Arcaea/Dining Hall/War's Wounds
Goffrey laid back in the healer's tent, his right arm propped up, as the arrow bolts were removed from his arm, and his ribs. The healers of Goffrey unit had the same sour, annoyed look they always had whenever Goffrey was around, as they carefully removed the offending pieces of iron embedded with their lord's flesh.
They were down to the last arrow, which was fortunate as Goffrey himself had almost bitten his way clean through the strap of leather in his mouth, and was similarly almost out of alcohol.
A moment of blazing hot pain, a few more to allow for stitches, and Goffrey was on his feet and back with his men, much to the disdain of his healing staff, not that they hadn't seen this coming of course.
He made his way over to his camp, noting with a heavy heart how few of his men had survived the initial battle. Their faces, grim and dark at first, became alight with hope at Goffrey's arrival, and as one they rushed forth to greet their bandaged Lord.
Laughing with his men, Goffrey felt a great weight lift from his shoulders, as Eugen pushed his way pass through the throng to Goffrey himself, the look of an irritated nursemaid in his eyes.
"How is it, every time I turn my back on you My Lord, you turn up in bandages," he asked in an exasperated manner, as he waved the men back to their duty.
"I get around," said Goffrey, as he slapped Eugen on his shoulder in a show of comradeship.
"Indeed," said Eugen, still a little sour of his lord's disregard for his own safety, but at the same time glad to have him back, "Shall, I ready the men for a night to celebrate our victory."
"No," said Goffrey, looking down at the sword strapped to his waist, his mind wandering for a bit, before it all snapped back into focus, "Not tonight my friend, there are some things I still have to take care of...tomorrow though, we toast to our victory."
"I'll hold you too that My Lord," said Eugen, a smile spread across his lips, as he watched his Lord turn to leave before he noticed something amiss.
"My Lord," he said, hesitantly, but at the same time curiously, "That isn't your sword at your waist."
Goffrey halted mid stride at Eugen words, and half turned to face him, a fake half smile well and firmly in place.
"I know Eugen," he said wearily, before he turned back towards the main camp, whispering to himself this time, "I know."
Goffrey Massey Baron of Sasat
Jenred sat outside, breathing the cool night air. It was good to be back in his proper place on the field. Sitting in the capital while his people fought and died was not something Jenred handled well...Was that Goffrey walking in? He'd heard his old friend was wounded, but it seemed that the man bounced back as usual.
"Goffrey! Good to see you up and about. Care to join me for a drink 'round the fire?"
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
Goffrey was about halfway to his destination, when he heard Jenred call to him from the crowd. Goffrey smiled a genuine smile as he fell into stride alongside his long time friend.
"Ah Jenred good to see you on the feild," he said, as he subtly lead the two of them closer to his goal, "I'm afraid I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I suppose you could tag along if you don't mind a bit of a walk."
He smiled good naturedly as he indicated the direction he was going.
Goffrey Massey Baron of Sasat
Jenred nodded agreeably. After seeing Keffer captured, he was in an excellent mood. The only thing that would make it better was having Edara here, but...She would be back in Arempos within a day, and Jenred could touch her tokens and gaze upon her portrait in the meantime...
"So, what are we up to? Surely your captain can handle all routine matters?"
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
"Oh its not anything of that nature," Goffrey said, his eyes scanning about, looking to see if he was still going the right way.
"I'm just returning something that was lent to me," he said, as he finally found the path he was looking for.
The both of them continued on their walk, joking and talking causally as friends were apt to do, loosing themselves to good company. Before to long they found themselves in the healers section of the Arcaean camp, marching off towards a rather large tent set up square in the middle of the section.
It was at the entrance to this large, black, tent that Goffrey stopped Jenred, indicating that this was where he was heading in the first place.
"I'll be out shortly," Goffrey said, as he entered the tent where the body of Yawh Mosher was being prepared for his burial. As it was the hero's body was laid out on top of an altar for mourners, and well wishers to give the man their last regards before the funeral.
Goffrey looked nervous, as he slowly approached the alter, not sure what the proper rituals were for talking to the recently deceased. But Goffrey owed it to this man to finish the task he had set out do.
So in a manner Goffrey thought a appropriate, he knelt down next to the altar, his sword, still within its sheath, hold aloft in both hands before the knight. Ever so gently, Goffrey slipped the sword into the cold hands of Yawh Mosher, returning the sword to its rightful master. That done he paused and stared at the deathly still face of the hero.
"Thank you brother," he said unexpectedly, clasping his hand in a brotherly manner over the hands of the cadaver, still holding onto the newly place sword, "I'll greet you happily when it is my time as well."
With that Goffrey rose to his feet, bowed deeply to the altar, then turned, and left the tent, rejoining Jenred outside, his smile still in place, despite the weariness in his eyes.
