Confessions of a Madman

Chapter One: The Admiral

July 3rd, in the year of our Empire, 1012

Today was momentous. We managed to push back enemy forces despite heavy resistance, and we did so without exceeding our projected casualties. The only difficulty now will be taking the wall.

Personally, however, I am beginning to disagree with this campaign. The causes become less and less clear, and the men are getting more and more unruly. Something about this war is changing them. And I have to agree that, to some degree, it has been changing me. Today, a refugee camp not too far from the wall was ambushed by our men against our orders. They had escaped Khooma, fleeing further south. However, I was unable to stay my men as they tore through the encampment. Man, woman and child was slaughtered before I had time to pull back the attack, and when I did, there was something savage in the eyes of the soldiers. Admiral Clarke had warned me of this. Before... well. 

On the other hand, the southern folk have not stopped their assault. Day and night, scouts are ambushed and camps are attacked, but all it has been doing for them is buying them time. And they know it is useless. They have no surprises, and all their tricks have been spent - our spies assured us of that before this campaign even began. All we have to do is push through, and the south will be the Empire's again. 

The heat has been an issue as well, unbearable as it is. The sands already provide an exceeding amount of discomfort, and navigating under the scorching sun was almost as difficult as that thick jungle that lined the shores. Yet movement has been much faster and, as much as I hate to say it, progress is increasing as more soldiers fall. Our numbers, and more importantly, our weaponry still overpower them, but if we do not take all the necessary precautions, we may end up at the other end of one of their spears, or with an arrow through our heads. 

I have ordered the immediate preparation of the cannons and have tasked the chemist with concocting a flammable lining for the cannonballs. One precisely timed strike in the early morning should surprise them enough for a successful siege. 

But for now, all that should be on our minds is rest. The last few days have taught us that much. I am taking the first and third shift of watch with two others, while the other soldiers are catching up on lost hours. The sun has begun to fall as I have been writing, and around me, flintlocks are being cleaned and swords sharpened. 

Today was momentous, yet with each passing day, I realize that tomorrow is what matters most.

July 5th, in the year of our Empire, 1012

The cannons did their work. The wall to Khooma has been breached, and by the guidance and blessing of the first rays of the sun, three of our camps advanced into enemy territory. The city's defenses fell effortlessly. 

There is not much to report on our end. News from the shore says that all remaining minor encampments have been razed, and lesser portion of the fleet is sending the remaining prisoners off to the mining colonies. A new shipment of supplies and materials is headed our way by the end of the month, at which point colonizing efforts are to begin. Afterwards, we are to expect three supervising members of the Imperial Guard. 

The campaign is, for all its intentions and its purposes, over. The men are mourning the losses and celebrating the victories, drinking to their fallen comrades and to the Empire's glory. Yet I cannot help but hesitate in doing either. The Admiral's death still weighs heavy on my shoulders. I curse myself for inaction, and my inability to describe nor admit to it in words leaves me feeling...

Empty.

In my mind, the image of his fall haunts me day and night. 

July 12th, in the year of our Empire, 1012