(no subject)
Basil Earhart leaned heavily upon his sword, thrust point first into the bloody soil, and breathed deeply, filling his burning lungs with the fresh morning air, thankful that the night was finally over and the battle won. Basil's great frame shook, trembled as he came off the adrenaline high he had been living on for the past three days. While others who fought carried on in celebration, only he and a handful of others realized what so many would later realize in days to come: The battle may have been won, but at what cost?
His once white armor, which would normally have gleamed, shining brightly as the sun rose, piercing through the fog, was now covered in blood, bathed in a scarlet finish which fit in with the crimson soil and bodies littered around him. His sword, Talon, was chipped and weathered, dyed red over the past few days and would never be the same alabaster blade it once was. This night had changed him. His eyes no longer shone with the righteousness a Knight of Galendor was known for, nor did his face speak of a man brimming with life and energy. His eyes died that night.
As Basil gazed out on the plains where the battle took place against his kings enemies, he couldn't help but remember the look of anger and hatred in their eyes and movements. Their line charged with a passion he could only hope to instill in his men. He could remember the brief instant of fear, "No... respect," he thought, as their line clashed with his in a glorious ringing of war cries and swords.
"Sir?" The Lieutenant's voice cut through his thoughts, and Basil was momentarily startled at being caught of guard, but he quickly returned to his furrowed brown and stared hard at the man who spoke.
"Lt. Quales, Sir, I was sent to receive orders concerning what to do with the casualties."
Basil looked out again, at the thousands of bodies littering the Galendor Plains, and he sighed, straightening himself, and pulled his sword free of the earth, before sheathing it and speaking. "Lt. Quales. Give every living man a spade and have him gather with two others to choose a fallen man. Then have the three dig a grave for the chosen fallen." Basil turned away from Lt. Quales. There was no need to see if he would comply, already he could hear the Lieutenant's footsteps as they hurried off to report back to the main tent with the instructions. "Everyman deserves a proper burial," Basil said, more to himself than to anyone listening, but someone heard him.
"Aye, they do, Basil." Elena of Tetragon approached Basil casually, easily, without the stiffness imbued within the military ranks, and, instead, carried herself with the grace and poise earned with years of study at the Tetragon Temple, home to clerics devoted to the healing arts and dedicated to the forces of good.
Basil let a small smile creep over his features as he watched her. Despite whatever hell he had just been through, the sight of his wife always made him believe in heaven. "Elena.. I... look at this..." His smiled quickly faded as he waved a hand out over the groups of Galendor infantry as they buried the dead in the soft earth. "It's over... but... -"
Elena interrupted him by placing a finger to his lips and shook her head. "Enough... We will talk later... Now is a time for silence, as is our way with death. Let me heal your wounds, and then we will head back so we can break our fast, to gain the energy we will need for today. You know just as well as I do that the day after is always the hardest."
Basil stood straighter and he caught Elena's hands before she could touch him, "No, heal the others first. I will be fine."
Elena looked into his eyes with a fire that seemed to make even the general of the King's armies shrink ever so slightly, "You are the last one left that hasn't been healed. Everyone else has reported in to be treated except you, why do you think I came looking for you?"
Basil started to say something, but the look in her eyes told him that it was a rhetorical question, and instead he shut his mouth and relented to the warmth that began to fill his body the moment she placed her hands on his chest and started praying. While he didn't usually trust magic, the healing arts his wife practiced were much more effective than trying to withstand the pain of being treated without. The cut above his eye grew shut, and the bruises on his face and arms dissolved, as his breathing became calmer and less labored. Finally, Elena opened her eyes and with a sharp tug removed the arrow from his side, leaving the wound to sew itself shut within seconds.
Silently, she held the arrow up in front of Basil's face with a look that said, "I told you so." Without anything else to say, Basil started laughing, an infectious booming laugh which caused Elena to smile despite her best efforts to the contrary. The quietness of the plains caused his laughter to sound hollow and empty as it trailed off, but still smiling, he pulled his wife into his arms, and together they silently thanked the gods that they were both alive.
A cough interrupted the moment, and the two turned to find a smirking half-elf and a rather sour looking gnome with their arms crossed, watching them.
The half-elf spoke first, "So... would you two like I room? I'm sure we could probably get you a tent, I mean I think we still have a few spare on the horses. I don't believe anyone would mind if the General and his wife were to take a moment for themselves, after all what else could possibly require their attention? I suppose if given the chance the army could lead itself..."
