Chapter 52: Habitation is not Salvation (Parakles)
"Hold, Griff!" The call rings out, and mud flies as the ground, now so soaked with blood, has become wet under the feet of those who remain on the field. The squire is no longer able to hide behind the paladin as the numbers no longer allow such action, and yet the paladin is pushing forward. With a slice by the offhand, he rips a man asunder and then jams his borrowed spear into another. A strike comes from the front, which he leans into, forcing the blade to miss as he moves to only be caught by the arm of the opponent. He then headbutts the man, knocking him to the ground before he raises his boot and stomps over the face, imploding it with his weight aided by the armor.
The other members of his dwindled military seek to fight with such prowess as several with him are men from this very city and thus had even more passion towards its liberation than just the cause of returning the suffering created upon the heads of the men clad in the sigils of Chile Bruin. Yet, they are weary and locked in tense combat. Death claims men from both sides, and yet a good portion of the defenders have turned at the visual of the fires to move toward the villa, with intent most likely to check on their regent head, Melorian, or perhaps in their baser nature they saw the inside of the city as a safe place. Regardless, the advantage for the men of the Bruin diminished with the seconds, as with the efforts of Parakles included, the odds were evening out. Though the paladin no longer cared for the battle itself. Seeing the smoke and the fire ahead, he knows that his friends are the source, and thus he wishes to break from this field and reunite and help ensure their safety. "Griff, stay with me!" he calls back as the squire deflects a sword swipe at his head before swatting the opponent in the leg, forcing the enemy to hobble backward.
"YES SIR!" the young man calls with his eyes mostly closed from the chaos and fear that seek to rob him of his natural bravery and courage. Though his backside is not covered. Parakles rotates around and shoves his lance deep into a man who sought to strike his squire from the rear. The man falls to his side, breaking the lance. The paladin grunts as he realizes the weapon's failure and chunks it at another enemy. He then tosses his sword into his dominant hand and quickly enters into the dance of steel with a man who entered his range.
"CLANG!" "BANG!" "CHING!" The sounds roll as the metal clashes with the paladin worn from the battle, not seeking to exert all the pressure and sap his energy prematurely in this contest. He is pacing himself, and soon an opening occurs as the opponent, who is also operating on borrowed spirit, swings wide, offering Parakles a clean shot, which he takes with a deep stab through the chest and out the back. The enemy is ruined as he then drops to the ground.
"SIRR!" Griff calls back to his leader. "YOUR SHIELD!" The squire tosses the rider's shield, which he found on the ground, to Parakles, who has to drop to a knee and use both hands, forcing him to have to reorder his fingers to hold both the shield edge and sword, but he manages and then slides the shield into position along his left arm.
"Good man, Griff!" he calls as he turns his focus forward with the shield ready and races ahead toward the city with a gap in the lines now accessed by the one called Anvil, proving his nickname true as all that have crashed into him today have left ruined and shattered.
….
"OH KAYA! WHAT CAN WE DO FOR HIM?" One of the women previously held in a cell calls as Gage and Laroux drop Marcion down after safely getting him away from the fire and smoke near the building. The pugilist is nearly black from the smoke that marinated all over his body and coughs a few times, though his door of vision is almost fully closed. Laroux, the sage, grabs his left hand to allow her to move the arm that can be seen as being more ripped up than the rest of him.
"Oh my!" she says as she examines his burns and their severity. The woman from the cell turns her head and begins dry heaving in utter disgust from the visual of her savior's arm. The sage examining the man knows she must work quickly to help her friend as he is currently exposed to the possibility of infection and disease all along the exposed muscle and deep tissue. The shock of the moment has all the party occupied even as the sounds of the combat fills the air again and the citizens of the city find themselves more in a panic than before. People and traders, shipwrights and sailors, any who had the ability and access to a boat still along the docks found themselves at least preparing themselves for a quick departure if things escalated further.
