The Devil's Wake [M] IC

[Awean8]

Tristan smiled when he was greeted by people he had known. Survivors were a sight for sore eyes, in this desolate and cold wasteland. He had no doubt that they're were other survivors out there, but if they had wandered into the wilderness the probabiltiy of surviving is close to none.

Seven were now sitting by the fire. Five of them he had known, and by the looks of it a colonial mage, and a young man of currently unknown affiliation. He had smiled when Garret greeted him for Tristan had often made it habit to mingle among the common soldiers, and on more than one occasion join in the revelry.

Growing up on the stories of Joen’s Rouges it was an absolute honor to finally meet the great Orian. He didn't get giddy however for he was still sombre from the recent event. Soon after the great strategist had arrived Alexis, a knight belonging to the same order as Tristan, walked in with a man who was worse for wear leaning against her.

As the people had congregated to the campsite, the Ragpicker rummaged through her goods to whip up some food. She had found a large pot, along with some sausages, potatoes, vegetables, and a few loaves of bread. "Any of ye hobknockers going to help an old lady cook. Ack! Ack! We have plenty for some good stew."

Tristan gave a single fleeting smile at this, until he had heard Lord Russvik and Val bickering. They were both Inquisitors, but probably from different sects. Tristan didn't bother to understand the hierarchy that had created itself within the Church, for he didn't care much for the Inquisition. He stood up, not being able to stand the squabbling any longer.

"Both of you stand down", being a relative to the king had it's perks, "In the past eve I have seen enough death to last me a thousand lifetimes, so by the Gods sheath your weapons. There need not be any reason for any more death this morning."

The snow was falling gently but heavily, each snowflake evaporating once they hit the campfire. The road down south would be treacherous, even with a party of six Imperials. Still standing he stared out into the gray horizon, as if he had just sprang an epiphany.

"I've decided. We're taking these surviving colonials in as 'prisoners of war'. Traveling down south is a three day journey through thick winter and Gob territory, so we'll need all the help we can", Tristan continued although he had thought that maybe his idea was unwise, "We will treat them with utmost hospitality for I, a true Knight of the Lion, can not leave them here to fend for themselves. Furthermore, we will part ways at the first town we reach; free to destroy one another some other day."

The Ragpicker gave an assuring nod, since she obviously wasn't the type to let pride get in the way of survival, "There be a house a day down the road. A young lady lives there. She's is usually by herself and lonesome, but she'll give ye lot of motley misfits shelter, that I can be sure of.

The plan was coming together, and the first thing that Tristan had thought of was the golden city and all of its splendor. His mother kissing him on the cheek as he set out on another average day. He thought about home, and how badly he wished to be back. "Liaman, Val, please heal all of the wounded. We'll be leaving in the next hour."

[Atrum Daemon]

Knowing that Tristan survived was a massive weight off Garret’s mind. His infantry squad had been part of Tristan’s platoon, but had gotten separated shortly after the battle had begun. To see the young lord alive was a great relief and Garret finally allowed his body to collapse on the ground in a sitting position. The fire and cooling air helped relax the soldier’s aching muscles and he became keenly aware of some of his older injuries as he often did after reaching a level of exhaustion.

He let his senses go and was only dimly aware when other survivors arrived at the fire. When he bothered to look, he spotted a mix of Imperial and Colonial colors, but did not raise a fuss. More death was not what any of them needed after such devastating slaughter.

He became a bit more observant when the first inquisitor appeared. He wanted to get up and snap the foolish girl’s sword in two, but his body denied him that. It seemed what little piece they all were having would be broken until a second inquisitor a little older than Garret appeared. His voice held an air of authority that reassured Garret that the little bitch would control herself.

When Tristan next spoke, Garret’s eyes shot to the younger man. An hour? After everything they all had gone through, he was wanting them to start a long trek without even allowing them a decent rest? “My lord,” Garret said, “I truly hope you’ve thought this through.”

[RisingPhoenix]

Looking down at the wounded soldier, Akira could only sigh. The memory of his brother dying in his arms still lingered in his mind and would for some time to come. He decided that instead of letting the poor soldier bleed to death, he'd do all he could to help, though healing others was not his forte. Before he could even take a step towards the wounded soldier, a chaotically insane woman approached the soldier and threatened to run the young man through should he attempt anything. Akira rolled his eyes and was about to address the insane woman until a man, regal in stature, trotted up and addressed her rather firmly. Akira knew this man was a High Inquisitor, his aura reeked of it.

