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Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 3
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<blockquote data-quote="Hillsy7" data-source="post: 7327528" data-attributes="member: 6689191"><p>Burrai stood in the corner, shield and axe leaned carefully by his feet against the wall, staring across the room at Elloral. Jabbar lay on the table, Elloral in attendance looking him over. No, not Jabbar - his corpse. Judging by Elloral’s manner, his sould had already started it’s journey to….wherever the smuggler hoped he’d been going. Burrai was sure he’d be accepted - no man should make that sort of selfless sacrifice and be denied entry to the afterlife of his choice.</p><p></p><p>Unsurprisingly, a funereal air hung over everyone, who stood or sat in various states of boiling anger, shock, or sorrow. Burrai himself held a mixture of all three. He thought he’d be inured to it, at least the sharpest edges of grief, but it seems that, like many things, had atrophied during his self imposed exile. Books were no substitute for the rawness of battle and fallen comrades.</p><p></p><p>The Rhat lay blindfolded and bound by his feet where he could kick it if it made a noise; The other bodies were down in the basement - the cheapest of Jabbar’s illegal goods. It had learned quickly to stay silent, and Burrai hadn’t had to educate it in a while now. He brooded, analysing, picking through his memories of the battle and wondering where the errors hid.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">~If I’d know more about the vulkyre’s sensitivity to magic…..then what? Would Aletia have obeyed had I ordered her, like Ersun didn’t?~</span> He rolled it around and around: the first Javelin, his attempted distraction, the second, Jabbar’s final sacrifice - he rooted about in the gaps in the action and could find no spare time to have done anything from that first moment. Aletia would not have had time to drag Jabbar clear, Ersun not enough time to flee and draw attention, him not enough time to drop the wererat and do…..something to engage the Vulkyre. <span style="color: #8B4513">~There wasn’t enough Time!~</span></p><p></p><p>Which meant avoidance had been their only hope. Part of that blame had been on him; his knowledge had been incomplete, and that always lead to problems in battle. But he wasn’t egotistical enough to flagellate himself for it. No one entered any battle with total knowledge - it was part of their eternal appeal - and all one could do was identify what wasn’t known, and do better next time. If you could. Sometimes the best course was to roll the dice and act - knowing you were unprepared didn’t help a jot then.</p><p></p><p>Circularly it came around again to whatever authority Jabbar had transposed to him just a few hours ago. That, at least, was something he could deal with now. Staring wordlessly at Jabbar’s body in a shared mire of emotions. Best leave that to the professionals.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“Ersun, Aletia,”</span> He said, not unkindly. <span style="color: #8B4513">“I think I saw something strong in the basement. Come, share a cup with me. You too Billanverthorne. Avar.”</span> He spoke a little louder to the sundered dwarf. <span style="color: #8B4513">“Keep an eye on this one, and keep him quiet and whole enough to talk.” </span>He didn’t say anything to Elloral, just caught her gaze and gave her a nod - this was her task, and he’d give her the space for it.</p><p></p><p>He lead the 4 of them down into the basement and dragged a crate out to where they could all stand around it. In the corner, three dark bottles of something that looked strong and, when he pulled the cork, smelled stronger. He took one back to the crate, ignoring the glass eyed stare of the bodies. He took a large pull from the bottle, feeling the raw burn of hard liquor spread down his throat, and placed it uncorked in the middle of the crate.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“To Jabbar, who sacrificed himself without assurances of success - the true measure of heroism.” </span>He made a gesture for everyone to do the same if they wished, and waited for their salutes, whatever they were. There was always a time to honour the fallen - sometimes a lifetime.</p><p></p><p>He waited for the lull. <span style="color: #8B4513">“I’ve thought hard about what happened, and there wasn’t anything we could’ve done to save Jabbar. That’s not to say there isn’t things we could have done better, and can do better in the future.”</span> He looked up at them, all taller than he (though he was tall for a dwarf) and all younger. <span style="color: #8B4513">~Everyone’s younger than you Burrai, in life if not in years.~ “But today we did lose something else we needed because of choices and a lack of trust: Ren run away and now our path down to his faction of Rhats is significantly less smooth than before.”</span></p><p></p><p>He held up a hand to forestall any interruption. <span style="color: #8B4513">“That’s not to say I blame anyone, I don’t. But there in the heat of battle none of us knew precisely what cards we were playing with. There is a place for many assets on the field - from unswerving obedience to total autonomy - but less mistakes are made when those assets are known. And right now, we know nothing of each other beyond what weapons we wield and what armour we wear.” </span>He gave a shrug. These were just problems that came with war, unknown pieces on a chess board and playing for the highest of stakes. He gestured to Ersun, palm open.