Goffrey Massey Baron of Sasat
Carving his way through a unit of Ethialan infantry, Euran had been thoroughly under the sway of his battle lust as his unit was chopped to pieces by the enemy. He and Goffrey, the two Eastern Barons, had charged forwards to bravely take the fight to the enemy. Apparently this hadn't been what Marshal Mar had had in mind, which seemed ridiculous to Euran. When you had no walls, why bother building flimsy fortifications to hide behind? You had to take the fight to the enemy, any true man could see!
Ramming a heavy two handed broadsword through a soldier's chest, Euran had barely noticed when a piercing pain left his left hand useless. The first rule of a berserker was never to stop fighting; undaunted, he had continued to swing his weapon (albeit in a somewhat less controlled fashion) at the enemy, lopping off limbs and sending up sprays of blood. Some time later Euran had collapsed and been carried off back to his tent.
It was in excruciating agony that he woke up the next day, but since this was a normal experience after a proper berserker charge, he thought little of it. After blacking out once more, Euran awoke to be informed that his left hand was now missing two fingers, in addition to a host of more minor wounds. A dagger had pinned it through his armour and into his skin during the battle, and now he was faced with the consequences. In many respects, the berserker trance was similar to a night of singularly determined binge drinking; the after effects tended to be more permanent, however. The healers had purified his wound by fire and done their best to ensure that he did not catch a fever.
After some time, bored by their ministrations that appeared to be designed solely to cause more pain, Euran beat the healers off and strode out into the night. 14 soldiers stood there waiting for him. A fifteenth had apparently survived the battle in body, but been driven mad by his experiences and run off into the barrens of Arempos. All of the men standing before him carried injuries; only one of them had been capable of standing unaided after the battle. Their armour, which they had done their best to clean, polish and make fit for presentation, was battered and stained in a multitude of places. Their swords and shields were heavily notched. These were the fourteen men, from the finest sixty he had been able to find and train in Remton, who had managed to keep up with him in battle. They had carried him from the battle, fighting their way free of the enemy. They had proved their worth.
With a nod, Euran attempted to convey the respect that he held for these men.
"Kneel."
Drawing his broadsword, the Baron carefully knighted each and every one of his surviving troops.
"Rise, Sir Ceri, Knight of Lantzas and Soldier of Arcaea."
The last man rose to his feet; Euran turned and strode away.
Euran Yetisbane Kandurell Baron of Lantzas
The days had passed like weeks since he had lain here beneath the golden sun, and already hundreds of men had been killed in futile assaults by the Ethialans. As one of the few mounted units, Aerywyn and his men took a large part of the thankless task of scouting the surrounding regions. Blood and dust stained the blue and white lines of the tabard he wore, torn by blades and arrows that glanced off the chain underneath. The woolen cloth lay heavy over his mail, the frayed ends dancing with the wind rushing across the open plains, spring frost still clinging to the ground here and there…
He had been but a youth when war first breathed down the skin of his neck, he thought wearily. A year of peace had passed, and in some part of his mind, he wondered if as much of his life would once again be taken away. Thalmarkin had been cold; Arcaea had been hungry, for food as much as hope. Aerywyn sighed, smiling despite the weariness he sometimes felt. How strange it was then that all this had survived, to bloom so beautifully after the storm.
From beneath the golden feathers inlaid across the bridge of his helm, Aerywyn’s eyes scanned the horizon one last time, even if he didn‘t expect to catch sight of steel in the distance. Wordlessly he led the men back to the camp, riding their flagging horses with the sun setting at their back, towards the darkness of twilight.
Aerywyn Haerthorne Imperial Chancellor of Arcaea
Jenred's eyebrows rose as Goffrey disappeared inside the tent of the recent dead...And his face took on the careful blankness he used when utterly surprised as Goffrey returned smiling. As they began walking again, Jenred tried to determine what in the name of the Aenil had just happened...
"I take it your...errand...went well?"
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
Goffrey smiled at Jenred, nodding his head, as the pair put their backs to the black tent, and made their way back towards the main tent area. They walked in relative silence, Goffrey still reveling in the feeling of closure, and Jenred still looking quizzical as he puzzled over what had just transpired.
It wasn't until they were on the edge of the healer's section did Goffrey take notice of the silence, finding a need to fill it with something.
"I don't believe I ever meet Sir Yawh before he died, now that I recall, I don't I even meet him before today," he said suddenly, cutting right to the heart of the silence like a blunt blade being forced, and yet he kept talking anyway, finding the alternative even more uncomfortable.
"It was all my fault to begin with really, I shouldn't of taken on so many men without time to properly train them," Goffrey said in a weary painful tone, laced with equal amounts of regret and resignation, "We lined up in formation along with the rest of the army, or rather, the original members of my unit lined up, the rest split out from that formation more like a rabble then any proper unit, but again they could hardly be blamed for that, never having seen battle before."
