Fable - Ask Beaten and Bloody

[Olvir]

Vel Hetren

His sword made a sickening squelching noise as he ripped it free from the Orc's center. Blood spraying over his fine tabard and the chainmail he wore beneath as he tore the blade free. The sound alone would have been enough to make most people sick, but in the moment Olvir barely heard it. The din of combat around him still so thick and loud that he was far more focused on what was happening in his immediate vicinity.

"OLLIE!" A voice called out somewhere, but the young noble was far too engaged to hearit.

The crimson blade in his hand flickered left, cutting through the shank of an Orc who had turned in just the wrong time. Then it quickly slashed to the right, catching the edge of a rusted axe as the son of House Weiroon defended himself. A few sparks flickered, and then the Orc carrying the weapon found himself without a hand, and shortly after without a head.

"OLVIR!" The voice caught his attention this time, Ollie's head turning. A knight, standing near a foot and a half taller than him stood tall, his great axe covered in gore and blood. "The City is lost! Pull back to the Keep. Come on boy, there's no use staying here."

Ollie turned towards the man, his face flickered in despair and hesitation before his eyes turned towards the scene before him. Smoke rose from dozens of burning buildings, in the distance he could just barely make out the rubble of the broken and sundered wall. Fingers tightened on the blade in his hand, a momentary lull lasting just enough time for the Orcs and Half-Men to regather their invading forces.

His head shook, and he slowly took a step back. "Trik I-"

"Nothing you can do, Lad." The massive Knight continued as he grabbed the young Nobles shoulder. "You're not a soldier, pull back.'

The fingers on Ollie's shoulder signaled that he had not much choice in the matter, the Knight practically dragging Ollie back towards the Keep. He could still hear fighting all around them the clash of blades. The song of swords and axes calling out even as he marched through the gates of the one part of Vel Hetren that had not yet fallen.

He is right. Stay alive. There is more blood yet to be spilled.​

Ollie's sword whispered in his mind, almost eager in it's call.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen fell onto her rear end. Exhausted. Her hair clung closely to her skull and it was streaked with blood and sweat and peppered with ash and soot. Her plate pauldrons, gauntlets, and cuisses all sported dents and gashes. Her chainmail beneath fared no better, several perforations in the links of the hauberk marked where spears had broken through, the spearheads only just stopped piercing through her arming garments beneath.

But this was all nothing compared to what happened to the Guardsman she had been trying to drag along by the arms. His name was Pullo Gessanvier (it was the first thing she had done, ask him his name), and he had a gaping stomach wound that he was desperately clutching, trying to keep his intestines from spilling out. Blood was everywhere, and his voice had gone hoarse from all of his agonized crying and screaming.

"Pullo," Kristen said, crawling back over to him. She touched his face with the tips of her flesh and blood fingers, making him look at her. "Pullo, I am sorry! I am sorry! I cannot carry you! I lack the strength."

"Don't leave me," Pullo said. His eyes were wild with desperation, deep with their pleading. "Don't leave me!"

Kristen tried to wet her lips with a dry tongue. In Aionus she placed her faith, and yet, still she fell short of being worthy of bestowing blessings in the Holy Sentinel's name. And here it vexed her greatly. What good were Conjurations, were Curses, for poor Pullo's wounds? Kristen had many tools for felling foes but not a one for saving allies, and as she looked down at Pullo her heart despaired of an answer for him.

She thought of the only thing she could do. "Pullo, I can drag you along with ease if use my magic, but..."

"Will it be p-painful?"

"No. Not quite. You will...the touch of my magic will rob you of strength, making you weaker—"

"Do it. Please. Just don't leave me."

Kristen nodded. "We shall both find refuge in the Keep. Together. To you I make this pledge."

The sounds of the battle in Vel Hetren weren't far. Weren't far at all. This tiny side street was but a temporary respite, clear as it was of any active engagement. But the horns which had signalled for a retreat meant that this district of Vel Hetren was lost to the greenskins. Those who still lived were all falling back to the most defensible point in the city: the Keep. And it was there that Kristen hoped a healer, or anyone, might be able to help Pullo.

Kristen stood, her breaths heavy and labored. From her porcelain hand came a Withering Chain, snaking out much more slow and controlled than was usual. The Chain slithered beneath Pullo's armpits and wrapped around his chest, securing him. He let out a shuddering gasp, but otherwise was not worse.

She started to drag him, the task much easier with the aid of her magic, for it was the Chain which did most of the work. "We're going to get to the Keep; we're going to get you some aid; we're going to have a nice hot meal together as well. How does that sound, Pullo?"

"Sounds wonder—AH!...wonderful."

"How long have you been in the Guard?"

"E-Eight months."

"Are you planning on staying in service?"

Pullo laughed in disbelief. A meek sound, but it hopefully kept his mind off the pain and kept him awake. "This isn't...aaaah!...the best time to ask."