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“I asked you to follow Ren, but you chose not to. I respect that condition in the context, but the ‘why’ of the decision is important, now, while we have the time to learn of it. Perhaps if I knew yourself, or Billanverthorne here, could find him easily - if you can - I’d have removed Ren from the equation and let him run. Perhaps if you knew, Ersun, of my history, and the sway I have with some of the mercenary guilds here, you’d have made a different decision. If Aletia knew more of Cabarda, and our own martial prowess, she might not have felt so threatened as to cast spells so openly once we’d arrived. If, if, if, if…….”</span> He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands onto the barrel top, emphasising his point.</p><p><span style="color: #8B4513"></span></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“These aren’t mistakes or errors, they are correct decisions at the time with the facts we had. We all had. You can’t change the past - Gods know I would have if it could be - but we can plan better for the future. So…” </span>He spread both his hands, a welcoming gesture. <span style="color: #8B4513">“Here is our forum, and we need to know what to expect of each other - our typical choices in battle, our preferred roles, our skills, tactics and capabilities.”</span></p><p></p><p>Burrai leaned back again, and jabbing a thumb at the door up from the basement. <span style="color: #8B4513">“While you know what I do from my axe or shield, you amy or may not know I was, for a time, jokingly called a Mercenary Prince. It’s a joke title, given to those who lead and cultivate mercenary units and take them on the more…..glamorous jobs. Mostly, that’s soldiering for rich kings, often in place of their own martially illiterate sons. I’ve seen a lot of war, battle, and many here know that, and respect it. I also know how to survive - which is why I learned to make my own shield and plate - and I try to keep my squad alive, behind me preferably.”</span></p><p></p><p>He gave a shrug. <span style="color: #8B4513">“Most of that is probably evident, but some not. And know you know.”</span></p><p></p><p>Burrai fell silent, letting them choose to fill the silence before it grew to large for words. That’s how he’d done it often in the past, when Burrai Steelborn built a squad. Little else built teamwork like the comfort to speak freely between your comrades, and often that first step needed silence.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Hillsy7, post: 7327528, member: 6689191"] Burrai stood in the corner, shield and axe leaned carefully by his feet against the wall, staring across the room at Elloral. Jabbar lay on the table, Elloral in attendance looking him over. No, not Jabbar - his corpse. Judging by Elloral’s manner, his sould had already started it’s journey to….wherever the smuggler hoped he’d been going. Burrai was sure he’d be accepted - no man should make that sort of selfless sacrifice and be denied entry to the afterlife of his choice. Unsurprisingly, a funereal air hung over everyone, who stood or sat in various states of boiling anger, shock, or sorrow. Burrai himself held a mixture of all three. He thought he’d be inured to it, at least the sharpest edges of grief, but it seems that, like many things, had atrophied during his self imposed exile. Books were no substitute for the rawness of battle and fallen comrades. The Rhat lay blindfolded and bound by his feet where he could kick it if it made a noise; The other bodies were down in the basement - the cheapest of Jabbar’s illegal goods. It had learned quickly to stay silent, and Burrai hadn’t had to educate it in a while now. He brooded, analysing, picking through his memories of the battle and wondering where the errors hid. [COLOR="#8B4513"]~If I’d know more about the vulkyre’s sensitivity to magic…..then what? Would Aletia have obeyed had I ordered her, like Ersun didn’t?~[/COLOR] He rolled it around and around: the first Javelin, his attempted distraction, the second, Jabbar’s final sacrifice - he rooted about in the gaps in the action and could find no spare time to have done anything from that first moment. Aletia would not have had time to drag Jabbar clear, Ersun not enough time to flee and draw attention, him not enough time to drop the wererat and do…..something to engage the Vulkyre. [COLOR="#8B4513"]~There wasn’t enough Time!~[/COLOR] Which meant avoidance had been their only hope. Part of that blame had been on him; his knowledge had been incomplete, and that always lead to problems in battle. But he wasn’t egotistical enough to flagellate himself for it. No one entered any battle with total knowledge - it was part of their eternal appeal - and all one could do was identify what wasn’t known, and do better next time. If you could. Sometimes the best course was to roll the dice and act - knowing you were unprepared didn’t help a jot then. Circularly it came around again to whatever authority Jabbar had transposed to him just a few hours ago. That, at least, was something he could deal with now. Staring wordlessly at Jabbar’s body in a shared mire of emotions. Best leave that to the professionals. