Completed The long march

[White Swallow]

A continuation of https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/the-battle-of-ninagal.1439/

It would be a long march... Under the sun and the reeds, under the stars of the eternal sky.

An army strode along the great river so wide one could not see where the other shore lay. It's water inhabited by many monsters better not spoken of.
The sun was setting, an entire day of restless march would come to a halt.

The bulk of the assemble were Henremnedi zealots, the man of the Sayyiduna, those under the banners of the white horse on black, white shield and golden flowers on green and the white swallow on black.
Dismounted from their shining steeds, even beasts of burden had to rest. Those that could not walk were set upon stretchers and dragged along the way. Many more were mercenaries or the Shah's own soldiers with a fear of what would come of them back at home. The many cataphracts they deemed zealots the day before, they clung to for protection.

The swallow limped along with a hand around Mayyadah, the pain was unbearable, but he would not slow down. A little more and they could camp under the protection of the night.

 

[Ashieron]

Ash was laid in a stretcher using his arm jacket as a sort of pillow. He’d look at stars flickering above wondering how the young mage and Alzros was doing. Hopefully they had gotten out of the chaos alright. It hurt for him to breath and if he tried to do too much he’d have coughing fits and would cough up some blood, even almost blacking out because he simply could not breath right. All of which was from the weird oilly fire that engulfed the stables which he, the mage and his master, Alzros and Trah were using as a sort of cover. He remembered the roof caving in within a matter of seconds and the burning from him breathing in the smoke and chemicals causing the fire.

Looking at the man limping around he’d sigh, “Swallow. You should rest, at least get onto a horse or ask for some assistance.” He’d tell him in a raspy voice. “I could try to heal your leg a bit also.” He’d grumble, his body was too focused on trying to heal itself that he was not really able to cast much magic.

 

[White Swallow]

The white swallow was silent for a few more paces, He was not far from Ashieron.
»Preserve your powers, you'll need them so much more than I.« His voice was tired from the walking, slightly strained.

Zakariyya halted the soldiers when a small village came into view. The people looked frightened, but Moad, one of the porters rode towards them, easing their concern.
A command to set up camp was rung throughout. The water shared from the oasis would help them, however they were out here on their own.

The White Swallow let Mayyadah run free to take a drink from the river before freeing Ashieron's stretcher from the horse and setting him gently on the ground. »You are no local, what lands do you hail from?«

 

[Trahaearn]

Trahaearn had not allowed himself to be set upon a stretcher, instead wrapping the reins of a horse he had found in their retreat around his wrists. It was dangerous in the case of a bucking fit, but it allowed the more grievously wounded to be on stretchers. Trying to not use his hands was a task in itself.

He realized much depended on them, and Ash had done what he could already to relieve the pain and tenderness in them, but it was almost up to time now for it to heal. He listened quietly to the two speak, and was relieved when the call for camp was made. He hissed when the reins brushed against his tender palms, shaking violently for a moment as the muscle screamed beneath the healing skin.

He didn't know what that concoction had been that had coated the beam, but he prayed he would never have to come across it again. There would have to be further investigations into what was going on if another trip to the south was to be made again.

Another of his men had survived, Holden, having received a flesh wound in the arm and numerous shallow cuts. The other man brought water and helped Trahaearn take a drink. The red haired man sat carefully near Ash and Swallow, remaining silent for a time as he thought on the battle. It hadn't been his battle, but something about it had irked him.

He kept the questions to himself for now, wondering about his current company as Holden took his own drink and dealt with the horse.

 

[Ashieron]

Ash rolled his eyes inside his mind at the Swallow’s refusal for some healing. He’d roll over onto his side and play with a ladybug that crawled onto his finger. He’d look at Sparrow when he asked a question. Ash sighed, “I’m from The Spine, far up in the mountains.” He’d answer smiling, missing his friends. He wondered what Freya was doing. More importantly Iliris, he felt a pang of worry as to what the mom of their group was thinking. She definitely knew of what trouble he gotten into now. She probably was going to give him a cold look when they see eachother again, even worse is Azi’s fire. “All of us live up there.” He’d respond chuckling some.

 

[White Swallow]

Zakariyya remained on the outskirts of the camp, keeping a watchful gaze as the wounded soldiers settled into various groups.