"Laroux, what can I do to help?" Gage asks. He knows that if fighting finds them again, all he is able to do is some low-skill knife work, as his bowstring is snapped and he does not have a replacement on hand. She is lost in thought as the sight of the oozing pus and blisters that cover the remaining skin and barely contain the bones and muscles, with the exposed tendons and ligaments as well, stealing her concentration. Her knowledge of healing and light spells is vast and perhaps close to the highest degree in Wiera, yet she cannot easily find in the archives of her memory the correct or best procedure for this man, this former gladiator of sorts, a prize fighter now with his left arm looking like a dog's leftovers. "LAROUX!" Gage calls again.
"Right." Her vacant gaze closes in as focus returns. "Gage, go and fetch me some clean leather and any alcohol you can find." The man is confused, and with the villa in flames, he darts off toward the nearest inn with his mission in mind.
Siphon stands aside with Gina near him. He seeks to know reconciliation has occurred with his love, Gina, but the flames behind them on the former home of the ruling family only amplify the tension. She looks at him with soft eyes. Though there is still anger in them, it is a different tinge than pure rage and disgust. Perhaps there is hope for them.
"COUGHHHH!" Off to the side, the old man who is stripped down to the basest of garments heaves up whatever dark matter had found residence in his weathered lungs. One of the women sees a couple of the dead slain from the earlier skirmish on this spot and moves to remove their bloodstained clothing to cover and provide more adequate warmth in the moment for the old man.
"Father, please." She says with grace and compassionate love in her voice as she attempts to give the aged man his dignity. His body is frail and small, both from the dance of days but also from the torment of the cells, the pain brought on him by the traitor Melorian, who sought to steal Tinnus Porter's world. The merchant sought to buy everything for himself, including a name to wipe out the history of the catfish. Tinnus is thankful to his family member as he arises from his coughing spell. The world around them is ablaze, with the clanging of metal and the pounding of feet moving toward their position without pause or quell in the air. The dead and dying lie about both inside the city and outside the gates. Yet, the old weathered man is thankful for his escape. He dresses himself in the bloodied clothing offered and kisses his daughter by marriage on the lips in pure joy. He then, with his thumbs, rubs the black soot from her pale cheeks as he embraces her into his white beard. He turns toward the commotion. The sight of his savior, Marcion, on the ground being treated as best he can be, though his wounds are of a variety that are beyond the scope of most in the world. The man is black from smoke covering head to toe. His clothing is burnt onto his skin. His hair, scorched on one side of his face. His left arm is fully exposed down to his tendons and limp at his side. Laroux and Urlana Porter, Tinnus' youngest daughter, his only living child by blood, are at the side of the man trying all they can to ease his pain.
"Thank you, my hero." He says as he looks and sees his two grandchildren at his daughter-in-law's feet.
The peace is not had, though, as Gage runs back from the tavern in dire haste. The sounds of men hot with anger and rage have bubbled over, and both remnants of Melorian's coin and the Bruin regulars were moving with their own purposes and intent through the city. The line outside the gate had collapsed in favor of Parakles' front, yet the fight had not left those who turned back into the city. Opportunity was ablaze with the very villa itself before the crowd. The men slammed about into buildings with a hot desire for liquid wealth or easy thighs. The city was barren of men of the intelligent variety or of any measure of assets, and so the rage boiled over as these renegades of the moment found little to nothing available to plunder from the homes and businesses, as those with the ability to do so had pushed off from shore in their boats prior to the start of the conflict, long back during points of weakness in Melorian's occupation. Some set sail with purpose to find a new spot to set up shop down the shoreline in hopes of creating a new port city of prowess. Some set sail for Sultra, the merchant guild city of wealth and loose purses. While others who held out hope for the city and its return from madness nestled their boats far enough offshore and dropped heavy anchor to watch and wait for a savior to come and for them to then return and hopefully cheer for the result, one they hoped would be free of the tyrant Melorian forever.