"Just your year term then?"

"Looking forward to the end of it."

"Where is your home, Pullo?"

"Vel Luin." He winced hard. "I just want to work at the docks so fucking bad now."

"How does your family fare?"

"My father's in the Navy. He's doing well for himself, out there at sea. Mom's got her hands full with my brothers and sisters. I wanna see 'em again. I really wanna see 'em again."

"And that is exactly what we are going to do. These orcs are not going to take that from you. Your mother, your brothers and sisters, your father when he comes portside once more, they shall all see you again, Pullo. They deserve it, and you deserve it. I shall see it done. There is not a force on Arethil which will prevent me from seeing you returned to your family."

"Thank you...thank you..."

* * * * *​

Coming into view of Ollie's retreat, an armored girl. Dragging a corpse along by a magical chain. She was still talking to the body even as she trudged along. "Almost there...almost there, Pullo...here comes that aid...here comes that succor...almost there..."

Her head was downcast, hanging from fatigue and expended effort. Yet still she trekked toward the sanctuary of the Keep.

Yet if she did not hurry, the battle might just catch up with her.

Olvir

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

Reynard had heard stories in his travels. Heard tale of the great fortress city that was Vel Hetren. The nearly all human, imposable fortress. Tale of its impenetrable walls, of its world class army's and its incredible mage fighting force. You don't travel the world and not hear about Vel Hetren. That's why all that Reynard saw around him was even more surprising. It almost didn't feel real. That was until an orc attempted to cut him down.

Reynard's sword flashed out and cut the orc across the throat, a relatively quick death and likely far quicker than the Orc would've given him. Reynard wasn't the type to make a death slow and agonizing. Quick and relatively painless were his preference. Reynard took little joy in murder but in was in the effort of something more important.

The fortress of Vel Hetren was under attack and struggling. Reynard was actually quite lucky, or unlucky depending on how all this ended up going, as he was in the area for a bit of a tourist visit and possible job hunt. He came in search of work but doubted the fortress itself would need much assistance in the fighting department. But as he got closer to the city he heard more and more the sounds of war.

Reynard wasted no time in figuring out what was happening. Asking as many questions as he could and eventually he got what little amounted to an answer. Vel Hetren was under attack and was being pushed back in the effort. As much as he wished to avoid fighting on most occasions, the fighting here had already started. Reynard grabbed his sword and got to work defending his fellow humans. He didn't do this out of a some sort of patriotism or loyalty towards his race but as a means to help defend a city full of innocent people. If Vel Hetren fell then that would mean ruined or taken lives within it's walls.

The Orcs weren't any less deserving of sympathy or understanding but their army could have a violent streak. There was no way of knowing what would happen to those civilians and Reynard didn't want to feel responsible if the fortress fell to enemy forces. All he could do was attempt to help as best he could. Reynard could see the forces of Vel Hetren falling back and he moved with them, hoping his lack of identifying armor or symbols wouldn't mean being cut down as an enemy combatant. Reynard could only be thankful that the fortress was a stark majority of humans.

As Reynard was falling back he noticed a girl in armor carrying a man, also armored. Two soldiers of Vel Hetren it seemed. She was having a hard go of it and frankly he was surprised no one was volunteering to help her. Reynard let out a small sigh and attempted to catch up to her. "Hey, do you want any help?" He wasn't sure how far her pride would take her but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't at the very least offer assistance. Everyone needed to help each other or they had no chance of surviving this. That's what he thought at least.

 

[Olvir]

Ollie felt the earth shake as another volley from the enemies Trebuchet's struck the city.

Massive burning projectiles striking buildings and walls all around them. Stone cascading to the ground, fire lashing out into the streets, innocents screaming as relentless battle raged all around them. In the distance the clashing of swords could still be heard. Orc warcries echoing out as steel thundered together.

Vel Hettren was falling, there was no question. The Horde had taken the outer walls and was now surging forward towards the Keep. Vel Anir would send reinforcements, the Guard and Dreadlords would come eventually.

But how long would it take? How long until they would be saved?

The Son of House Weiroon was half jogging over towards the main gate of the Keep when he heard a shout over his shoulder. He turned, seeing a lone woman dragging what appeared to be an injured man. Trik called out above the din, shouting at Ollie.

His finger pointing not at the woman or the man coming to help her, but an alleyway just to the left.

Eyes flickered, catching sight of three Orcs.

All of them wore heavy blackened chainmail, curved look like blades in their hands. They snorted beneath their helmets, and then charged forward. Ollie let out a curse, and then shouted towards the distant trio. "GET TO THE GATE!"

He called, then motioned for Trik.

The two of them rushed, sword raised. The massive ogre-sized knight went crashing into two of the orcs, the third, which was not an orc at all but an odd gray skinned humanoid, left running loose directly towards Kristen. Just a dozen steps away the young Noble went clattering into the bestial man.