"When they first caught sight of the enemy, anxiety and bloodlust gripped them in equal measure, Eugen and I tried to reign them in, but we're prepared to deal with so many at once. Before we knew it, a group of fourteen of the most bloodthirsty glory seeker broke off from the rest of the unit, charging headlong into the Ethialan's."
"They fought well, I'd like to think, but unbloodied as they were, and hopelessly outnumbered they butchered like sheep to the slaughter...I think the oldest of them was barely 18 years old..."
"After that, things spirailed out of control, Lord Euran charged forth to save the lads, probably knowing they would all be dead before he got there but unable to watch the whole sale slaughter, and just do nothing. Sir Yawh fallowed after, for whatever reason I can only guess at."
"With two nobles charging forth against the Ethialan's whatever reserve my unit had was lost, and the whole damn lot of the new comers charged forth, revenge or glory to stuck up in their heads to notice that no one else in the line was charging forth."
"I remember Eugen asking me, panic lacing his voice, 'Ma'Lord...what do we do now...?' like he was waiting for me to do...something...anything...like he was expecting me to lead them to salvation, away from the doom the men were charging off to," Goffrey paused here as a haunted look entered his eyes, "And in the end I failed him, and everyone else as well, I sounded the charge, rushing forth thinking 'If I can just get close enough to swing my sword, it wont matter, if I can just got close enough I can fix it'..."
"I don't know how long we fought, it was mostly a blood stained blur, one minute I was hacking a man in half at the waist, and another a cavalryman was baring down on me intent on taking my head for his own, I didn't have time to think, I just reacted, and before I knew it, my sword was hurtling through the air impaling itself on the man's chest as he tumbled from his saddle."
"At this point, the battle had lost all coherency, I remember acknowledging my own doom, surrounded by enemies and unarmed as I was. I briefly recall seeing Lord Euran standing a head taller then everyman about him, wading through enemy troops like a stream, killing with each blow, before he was finally dragged down under a solid rush, only to fight clear a moment later. The few men still alive at this point had formed small islands of resistance against a virtually endless sea of foes."
"Thats when I saw him, Sir Yawh, rallying his men about, deifying every attempt to break the circle of defense he and his men had set up, words of encouragement and orders tore from his lips, goading his men in unbelievable acts of courage, but I could already see that it wouldn't be enough. I saw the first man squeeze his way through the battered defenders, who were unable to turn and face him least more enemies pierce the shell of the defense, I watched as he rushed Lord Yawh from behind sword held parallel to the ground."
"Suddenly my legs move, I charged forth, running faster then I could ever remember running, knocking aside Ethialan's with my bare hands, willing myself to try to do...something...ignoring the arrows that had some how found a home in my chest, ignoring the scenes of carnage, and the enemies hemming me on all sides, I pushed my way through the circle of Yawh's men, and broke the assassin's neck with my bare hands."
"But I was too late, the man's blade was already run Yawh through from back to stomach, and the hero had received his mortal wounds...So I did the only thing I could think to do...I leaned the man down against the ground, and starred into his eyes as he died."
"As the light faded from his eyes, a connection of sorts formed between us, despite the fact that we never knew each other in life, in death, we came to knew each other more intimately then we knew ourselves, and with his final breath, he took the hilt of his sword, and forced into my hands, half formed words on his lip, silently urging me to fight on."
"...And then he died..."
"A red haze fell over me again, and I don't know what happened to his men, or myself for that matter, I only came to it again when I realized that there was no one around left to kill, soaked from head to toe in blood that was only partially my own...Sir Yawh's sword still clutched tightly in my hand..."
"...I meant to...return it earlier, but some uppity Ethialan duke had made a death threat against my brother...and well...you know how things like that tend to distract me," said Goffrey, chuckling lightly, casting a sidelong glance at Jenred as a dangerous smile played over his lips.
"...Forgive me...I didn't want to make a tale of what happened...but in my attempts, its seemed that I did...old habits die hard eh..."
Goffrey Massey Baron of Sasat
Jenred continued walking in silence for some time after Goffrey finished his tale, and spent the time thinking and examining his friend.
"A tragic tale indeed, but...It seems to have left its mark on you. Did this allow you to, perhaps, understand yourself better? Sir Yawh died valiantly, from what you say, urging his comrades to continue the fight. And it seems to me that you honoured his last wish with all the strength in you. It was quite the day...A fateful battle, trading words and blows with a Duke...And coming out of it all on top. It seems I was hasty with my words on your charge...Not so foolish after all. You constantly surprise me...And often enough make me sigh in exasperation...But I am honoured to know you, Goffrey."
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