The White Swallow sat Beside Ashieron, soon joined by Mustafa, one of the singed servants.
»The Spine? « He tilted his head, laning on the soft sand. He heard of the spine when studying, but he could scarcely imagine how it would look likefrom description alone.
»It is very far, do you miss being home?«

 

[Ashieron]

“Yeah, but I know it is in the best care. I leave it for extended periods of time in adventures.” Ashieron laughs, “I bit off more than I could chew apparently.” He’d go into a bit of a coughing fit, “We need to discuss what the hell was that battle was. Nothing about it was right.” He’d tell them remembering the dragon, the magic involved, the weird oil that stuck to everything and burned no matter what they did. He considered themselves lucky that they got out of the battle alive.

“It should not even have happened, why can’t people just leave others be with their lives?” Ash asks sounding frustrated and irritated.

 

[Oliver Rose]

A client had called her from her inn in Alliria. It had been ages since she'd travelled so far.

Nodam was a small man with a mischievous grin and Rysa didn't like him one bit, but the season hadn't been kind to her work at the inn and money was money no matter whose purse it came from. He was interested in her jewelry, which was strange considering how miniscule a role the hobby played in her life. When he had stumbled into her inn he practically ordered her to meet him in some unknown village to give him a large commission of jewels. What he needed it for, Rysa couldn't care less.

He'd paid quickly and left her alone within an hour of meeting. Rysa wasn't sure what to do with herself after he left. She found a sad looking inn to stay in for the night and spent the rest of her day shopping. That was, until the sound of marching feet and groaning soldiers took the attention of the entire village.

Rysa pushed her way into the street to watch the soldiers approach the village. She shivered at their mangled appearance and pulled her cloak tighter around her body. She'd never seen so many people in so much pain. The swarming stench of dried blood and dirt filled the air and for some strange reason she felt she needed to help them.

Her satchel was full of herbs and concoctions she'd bought from her day of shopping and she had a good amount of knowledge on the art of herbal medicine, so she made her way to the camp the soldiers were struggling to set up. She searched tirelessly until her eyes fell upon an elven man laid out on a stretcher.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was an elf of maybe it was the man next to him, but she felt herself pulled in their direction.

With her hand over her bag she asked them, "What happened here?"

 

[Trahaearn]

The woman approached the pair, and Trahaearn addressed her. "The losing side of a battle." He looked back and forth across the men that shambled about. It wasn't such a strange thing one supposed when the land knew more battle than peace to see men muster and slowly march away from a one sided defeat.

It was a strange, or more accurately horrifying thing to see such a sight when there was peace for some relative time.

 

[White Swallow]

The White Swallow slowly exhaled. A fleeting new companion.
He nodded briefly in acknowledgment.
She didn't look like a local either, much like any of these people around him, of course, they would not know.
»It was a battle, like any other in Amol-Kalit. As my master, the Sayyiduna says: There are three truths in Amol-Kalit: the sun, the twin moon and war.«

»I as many of my people have been employed by the shah of Ragash to battle the challenger for his throne. Yet the Shah's camp was scorched by dragon's flame when in rest. Finally, the morale of his army has whittled as he died without kissing swords with the enemy. Many surrendered, but some came with us.« The White Swallow moved his hand across the units that lay in the temporary encampment.

There was a clear distinction in appearance between the besmirched Shah's forces and the cataphracts.
Zakarriya seemed to stand before them, preaching in some ways. Once before The Sayyiduna's men were zealots, now the others were the false faithed. »Believers of the false gods, the many deceivers and plungers of Hushur-Kalik's might. Believers in the pitiless god of war, god of storm and their lesser likes when your faith should have lied in the creator-of-all-and-you. --- «

 

[Ashieron]

Listening to the White Swallow and the other two converse Ash examines the woman with mistrusting eyes, almost as if he was a cornered wolf. He did not know this woman, as such he would not trust her as he gazed upon her bag. “What is your name and what is in the bag.” He asks the woman, he was not about to trust a total stranger. For he had no idea how far that fire giant’s reach was.

His eyes were looking at the others with a glare of, Be careful she is not known to us. Ash sat up and stretches his back, cracking ran all the way down it. “Forgive me for my mistrust but I have no idea whim you are, nor what is your purpose.” He informs the woman in elvish holding his collar bone with his good hand. “After all the only people I truly know are not here right now, they are far away.”

 

[Oliver Rose]

A losing battle? For the soldiers to all look so brutally defeated, the beating must have been exceptionally hard. Not only were their bodies wracked with wounds, but their spirits seemed broken.