It's legs. The sword whispered in his head as it clattered against the strange creatures rusted scimitar. Cut it's leg.

Ollie met the demand almost instantly. Instinct driving him. The blade in his hand turned against the scimitar and suddenly slipping down, it's edge slicing through the Orcs unarmored thigh with one quick bite.

A howl of rage and pain escaped the half-man's throat, his sword barrelling forward to catch the side of Ollie's armor. Crimson flickered as the mailed steal was cut into, but the Noble's wrist twisted, and his sword impaled through the creatures chest.

In one quick motion he wrenched the blade free, half turning towards Kristen and Reynald to ensure they were still moving. The pain in his side excruciating.

Kristen Pirian | Reynard De Eramant

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Hey, do you want any help?

Kristen couldn't know if Reynard was a Vel Hetren local, a foreign mercenary, or anything in-between, yet it did not matter. What mattered was that he did not have tusks jutting out of his mouth. What mattered was that they by virtue of who they were happened to be on the same side, and that he was offering her help.

"Yes! Oh thank Aionus, yes!" she said, turning about at the sound of Reynard's voice. Still her breathing was labored, for while the effort of dragging Pullo was made easier by the magical force of her Chain, the weight of fatigue from the battle leading up to it remained.

Kristen recalled her Chain and it went recoiling back into her palm, disappearing entirely.

"He has a ghastly stomach wound, so we must be mindful! Sh-Shall I take him by the body, you by the legs, and we therefore carry him so?"

She had not yet realized that Pullo was dead.

GET TO THE GATE!

Kristen heard Ollie's shout before she noticed the three armored orcs bearing down on her and Reynard. Fortunately, Ollie and Trik came to intercept their assailants, providing time and space for getting Pullo safely into the Keep.

To Reynard she said, "We must hurry!" as she bent down to grab Pullo's body under his arms.

Reynard De Eramant Olvir

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

Reynard was happy to be accepted and offered no disagreement in his bid to help the woman. She jumped on the chance to have aid and that was perfectly fine by him. They needed to get this man moved before it was too late. Before he had the chance to state his preference in which body part to carry they had unwanted company.

Reynard nearly unsheathed his sword to fight the 3 orcs he almost didn't notice. They moved fast and were bearing down quickly. Thankfully Reynard didn't have to fight because to two men, locals as far as he could tell with all the chaos, dirt and blood, came to their aid. The 3 orcs were now a non issue and they once more needed to focus on moving this man into the city walls.

As Reynard bent down and picked up the legs under his arms he readied himself to get moving. The man was almost certainly unconscious as his head lolled to the side without restraint as the body was picked up. Reynard frowned. He didn't have a good feeling that this man was still alive. Somehow corpses always felt heavier. Regardless they needed to make it to the city. They could worry about the specifics when they had the chance to breath without Orcs breathing down their necks. The fighting wouldn't stop just so they could carry a body. "Alright then let's go."

 

[Olvir]

Heavy breaths forced the rise and fall of his chest, fingers wound tightly around the hilt of his sword as he looked around for any more foes.

The rattle of breaking armor and crushed metal echoed out as Trik pounded the latter of his two opponents into the ground. His hulking fist pressing the man's plate inward and crushing his ribs. A wheezing howl escaped the orc throat, but it was cut off as the ogre-like man stomped down hard with his heel. "Ollie!?"

He barked, shooting up and looking at the lad.

"Come on! Get inside, now!" Trik shouted, stomping up to Ollie and grabbing the nape of his neck. The bodyguard shoved him forward, and with a loud hiss the young nobleman landed on his injured leg. He shivered slightly, but offered no other complaint as he began to limp forward.

Before long Ollie found himself alongside Reynard and Kristen. His eyes flickered down to the man they carried, gaze lingering on the wounds on the man's body long enough to know.

A frown pulled at his lips, but he said nothing as the small group marched forward.

"CLOSE IT!"​

The shout rose up from above them as the four stalked through the gatehouse, a heavy set of steel ribbed wooden doors closing and a portculus falling. Ollie limped through, Trik's arm having slipped beneath his shoulders supporting half his weight.

He barely gripped the sword in his hand, though impossibly it did not seem to fall from his fingers.

Exhaustion wore on his features, the wound in his leg screamed, and he ached with tiredness as they all stepped into the Keep of Vel Hetren. The last place safe in the city.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Alright then let's go.

"Right!"

It was all Kristen could do to simply walk. The weight of Pullo, even with Reynard supporting the other half, gave rise to a horrendous strain on her arms. Yet it did prove faster than her dragging Pullo along with her Chain, for the momentum of their tandem carry kept her going, and kept her going quickly. Once, then twice, she stumbled slightly as she backpedaled, nearly tripping over this loose piece of debris here or that bump in the ground there, but she recovered.

