I'm So Sorry

[TheWordsOfTyr]

Silence. That was the worst part of it. Alone in a sea of stained sand she sat, clutching a symbol of Yara, the newly acknowledged God of Life. With her eyes closed tight as she murmured a prayer for those she was too late to save.

"Bringer of Life, Daughter of the Blackened Heart, take care of the living remnants of these people. Watch over their families and guide them to safety. Let…"

She stopped, the symbol shaking gently in the warm breeze of Honoran, the coppery odour of the blood surrounding her invading her senses. It was a fool's hope, it was every time she did this but… it had to work once, right?

"Let any who still breathe make themselves known so that I might preserve them in your service." She clutched it tighter, begging for something, anything.

The silence was broken, suddenly at first. A cough, sputtering blood and a shocked gasp for air.



The woman launched up to her feet, breaking into an immediate sprint. She ran across the dune of strewn corpses. Through the blood and gore, over the bodies of her kinsmen and the war band they had fallen against. Her armour clanked with every step as Yara's amulet and her tabard bearing the sigil of the Bronze Bastion swayed in synchronous. Her charge led her to a fallen enemy, an older Orc laying on his back in a pool of their own life essence. The woman slid into position, coming to a stop on her knees beside the wounded ravager, caking her armour in more of the crimson dust that was once a copper rich plain. The Orc was about twice her age at around thirty from what she could tell. Without hesitation she went to work, looking the warrior over for their killing blow. Her gaze fell on a festering wound in the Orcs abdomen where his hand lay. She went to lift it to get a look as the Orcs eyes snapped open. In another fit of coughing the warrior lashed his hand out at the Human, nearly knocking her back onto the ground.

"Dun atha kilir! Dros tul!" The Orc roared frantically, trying to push himself up onto his palm.

"N-no. Don't move! Just… f-fuck! Uh… Prus!" She stammered, frantically plucking every bit of Canish she knew from her memory. She had just said 'Hello'.

"Prus?" The warrior stopped, looking at the woman with confusion.

"Do you speak any Honori? Ho'thal?" She held up her hands, trying to show she meant no harm.

She was met with a snarl as the Orc lashed out again, swinging a weak fist towards her before digging at the sands around him for a weapon.



In a panic, the woman grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm into an arm bar, causing him to grunt in pain. She applied a little more pressure and summoned the courage to shout.

"I'm trying to help, you crazed tusk-head! Stop! Gor!" She ordered, struggling to remain firm with her patient.

"Naz'gir…" He muttered back through clenched teeth. She didn't know what it meant but she knew it was an insult.

"Ho'thal??" She asked again, slowly releasing him, pushing him back into the ground.

"Little bit." He responded, gruff and deep like rolling thunder.

She breathed a sigh of relief, putting the symbol of Yara on, letting the necklace rest in the centre of her chest.

"I need you to keep talking, alright? Talking." She gave him a soft but anxious smile as she closed her eyes, calling upon her newborn God and their divine magic.

"Talking." The Orc huffed.

She brought her hands together, her body shimmering with an aura of divine radiance.

"Let your wounds be healed, life's gift will not be wasted this day." She exclaimed, thrusting her hands outward towards the Orc's injury.

While she expected the usual pulse of calming light, nothing came. The Orc's wound was not cured.

"What?! N-no. That can't be…" Her breath grew shallow, chest heaving as she yanked her gauntlets off, tossing them to the side and bringing her hands together again. "Let your wounds be healed! Life's gift will not be wasted this day!" She thrust her hands out again. Once more, nothing.

"This… this can't- Work, damn it!"

Her hands fell as she began to panic, frantically recounting the previous battle.

"Amandla… Amandla took a hit and…there was the arrow…" Her shaking hands moved towards a small hole in her bronze chainmail in her upper thigh. "The arrow…" It was a glancing blow at best but nonetheless the teenager panicked.

She had cried out desperately for healing and protection, begging the last of her God's power through prayer. The same prayers that now fell on divine deaf ears.

"I can't do it…" Her voice quivered.

She brought her hands together, clutching one with the other as her gaze once more fell upon her once enemy.

"F… fuck it!" She exclaimed, grabbing at a pouch on her hip, pulling out a needle and some thread, bandaging and a poultice.

"What… doing?" The Orc snarled.