"Oh SHIT!" Siphon calls as he can no longer gaze with thoughts of repentance into Gina's eyes. "Mount UP!" he calls as he sees the flashing in the fire lights of the tower, the men rushing toward their small group in the villa's garden. The wealth of the city seemed absent, and while others were thirsty for drink or meat or womanly warmth, most found coin to be their desire, and seeing the fire on the villa, they roared and rallied toward the burning structure, hoping to position themselves to claim the ruins and thus any treasure or gold left inside the rubble.
Gina removes her sword from her scabbard. With each battle, she was growing in spirit from being a potential liability to a woman of confidence in the art of battle, in spite of her tender frame and fair appearance. She locks in a posture and scans the area ahead, seeing the rush of men toward them. Siphon draws his knives and takes his stand beside his lover.
"Please, Gina…."
"Save it, Siphon," she calls. "I may be mad, but I still love you."
"…I…..I never told you this, Gina….But I was ready to fall and be a meek slave in the camp until I saw how hard you were fighting the men who came for you." Both tear up and say no more as the enemy rushes toward them.
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"BANG!" Djent, with the full haste of a crazed bull, blitzed from the side with his shield raised and braced, and smashed straight into the wave moving forward. The numbers were not in the favour of the party under the thief, but Djent, perhaps due to his lack of sight, felt no stifling of his fighting spirit as he ran ahead of the two lovers. His lack of vision helped in the firelight, as others were disoriented and having to adjust to the changes; he paid no attention and kept his normal calm and posture in battle, following his ears as he swiped his lance back and forth, seeking to cleave the lines and provide cover for his friends and Laroux as she sought to help the pugilist laid low.
"Fuck, fuck!" Gage calls as he throws down what he could find for Laroux to use. He then grabs his bow and the remaining arrows in his quiver. He wants to fire the arrows, but in his crazed state forgets his string is broken. He is resorted to holding his bow like some kind of staff, and his arrows like throwing knives.
The line around the villa is a semicircle of chaos. At the front is Djent, standing alone and bold. With the next line behind him at a safe distance being Gina and Siphon, who use what tools of war and teamwork they can muster in close quarters to rend flesh and defeat those who trample past the large pink knight. Gage stands just a few feet in front of the women, seeing to the care of Marcion, who is unconscious and nearing a door that, once opened, cannot be easily closed—that being death. Off to the opposite side of the garden area, but still safely behind the lines, is old Tinnus, his daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. Fear encompasses all. Siphon and Gina, before long, have wet swords and knives as the valor of the blind knight cannot hold back the full fury of those with lust for wealth in their eyes. Men without a leader truly are a beast unto themselves.
"Laroux, is that your name? Can you save him, please?" The Porter woman alongside the sage of Morningsong cries out, unaware of the carnage behind her. She holds the good hand of Marcion to her breast, thankful for his efforts and bravery in her salvation. She owed him her life, and unlike many a noble in this world, this was something she and her family would not forget easily.
"I am trying, but his wounds are deep; his arm…I do not even know how to begin to mend it, or even if it can be mended." The sage resorted to small healing spells to calm the pain in the man and stem any bleeding. The main body, away from the arm, with light burns and charring, made for an easy repair even in her weary state from the day's exertion, but the left arm…she could only resort to using what rags Gage brought back and dose them in the mead and wine that Gage had grabbed as well and wrap the arm tightly in the damp cloth before securing the arm in a sling around Marcion's neck. Around her, screams of death were about as the archer nearest them supported the front as best his weak throws could. Though soon, he dropped the bow and grabbed his knife, knowing the arrows would have no more use in his defense with his lackluster throwing. He raced forward to challenge a man that had gotten past the young lovers and their wet blades.
"Kaya, bless this weak knife," he calls with gritted teeth. His skills are weak, but his eyes are glossy with fearful tears as he moves with purpose.
…….