Before she knew it, she, Reynard, Ollie, and Trik were all through the Keep's gate. The last ones, as it would be, for the command to shut the gate echoed soon afterward.

Barely after the portcullis had come crashing down, Kristen, given to the need for rest now that relative safety was about her, said, "Here. Set him down here," going into the motion of doing so herself even as she was speaking.

Down on her hands and knees, she touched the dead man's forehead.

"Pullo, we made it! Rest and—!"

One look into his frozen eyes then told her the grim truth. What relief and elation she was experiencing slowly evacuated her expression. She sat back onto her heels, a hollow dismay making her gaze go distant and unfocused.

Like this she sat for a moment.

And then Kristen looked up to Reynard, to Ollie, to Trik. Said of Pullo, "I gave him my word..."

Reynard De Eramant Olvir

 

[Olvir]

(Reynard I sent you a PM and wasn't sure on status so I posted. If you want to post later just feel free to do so )

Ollie and Trik stood, watching the scene before them. A pang of guilt sprung through his chest, though he did not know why. The woman on her knees, familiar somehow but caked with blood and sweat, held nothing less than utter despair in her eyes.

There was nothing more he could have done, he knew that, and Trik's words rang in his mind even then.

"You're not a soldier."​

His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword again, the crimson blade utterly clean of blood despite the battle he had waded into. Eyes flickered up towards Trik, and slowly the two of them stepped over towards Kristen. "I'm sorry."

Ollie said quietly, the sound of fire, battle, and screaming men almost drowning out the word.

Though the gate was closed and the portculus had fallen, the fight was far from over. Beyond the walls of the Keep those trapped were either still fighting or facing slaughter. The ground still quaked after every few beats of the heart, and in the distance war drums echoed as the Orcs took the meat of their prize.

"Did you know him well?" He asked softly as all around them soldiers scurried to and fro. Some heading to the walls of the inner fortress while others carried the injured and supplies back into the last free bastion in Vel Hetren. Moving what they had taken from the outer fortifications into the Keep.

Somewhere a Guardsmen called out for a Dreadlord, though Ollie didn't know who they meant.

"Ollie, your leg, we should-" Trik began to speak, but the young noble waved him off. Waving a hand as he and the bodyguard stood over Kristen and her now dead companion.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

There was hell outside of the Keep, but it was a thing dull and distant. Kristen's mournful gaze fell back down to Pullo and she gently shut his eyes.

"I knew Pullo for less than an hour," Kristen said. "By chance did I stumble upon him. It was his wish that I not abandon him, and my sole solace is that, in the final moments of his life, I may have eased his passing by granting him hope instead of leaving him to despair. May he find rest in the afterlife."

Kristen heard the vague call, echoing off of the Keep's interior walls, for a Dreadlord. She didn't know if that meant someone else, a Dreadlord (a full Dreadlord, she hoped) within the keep, or if the call had been made in general. It might bear some investigation. They were now locked within these walls as it were.

Ollie, your leg...

The name, like a humble petitioner awaiting a summons into an office chamber, presented itself fully to her awareness then. Kristen's brow scrunched in obscure recognition. Ollie...she did not know an Ollie...but why did that sound somewhat familiar...?

She looked back up to Olvir. Like peering closely enough to the surface of water to see one's reflection did the memory come to clarity: a social gathering among the Houses of Virak, Weiroon, and Pirian—this occasion not long before her enrollment into the Academy. One of the last of such events she attended before becoming an Initiate.

Kristen blinked rapidly. "Ol...Olvir Weiroon...?"

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"Oh." Ollie said softly, glancing down at the dead man. He slowly shook his head, not entirely sure of what to say.

Death was never easy, even when it was someone you had only known for less than an hour. "He wasn't alone, in the end you were there."

The words were not much, but it was all that he could offer. The man looked a soldier, someone who had fought and died for his city. Perhaps the small comfort Kristen had given him had managed to drive away some of the fear in his heart.

Though, inwardly, he doubted it.

Then recognition dawned in Kristen's eyes. His name passed from her lips, and almost immediately his brow furrowed. Why would this soldier know his name? Who he was. The Weiroons were well known, but not enough that most would pick him out a crowd. Certainly not here on a battlefield.

Yet...there was something.

It was difficult to tell through the haze. The matted hair, the speckles of blood, and the armor that surrounded her shoulders. She was familiar, so very familiar, but the last time he had seen Kristen she'd been wearing a dress. Makeup. The young Pirian might as well have been an entirely different person then. "Yes..."

He said slowly.

"I am Olvir Weiroon." There was a hesitation in admitting that. Some Guardsmen still treated him as though his nobility gave him any semblance of authority, a truth that might still exist through backchannels and favors, but not in any other sense.