Elena glared at the half-elf as he started to giggle madly. His lanky but short figure seemed almost comical in the leather armor he wore, and the rapier at his waist seemed almost too big for him, but his body was quick, and his mind sharp. "Nicolas Bingby, how dare you insinuate such a childish thought!"
Elena marched over and took him by one of his pointed ears and dragged him off reprimanding him as they walked back towards the main camp, and Basil hid a smile by kneeling before the gnome and nodding, "Detiranon, what have you to report?"
The gruff gnome, clad in a wizard's robe, was short, at best. His diminutive size however, did not take from the heavy look he gave Basil as he replied slowly, "Basil, the army is left with more than half of it's operating total, with initial counts at 20,342 left alive, 3,116 wounded, and the remaining either dead or missing. Not bad for an army of 40,000 against 27,000 more or less. "
Basil's face became stone as he spoke, "And what of the rebels?"
Detiranon took off his stained spectacles and cleaned them with his sleeves as he replied, "Best estimates as I said were at 27,000. They are still trying to find the leaders, but no such luck as of yet. Currently, initial counts are, 22,453 dead, 2,932 wounded and the rest are unaccounted for, probably fled during the final attack."
Basil stood and led the way back to camp, walking slowly so the gnome would have no trouble keeping up, "And what of the wounded, any word yet of what will happen to them?"
Detiranon stepped carefully around a body waiting to be buried as he replied, "No official word, however some of the delegates are saying that they would like to see them tried for treason. And as you know if they are found guilty, they will be hanged."
Basil stopped and for a moment his shoulders sagged under the heavy armor. "Even as general, I don't understand. They were peasants, farmers and the like... Hungry and right in their anger... how could we have let this happen?"
Detiranon's frown deepened as he replied, "They were... are criminals. They broke the law of the land, and no matter how wrong that law may seem, we must uphold it. If we cannot put our faith in the law, the only solid thing we have, then what can we put our faith in?"
Basil's mind flashed to the previous night, his body tensed as if he were still wielding his sword. He could remember every face on every man he killed. Though they would not haunt him, the grim memories of their death would still be with him always. The passion they had when they charged for the first time, was replaced with dogged determination and the eyes of the dead. "That was not a good battle... That ... is not how men are supposed to die."
Detiranon's features softened slightly, "I agree old friend. But this is how it must be. We can't change that."
The old gnome's words hung in the air as the two walked the rest of the way back to the camp and the rest of the morning was spent in quiet contemplation to give the dead time to hear the call of the gods to find their final resting place.
His once white armor, which would normally have gleamed, shining brightly as the sun rose, piercing through the fog, was now covered in blood, bathed in a scarlet finish which fit in with the crimson soil and bodies littered around him. His sword, Talon, was chipped and weathered, dyed red over the past few days and would never be the same alabaster blade it once was. This night had changed him. His eyes no longer shone with the righteousness a Knight of Galendor was known for, nor did his face speak of a man brimming with life and energy. His eyes died that night.
As Basil gazed out on the plains where the battle took place against his kings enemies, he couldn't help but remember the look of anger and hatred in their eyes and movements. Their line charged with a passion he could only hope to instill in his men. He could remember the brief instant of fear, "No... respect," he thought, as their line clashed with his in a glorious ringing of war cries and swords.
"Sir?" The Lieutenant's voice cut through his thoughts, and Basil was momentarily startled at being caught of guard, but he quickly returned to his furrowed brown and stared hard at the man who spoke.
"Lt. Quales, Sir, I was sent to receive orders concerning what to do with the casualties."
Basil looked out again, at the thousands of bodies littering the Galendor Plains, and he sighed, straightening himself, and pulled his sword free of the earth, before sheathing it and speaking. "Lt. Quales. Give every living man a spade and have him gather with two others to choose a fallen man. Then have the three dig a grave for the chosen fallen." Basil turned away from Lt. Quales. There was no need to see if he would comply, already he could hear the Lieutenant's footsteps as they hurried off to report back to the main tent with the instructions. "Everyman deserves a proper burial," Basil said, more to himself than to anyone listening, but someone heard him.
"Aye, they do, Basil." Elena of Tetragon approached Basil casually, easily, without the stiffness imbued within the military ranks, and, instead, carried herself with the grace and poise earned with years of study at the Tetragon Temple, home to clerics devoted to the healing arts and dedicated to the forces of good.