"SLAMMM!" Parakles drops another challenger to death with the smash of the shield to the face, breaking the jaw and removing spirit from the mercenary running about the town. The paladin is covered in red streaks, so much so that one would think his armor were adorned with these colors from the forger. Yet, this is merely the result of war. His breath is heavy and his steps heavier. He cannot summon the energy for a run as the long fighting has sapped that vigor from his body. Even the great anvil has his apparent limits in the realms of prowess. Though he moves forward, Griff holds a spear and follows closely behind, and as the paladin drops a man, Griff stabs through the chest or neck afterward as they pass by to ensure death has come for that man. The lines of the field are now fully in the city, with all becoming a bramble of chaos and confusion. Behind them, as they walk forward with dropped and tired posture between clashes, the dead and the dying pile and weep their final drops of red. The ground is a plunderer's paradise for armaments, and yet any who still stand dare not break from focus and effort. The men still from his own ranks alive move with purpose to either protect their own families if they are from Madrol or they move about with hot desire to skewer men bearing the golden bear. Such things matter not as the tired anvil, the leader of the war effort, seeks to only reach his friends and know they are safe.
"How much further, Parakles?" Griff says, as even he, with blood and mudd on his feet caking down his steps, must lean against his spear with each trot as the duo move through the chaos that grows hotter and yet more silent with each moment.
"I have no knowledge, Griff." A man races forward from the distance with a mace in his hands and anger on his breath. Parakles raises his arms in a cross to intercept the vertical strike from the man. He then, as the blow touches the crown of his shield and sword, pushes back against the man, slashing and bashing in a fluid motion, defeating and knocking the man asunder to the ground. Parakles pays him no further mind as he, with his mouth open and tired breathing pulsing his chest in and out, steps over the grounded man. "I have not been here before, Griff, but I feel if we keep toward that fire, we should find them." He continues his walk as though nothing had ever broken his stride. Griff, as he waddles behind the paladin, sinks his spear deep into the chest of the man screaming on the ground. Routine though it seemed, the duo extinguished far too many in these moments of march toward their friends.
"SIPPPPHHHHHONNNNN!" Parakles calls after parrying and counter-slashing a man to his ruin. The area around the paladin and his squire is growing quiet as the violence is ending. Yet they have not reached and found their friends.
"SIPPPPHHHHHHONNNNN!!" He calls again as they move forward, hoping to reunite with his core people.
"ANVIL?" Up ahead, in the clearing of the garden, next to the smoldering and collapsing weaker wooden parts of the villa, the paladin sees a man hunched over, with his knife in the neck of a downed man of golden armor. Next to him, on her knees in exhaustion with a sword pinned into the ground for support, is the young woman Gina. In front of them, on his knees, is a knight covered in wounds and dings upon his brilliant pink armor.
Suddenly, both the thief and the paladin smile as they realize with the visual of Griff pinning one final man to the ground and then ran through by one of the volunteers still alive who fought with Parakles at the gate that the conflict had found a close. The battle for Madrol was won. Both moved to each other with the remaining energy they had and embraced with tears and glee as they all knew that in spite of the blood, sweat, and wounds on their bodies, they had survived and won a costly battle against a well-equipped foe. Gina rose to her feet and quickly greeted Parakles as well in similar passion as her beloved thief had. This was a victory, and yet, even if it had been a defeat, they would not have known as their efforts saw them alive, and for that, they were all grateful as chaos came to a close.
……
The remaining moments of the day were heavy for all, not from the gravity of the battle but from the exhaustion of the day's fighting. This battle had Parakles more run down than his defense in Runsa. Siphon and Gina's lips met with forgiveness in their embrace and gladness in their continued life. Though Laroux found herself overrun with work in the aftermath as more of the people, both citizenry and fighters, who emerged from the chaos still alive crowded near the bonfire of the villa.