Eyes flickered over her again, searching, and only then did he notice the small Dreadlord sigil on her armor. The same one he recognized from Zael, Alistair, and even Houri now.

Things clicked into place in his head, the conversation he’d had with Zael in Rostok. The color of her hair. It all came at him like a bat to the face. "Kristen?"

His voice had nothing less than utter bewilderment. At his side he felt Trik shift, his own voice adding incredulously. "Kristen Pirian?!"

 

[Kristen Pirian]

She glanced from Olvir to Trik (not knowing his name, though he certainly knew hers) and back to Olvir. Kristen was stunned as much as Olvir was bewildered, and the one clear fact to her was that, certainly, neither of them had expected to see the other here.

"Blessed Aionus, do times change," Kristen said breathlessly.

Slowly, as if it were an afterthought, she rose up to her feet. There was a brief awareness in the far back corner of her mind, separate from the astonishment of the chance encounter, where she appreciated being the shortest among the three of them. Even in the midst of all this, the terror of the failing battle and meeting Olvir in this most unlikely of circumstances, did trivial concerns like her bashfulness about her height make themselves quietly and insistently known.

Nevertheless.

"W-What are you doing here?" she said. "Were you caught in Vel Hetren when the orcs attacked?"

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"Yes." He answered swiftly enough, still not quite believing what he was seeing and hearing.

Ollie had known of course that Kristen had joined the Academy, and hell Zael had even told him she was there. But there was a different between hearing, knowing, and actually seeing. He'd never have thought in a million years that Kristen Pirian would be before him half covered in blood and in a full suit of armor.

Two years ago he would have laughed out loud, but here they were. "I'd heard you'd joined the Academy."

He continued. "I even me-"

Trik interrupted him, and although there was still a bit of disbelief in his voice the ogre sized man spoke quickly.

"As much as I hate to interrupt two of my betters." He cut in. "Your wounds need tending, My Lord. The faster the better."

Ollie glanced down at his leg, the gash still bleeding though hardly life threatening. A frown touched his lips, and he opened his mouth to speak when another rumble seemed to shake the earth. Another reminder of the battle still raging. "Right, I...we should get to the medical station."

He glanced down at Pullo's body. "Trik could you...if, Kristen, you don't mind helping me?"

Ollie asked.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

When Trik mentioned Olvir's wounds, and furthermore when Olvir himself glanced down to them, only then did Kristen become aware of it. She had taken some blows as well during the initial battle in the city, so the damage to her armor suggested, but, even though she was spattered with blood, none of it was hers. She could only send thanks to Aionus for watching over her.

But there was still plenty of battle to come.

"Of course," Kristen said. "Yes, of course. Gods know how long we shall be fortifying this Keep, so we ought to see that your wound is tended well."

And again, the dismaying awareness of what she lacked with her Divine Magic. Marcella could have healed Olvir...could have healed Pullo as well. Yet here Kristen was, once more a sword instead of a shield.

She had to viciously push away the blasphemous thought (this in direct contrast to the thanks she had only just given) which came next:

Why, Aionus? Why am I deficient in your eyes?

This trouble briefly played out in her expression, but she forcibly leveled it out as she walked with Olvir.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

For a few seconds Trik offered both Kristen and Olvir a dubious look.

It was not that he didn't trust the other Noble, but the young Weiroon was his charge. The person he had sworn to protect above all else. Already in his eyes he had failed, and letting someone else carry the weight of him...it didn't sit right with the Ogre Knight.

Yet after a few seconds he relented, Ollie slipped an arm around Kristen's shoulder and together they began to hobble their way towards the central Keep.

As they made their way, Trik reached down and scooped up Pullo's body. Carrying it as though he were holding a cradle. In his head the Ogre Knight knew that before long the body would need to be disposed of, disease was a great worry in a Siege like this, but now was hardly the time to voice such a thing.

Instead he followed quietly behind the two Nobles.

"You know." Ollie said in jest as they trekked through the courtyard. "I'm, not really sure how I keep getting myself into these situations."

He chuckled wryly, glancing at Kristen. "I swear this is the fourth time in as many months I've nearly gotten myself killed."

His head shook. "But I guess you're probably used to that sort of thing by now."

At least from what Zael and the others had told him about the Academy and the sort of missions they went on.

As they reached the entrance of the Keep a Guardsmen greeted them, his gaze first flickering to Ollie, and then to Kristen. He noticed the Dreadlord Apprentice badge on her armor, eyes widening almost immediately.

"Ma'am, you should report to the Governor as soon as you can. They've been calling for Dreadlords since before the gate closed."​

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

This was not something Reynard did often. Getting lost in thought so much to the point that the world around him faded away? It was far from a common occurrence. Reynard was distracted, stuck in his own head thinking about the dead body that lay before him. He couldn't help but think that if he had gotten there sooner, helped her with Pullo any quicker then maybe the man would still be in the living world. Instead he was dead, and his family had lost a dear member. Death was a common occurrence in his line of work. Reynard had seen it more than enough but he never really got used to it. Death always had an impact on him and he treated it with respect. He offered a moment of reverential silence for the dead man.

