It was late yesterday evening when I decided to get to work filling the Baronship's order for five thousand arrows and bolts, a large amount but one I thought I could manage. I remembered I had a large supply of shafts from an old friend and once I'd thinned the chicken population of Britannia somewhat I had an equal amount of feathers.
Sitting down in my tower I lay both components on the floor and set about sharpening the shafts and then carefully applying the feathers to the opposite end as flights. It was a long and somewhat mind numbing task but I counted out each arrow, both to keep track and to convince myself the job would soon be complete.
At some point I began mumbling away to myself and introducing the freshly crafted bolts to the pile of five thousand arrows I'd piled at my side.
"
Bolty, these are you friends now you hear...? I know, I know there's a lot of them but I trust in your good nature and ability to understand, I'm confident you'll become very dear to each other. What!? No no you can't do that ! BOLTY, cease and desist, Anthony the Arrow is not begging you to pull his flights off. No Bolty, NO ! Right that's it young man, you're getting a snapped bottom."
A little while after this encounter I passed out, or at least I assume I did since when I awoke the sun was streaming through the narrow windows of my tower and the pile of bolts was only numbering two thousand. I made myself a stiff drink to clear my head and got to work on the remaining shafts. In a short space of time I had completed the order and loaded it into the packs of my horse.
With a portal opened to the barracks I led the animal inside and deposited the ammunition.
To close the report I would like to remind all guardsmen....
"Never underestimate the psychologically damaging effects of repetitive tasks."
Signed in messy flowing handwriting,
Regular Guardsman Kas Valentine.
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