"I'm doing my best!" She snapped, pushing his hand away from the wound and starting to do just that on it. "What… What's your name?"

"Name?" His brow raised.

"Yes, your name! I'm trying not to panic, so just keep talking!" She shouted again.

The Orc huffed, laying down and letting her work.

"Bear spear. Honori."

"And in Canish? I'm H-Heba. I th-think it's Geschenk in your tongue." The wound was deeper than she expected and slowly began to overwhelm her.

"Berengar. Canish." He let out a small scoff that turned into a small fit of coughing once more. "Why? Traitor?"

"I don't… understand the question?" She kept her eyes on her work.

"Me… enemy. You… traitor?"

"N-no. I'm not a… I'm a servant of the God of Life. A healer. This is… it's my duty." She offered him a brief smile as his blood slowly dried on her hands, as serene as she could make it given the circumstances.

"Gods…" The Orc grunted. "Heba. Geschenk…"

"Don't trail off on me, Berengar. Focus up, greenskin!" She jabbed his chest with her finger. "I… got you, alright? Just… fuck… uh, what do you like to do?"

"Dumb."

"Hurry up and answer. And if you say 'fighting' I'll… uh… it won't be pretty, I promise you!" She needed it more for her own nerves than anything else.

"Survive. No time for 'like'. Need is all. Need of village. Lost.. Driven from home. Giants force move. Village need home. Home need land. Land need war." Bear spear closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I'm sorry I asked… Hmm. Ah! Family! Tell me about your family. Have kids? Were they… with you?" Heba cast a quick glance around the battlefield.

"Son. Gerhardt. Camp. Wanted glory. Wanted teach Gerhardt..."

"Don't talk like that! You're… you're gonna be fine. You'll teach him, you hear me?" Heba's breath grew shallow and her hands unsteady as the reality of the situation began to dawn on her.

"Heba…" The Orcs hand rested on her forearm, weighing only a fraction of what it should.

"Stop it! Aren't you people supposed to be hard to kill?" Her voice got shrill as the panic fully set in.

"Geschenk…"

"What?!" She snapped at him, finally looking him in the eyes. "B-Berengar?"

The Orc's hand fell from hers and the healer let out a haggard sigh of defeat. She bit back her emotions, lowering herself down to rest her forehead on Berengar's chest to give him a respectful send off.

"I'm… sorry. The Daughter of the Blackened Heart will carry you now. Honour and Glory, Blood and Bronze. Rest now, warrior. Rest." She whispered quietly, lifting herself back up to her knees and wiping the tears from her eyes, smearing some of the warrior's blood on her cheeks without thinking.



Slowly, she rose to her feet and took another deep breath. Heba's eyes moved to her gauntlets, still waiting, sunken unto the tin and copper filled sand next to a drying puddle of ichor. Nearby, a sharp clang rang out as something struck metal. Heba's head darted towards its direction to see a charging Canish warrior, moments away from striking. In a panic, she grabbed the thick leather sheath on her hip rather than the hilt of the blade within it, raising up the weapon to deflect the incoming Orc's wild swing. The battered weapon struck the leather, cutting a jagged slice into it. The human was knocked back, almost stumbling over a corpse just as the Orc had done in his own approach. She got a good look at this one, he was relatively clean and had an apparent lack of blood or wounds. He also looked younger than any Orc she'd seen, close to her age, perhaps a little older. He wasn't part of the battle, that much was clear.

"Stop. We do not need to fight!" Heba pleaded, taking the pause to take the sheath off her waist.

She held her weapon properly, though she still refused to remove the blade from its sheath; effectively wielding her blade as a club. The warrior didn't respond and charged forward with another violent swing, accompanied by a furious roar that shook the woman to her core. She brought her weapon back up and the axe clashed against it, damaging it further but stopping the blow from becoming fatal. The jagged teeth forged into the curve of the weapon clung into the leather like velcro. It forced the covered blade against Heba's own neck as her assailant pushed her weapon back. Taking a step to the side, she used the Orc's momentum to throw him off balance. She let him stumble forward while she composed herself again. He was strong but sloppy. Untrained. His feet clumsily dug into the dunes with every step.

"I won't fight you. Just let me walk away." She said firmly.

The young Orc panted heavily with a murderous look in his eyes. He stared down the armoured warrior, speaking only one phrase.

