Dogs of War - Ivesk

Despite himself, the Major lets out a sigh of relief. At least someone is alive. Hopefully more than one person, too. "Ivesk."
 
There's a pause, and then the doors are unbarred, opened.


A small collection of disheveled soldiers greet you - your aide de camp Relias foremost among them.


"You're alive! Fuck me, sir, I am glad to see you. Whatever Ketcher had down there escaped suddenly and started... well, wrecking the place. It tried to talk the guards down, but they panicked and... well..." He gestures sadly at the bodies.
 
It's a true miracle that Ivesk manages to resists the urge to smash his head into the nearest surface. He knew this was a bad idea. Damn it!


Of course, it helps a little when he reminds himself the glaive is the only reason he's alive - perhaps, likely even, the only reason the others are still alive too. While a Vampire is not. Worth ten lives, maybe more? Might be heartless to say yes, but...


"Did it get anyone else, or destroy something important? Beyond that bit of wall, that is. Speaking of, we'll have to get it patched up as soon as possible."
 
"I don't think it destroyed anything vital, it was just... leaving. It made a mess downstairs, walking through walls and doors and the like. A lot tried to stop it; we couldn't get the word around very fast so as soon as someone else saw it they thought it was attacking and..." he pauses, choking up.


"The twenty of us are all that's left, sir."
 
For but a moment, the Major feels as if all his blood turned into ice water. In the next, there is a raging inferno in his chest. Then... nothing. He could scream - curse the firstborn for his slaughter, all the fallen for rushing to their deaths blindly, or himself for causing this. He could cry - either for the fallen, or due to how great of a price this turned out to be. But neither of those would help. He'll save the self-loathing for later... much later.


"Mourning and burials will have to wait a while. We need the hole and any other major damage fixed right away, watch posted during the repairs, the wounded tended to properly... and I need to send a letter, unless that's already taken care of."
 
Relias nods.


"Got one out to all neighbouring garrisons, just in case."


The troops set grimly about their task. Never let it be said a H'kaeri shirked his duty. The wounded are brought inside and precious wood used to block the holes.


Each the bodies, as you pass them, has a single hole right in the middle of their forehead, burned around the edges. The bodies closest to Ketcher's lab are burned entirely to charred bones.


Carbus approaches you as you survey the scene.


"Sir, do you know what happened here? What was Ketcher doing?"
 
Ivesk sounds tired as he responds - but then, it's hard not to. "I know, yes. Ketcher did nothing - it was what the Quill carried in that box of theirs." He looks down at the nearest corpse, clenching his teeth. "We should have never brought it in, or never opened it, or..."


Or he shouldn't have made a deal with something like Vandal... or should have made sure Ketcher, or some other officer, knows to order the troops to stand down when he escapes.


No matter how he cuts it, it's still his fault. He'd be the first to admit it, and would love nothing more than let it be known. But if he tells someone, anyone...


No. A sacrifice like this can't be wasted. Admitting, while it would calm his conscience just a little bit, would only mean execution. And death would only render it all meaningless.
 
Carbus shakes his head, rests a companiable hand on your shoulder.


"Can't blame yourself, sir. Orders are orders." He sighs, watching a charred corpse hefted away. "Poor bastards. Always though Ketcher'd die setting himself on fire. Do we hold for reinforcements or move out once anyone's able, sir?"
 
The man scratches his chin. "For now, we stay put. An attack is unlikely - and between the walls and the tunnels we could take a small force anyway. With a bit of luck, we won't have to. With a bit more, we'll get reinforcements soon."


The truth, of course, is that small attacks aren't really Kromsians' style. But any large force might have Vampire scouts anyway, and facing even one with most troops in a bad state would be suicide. That glaive only goes so far.


And as willing to die as Ivesk and the rest are, they're not really actively looking to get themselves killed.
 
"Yes, sir. I'll leave you to it then."


The bodies are burned in the central courtyard - a little more exposed, but the smoke should be visible to neighbouring garrisons. Over the next week, more of your men die to sickness and poison from the Kromsian's weapons, leaving you with fifty troops. They should be more downbeat, you feel, but when you're around them the Glaive seems to hum in a way only you can hear and they seem cheered by your company.


Fifty's not a bad number, and they're among your best - but some are crippled from the last fight. Your own wounds recover as fast as they did when you were a young man.


If anyone is fit to travel, it's now.
 
Major Ivesk was always a patient man - a prerequisite given the defensive focus of his tactics - but even he can only take so much before getting a bit irate. The losses are only increasing, and will keep on doing so if this keeps up... but with fifty soldiers, only part of which is actually capable of fighting, the trip would be risky. It's a big enough number to draw attention, yet not nearly big enough to withstand a major skirmish - and without news, they have no way of knowing whether of the nearby garrisons expects an assault. Stumbling into a Kromsian horde would be the end of them all.


A few days more... if a reply doesn't arrive by then, they might have to chance it. At least the morale is tolerable, all things considered. Even if maintained by the glaive, somehow, that's good.
 
The preparations for departure begin, Ivesk's mind still filled with a swirling mess of emotions. Relief, guilt, anger, sadness... it all goes on. And try as he might to remain calm and clear his thoughts, it's hard to simply brush it all aside. He caused this, after all. Even without actively thinking about it, and distracting himself constantly... well.