It was only after the rest of the group had began walking away that Reynard realized he was taking too long to sort out his own thoughts. Reynard only remembered snippets of the conversation that took place while he was distracted. Both Olvir and Kristen seemed to be nobles, and knew each other. It seemed that Reynard was the only odd one out. He'd just have to follow them and assist however he could, he felt a sense of responsibility to at least see Pullo to his final destination before deciding how to proceed.

Reynard slapped himself on the forehead for being so unaware, frankly it wasn't like him to be so distracted at any time. He'd have to apologize to Kristen especially. He should've helped in comforting her and instead he sat there like a rock. Reynard fell into step just behind the two nobles and waited for his chance to speak. He wouldn't be so rude as to interrupt them especially after having been absent from conversation up to that point.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Sometimes, when surrounded by the darkness of woeful circumstances, all you had left to you was the light of humor.

Kristen laughed along with Olvir, even if the sound felt dry and scratchy in her throat. My, what an adventurous spirit he had, even if it led him directly into peril! Mayhap his mandatory service in the Guard had kindled it within him.

"I wish that I could truly claim being of calm and sound mind in harrowing affairs such as this, yet...there is still much room for improvement."

Across the courtyard and to the Keep itself, that Guardsman saw her Dreadlord insignia and addressed her.

"I will, yes I will. Momentarily."

She kept on assisting Olvir in his walking. Said to him, "After we see that leg of yours treated."

Aware that Reynard was behind them, Kristen looked back over her shoulder and asked, "Are you at all wounded?"

Olvir Reynard De Eramant

 

[Olvir]

The Guardsmen seemed to hesitate for a moment, then simply nodded.

Dreadlords were still in a rather unique position when it came to the Anirian Guard. Now part of the command structure, most at least had a rank, but due to their fluidity things were not always clearly established. Add to that the chaos of a siege?

It was hard for the man standing guard to even tell where Kristen was supposed to be, much less who she actually was. Besides, it was usually best not to argue with a person who could snap their fingers and do magic.

"Well, there's always room for improvement." Ollie said, half in jest as he motioned to his leg. "I can attest to that."

Amell had said his defensive stances needed work.

The lot of them quickly made their way through the Keep.

What they saw was disheartening to say the least. Injured men who could not be made to stand anymore sat nearly everywhere they could fit. Some with bandages, others still with wounds that were still bleeding though clearly not fatal.

By the time they reached the makeshift medical ward it was clear that most everyone who could have had retreated to the Keep. Including those just barely clinging to life.

"What's wrong with ya, whose all injured?"​

A voice called out, Ollie searching through the crowded hall which he thought might have been meant for originally dining. Now it was a medical ward. Men laying on tables, some actively dying, others already having met their fate. He glanced at Reynard briefly. "Just me, I think, my leg."

The Doctor looked at them, then back to the patient.

"If it can wait, have a seat."​

A scowl pulled at Ollie's lips. He didn't want to have to sit here, useless, while others were still fighting. "I just need some sti-!"

"I'll get to you when I get to you!"​

The Doctor called, much to Ollie’s dismay. The young Nobleman frowning and glancing around the room of wounded men. Lips thinning for a brief second, and then he glanced at Reynard and Kristen. ”Either of you know how to sow?”

All he needed was some stitches, from there he could work through the pain.

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

Reynard was actually paying attention this time as they headed through towards the infirmary. Thankfully they had no issues, and on top of that it also seemed Krysten had obligations elsewhere. It seemed Dreadlords were needed all over the city, hardly a surprise considering the hell they had just gone through outside. That was what war was like of course. All war was hell and this was no exception.

Reynard gave Krysten an appreciative smile and shook his head. "Other than a few minor scrapes and scratches I managed to get out of that alright. Thank you." It was a small miracle that Reynard wasn't injured during the battle outside. Mostly thanks to the assistance of his companions and his own skill with the sword. He couldn't help but wonder just how long his luck would last with everything going on. He'd need to stay on his toes and be at his absolute best. Not just for his sake but also for those around him.

They had made it to the infirmary and unfortunately they weren't the only ones in need of medical assistance. There were plenty of injured and dying and Ollie was no doubt further in the back of line because of this. Ollie was in luck however because while sowing itself may have been an activity he took part in, Reynard was at least passable in the art of closing up wounds. Many long days on the road doing dangerous jobs meant he had to patch himself up more often than not.

