If there was one thing that you had learnt and knew was worth keeping from a time of long-lost brotherhood, was that the mood in the aftermath is just as important, if not more important than the mood prior to any event. When limbs ached with the pleasing pain of satisfied exhaustion and orifices dripped with sweat and other bodily fluids, came a time to whisper sweet nothings and assurances. To let your men know you were satisfied and what they did well.
Aftercare, you believe it was called. It bound men together tighter together than any bodily exertion you cared to name.
And when you put it like that, it sounded like you had fucked your men rather than fought alongside them, and in the terrible twilight of a battle, where even the most potent warrior must watch the wounded suffer and die impotently, it was essential to keep your own morale up with filthy jokes.
At least, you thought it was essential.
You roll your shoulders, muscles stiff from hours of slaughter, and glance around the remnants of the fanatics. All bar none were silent as they attempted to process what had happened, the brutal mulch of emotions you had forced onto them, warring with their sense of self-reasserting itself and the burgeoning trauma of a vicious battle against the dead.
It was disorientating for them, you knew. As they realised they had been so very keen for death and had been denied it before finding that denial twisting around the emerging realisation that they did not, in fact, really want to die and the lingering collar of the need to please the god. A war of two disparate fronts that would take even the strongest mind days to muddle through.
You knew because that was not necessarily a flaw with the crude methodology of dehumanisation. But a feature, if not a benefit. The disorientation meant that it was easy to trap even the victorious in an endless spiral of self-destructive faith.
It would be easy for you to do. To thread them along a chain of logic that demanded them to repeat their feats, that the favour they gained could only be kept by constant bloody maintenance. Binding them to you with heavy shackles of faith that would see them only leave your side through Morr's embrace.
Just as it would be easy to do the opposite. To untangle the confusing thread of conflicting emotions that broiled within them. To coax them back into a sensible, fully formed human and let them bask in the forgiveness that you forced them to crave above their own life. Let your influence unravel and let the people that they were take control of their lives once more.
You look up for a moment, eyes drifting between six figures that you don't even know the names of. Six… six brothers that had stood alongside you in glorious combat and filled a void you had spent years suffering under.
There was a want in you that you could not ignore. A want to twist their minds until they cannot think of leaving you and basking in a facsimile of your youth. One that might grow to be something greater in time. But just because you could not ignore it did not mean you could not deny it.
Nor did it mean you could not try to teeter on the mad edge of having your cake and eating it too.
You were not just a man of pious fate, but also a leader of men, and in battle forged bonds you could… you could extricate from them, maybe? Pull them to you, not with the toxic lever of weaponised faith, but something more… personal. Both unravel the destructive mess you made of their minds and… and keep that bond of brotherhood formed in the dark of night.
[] You sharpened your tools
This was a matter deeply familiar to you, and you could already hear iterations of the words you would speak echo in your ear. These six had survived the night and done something truly glorious, and you would set them to doing again and again until they broke. (Low DC piety roll)
[] Pull the thread taunt until it all unravelled.
Less familiar, but what you had done produced thoughts so very predictable. Thoughts you yourself have grappled with, and you knew what was needed to coax someone away from them. To step back into what made them… a person, not a weapon. (Low DC piety roll)
[] Have your cake, and eat it too.
Where would you even begin with this… greedy proposition? To both lead these six through pulling themselves together and not snap their minds further? To keep them in your sway not as fanatics but as people with their own thoughts beyond the gods' mercy? It was so very deeply selfish, the compromise of someone who refused to give up anything. (High DC diplomacy/piety roll)
[] Let what would take its course take its course.
Yesterday you had ripped autonomy through these people in a wild and frenetic show of dehumanisation and blame. This morning, you should step away and let them claim autonomy in finding their own way in the confusion and disorientation.
-
"My men never got a resupply of arrows." You glance over your shoulder to see Otfrieds thin form leaning against one of the burnt-out houses that had been sacrificed in the fighting.
"Your men?" Dealing with the Hunters had always been an exercise in frustration. They were independent before the siege had begun, hardly linked to Meissen in truth, and lacking any real connection between each other beyond having bows and maybe a religious link. Even calling them 'the Hunters' implied a sense of unity that was functionally not there.
"My men." It seemed that Otfied had changed that. Or at least was of the opinion he had. Which, if you were being honest, worked for you.
"How many resupplies were missed?" Fletching arrows was a job that fell by the wayside most days, there was simply too much to be done, and it had long fallen to Herminia to organise a steady stream of at least functional arrows. They were not much, often little more than sharpened sticks or sharp flint tied to a stick with reed, but it kept the hunters at least functional through the night.