Turning away, Akira sat upon a stump and played with the orb of fire as it danced around him, stretching into various shapes and sizes. He wasn't worried about the High Inquisitor, nor was he worried about the insane woman. What bothered him the most was the faint scream for help he had heard earlier yet had done nothing to check in on it. Perhaps he just thought it was a figment on his imagination, but something kept probing him to check it out. He stood back up and watched as his new "pet" followed him, though he stopped in his tracks when he heard Tristan speak.

"I've decided. We're taking these surviving colonials in as 'prisoners of war'. Traveling down south is a three day journey through thick winter and Gob territory, so we'll need all the help we can", Tristan continued although he had thought that maybe his idea was unwise, "We will treat them with utmost hospitality for I, a true Knight of the Lion, can not leave them here to fend for themselves. Furthermore, we will part ways at the first town we reach; free to destroy one another some other day."

Akira turned back around and glared at Tristan. He walked up to the young man and looked down upon him. With shimmering eyes, he glared deep into the young man's soul, the fire raising as if responding to Akira's rising aura.

"Let me tell you something little man, I will accompany you and your kind until we get to this first town, but let me tell you this. I am no ones prisoner and I'd think twice before calling me one if I were you. I've been called a dog long enough, and it would be wise to keep your sarcastic name calling and remarks to yourself," Akira stated, speaking to each and every one of the Imperials. He threw a soul piercing glare at Val, Liaman, Garret, Alexis, and Orian before turning and heading in the direction he heard the faint scream for help come. The fire died back down to its normal flicker after Akira left the scene.

It didn't take long for Akira to find Isaac, partially due to the "pet" fire that seemed to voluntarily follow him wherever he went. He knelt down beside Isaac once he was close to him and simply looked him over once.

"Ahh, you've injured yourself quite bad haven't you?" Akira stated as he looked at the wound before looking into the face of Isaac.

"Wait a minute, you're the young mage I saw earlier. Don't worry, I'll find a way to get you fixed up. Come, allow me to help you," Akira stated as he motioned to help Isaac. He hefted the young man onto his shoulder in order to support his dead weight. Speaking in a language unbeknown to most, the two vanished in a roar of wind. It wasn't long before the two emerged out of the campfire. Akira helped Isaac over to the stump he had been sitting on earlier.

"Rest here young one."

[Jacogos]

Many things transpired as Orian stood there by the fire. Most notably was the appearance of the mage, two Inquisitors, and Tristan's announcement. He KNEW the man had seemed familiar, he had seen him when speaking to the Prince. Orian didn't believe that he had ever been formally introduced to the young Lord, but the current circumstances weren't very favorable to a civil meet-and-greet at that moment.

What Tristan had declared surprised even Orian, and he felt that this labeling of the Colonials as prisoners would cause some friction. Sure enough, the mage was the first to respond, if you didn't count the cautionary words from the Imperial soldier who had been there when Orian showed up. The mage harbored such hatred for the Empire, it seemed, and to be honest, Orian couldn't blame him. Though the Empire paid him and his Rouges.... Orian stopped with that thought. The Rouges were no more... He was all that was left.

Looking back at the mage with a level look that held no resentment for the man's words, Orian watched him go off, apparently leaving the company. No... it wasn't long before the man reappeared with another mage, straight out of the fire no less. Apparently this was another survivor. Orian looked out to the battlefield. Could any of his companions still be alive as will, if this one was...? Orian didn't like the odds, but accepted them as he turned back to Tristan.

"My Lord... As the Joen's Rouges no longer exist as a mercenary group, I take it upon myself to resign from Imperial service. Any payment expected to the Rouges for this battle is forfeit under our contract, I believe, so let that not worry you. As a neutral party, however, I ask that I accompany you and your men, for the odds of my survival alone are not high enough for me to risk it."

Orian knew what he was doing. By setting himself up as a neutral party, he might, MIGHT, be able to secure a peaceful status among Colonials and Imperials, at least acting as a go-between. However, he knew the gamble was not in his favor, as the Colonials knew he had served the Empire for the War up until now. He couldn't say that he had no choice, as he had willingly followed Joel's decisions as well as carried on his predecessor's choices himself. It was a gamble he needed to make, and he prayed his choice would be the correct one.

For now, however, he awaited Tristan's response to his request.

[Stryker]

After fighting for the Colonies and against the Empire for all these years, here he was being held up by an Imperial. Inside, half of him felt sick from having to rely on an enemy to remain on his feet. The mere thought would have his grandfather rolling in his grave.

On the other hand… He was grateful to her. She didn’t have to go out of her way to help an enemy to the fire or to his feet, she could’ve left him laying or even put him out of his misery, so who was he to harbor ill-will towards someone like this? By now, his thoughts were driving the sanity from his soul with the two sides of thought that each had points.