Basil let a small smile creep over his features as he watched her. Despite whatever hell he had just been through, the sight of his wife always made him believe in heaven. "Elena.. I... look at this..." His smiled quickly faded as he waved a hand out over the groups of Galendor infantry as they buried the dead in the soft earth. "It's over... but... -"
Elena interrupted him by placing a finger to his lips and shook her head. "Enough... We will talk later... Now is a time for silence, as is our way with death. Let me heal your wounds, and then we will head back so we can break our fast, to gain the energy we will need for today. You know just as well as I do that the day after is always the hardest."
Basil stood straighter and he caught Elena's hands before she could touch him, "No, heal the others first. I will be fine."
Elena looked into his eyes with a fire that seemed to make even the general of the King's armies shrink ever so slightly, "You are the last one left that hasn't been healed. Everyone else has reported in to be treated except you, why do you think I came looking for you?"
Basil started to say something, but the look in her eyes told him that it was a rhetorical question, and instead he shut his mouth and relented to the warmth that began to fill his body the moment she placed her hands on his chest and started praying. While he didn't usually trust magic, the healing arts his wife practiced were much more effective than trying to withstand the pain of being treated without. The cut above his eye grew shut, and the bruises on his face and arms dissolved, as his breathing became calmer and less labored. Finally, Elena opened her eyes and with a sharp tug removed the arrow from his side, leaving the wound to sew itself shut within seconds.
Silently, she held the arrow up in front of Basil's face with a look that said, "I told you so." Without anything else to say, Basil started laughing, an infectious booming laugh which caused Elena to smile despite her best efforts to the contrary. The quietness of the plains caused his laughter to sound hollow and empty as it trailed off, but still smiling, he pulled his wife into his arms, and together they silently thanked the gods that they were both alive.
A cough interrupted the moment, and the two turned to find a smirking half-elf and a rather sour looking gnome with their arms crossed, watching them.
The half-elf spoke first, "So... would you two like I room? I'm sure we could probably get you a tent, I mean I think we still have a few spare on the horses. I don't believe anyone would mind if the General and his wife were to take a moment for themselves, after all what else could possibly require their attention? I suppose if given the chance the army could lead itself..."
Elena glared at the half-elf as he started to giggle madly. His lanky but short figure seemed almost comical in the leather armor he wore, and the rapier at his waist seemed almost too big for him, but his body was quick, and his mind sharp. "Nicolas Bingby, how dare you insinuate such a childish thought!"
Elena marched over and took him by one of his pointed ears and dragged him off reprimanding him as they walked back towards the main camp, and Basil hid a smile by kneeling before the gnome and nodding, "Detiranon, what have you to report?"
The gruff gnome, clad in a wizard's robe, was short, at best. His diminutive size however, did not take from the heavy look he gave Basil as he replied slowly, "Basil, the army is left with more than half of it's operating total, with initial counts at 20,342 left alive, 3,116 wounded, and the remaining either dead or missing. Not bad for an army of 40,000 against 27,000 more or less. "
Basil's face became stone as he spoke, "And what of the rebels?"
Detiranon took off his stained spectacles and cleaned them with his sleeves as he replied, "Best estimates as I said were at 27,000. They are still trying to find the leaders, but no such luck as of yet. Currently, initial counts are, 22,453 dead, 2,932 wounded and the rest are unaccounted for, probably fled during the final attack."
Basil stood and led the way back to camp, walking slowly so the gnome would have no trouble keeping up, "And what of the wounded, any word yet of what will happen to them?"
Detiranon stepped carefully around a body waiting to be buried as he replied, "No official word, however some of the delegates are saying that they would like to see them tried for treason. And as you know if they are found guilty, they will be hanged."
Basil stopped and for a moment his shoulders sagged under the heavy armor. "Even as general, I don't understand. They were peasants, farmers and the like... Hungry and right in their anger... how could we have let this happen?"
Detiranon's frown deepened as he replied, "They were... are criminals. They broke the law of the land, and no matter how wrong that law may seem, we must uphold it. If we cannot put our faith in the law, the only solid thing we have, then what can we put our faith in?"
Basil's mind flashed to the previous night, his body tensed as if he were still wielding his sword. He could remember every face on every man he killed. Though they would not haunt him, the grim memories of their death would still be with him always. The passion they had when they charged for the first time, was replaced with dogged determination and the eyes of the dead. "That was not a good battle... That ... is not how men are supposed to die."
Detiranon's features softened slightly, "I agree old friend. But this is how it must be. We can't change that."
The old gnome's words hung in the air as the two walked the rest of the way back to the camp and the rest of the morning was spent in quiet contemplation to give the dead time to hear the call of the gods to find their final resting place.