"I believe I can stitch you up." Although this was not his area Reynard wasted no time in grabbing the supplies he needed in order to stitch up Ollies wounds. "sit down and get comfortable, perhaps something to bite down on as well." He said as he set out to get to work. Reynard would wash the injury with alcohol and begin stitching up the leg wound as soon as Ollie was ready.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

An awful sight in the makeshift infirmary, and no mistake. The grim fruits of the orcish army's unchecked aggression lay bare before the eye in here. The poor doctor had to ration his expertise, devoting time first and foremost to those who worse off than Olvir yet still able to be saved from certain death. And again it gnawed at her, that doubt, that splinter stuck in the paw that was her faith: if only I were worthy in the sight of Aionus, my Divine Magic could do more than simply cripple and kill.

At least Reynard was not burdened by any serious wound. That much Kristen could be thankful for.

Olvir brought up sowing, and this time it wasn't her faith which took a blow, but her upbringing. There were a number of things Kristen was interested in and was inclined toward learning, and sowing was one of them. She had gone to one of the servants' rooms in the Pirian Estate in Vel Anir a few times as a child and watched some of the maidservants do their work, asking questions about technique and process. Word got to Mother, however, and Mother was quite swift to reprimand her. Such work is not for a Lady, so she had said. And that was the end of that.

She breathed a small sigh of relief when Reynard volunteered. He had the skill which she lacked.

Kristen, doing the only thing she could do, brushed off the bottom front flap of her tabard and balled it up and offered it to Olvir after he found a place to sit (a touch awkward, this solution, since she was still wearing the tabard, but it was the only thing suitable for the task at hand). "'Tis better than nothing, and is all I have."

She looked to Reynard, this stranger who had been made a comrade even in this short time by the dire nature of the crisis which imperiled them all, and her lips pulled into a grim, thin line. He would have to do what needed to be done.

She could only hope that Olvir did not pass out from the pain. She'd have to be ready to support him if he did.

Olvir Reynard De Eramant

 

[Olvir]

Sitting himself down, Olvir looked at the dirty tabard with no small amount of dubiousness. He glanced up at Kristen, and then to Reynard. Trik was off depositing Pullo's body to where the doctor told him, things like that had to be handled carefully.

Disease would be a worry sooner rather than later, it always was during a siege. "This doesn't really seem sanitary."

Ollie commented, but only let out a sigh and bit down on the balled up fabric. There wasn't much else that he could do in the moment, and it was better to have something rather than shatter his teeth with the street of pain.

Fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, the tip resting against the floor as he braced himself.

"Go ahead." He told Reynard as the man began to first clean the wound, and then sow it shut. Pain lancing through him with every stab of the needle, and his jaw clenching down hard through the entire process. Impressively, Olvir did not let out a scream, though more than once he couldn't help the dull whimper that passed from his throat.

Pain is good. A reminder that you are alive.

The sword spoke in his head, but Ollie could only bite back bitterly. What do you know about pain?!

He demanded. You're a fucking sword.

The only thing Ollie received in response was what he could only describe as a dry chuckle. The sound echoing in his skull just as Reynard finished the last stroke of the needle. Ollie let out a breath, spitting out the tabard seconds later.

He took a sharp breath, glancing down at the wound in his thigh.

"Thank you." He said to the stranger. "Couldn't have asked for finer work."

Ollie said, a thin sheen of sweat covering him as he slowly began to stand.

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

Reynard let out a short sigh as he finished up his stitching. It wasn't often he needed to stitch someone else and in all honesty he wasn't entirely comfortable with the task but he got through it and did a fairly good job when all was said. A small but weak smile crossed his face as he stood up, supporting Ollie has he stood as well. It seemed Ollie was thankful for the job done and that was really all the mattered. "I'm happy to have helped. Consider it a repayment for my earlier space out. It's been a long day and I apologize for having only been mentally present as of recently."

He figured this was the time for an apology. Though there was a good chance neither Ollied nor Krysten noticed his mental check out, he did and he couldn't help but feel the need to say something about it. Either way he had helped Ollie close his open wound and that was enough for him to feel a bit better about how the whole day had gone, although it was still only a bit. A man died today, Reynard and Krysten were unable to get him to safety fast enough. Reynard felt partly responsible but he was sure it weighed on Krysten even heavier. He had no idea how he'd even start to broach that subject but now was probably not the right time for it.

Reynard's mind once again went to the gates outside and the battle likely still taking place. As easy as it could be to forget they were in the middle of a full scale battle right now. Reynard was just a sword for hire, a mercenary. Krysten and Ollie were both not only locals but nobles. People both familiar with the fortress but of a far higher station. In all honesty it made him unsure of what he should do next. What was the next step? "I hate to rush, especially considering everything that's been happening today, but what do we do now?"

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen couldn't help it: as soon as Reynard began to the stitching of Olvir's wound, when the blood began to flow, she laid her hands on Olvir's shoulders and gave them a gentle (at least she hoped it was a gentle) squeeze. One's fortitude could often be boosted as much by human contact as by one's own will, so she tacitly believed.