"Naz'gir!" He barked before making another slash at the woman's gut.

She darted backwards, her foot catching on the half-buried tabard of a fallen Honori warrior. It wrapped around her boot like a sandwyrm's maw and pulled the leg out from under her. She fell back onto her rear as her weapon was knocked from her hand. It slid to a stop behind her, just out of reach. She threw her arm back, patting at the sand frantically trying to reach the pommel of her weapon. Following up on his swing, the Orc continued his assault, moving over his opponent to bring his axe down upon her. As he raised the weapon to strike, a frantic kick from the woman's free leg as she lashed out struck him in the gut. The blow made him recoil and gave Heba a few more seconds to move. She pushed herself back along the dune with her elbow to let her grasping arm get that little bit closer to her blade. The warrior came again. In the moments Heba had before her doom her flailing hand met with metal. At last, she gripped the hilt of her sword and brought it forwards between her enemy and herself. As the Orc pounced forwards, his misplaced foot sunk too far into the dune. Thrown forwards and off balance, the warrior sank into the blade as it plunged through his ribcage. His swing dug into the dune beside the woman's head. Heba's eyes widened as the bronze of the blade caught her eye. As the Orc let out a sputtered cough of blood onto Heba's face, her head snapped around to look behind her. Wedged under the arm of a fallen warrior was the sheath of her blade, the torn leather caught in the intricacies of his tunic. In shock she released her blade, letting the Orc fall lifelessly to the ground beside her. Heba crawled backwards frantically, panting and shaking. In a wave of despair she let out a shrieking scream of horror. Without thinking she scrambled forward and rolled the attacker onto his back to frantically attempt to repair the wound. Despite the Orc's lack of response to any of her actions she worked just as she did on the previous patient. Heba went so far as to wrap bandages around the blade sticking out of his chest. Once she was finished she came out of her haze, her patient long dead and her whole body speckled with blood. A long, shaken breath escaped her lips before she collapsed forward, throwing herself onto the corpse as she broke down. She sobbed uncontrollably with her eyes tightly shut. Even then, the last light leaving the young man's eyes was already burned into her memory; her first kill, flashing into view every time she tried to hide from it.

"You're alright. You have to be alright!" She pleaded with the man, clutching him tightly. "Please!... Please be alright…" Her voice shrank, from a shriek to a whisper.

"Yara forgive me… I'm so sorry." She cried into his chest. "I didn't mean to…"



"I'm so fucking sorry…"



"I'm fucking sorry…"



"I'm sorry…"



"Oi, sorry?"

Her eyes flickered open, blinking a few times as reality came back to her.

"Heba." The voice called her again.

She turned her head, her tired eyes meeting with the well dressed Caoirighs. Rorluth stood before her with arms folded and an annoyed look on his face.

"Do I always have to call you four times or do you just like wastin' my time?" He cocked his head to the side as he held out a small clinking cloth pouch towards her. "Yer cut of the spoils, Doc. Ye should have left this to the Undertaker, we weren't paid to take care of bandits."

"Be glad we have time to waste. Next time you can go in first." She snatched the pouch with her free hand.

The two gave each other a curt nod as both stood their ground. Rorluth went back inside to aid the rest of the group as they cleaned up the mess of the recent fight. Heba looked to the ground with her usual scowl and pulled the shovel she was holding out of the dirt with disdain. The older woman took a moment to examine the burial sites she just finished and then shifted her grumpy gaze to her gravedigging companion. The creature of copper and metal cocked his silent, expressionless head to the side. They held a shovel in one hand and a slab of slate in the other, a frowning face and a question mark drawn on it with chalk.

"Got something to ask, scrap?" She glared at them.

The Golem solemnly erased the question mark on the slate and presented it to Heba once again, just displaying the frowning face before trudging off to join the others. Once alone, the Doctor stabbed her shovel into the dirt again with a heavy sigh, taking a moment to collect herself. She looked past the barn to the group gathering to speak with the grateful client, his home now clear of the brigands that lay resting beneath Heba's feet. She spoke, but her words were far too late to matter.

"I'm sorry, Bastion… Yara forgive us." She muttered while her eyes fell upon the distant Golem.

Collecting her shovel, her scowl returned and she marched back to the group .