The aged lord of the city, Tinnus, wished to address those people of his city, the ones who had stayed in the commotion and the fighting, who suffered under the Bruin and Melorian occupation. Yet, perhaps it was the death of his sons and most of his family from the earlier conquest, or perhaps it was from seeing his ancestral home burning to the ground and coming to cinders as the morning sun rose the next day, with all still exhausted from the long conflict. Maybe it was neither, and just that the man knew he was old and frail, and thus did not feel lordly. Tinnus, despite wishing to address the people, remained silent, as he knew who earned the right to address the multitude gathering on this new day.
Siphon, as he broke his embrace from Gina, walked to the sitting Paladin. His sword and shield were pinned into the ground below, his arms drooped from exhaustion of the prior day and night. "Anvil, these people need to hear something."
"The old Lord, Tinnus Porter… isn't that him over there, the old catfish they call him?"
"He doesn't look ready to return to his post. These people need to hear something, however, and while I slew Melorian, it was you who led the offensive. Speak to them, friend." Siphon patted the man on his spaulder. Parakles and all the others in the area alive were covered in mixtures of soot, ash, sweat, and blood. Teeth and spit were black and red, thick and sticky. All alive and unchained looked like one family in this moment. It made the knight of Runsa smile as the sunlight revealed more and more with each second's rise. He saw effort, love, fire, and pride in their eyes, something he had not remembered in the waning moments of battle as, in his worn-down mind, all he wished to do was know his friends were safe.
The anvil, Parakles, arose to his feet with great effort. He stood tall, especially in an area where any who could sit or lie down were doing exactly that, water being drawn from a nearby well and passed with tired haste to every and any person alive was the only noise among the crowd. Parakles, with great effort, then raised his sword high above his head in victory. There was no roar or cheer, but all agreed in silent, tired applause. He held their attention as his sword caught a small glint of light from the rising sun.
"Friends…..I hope I may call you friends." His words are slow and of varying volume and clarity as heavy spit and dried blood in the mouth disrupt his vocal soundings, yet he is fully understood, and all would argue his words came out cleaner than the grandest speech ever produced by man, be it Gebo or Naudiz. "This was the bloodiest affair to date in my efforts to beat back the Bruin since I failed to protect my lord in his own halls." He looks down at the jay emblem on his shield as he thinks back to that day and his struggles. He notes how much stronger he is now versus then. "We fought and took back this important coastal city, one that had been taken by force from the Porter House. We lost many good men in this fight." Those around looked in their minds and remembered the fallen. People who had names on their shields, who had loved ones in the city. "Families had been reunited in this battle, but not made whole." Looking out, he saw a man from his ranks crying over the bodies of a woman and two small children. He saw another child embracing a headless body off in the distance. And yes, there were some reunited in life, but they were not the norm for those in the ranks from Madrol. "I mourn with you. For some of my own friends have fallen this day….even enemies who make no mistake though they have committed violence upon us are still people. I weep for them as well." Parakles runs his free hand through his hair as his eyes grow heavy. The crowd, though somber, feels and hangs on every word offered by the best among them. "For some of you, the fight ended today as you see your family and hold the ones you love in your arms. This city is no longer under the reign of the Bruin, and though Tinnus Porter and his family have remnants here, I will not force you to bow at them unless you wish. But know they have felt your pain in this situation too, as many lording families have under the paws of the bear. My fight is far from over, and I will rest and then march toward the north to free other cities and their people, and then march on Dol itself, until I have freed the children of my late Lord Cavan. That is my mission and intent. I do not wish for any to come with who have their hearts filled here. Though I thank you for your aid in this battle. And I raise my spirit to the sacrifice of all who fell in battle or brutish hands in this reclamation. Kaya bless them beyond."
"Kaya bless them beyond." Many said the words or mouthed them, and while no one shouted, the power that was given spoke volumes. If the goddess still had ears, she must have heard the words. Rest came to all that day in the dying embers of the fire near the villa of Tinnus. The old lord and his remaining family offered no words as they knew the people of the city had suffered greatly, and so they kept silent in their presence that day, thankful to be alive, but ashamed that they could not protect those who had been under their family care.
