Zartilda's Journal (And Assorted Tales)

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 9: Costs

MIA, they say. I don't know. I can't know. I'm typing with one hand and that's irritating as all fuck but there's a voice thing to help.

Our war deployment's not gone well. We had ITEC on our case for not moving fast enough, we've been hitting setback after setback. The citizenry of the first town we landed in fought us all the way because of repeated killing and taxing and... all manner of nonsense, but then, there was a purge. The warfronts didn't go great but they went, because we needed to advance and keep advancing for the mining objectives, despite heavy losses here and there.

And then the Republic struck back, hard. Using a sandstorm again. I'd made a protocol, grids, so that people on-location could give accurate targeting even in a sandstorm with a... map overlay, sort of thing. That was used to bomb the hell out of two fronts as we now face interdiction around the planet, multiple Jedi appearing out of nowhere, and full swarms of Republic. It's not great. I fought a guy using some kind of Jedi Juyo, and lost an arm. We lost an Ensign that held the enemy off.

Had a fight with a pair of the Warriors speaking ill of... Naile. Lost him, too. I'm hurting, bad, and I can recognize the broken Bond when I feel it, but I still have his final moments in his head. My head. In my head. In my dreams, in my chest. Burning. My arm hurting, and I keep thinking it's still there, but there's nothing.

There's rumor that the Dark Council is shifting a bit, and our P&L person is on the outs. Which would make this deployment a failure either way. We've been sent on a fool's errand and we're paying the price, but that's the cost of war. That we suffer, and leave people behind. That people are forgotten, that we grieve, that we have to keep fighting because it's what we're good for, what's demanded of us by the Dark Side. I've blown up twice now, broken a leg, and had an arm taken, and now a wound right in my heart.

How much more must I give? How much more must I lose for trying to do what I can? Why am I here, killing on orders and brushing with death again and again? Nothing to show for it, either, not even a title. I can't even do my fucking job as Harbinger.

Tem was with Naile Telepathically, until the end. Until he was... MIA. She had to yell at me. I earned that. I miss the rains of Kaas. My bed. My forge. I just want to cry in frustration and grief of it all. I wasn't there for him, but someone was. I was needed elsewhere... and other things I have to tell myself, but it's not hurting any less.

I loved him.