I recall the good Queen with clarity but only as she was in her younger days. At some point my mind reeled back to the time when she was a nubile young lady with too much fire. I was unable to comprehend the fact she had aged, becoming a withered old woman with grey hairs and weak smiles. Even when I myself, had become a withered old man. I document these memories because every day I continue on with my life I feel myself slipping further and further away from sanity. Often forgetting simple things that use to come so easily to me. To not forget Queen Anne of Albion and my wonderful misadventure with her I put these tales on written paper. Perhaps you, dear reader, will be able to get more enjoyment from reading them than I do from writing them.
The first time I had laid eyes on the Queen she was simply a princess. I couldn't say I was infatuated with her then. She was fourteen and I was twenty five. The crowned monarch Logan had paid a visit to the new recruits. An effort to improve morale or so we were told.
We stood in the courtyard of the palace in an organized fashion. Perfect rows of forty or fifty soldiers with shined rifles and washed uniforms. My stomach churned as I gazed at the grand palace. An untainted white palace with the inhabitants seemingly perfect. Knights roamed the grounds in their shining metal armor, speaking to pretty young ladies that donned gaudy clothes and hairstyles. I curiously asked the soldier next to me why the knights wore such an outdated uniform. He told me that it was for showmanship. I watched the ladies bring their powder white hands up to the armor and caressed it with a flirtatious look. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that they required a metal uniform to obtain a woman but I shrugged off their antics as foolishness.
Two teenage boys came strutting from the inside of the palace dressed in deep purple tunics with gold trimming. They each held a trumpet in their hands that seemed too big for them. They brought the horns up to their lips and the two trumpets echoed in to the open courtyard, silencing anyone who was present.
"His majesty, King Logan and the Princess Anne have arrived!" one of the boys announced to the group. Images of the royal family flashed through my mind, making my stomach churn more. I imaged a tall noble looking king with strong features and a young princess that was the epitome of beauty. It was a bit of a shame when reality presented me with the actual royal family.
King Logan was certainly tall but instead of radiating nobility with strong features, he was a lanky man with translucent skin and sharp features. His beady eyes skimmed over us. If it was only I being presented, I would have easily shrunk under his cold gaze. The princess, however, was something entirely different. I could tell that every effort was taken to remove any signs of maturity. Her auburn hair was tied back in an intricate braid, not a trace of makeup could be found on her face and her deep blue dress hid her developing feminine body. Yet despite the effort, all of us fell under the enchantment of her gaze.
King Logan presided over us with Major Swift on his left and the princess on his right. Major Swift was a tall man with a dramatic salt and peppered handle bar mustache. He stood proud, presenting us lowly maggots to the King. The fruits of his harsh labors. The King exchanged words a few quiet words with Major Swift. Nobody could hear their conversation but judging by their satisfied smiles, I can only assume that our clean presentation was pleasing to the monarchs. Though, I am certain of one thing. We were being presented to the King yet all our eyes were glued on the princess. She stood with a stoic expression. For a brief moment I wondered about what was running through her childish little head. I continued to stare at her in an attempt to read her body language but she was a mystery.
The King placed his hand on her back and ushered her to face Major Swift. Major Swift gave her a deep bow. In return, she executed a perfect curtsy. Her perfection fascinated all of us. She was incomparably perfect to other girls her age. It was the one thing we all agreed on. Logan then addressed us with the princess standing in front of him and his hands placed lovingly on her shoulders. He whispered something in her ear. A curious expression crossed her face for a second then she nodded her head.
"To show our gratitude for serving the kingdom of Albion, my brother, the good King Logan, will be donating an allowance to all of your families. Your service is appreciated for it is you, the members of the military that provide a shield to the innocents of Albion. Thank you so much for doing your part and protecting those who cannot protect themselves," she finished her speech and gave us a grateful smile before her brother ushered her back to her previous place.
"The Princess has spoken," Major Swift announced to us. Synchronized, we clicked our heels together and saluted the last two royal family members as they retreated into their grand palace.
We marched away from the grand palace, the image of the childlike princesses lingering in our minds. The march was long and hard but the brief moment of attention that was given to us by our King, more importantly his princess, felt like an honor. It wasn't customary for royalty to address new recruits in such an intimate way. Just as our leaders had speculated, our moral had been lifted.
Close companions of mine continued on about how refreshed they felt having the appreciation of the monarchs and some even commented on the princess's development. I heard criticisms about the princess's appearance. The citizens were yearning for a noble and intelligent princess. Instead, they were being given a child in a pretty dress. Thankfully, that talk didn't last long. Our fantasies of the monarchy's outrageous lifestyle were quickly replaced with news from Bowerstone.
Rain fell on our heads as we made camp in the mud. The rain had made the hard soil slick and thus the tents couldn't be properly propped up. We waded through the mud, awkwardly stepping over each other in an attempt to keep balance. When Major Swift announced we would rest for the night we made a few futile attempts to make camp but in the end, our frustrations got the better of us. We gathered together in groups of three or four and huddled under the trees. I wedged myself between a large woman with a scar decorated face and teenage boy that barely had peach fuzz on his boyish appearance.
"W-Who are you?" he asked me. His body trembled under his thin coat. Poor lad had gotten shafted by the quartermaster. I removed my coat and draped it over his shoulders, settling for my wool vest as protection from the weather. He gave me a weak smile, followed by an annoyed grunt from the masculine woman on my other side.
"Some gentleman you are. Ignoring a woman in need," she joked.