It was a fragile system, and if you were being honest, you were entirely unsurprised that it failed throughout the intense assault.
"All of them." It takes a moment for you to register the words, and as the implications set in, your lips press into a thin line.
It could have been incompetence. This was the borderlands; it was far from a place that cultivated incredible talent. It could have been Herminia bucking against Rosmalen's orders, it could have been her attempts were waylaid…
"The… fire bottles?" You question absently as you mull over the potential reasons.
"We ran out of arrows by the second hour, ran out of heavy enough rocks to throw not long after that." The man shrugs against the wall he is leaning against, and despite his apparent nonchalance, he fiddles with the knife at his waist incessantly.
You, or something about this situation, were making him nervous.
"We found the bottles at the base of the walls Rosmalen's thugs set up, and there was no one around to tell us not to take them." As he spoke, his facade slowly broke, his voice rising in pitch and the cadence of his words quickening. "So I had an idea if the oil makes it easier for wood to burn if we splashed the undead with it somehow, and it was set on fire."
It was almost like you were being given excuses by a small child. There had to be some irony in that, considering your first real interaction was because of a small precocious child.
"I see where Elisinda gets her smarts from, then. It was a good idea." You gave him a wiry grin and were satisfied when he only slightly flinched at the sight. You would have never thought to use the oil bottles as any sort of projectile and doubted you would have thought of using a cloth-like some kind of matchlock wick. Shaking yourself out of the thought of whatever it was he had invented in the heat of necessity, you focus back on Otfried to find the father himself disconnected from the conversation.
His brow was furrowed, his mucky green eyes glinting with what you would almost call a revelation. They flick up to meet yours, "We're alive, aren't we?" His tone was not quite disbelieving, but it was clear that despite your words to him yesterday, he had expected to die tonight.
For a moment, you were not sure how to respond. There was a temptation there to reinforce faith or attempt to find a common pride to build a more personal rapport. A passing thought would have you warn that it was not over, that there were still threats beyond the walls and perhaps more dangerously inside them too. Play and imply on the suspicions he had brought to you not fully vocalised.
"Yes, we are." But long ago, you learned the value of not shoving your foot in your mouth and keeping it simple. At least, sometimes.
He hesitates again before his hand clutches at something hanging off his left wrist. "I-I felt it. You were right yesterday that Taal hadn't abandoned us, that we just needed to call him back… I-I felt him."
"In a single act, you ripped the battle from the jaws of defeat and gave Meissen a fighting chance. You saved my life and the lives of dozens of others." You bow your head slightly… well further than you already had to, to look the other man in the eyes. "Taal would never look over such bravery. No god worth the name would."
He flushes, red stretching across his face and up his ears. Then as if to change the subject, he opens his mouth again. "There's no good reason for the seneschal to not have delivered our arrows, right?"
There was something exceptional about saying so little and then being given near everything you wanted despite it. Not putting in any of the effort to think of something properly, leading, and getting all the reward as if you had.
You do not say that, of course. Mostly because it would make you look insane, so you keep it simple and just nod.
"I know a few men that were in the wall patrols. I think you should speak to them." You raise an eyebrow at him, and he jerks his head slightly. "You should hear it from them; I think… the words would be better from the right source."
Was that an attempt to mimic the same logic you gave him yesterday? What is this warm sensation in your heart? For a moment, you feel Verena stir deep inside you, the twist of energy and attention turning vaguely amused and… vindicated?
But it slips away into the simple existence before you can examine it more, and you are left with a warm feeling in your chest you struggle to place and confusion in your head.
Sometimes having a god's personal attention was just not the best.
"Nor-... Asavar?" You startle slightly and find Otfried giving you a strange look. "You spaced out there for a moment. I heard head injuries did that. Do we need to take you to the brat?"
You shake your head slightly. "No, just thinking. Take me to your friend; if you think I should get it from them, I'll trust you on it."
"Thinking about Herminia?" He pries as he pushes off the wall and begins walking towards the centre of Meissen.
"Yeahhh." You probably rightfully think that even if you explained that you were trying to figure out strange foreign emotions swirling inside you - and that at least some of those emotions came from your goddess - that Otfried would be very put off.
Honestly, even just explaining it like that in your head puts you off. So, like all good and well-adjusted men, you bottle away all those thoughts and ignore them as you turn to something less confusing to think about as you follow Otfried.
Namely, what the hell were you going to do about Herminia utterly failing her contribution to the defence of Meissen.
[] Confront her in front of the rest of the council.