Also after hearing the two inquisitors get into an argument, he felt like maybe the Imperials weren’t as closely knit as he and many others in the Colonies thought. Seemed like there were plenty of differing agendas amongst the higher-ups. Before he could think more on the matter, the woman that was helping him stay upright spoke of the old woman that seemed to be cooking or gathering things, he couldn’t quite tell from his vantage point.

“Unless my memory evades my senses in the same matter that my strength does, she doesn’t strike me as a familiar face. From the looks of her attire, I would say she holds no allegiances though.” He responded. “But clearly you do, Imperial. Why help a Colonial such as myself mere hours after battle?”

[Kris]

“Unless my memory evades my senses in the same matter that my strength does, she doesn’t strike me as a familiar face. From the looks of her attire, I would say she holds no allegiances though.” He responded. “But clearly you do, Imperial. Why help a Colonial such as myself mere hours after battle?”

At least he relaxed some. She helped him to sit down and waited until his eyes met hers. She gave him a soft small smile, "although I can't forgive your people for killing mine, it will be a shameful act if I won't aid you. We are both warriors and we fight for what we believe in, or serve a greater cause by giving our lives to our kings and nobles. As of right now, on this very ground of death, ranks and royalty, Colonial or Imperial means little to me. Until we recover I won't hurt a wounded man..."

She looked away, "I've seen too much death today... and I am not instructed to kill you now", She took a deep breath, "... And I don't think I can...", The smile faded the moment a swift cold wind passed over her head and moved with it some strips of her black hairs, "When I look at you I see before my eyes all the soldiers from my unit. They were dear to me. I couldn't help any of them. I couldn't save a single soul...", The cold was growing stronger and the warmth from the fire was not enough to ease it. She hugged herself, "Tell me, how... When I do have the chance to help someone, how will I not help?".

She saw how his expression changed. He probably considered her words, thinking if she really meant it or not. To be honest she was never easy woman to understand. Did he thought she was deceiving him?

"Any of ye hobknockers going to help an old lady cook. Ack! Ack! We have plenty for some good stew."

Alexis got up from her place, cleaning her armor, as much as she could, from the dust and the dirt, "I shall aid the woman. Can I get anything else for you?", she asked and reach out her hand to him, "I am called Alexis. Until our blades meet in a fair battle, consider me your comrade".

[sevendeadlysins]

Isaac lay in the snow silently after calling to the camp as the snow made his arms and legs numb. The smell of what Isaac predicted was death seemed to dissipate as his nose became used to the stench. More aware now that he had been conscious for some time, Isaac took stock of his injuries.

-One...Two...Three broken ribs...No...Four broken ribs...my right leg is smashed...And...-

Angry shouts from the camp he had called to interrupted Isaac's thoughts. At first, they seemed like shouts to Isaac to see if he were alright, or maybe to tell him that they were coming to save him...But, making out the words, he realized that it was just a squabble between two of the camp members. Isaac sighed and closed his eyes.

Losing blood like this would surely kill him in time, it surely would be a slow, painful death. If the blood loss didn't kill him first, the hunger would. If the hunger didn't kill him, the vultures that circled the night sky would make sure to finish him off. Isaac thought of a skeleton in the middle of a field of skeletons with nothing but a few choice bits of rotted flesh sticking to it to identify it apart from all of the others. A proper burial was out of the question...

Isaac's heart jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he was met with the face of Akira Harishia, a wildly popular mage at his university. Isaac had only read about him in books and newspaper articles about him being a prominent and powerful colonial mage that had gained admittance into the Witch's slew of advisers and protectors, meeting him on the battlefield was indeed an exciting coincidence. Although, he was one of the Witch's protectors so he was bound to be in the battle, and he was an amazing mage so he was bound to survive the battle.

But what had happened to the Witch?...

"Ahh, you've injured yourself quite bad haven't you?"

Isaac attempted to nod, but was only able to move his head slightly downward in a way that might or might not have been construed as a 'hell yes.' The fire that floated in the air behind Akira was welcomed by Isaac. The warmth slowly melted the snow that partially concealed his body. Feeling began to return to Isaac's limbs.

Isaac was slowly lifted up in a way that didn't cause gratuitous amounts of pain, but being lifted from a prone position to a standing position with four broken ribs was uncomfortable to say the least. Extremely grateful for the help, Isaac resisted the need to writhe and scream in pain and only responded with a wince.