"Excuse me," I replied in mock offense, "but I never ignore a woman in need. If I had you'd be wearing my coat right now,"
"Hey!" the boy exclaimed. The woman and I roared with laughter at the boy's reaction. He was so young. I wondered briefly what motivated them to join the military but kept my thoughts to myself. I cupped my hands over my mouth and blew warm breath into my palms. With our bodies pressed against each other, we waited under the trees for the weather to clear.
"You hear about what's happening in Industrial Bowerstone?" the woman asked. Industrial Bowerstone was considered the heart of Albion. A city wrought with pollution and corruption, its modern ideals pushed our generation forward with a promise of a bright future.
"Yeah, I heard that Reaver took control of it," the boy replied.
"To add to that it was the King that put Reaver in charge," I continued, "Shame too. I'm sure the previous King hadn't intended for his worthless son to ruin his vision by putting the lives of the common folk in that criminal's hands," Reaver was well known throughout Albion. Mostly for his slimy way of handling business and his over the top sense of fashion. His name was, more often than not, spoken in infamy.
"My sister's working at one of Reaver's factories. Said he's being real unreasonable. Forcing them to work long hours for little pay in harsh conditions. And the wages keep getting smaller each week. She even said that he's trying to petition King Logan for relaxed child labor laws. The nerve of that scumbag," the woman explained to us.
"That's why I joined the military. It was either war or the workhouse. Not that I see much difference. At least with war, you're doing some good for your home," the boy spoke. Fortunately, I was never given the honor of experiencing the workhouse. From what I heard, it wasn't pleasant. Lives lost to unsanitary environments, unsafe machinery and the dehumanizing of such hard labor. My heart reached out for the woman's sister.
"Your sister has my sympathies," I told her.
"Thanks," she grunted, slightly annoyed at my response. She probably thought my sympathies weren't genuine. Platitudes are easy to say when it's not you on the receiving end of them.
The Industrial Revolution happening in Bowerstone was all anyone could talk about. The monopoly Reaver had created was trapping the citizens in an inescapable web. The very thought of it made my blood boil. Children as young as five or six, perhaps younger, were being worked harder than animals for virtually nothing. I recall a strong need to end this injustice but my path would lead me elsewhere. Some place far darker than the stuffy factories.
I spent the rest of my recruitment forming friendships that would inevitably end once we were sorted into our designated platoons and shipped off to far ends of the kingdom. At the end of the training period Major Swift had summoned a few of us. An elite few one of the called on officers said. I laughed along with him, hiding my true fear and instead showing my usual arrogant mask. I leaned against the wall and mindlessly played with a coin. I flipped in swiftly across my fingers. I had tried to start a conversation among my fellow comrades but they were too nervous to even speak. When Major Swift didn't mention us during the initial sorting each one of us had a brief moment of panic. It wasn't until we were told that Major Swift would meet with us individually that fear had sank into our veins. The wooden door swung open and emerging from it was a pale solider. His brow was furrowed into a worried expression and he stared down at the crumpled paper he clutched in his shaking hand. He wasn't the first one we had seen emerge from the office in that state. The first soldier to do we just assumed he was a weak willed man and laughed at him. After the fifth and sixth soldier, we started to understand the gravity of the situation and our conversations came to a dull end.
"Benjamin Finn," I heard Major Swift call from his office. My hand twitched and the coin fell to the floor. It's sound rang through the hallway, disrupting the heavy silence. I swallowed my fear and strutted proudly into Major Swift's office.
He sat me down in wooden chair. It creaked under my weight, making me a tad worried about it breaking but as Major Swift took his seat in his velveteen chair behind his desk a new fear overtook me. He shifted through a stack papers on his desk with a serious expression. Even as a young man I was incapable of keeping quiet for long. I started to tap my feet rhythmically and whistle a little tune while my eyes wandered around his plain office.
"Will you shut up?" he demanded of me. I quickly stopped my annoying movements and waited with my hands folded neatly on my lap. His angry eyes returned back to papers on his desk.
"What am I here for?" I demanded in return. Offended at my insolence, he shoved a paper in my face. I swiped it away from him but kept my eyes locked on him. Whatever may happen I felt entitled to hear it from my commanding officer.
"You are being stationed at Mourningwood fort," he started, "And I will be accompanying you. Along with the other soldiers that were called on," My eyebrow quirked upwards in a confused expression. The name Mourningwood had a familiar sound to it but I couldn't place it at that time.
"Mourningwood? Where's that?" I asked.
"It's…an undesirable place. The fort was built near the town of Mourningwood. A cursed place. It runs rampant with things that shouldn't exist but unfortunately, do exist,"
"Sounds like my kind of place!" I laughed. Ignoring my jokes, Major Swift continued with his explanation.
"The fort is built on a swamp. Our sole duty is to fight back the monsters of the night," his voice became quiet. I became aware that he was hiding information from me. It angered me that a man of high respect would disregard such information from me. Especially when it was my life that I was giving to him.
"There is more. Tell me what you're hiding," I pried from him.
"The monsters of the night…they are creatures that not even your worst nightmare can create. They are the undead and they are vile. I have only called upon those who I believe are able enough to withstand such creatures. Please understand that this-"
"I accept," I spoke earnestly. I had this foolish notion that being stationed at Mourningwood would further my reputation. I imagined myself reaping glory from slaying hideous monsters in the swamps. Overcome by arrogance, I accepted the terms without ever so much as listening to them.
"Finn, please listen to me before you come up with any false conclusions about Mourningwood," Major Swift tried to reason with me.
"Whatever they are I'm positive that I don't need to know them. You need a good soldier and I'm just that," I stood up and saluted him with my chest puffed out, "I'll do my duty well. Don't you worry about that," those were my final words before I dismissed myself. How foolish I was.