Incompetence, malfeasance or some insane attempt to drive home her position on the iron, you could not let Meissen's ability to defend itself be compromised like that again.
[] Confront her privately.
You would get nothing out of her in front of the other two; she would simply go on the offensive to preserve herself. But maybe if you talked privately you could find out what happened.
[] Investigate further, some other day.
Getting answers from her would be like pulling teeth from a… thing that did not want its teeth pulled… just ask around the people who were meant to produce the arrows and the people meant to deliver them and get your answers from them.
[] Drop it.
While the hunters proved an integral part of the defence, it was only when they had to improvise without their bows that they made a truly pivotal contribution. You were not in a position to get answers, and the hunters were capable of finding other ways to contribute.
-
"Got three of the rattlers, basically fell over right in front of me."
There were… a great number of potential explanations for why Rosmalen did not order the militia defending the forward barricades to retreat to the second line of defences earlier. The simplest explanation you hoped for was the walls were teetering on defeat, and prudence dictated caution in deploying away from them.
"There were attacks just as night fell, but once we dealt with them, it was a quiet night."
As Otfried introduced you to men who had patrolled those walls, it became clear that that explanation would either require Rosmalen to be a man of caution that had long pushed past indecisiveness. Or that he had not held the swordsmen in reserve for fear of the walls falling.
"Didn't even get stragglers past midnight."
Either option left any reasonable explanation for Rosmalen not giving the order to retreat to the fire walls and deploying his swordsmen… unsatisfying.
"Heard some of the boys sent runners to Rosmalen to keep him updated; dunno why they bothered, nothing to say when we dealt with the first lot."
Because they all involved either incompetence or a malicious cleaving to political maneuvering over the lives of Meissen's populace.
"Most exciting thing that happened was some of Rosmalen's men carrying the wounded back to where Izek's brat set up his tents. Didn't even see the dogs move tonight."
But the truly, genuinely frustrating thing was incompetence or intentional action; it had left Rosmalen in a position of political dominance over Meissen. He held the loyalty of not just the most trained force in Meissen but the most intact force after the casualties of tonight.
Before tonight, Herminia or even yourself could have mustered up enough of the militia to make any attempt to impose his will through force unviable.
Now… you were not so sure.
[] Confront him in front of the rest of the council.
Rosmalen has attempted to let the defenders of Meissen get slaughtered enmass to remove his political opponents, namely you. Pull him to task in front of Izek, and if that fails… deal with him.
[] Confront Rosmalen yourself.
He tried to get you killed; that was obvious to anyone with knowledge of battle and the full picture. You… did not appreciate that.
[] Stay your tongue
As frustrating as it was, this was a masterstroke, and without your own power base or breaking Rosmalen, there was nothing you could do. Or, more accurately, nothing you could do right now.
-
Izek does not wake easily. The border prince is old, and his body and mind are failing him. In an ideal world, the council would have already met and discussed the state of Meissen after the assault.
As it was, you would have hours yet before he would wake up and a meeting could be had.
Which meant you had time to prepare.
Choose 2 actions from the below.
[] Collect the corpse of your kill
The horror was a hulking beast, strong enough to trivialise your own strength and a worthy trophy of any killer. It would be a statement to have it dragged to Izek's manor. Both to Meissen of their victory and to your political opponents
[] Talk to Misha.
Herminia and Rosmalen exposed themselves as either too incompetent to be trusted or too enamoured with accumulating power to be allowed near it. Misha, despite his many failings, had yet to do that. If you could find common ground, you could maybe bring the other two to task.
[] Find a new weapon.
Your iron blade had snapped when you used it to lift the horror and was little more than an ungainly club. You needed another weapon, and whatever you find now might not be much, but it would be something.
[] Do what you could for the dead.
You were not a priest of Morr, as you had to reiterate dozens of times. But there comes a time in someone's life when they had to step into the shoes that should be filled by a priest of Morr. Do what you can to prepare funerary rights.
[] Gather the militia that broke
You lacked a power base, but that did not mean that you could not find leverage on one. Gather what you could of the militia that broke, and use the shame of running and leaving their home to be destroyed and the implication of Rosmalen's abandonment to influence them into something resembling a support base. They would not be able to truly fight Rosmalen's swordsmen, but you could make it unappealing.
[] Gather the militia that broke and break them further.
You lacked a power base, but that did not mean that you could not find leverage on one. Gather what you could of the militia that broke, and use the shame of running and leaving their home to be destroyed to twist them into the same fanatical shame you inflicted upon the hundred from yesterday; all but six now lay dead in the main street of Meissen.