Upon arriving at the camp and being sat down on a stump, Isaac began to survey the camp. Imperials were everywhere, most of them milling about and talking to one another. He also spotted one Colonial other than Akira around the fire. It made Isaac sick that after such a horrible battle that had littered the ground with so much death, people could just meet under a fire like nothing had happened. In a way, it would have made Isaac feel better if all of the Imperials, upon seeing Isaac, Akira, and the other Colonial, began to attack. All three would probably die, but it would have made the situation less frustrating.

Observing the people more thoroughly, Isaac noticed that two of the Imperials were Inquisitors. 'Ignorant fucks' is what people called them at the University. Isaac agreed, he had never met one before, but he had heard stories. Whole schools of mages have been slaughtered by these piles of scum. They deserved to be hanged on the very gallows that they had hung so many good and innocent mages. Isaac considered spitting on the snow in front of the two shits, but thought against it. He hated the idea...But without their powers of healing, Isaac would probably die here. He decided to stay his tongue and his saliva at least until he was healed.

Akira's voice shook Isaac out his thoughts.

"Rest here young one."

"Thank you," Isaac replied weakly, still eyeing the Inquisitors.

[Stryker]

"I shall aid the woman. Can I get anything else for you?", she asked and reach out her hand to him, "I am called Alexis. Until our blades meet in a fair battle, consider me your comrade".

The kindness honestly caught him off-guard, he hadn’t heard of mercy being shown from one side to the other before no matter the circumstances. He knew that if she wanted to, she could’ve just as easily killed him and left his corpse to rot amongst this comrades and went about her way without thinking anymore of the matter.

“I… I’m Mace, and consider me ally and not foe while our situation warrants it.” He replied before taking her hand in his firmly and meeting her gaze before lowering his form onto a rock.

Upon making contact with the rock, the initial contact caused his armor and clothing to transfer the rock’s surface temperature to his body, causing his teeth to chatter for a second as he looked back to his new ‘comrade’.

“Do not trouble yourself any further for the likes of me, my pride honestly my not be able to handle it.” He told her with a slight smirk before sliding down the rock to be able to lean back against it.

As kind as his heart may be, he was still a prideful soldier and he couldn’t allow himself to rely on her any longer while blood still flowed in his veins. Instead he took to watching the spectacle that the two Inquisitors flashed their egos and matched wits.

“Seems to be obvious that while some of my enemies do harbor compassion and a good heart, some still concern themselves with being the loudest and being in control of a situation that does not need quarrels such as this…” he spoke up to Alexis while slowly removing the armor from his arm that had popped out of place before.

[Stiltzkin]

Val listened intently to Lord Tristan completely ignoring Russvik's empty threat. Russvik may have been High Inquisitor but killing nobility was treason. She doubted he would have liked to carry such a burden for something as simple as decency. Nonetheless Val lowered her Fire and instead used it to push away Russviks Ice. It bent slightly at the resistance of Russviks blade.

Val turned to the fire and plunged her sword deep into the embers feeling the heat work its way up the shaft of the blade. before she burned herself Val drew out the blade, its surface red hot. Walking over to the young soldier whom she had threatened just a moment before. "Bandages. Off." Val may have been ordered to heal the wounded but she certainly wasn't going to make it pleasant.

Liaman's brow furrowed at Val as she dismissed him like a bothersome pest. She was a High Born of greater status than himself, and so she thought herself invulnerable to harm. Liaman had seen governors be brought down by the Inquisition and beheaded in town square for all to see. No one person was beyond the wrath of the gods, not the King, the Prince, or anyone. The mad-woman would learn that lesson soon enough.

The High Inquisitor slowly lowered his greatsword, twirling the massive weapon and sheathing it in a black scabbard strapped to his hip. Liaman dipped a bow to Tristan, "As always, I am at you command, lordling." he said in a tone that was devoid of pleasure. Liaman turned to watch Val as she intended to cauterize the wounds of a young soldier. She was a sick creature that fed off of the suffering of others,

"You can spare some of your own energy to properly Heal the lad, Inquisitor. By the looks of you, you did not exert yourself on the field today. Such crude practices of healing are not necessary." Liaman spoke in a dry and hard tone. While he was no friend of the Colonies, he was still a man of the Church and would not stand for inflicting suffering where it was not due. There was a time in history where Liaman was over-zealous like Val, but the years sharpened and tempered his edges, and being a father of five changed his perspective on things. "If you will not do your duty properly, sit yourself down and I will do it."

Val's attempt to heal was shot down by Russvik. He was getting in the way of her job. His insistance on being honorable was insufferable. "I'm not doing this because I enjoy it." Lied Val. She turned back to the wounded soldier. "Take your shirt off, boy. Lets make this quick." As she gestured to the young soldier to remove his clothing she turned her head to Russvik and whispered. "Do not question my medical experience. Cauterizing this wound is the best way to stop bleeding and my Healing Arts will reduce most of the pain. The boy will be stronger for it. Nothing makes a man like a little pain."

