Lords of RPG

Vax eventually found Capt. Timms.  Timms’ head had been neatly cleaved off by a Targ axe.  His body had been horrifically burned by dragon fire. 

There were thousands and thousands of dead strewn about the battlefield, from both sides.  The ground was thick with broken and burnt bodies.  Thick, acrid smoke filled the air.  The sky was dark with ravens circling the battlefield, cawing maniacally over the bounty they had been provided. 

It would be impossible to bury them all.  Vax shook his head.  The enormity of such a task was unthinkable.  Most would have to be left to rot where they lay. 

The young king scowled as he knelt besides the body of the Imperial warrior he had befriended.  Looking about, he found a broken sword and began digging at the sandy soil with it.  Guessing his intentions, several other surviving soldiers joined in and helped the grave-digging king.

The grave had been dug, and the body of Capt. Mick Timms was respectfully lowered down into it.  When the last scoop of dirt had been thrown, and the body mercifully protected from animal and human scavengers alike, Vax cleared his throat.

“Too many good men have died today,” he started.  “Each and every one of them deserves a hero’s funeral.”  He waved his hand to encompass the enormity of the horror around them.  “But we all know that’s impossible.”

Beatriz and the Heroes of Eldermont came up behind him as he spoke. None intruded upon him or spoke themselves.

Vax cleared his throat again.  His voice was thick from the smoke.  He gave a sad smile.  Or not just from the smoke, perhaps.

“The gods don’t ask the impossible of us,” he said.  “But what we can do, we must do.  I didn’t know Capt. Timms for very long.  But I think he would approve of this.  We don’t single him out, but we show him as an example of all the heroes that have lost their lives here, this day.  By recognizing him, we recognize, and honor them all.”

Queen Beatriz quietly came and knelt next to the new grave.  She knelt her head in prayer as she intoned a blessing upon the grave and the man beneath it.

As she stood, she looked at the assembled Imperial soldiers.  All were injured in some fashion or another.  Many were held up by their brothers as they paid tribute to their fallen comrade.  When she spoke, her voice was clear, and carried an air of regal authority across the field.

“This grave is hallowed ground, now,” she announced. “No evil shall cause this brave man’s body to rise as a vile parody of life.  He shall have, and no doubt deserves, his rest.”  She glared at the men gathered, and those beyond.  “Let no man disturb this honored warrior, lest you incur the wrath of the gods!”

The grave of Captain Mick Timms would not be disturbed.  Over the decades, the gravesite would become grander.  Stone would be laid upon the earth, to be replaced by granite, then marble.  Headstones would appear, each one larger and more ornate than the last.  Thousands of pilgrims would come to pay their respects to fallen family and friends.  The tomb of Captain Timms would become a symbol to the people in the Age of Ravens that magic comes with too high a cost, and that, most often, the innocent are the ones to pay that price.    

A silence fell across the battlefield, as each man and woman gave prayer or just respect to the fallen.  The moment lasted for nearly a minute, until it was broken by the gentle strum of a lute.

Squee’s voice was somber and deep as it rolled across the battlefield.  He sang a song of grief and loss, but intermixed within it were words of hope, and remembrance.  It was an old song, a human song that had been kept in the mouths of men Age after Age.

It was too much for some, as they sank to their knees and openly and unashamedly wept at the loss of friend or brother.  Most seemed to draw strength from it and stood a little straighter.  The pain of their wounds faded as one of the greatest bards in the world sang the fallen to their rest.

As the last note faded, Queen Beatriz walked over to the gnome and kissed him atop the head. She wiped the tears from her eyes and gave him a smile of thanks.  She turned to the gathered wounded and the Heroes.

“Don’t just stand around!” she exclaimed as she pointed to a clear spot by the palisade wall.  “We’ll set up an aid station over there.”  She pointed to two men who looked the least injured.  “You and you.  Go farther back up the hill and see if you can find a healer’s cart or any supplies.  We’ll need bandages and water to start.  The rest of you – look for anyone else alive amidst all this. If you’re not too badly injured, help someone else get over to the aid area.”  She looked at all of them impatiently.  “Some of these men can still be saved.  Go!”

Soldiers and Heroes alike dashed off at the Queen’s command.  Vax quietly pulled the goblin T’Na aside, however.  After making sure Beatriz was not observing, he leaned down and whispered to the thief.

“Don’t let her see you,” he began.  “But I would appreciate it if you went out past the palisade and…made sure no injured Swalduni survives.”

T’Na raised an eyebrow in surprise as he looked up at Vax.  “Are you saying you want me to kill the wounded Swalduni?  You? Color me shocked.”

Vax shrugged.  “I think this world is a lot better off with fewer Swalduni in it.  Bea wouldn’t approve, I’m sure.  Which is why I’m asking the sneakiest bastard I’ve ever known to tackle the problem.”

The goblin rubbed his chin as he thought.  “Your attempts at flattery are about as subtle as an axe to the head.  And what about all this loot lying around out here?  There’s probably a small fortune in coin pouches among the dead.”

Vax gave a quiet chuckle and shook his head.  “I have no doubt of your skills, but if someone did happen to see you looting their fallen comrades, it might not go so well for you.”  He grinned and motioned towards the beach.  “Besides, a lot of those Swalduni are mages and wizards.  Who knows what kind of magical trinkets they might have stashed about their persons?”

Vax saw pure avarice in T’Na’s eyes as he contemplated the king’s words.  He was literally rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

“Now, that,” T’Na said.  “Is an absolutely wonderful observation.”

“Okay, good,” Vax said and looked to make sure that Beatriz was still not observing them.  When he turned back around, T’Na was gone.

-----

Beatriz, Queen of Eldermont, worked tirelessly for hours, desperately trying to save every life she could.  She had long ago expended her magical healing spells and was relying now on her skills of first aid and herbalism to do what she could.  It was all she could do to keep the enormity of the death toll from overwhelming her soul.  If she paused to think about the sheer number of dead, she feared her mind would shatter. None of the death and destruction was her doing, of course, but every man she couldn’t save seemed to take a little piece of her heart and soul with them when they died.   

The blood of the injured and dying covered her from neck to feet.  Her hair was loose and unkempt as she worked furiously to beat back death.  Every man heeded her orders without question, jumping to whatever task she laid before them.  Hers was the authority of the righteous. 

Queen Beatriz would go on to save dozens and dozens of lives that day, but would always weep for those that she was too late to help.  The soldiers of the Empire would come to call her the Bloody Angel for her efforts on that terrible field that day.  They would tell their tales of her bravery and selflessness in barracks, and pubs and even on their deathbeds.  The tale grew in the telling, as it always does.  But in every version, the stories of Beatriz’ goodness and power grew.  Not one man who was present ever said a cross word about the queen who saved strangers not of her land.  Indeed, it was worth the life of any man who tried to malign the Bloody Angel in their presence.   Over the decades, she would come to be worshiped by injured soldiers across the world.  They would look to the sky and call upon the Bloody Angel to save them. 

-------

It was nearing dusk when someone cried out.  “Ships!  Ships coming in!”

Everyone rushed to the palisade wall, worried about what fresh hell this day might bring.  Vax climbed up atop the ramparts and peered out to see with his spyglass.  Every man looked to him, fear and anticipation in their hearts.  He began to laugh.

“Is it more Targs?  More Swalduni?” someone shouted.  “Who is it?”

Vax Eldermont slammed the spyglass shut as he turned to the wounded men gathered around him. He smiled.

“That's my father, Hamish Cobb,” he shouted, the pride evident in his voice.  “The greatest fucking sailor this world has ever known!”