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“Ersun, Aletia,”[/COLOR] He said, not unkindly. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“I think I saw something strong in the basement. Come, share a cup with me. You too Billanverthorne. Avar.”[/COLOR] He spoke a little louder to the sundered dwarf. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“Keep an eye on this one, and keep him quiet and whole enough to talk.” [/COLOR]He didn’t say anything to Elloral, just caught her gaze and gave her a nod - this was her task, and he’d give her the space for it. He lead the 4 of them down into the basement and dragged a crate out to where they could all stand around it. In the corner, three dark bottles of something that looked strong and, when he pulled the cork, smelled stronger. He took one back to the crate, ignoring the glass eyed stare of the bodies. He took a large pull from the bottle, feeling the raw burn of hard liquor spread down his throat, and placed it uncorked in the middle of the crate. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“To Jabbar, who sacrificed himself without assurances of success - the true measure of heroism.” [/COLOR]He made a gesture for everyone to do the same if they wished, and waited for their salutes, whatever they were. There was always a time to honour the fallen - sometimes a lifetime. He waited for the lull. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“I’ve thought hard about what happened, and there wasn’t anything we could’ve done to save Jabbar. That’s not to say there isn’t things we could have done better, and can do better in the future.”[/COLOR] He looked up at them, all taller than he (though he was tall for a dwarf) and all younger. [COLOR="#8B4513"]~Everyone’s younger than you Burrai, in life if not in years.~ “But today we did lose something else we needed because of choices and a lack of trust: Ren run away and now our path down to his faction of Rhats is significantly less smooth than before.”[/COLOR] He held up a hand to forestall any interruption. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“That’s not to say I blame anyone, I don’t. But there in the heat of battle none of us knew precisely what cards we were playing with. There is a place for many assets on the field - from unswerving obedience to total autonomy - but less mistakes are made when those assets are known. And right now, we know nothing of each other beyond what weapons we wield and what armour we wear.” [/COLOR]He gave a shrug. These were just problems that came with war, unknown pieces on a chess board and playing for the highest of stakes. He gestured to Ersun, palm open. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“I asked you to follow Ren, but you chose not to. I respect that condition in the context, but the ‘why’ of the decision is important, now, while we have the time to learn of it. Perhaps if I knew yourself, or Billanverthorne here, could find him easily - if you can - I’d have removed Ren from the equation and let him run. Perhaps if you knew, Ersun, of my history, and the sway I have with some of the mercenary guilds here, you’d have made a different decision. If Aletia knew more of Cabarda, and our own martial prowess, she might not have felt so threatened as to cast spells so openly once we’d arrived. If, if, if, if…….”[/COLOR] He leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands onto the barrel top, emphasising his point. [COLOR="#8B4513"] “These aren’t mistakes or errors, they are correct decisions at the time with the facts we had. We all had. You can’t change the past - Gods know I would have if it could be - but we can plan better for the future. So…” [/COLOR]He spread both his hands, a welcoming gesture. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“Here is our forum, and we need to know what to expect of each other - our typical choices in battle, our preferred roles, our skills, tactics and capabilities.”[/COLOR] Burrai leaned back again, and jabbing a thumb at the door up from the basement. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“While you know what I do from my axe or shield, you amy or may not know I was, for a time, jokingly called a Mercenary Prince. It’s a joke title, given to those who lead and cultivate mercenary units and take them on the more…..glamorous jobs. Mostly, that’s soldiering for rich kings, often in place of their own martially illiterate sons. I’ve seen a lot of war, battle, and many here know that, and respect it. I also know how to survive - which is why I learned to make my own shield and plate - and I try to keep my squad alive, behind me preferably.”[/COLOR] He gave a shrug. [COLOR="#8B4513"]“Most of that is probably evident, but some not. And know you know.”[/COLOR] Burrai fell silent, letting them choose to fill the silence before it grew to large for words. That’s how he’d done it often in the past, when Burrai Steelborn built a squad. Little else built teamwork like the comfort to speak freely between your comrades, and often that first step needed silence. [/QUOTE]
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