The second man to speak spoke in such a way that Rysa could barely comprehend his wisdom. He seemed other-worldly in a way. To speak with such transcendence was a wonder.

The third man was nervous. Rysa turned her attention to him. When he asked about her bag, she laid a hand over the flap.

Then, he spoke in elvish. It had been so long since someone had spoken to her in her native tongue. She was filled with a rush of nostalgia, unidentifiable nostalgia, but nostalgia nonetheless. Seeing this elvish man made her wonder of her forgotten past. Had they met, perhaps? Or was she getting her hopes up at the sight of another elf?

Rysa smiled at the man and said to him in elvish, "You are not alone. My people are far away, too. For now, you are safe."

Then, she addressed the group, "I carry medicines with me. Herbs. I could help you, if you'd allow me to."

 

[Trahaearn]

Trahaearn nodded to Ash. "He is the worst of us here. Mine is merely a harsh burn..and a stab wound." He informed her quietly. The other was far worse off than he was, and the most in need of help when it came to medicine. He wasn't going to waste time the other man needed with petty wounds in comparison to his own.

The woman, and other healers would visit them shortly. Or at least that is what he believed.

 

[Ashieron]

Ashieron glares at Trah, “Just as long as you get yourself treated next.” He rasps to Trah rolling his eyes. Still not exactly trusting of the other elf. He looks at the elf, “I got damaged lungs and and stab into my collar.” He inform her keeping a close eye on her, it would almost seem as though he did not trust healers in general. But he knew the others would probably force him to have treatment one way or another. “You still did not tell us your name either.” He’d take a deep breath, feeling a bit light headed, “Let me see some of your medicines.” He tells the elf holding out his hand revealing the cloth in it caked in blood with a magical essence coming from it. It was like stardust glittering in the day time.

He knew if he was going to be treated it would hurt like the dickins, so he’d rather be knocked out for it or do it himself. So then the pain will be more bare able.

 

[White Swallow]

The White Swallow briefly stood up, his brief ascend ridden with lack of balance. Mayyadah trotted off towards him, and the warrior began to remove her tack. The saddle may as well make a fine pillow for tonight.

 

[Oliver Rose]

Rysa turned to the red-haired elf and set her satchel on the ground. She opened the flap and rummaged through it for a moment, simultaneously assessing his wounds from a distance. The cloth in his hand teemed with magic and Rysa felt anxiousness bubble in her chest.

She cleared her throat and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and a small bunch of jagged grasses, "My name is Rysa. I run an inn in Alliria."

Bending down to look at the man more clearly, she set the bottle and herbs next to her. Then, she pulled out a jar of salve, a packet of flower petals, and a needle. She pushed the bag toward the elf.

"You can look at whatever you'd like, but at least allow me to do this for you," she popped the cork off the bottle of liquid and passed it to the elvish man, "Drink this. It'll sooth the pain. Make sure to pass it to your friends."

Rysa opened the salve and dipped two fingers into it, intending to apply it to the man's stab wound. Holding her hand out gently, she urged the elf, "I know you're uncomfortable, but let me. Please."

 

[Ashieron]

Ashieron looks at the salve and flower petals, but also the needle. He’d sniff the bottle of liquid, it smelt sweet. Like a new morning’s dew covered grass. He looked at the other elf before taking a drink of it and passing it over to the others.

He’d start to look through the bag some, tilting his head at its contents. Why not use magic and use herbs and other substances? He could not help but wonder. Most elves could use magic but one that did not use it for healing had him wondering. Looking at the salve in the woman’s hand Ash sighs, “Fine, but please be careful.” He tells Rysa laying down now that his head was pounding some, “My name is Ashieron by the way. I just travel.” He’d tell her. He at least thought it would have been nicer being called by his name by the woman who was treating him. “Those guys,” He motion to the other two, “They’re just acquaintances of mine.”

 

[White Swallow]

In truth, The White Swallow did not see his wounds since the departure from the battle.
He shifted aside and began to shed his armour. The slightly besmirched Mustafa helped him some of the more intricate pieces.
Lastly, the helmet which stood above a black-veiled cowl. Before anyone could see, he already pulled up the mouth sheet.
His garment beneath was white, yet there was an unmistakable stain of blood on the leg sleeve.

He did not really want to know what lay beneath.
»People know me as The White Swallow, this here is Mustafa. A pleasure to meet you...« He turned his attention to the woman.