you may be right; but then why so do I see such apprehention to kill in the letters from the dead? I am he whom dons a white ribbon. A soldier I may not be but i walk the same ground, step over the same corpses and stain my clothes with the same blood. But I am not there to take, I'm there to give. Give last rites, retrieve the word and will of the lost and give the gift of solace to those whom may yet live. It is a gift none wish to receive; but all whom receive it are thankful. *** The gates to Demacia are tall, strong and grand. As the capital of the paragon country one cannot help but feel an overwhelming sense of awe as one passes under it's archs. It was good to be back within the walls of a safe and peaceful city. Well, as peaceful as it could get anyway, despite all the depictions and tales of white granite walls and ivory towers the keep is riddled with dark alley ways filled with less than savoury customers. Though better than anywhere else execept that of piltover, you can always find some place dogey if you're looking for underhanded services. At the centre of the keep is a lively market place, people shout from stalls to buy their goods. Good dependable folk I find; all living an honest, though slightly backwards living. I push through, navigating through countless passage ways and districts till I had reached my destination... the castle as the centre piece of Demacia. Garen is a good lad, with a good head on his shoulders. Though sometimes oblivious to the nuiances of conversation, he is a brave and respected general, and a brilliant tactician. He can inspire his men to swing their swords with ten times the strength of a normal man and charge with the heart of a lion. Though may not show it, he cares deeply for the wellbeing of his men, a feeling mutually understood and returned by those whom serve under him. Garen oft wishes that I make my deliveries to the Demanian ministry of war but such demands are deaf to my ears. I always give the letters to him in person as a reminder to his responsibilities to the men who fight and die for him. His duty, his burdens and rememberance to those he sent to death. It is a weight he bears grimly everyday, abut a reminder he always welcomes. "Garen! It is good to see you're still alive old friend! You've grown much, must make the tavern girls hot under the collar." "Old friend, it is a relief to see you are well all this time. Have you ever considered setteling down?" "Geeeaaaahhh forget about me, no one's going to remember an old krug like me. But you? You're a general now! Demacia won't be the same without you friend! So many cold beds and lonely nights eh he he Ha" "Please... I'm not like that... not anymore" "Heh, you were a naive starry eyed sucker back then. Now look at you... anyway you know why I'm here." After some fiddleing I pulled out a large bundle of bloodied and weathered letters. "They're from Cresthel Pass and Fort Selinraud, the Noxus winter assault" Garen paused... not hesitant to grab the letters but rather lost in grief... remembering faces, names, families. From my bag I produced several trinkets and medals. Good luck charms that granted no blessing. Such things were best for rememberance and console but it did not remove the thorns of pain. "It is not your fault friend, they died dignified and honorable men... C'mon lets get a drink to cheer for our fallen on their voyage to the afterlife. They do not like the taste of salty tears, let us pour them a drink!" "And may Kindred guide them" "... and may Kindred guide them, friend"

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