In the end, he endured, though the glistening of sweat on his brow was a testament to the pain that came with many conventional medical procedures.

When will my prayers be granted? When shall I be a shield as much as a sword? Forgive me, Blessed Aionus, for what I lack, and guide me through my deficiencies of spirit and into the worthiness of Your image.

Kristen gave Olvir a small pat on the back as he came to stand. Inwardly, with the troubles of faith she faced, she quietly longed for one herself. Human contact, here again with its silent power.

"We have nothing before us but to wait, prepare, and receive the orcs' attack when at last it comes," Kristen said, glancing the mercenary's way. She herself had the summons from the Governor to attend...and...well, she would feel better about it being accompanied by familiar and friendly faces; surely the Governor wouldn't deny the presence of Olvir and...

"Oh, my, may we have your name? I should like the know who it is that we shall be fighting alongside," Kristen said, the realization that she did not yet know Reynard's name striking her keenly. Likely the mercenary heard Olvir's and Kristen's own, clearly enough were they each exclaimed in their surprise to see one another earlier.

Olvir Reynard De Eramant

 

[Olvir]

In all the chaos they had forgotten to ask their companion to share his name, a mark of shame for the two nobles though it hard to blame them. Ollie waited for Reynard to introduce himself, then did the same. Though it seemed silly now. "Olvir Weiroon."

The Noble said, though his mind was more occupied with Kristen's earlier statement.

Waiting really was the only thing they could do. During a siege there wasn't really much else. You could distribute supplies, organize the defenses, but at the end of the day the onus was almost entirely on the force attacking.

"You were called to the Governor." Not Kristen specifically, but close enough. "Do you mind if we come with?"

He asked, obviously not able to read Kristen's mind and offering a glance at Reynard.

Ollie wasn't sure if the man would even want to attend such a meeting, but he wasn't about to leave him out. Not when he'd sown up his leg.

"I know the Governor, I don't think he'll mind my being there." Hell, they'd shared dinner together just a few days ago. If anything the old man would probably be glad to know that Ollie had made it through all the chaos.

 

[Reynard De Eramant]

Reynard nodded his head. Kristen was right of course, in the end the only thing they really could do was wait for the orcs to make their push through the gates. As to how long those gates would stand for, and how much time the group had till they fell wasn't known. It could be a matter of days or hours and all they could do was wait for it to happen. It was a powerless feeling that Reynard was quite unfamiliar with. The number of wars he had participated in over the course of his life now totaled 1. This was the one and only war he had ever been in. Sure he had participated in skirmishes and battles and other such mercenary jobs but this was a very different beats altogether. This was entire fortress city being sieged by Orcs, Orcs who sought to kill and conquer.

Reynard was a learned man, at least as learned as any mercenary could be. He had traveled to many places and met many people. Among those people he had known many good Orcs, good men who he would trust his back to in battle. It was easy for many people to write them off as ignorant or brutish creatures, the kind that knew only warfare and destruction but he knew better. Just like man, not all Orcs were created equal. It was unfortunate then that his knowing a few good Orcs did nothing for the army that was currently attacking the fortress walls. It was no easier to kill an Orc than it was to kill a human, though he doubted many other soldiers had the same moral issue.

Reynard laughed at himself when Kristen asked for his name. He had forgotten just how little these two nobles knew about him, not helped by the fact he had been largely uninvolved in whatever conversations had taken place before then. Now then was a fine time for introductions, properly done this time.

Reynard let a polite but no less kind smile cross his face as he looked to both Olvir and Kristen and introduced himself, an act he was quite good at by now. "Apologies, I should've introduced myself earlier. My name is Reynard De Eramant. As I'm sure one or both of you had guessed by now, I am a sword for hire. A mercenary by trade. I was hired to be an extra sword on the battlefield, my first war truth be told but far from my first battle. It's an honor to meet you though I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Anyone who had met many mercenaries would know they were rarely the well spoken type but Reynard was an exception among them, a natural born orator if he could be called anything at all besides a simple sword wielding mercenary. Words flowed freely out of his mouth and the kind smile flowed even freer than that.

Reynard offered a nod of his head at Olvir, happy to have an introduction between them now. Though the words that followed made him less sure of his standing among the group. His smile faltered, a rarity, turning into a thing line. "I'm not entirely sure how welcome I would be at a meeting with the governor. Among you who are nobles, I'm really just a mercenary. I'm don't know how welcome I would be as an uninvited guest." Which was true enough. Reynard had learned that nobles and government types valued their rules and Reynard rarely fit within the kind of crowd they hung with. He was a commoner, at least as far as he was a aware. His father was a talented knight but that was as far as Reynard knew. He didn't want to arrive to a meeting with the governor if he wouldn't be welcomed.