"Come on, boy. Remove your armor and shirt. Be careful not to move too much." Barked Val. Liaman stood still, watching the situation intently with his blue-grey eyes narrowed.

Claudia's eyes narrowed at the woman in disbelief, her hands clutching a little tighter at her crude work of bandages; they flickered toward the other nobleman and back, but she had not the strength to move herself away from Val - her body was wobbling, hardly standing as it was.

"I..." She shook her head a little, bobbed red locks bouncing with the movement and making her dizzy, the sickly pallor of her skin only worsening. Her vision was quickly fading now, blacking out in some parts and too bright in others. She couldn't get her thoughts together to refuse, nor move her hands away from her wounded side. Liaman watched, his hands resting on the pommel of his greatsword, blue-grey eyes as sharp as any razor as he watched Val appraoch the wounded Colonial soldier like jackal would a wounded doe. The High Inquisitor had half a mind to draw his blade again and lop the woman's head off right then and there.

"I question your medical expertise because I have more than ten years experience on you, little girl." Liaman was gruff and cold as the winter's cold. He was not amused by Val's facade of bravado and sadism. Such hubris is the fire that has sown the downfall of many. The High Inquisitor hated the Colonials just as much as the next Imperial soldier, but torture without a proper sentence was something that Liaman could not stand for. Val held no regard for the chain of command inside the Church, it seemed.

"If you have enough time to pester me about whether or not im enjoying myself right now then you can get to healing the others like Lord Tristan has ordered you to. You know for someone so perturbed by the topic of sadism you were quite sadistic on the battlefield. I saw you. It was beautiful, honestly! But as I was watching I saw that you slaughtered those not even worth your attention, so you should understand when I start to ignore you completely." Val flicked her hand away gesturing to the others. "Go heal them, I'm sure there's a Mage somewhere that needs your special brand of hypocritical thinking."

Claudia's eyes glistened with tears, barely focused on the figure that was Liaman. She could tell he didn't like how this other woman was operating, but was slowly losing her train of thought.

Val turned back to Claudia. "Look, im not going keep at this. You have three choices: 1. I can cauterize the wound and use my healing arts to dull the pain, its still pretty painful but its quick. Option 2 is that I heal you directly the Pain is a little less horrific but the process takes time. Option 3 is when I get tired of all your indecisive bullshit and I cauterize the wound without my healing arts."

The rogue dropped mid-sentence around option two. Her amber eyes had rolled back into her head a moment before she swayed a little and then dropped like a sack of potatoes to the cold ground, body only warm from where the fire's warmth touched her pale skin.

[Awean8]

Garret's words rang true. A single hour wouldn't be sufficient rest before their upcoming journey, but they would have to get to the house before dark so they couldn't stall for long. "Ha! I guess your right. We'll leave an hour just before noon than. That should be more than enough time to recuperate."

The knight than felt compelled to help the old hag cook, by cutting carrots with a rusty knife the Ragpicker had provided. He had never done this sort of work before due to the fact that he usually had servants to cook him up a feast, so it was obviously difficult for him to get the carrots sliced just right. Thankfully before Tristan made an even bigger fool of himself, the strategist Orian had needed a word with him. He was resigning.

You couldn't blame him, especially after he had just lost the mercenary brigade that he was obviously fond of. The tank general probaby wanted to be treated as a neutral party in the Civil War in order to live a free and peaceful life. This shall be allowed.

"I'm sure that you'll be an honored guest when we reach the capitol. If you request it from the king, I'm sure that he'll reward you with land that is far from this war."

The next couple of hours seemed to drag on for even longer, since the whole time the Inquisitors were bickering with each other, but as long as people were getting healed and they weren't killing each other Tristan didn't care. By this time of coarse, the Ragpicker's stew was aready done. Surprisingy, it tasted good despite the way it looked. The stew managed to warm his whole body, and gave him renewed energy.

Just as Tristan was preparing his gear for travel for it was almost noon, the boy that the Inquisitors were "healing" passed out from the pain. The knight gave a long and deep sigh, "We need to leave soon, so if he doesn't wake up. Someone will have to carry him."

Tristan talked with the Ragpicker conscerning directions, and even had a make-shift map drawn so navigating through the cold woods should prove easy enough. He worried about the old lady though, how would she make it back to whereever all alone. "Ack! Ack! Don't worry lad. I'll be fine on me own, I know these parts far better than ye do. Hehe."