Now he'll have an even greater distraction. They'll have to be careful during the trip - while it's unlikely to encounter any enemies on the way, it's still a possibility they can't afford to ignore.


As for Holm's End... well, they'll come back eventually. But that knowledge doesn't make leaving the home you saw people die for, that you bled for time and again, any easier.
 
There's a strange sense of lightness as you begin the trek from Holm's End. Maybe it felt a little haunted, empty of the friends and families everyone knew, and to finally move on is a relief. Or perhaps its the feeling of escape, or a reprieve, who knows?


Family. That's come up a lot, lately - the aftermath of a tragedy tends to make everyone a little less formal.


"Sir," Leanna begins, hobbling at your side on her crutches (to which she has attached what blades she could), "how come you never did your duty?" she asks, her inflection leaving you in no confusion - she wonders why there's no son or daughter of Ivesk at Holm's End.
 
Now that's some question. And why isn't there, really? He doesn't think about it much. He does have other family, after all. But... why didn't he...


There was never a good time, was there? At first he was too young. He imagined this and that, but finally settled on a vision of honorable service and glory in battle. When the raging storm of ambition and patriotism calmed down, he still never thought of it. No, he did... but briefly. It wasn't the right moment. There was so much yet to do, and he always took things seriously. Commitment is what he'd end up with, and commitment is what he couldn't afford. A close family would be more a distraction than anything else.


And then... then what? There was a time nothing really stood in his way, but still he found excuses. Wasn't hard, really. Death may be a constant part of life here, and to lose a father in the war is normal - a point of pride sometimes, if they accomplished something great. But that wasn't what he wanted. Not for any child of his. Loss is hard, even when it's expected. He knows that well.


And then... he found himself growing old. And in the last moments starting a new branch of the family was viable, he brushed the thoughts aside for the same tired reasons - and new ones, ones he'd never admit lest someone accuse him of foolishness and naivety. But for that last taste of glory... could he deny himself that?


And then... it was just too late. And now, even more so.


After a long moment of silence, the Major looks over with a smile a bit sadder than he'd like. "It's funny. I don't really know."
 
Her expression is pained, sympathetic.


"I suppose you spent all that time being a father to the Garrison," she offers, quietly.
 
The man's smile turns much warmer, although he has to try even harder to fight back tears now. At least for a different reason.


"Thank you." He almost whispers, turning to look ahead. "Anyone thinking so... well, it means a lot."


And now Holm's End is destroyed and most of its people dead, and through his fault no less. Some father he was. At least he can do his damned best to preserve what's left. No chance he's going to give everything up, not if he can help it.
 
"Enough of us do, sir," she says, sympathetic.


It's a long walk, into the emptiness between these furthest garrisons. Relias walks beside you now, two days later.


"Should see their outward scouts soon," he says. Calm. Always so calm, that boy.
 
It's surprising to see anyone retain their composure after what happened - but there was already some time for the shock to pass. Not that you'd know looking at Ivesk. He may be doing his damned best to keep morale up, but his methods clearly don't work nearly as well on his own mood. The sorrow and guilt press down heavy on his shoulders, and his gaze is exactly one you'd expect from a man who lost the most important thing in his life.


It takes every bit of strength he can muster to seem alright when someone approaches. Like now. He has little doubt they can see he's faking it, but at least they understand.


"Good. Any surprises now, at least they'll know." He still doesn't expect much to happen. Stragglers at most, and those can be dealt with even with their current forces.
 
You proceed in silence for a short while, then hear a whistle. Relias whistlers back - long, short, long.


Moments later a pair of scouts slip into the trench.


"Sir," they salute you. "What's going on? We received no orders indicating a manouevre this way."
 
Saluting back, Ivesk proceeds with explanations - in a tone that is just official enough, and not a bit more. As usual, though it's not like those two would know.


"Not a manouevre, precisely - we are all that remains of Holm's End beyond the garrison itself, and we've received news that Hearsthold is prepared to take us in."


A bit odd the scouts didn't know... but perhaps they had no time to notify all teams, or didn't for safety's sake. Nothing to be too concerned about, surely.
 
The scout frowns.


"We never received word, sir. Is it possible the communique was intercepted? Either way, you best come back with us - Command has warned us to expect a Kromsian assault within the next day or so."
 
Now that? That's reason enough to be a little concerned. Not overly so, it's doubtful any garrison would turn remnants away after they went this far... or at least not right away. At worst, they may have to travel to another one after the assault. Even so...


"As possible as always... no matter, it's as you say, we'd best move. We could hardly take a small group in our current state and numbers, let alone a full raid. Everything can be explained once we reach the garrison."


Hopefully. Not that he looks forward to explaining what happened, but it's a necessity.
 
When you arrive back at the garrison, there's the usual exchange of passwords and signs. You're admitted inside and lead immediately to the central yard. You can't fault them for their protocol or paranoia.


A pair of their Quillers attend to your men - while also checking for tricks, no doubt - and before much longer the local Major arrives, offering you a salute.


"Major Ivesk, is it?" She asks, "Major Calmni. What happened to you?"
 

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