u/XLBlicky

this is kinda just me practicing mainly a newish style that i may or may not use. it was kinda a pain

a moth drawn to a thing most beautiful, a salvation beyond the cage that keeps its ugly form at bay.

fueled by the hope that this cage will eventually fall, it attempts to break out, slamming against the walls that kept it captive over and over

it tries once. nothing. it tries again. it feels pain. it tries once more. it yields the same result.

time flies by and after years of struggling, ignoring the damage it has done to itself and endlessly looking at the beauty of beyond its enclosure, it finally gives up. it has convinced itself that the salvation it yearned for in so long was not meant for it.

the cage lifts. but the moth doesnt move.

after all, why bother when you will never achieve such grandeur?

The wails of hundreds have stopped.

The once impenetrable smoke of the battlefield has finally cleared as the embers of the last flames die out.

There leaning against the wall of the unyielding fortress lies a nigh-endless mountain of corpses, charred and blackened by the blazing oil dropped atop their heads from one of the towers above.

Past the wall are carcasses pierced by arrays of arrows and heavy bolts. Some have been crushed, twisted and contorted in every witch way by the once panicked crowd of archers and artillerymen that have attempted to desert, but suffered the same fate.

"These were all... refugees..?"

"Yes. Some of them were deserters from the Rhezlanean Army. Their king has succumbed to the Affliction, unfortunately. They are leaderless people."

A woman, clad in silver armor and a man dressed in a cyan cotehardie emerge from one of the damaged gates that have been burnt from the recent siege. A strong stench of death permeates through the air.

The woman examines the dead. The bodies has been mutilated so much so that she cannot tell where they begin or end. She can only gaze at the mass' entirety and guess who they were through the equipment that failed them.

"These really are normal people...", she staggers back.

"Yes, chief. Desperation is a horrible thing."

"The Altyrs are a long ways from reaching this place. The frontlines have been holding them back for some time now. Why this all of a sudden??"

"I don't know exactly. But hatred for the upper class have blinded the commonfolk for a long time now. And fueled by the urgency of our situation, they most likely broke."

A silence envelops both of the figures as they stare into the fields of the people they have killed. Among them are gutted children carrying crude weaponry, coerced into fighting for their parent's cause.

The armored maiden's heart drops. Her stomach churns at the vile sight, threatening to puke. She looks away, trying to regain her composure and ignore the horrid scene in front of her.

"..."

"We don't have time to mourn them."

The man points to the horizon. Camps are littered upon a small hill, full of armaments. But it lacked the people to use them.

"They brought weapons with them that we can utilize. We can call a small group to raid their settlement and gather anything of use."

"What about the ones that were left?"

"We kill them."

The woman, taken aback by his statement, quickly retorts.

"No. We will not.", she gazes at the man, a mix of anger and disgust strewn across her face.

"Taking them as prisoner will not help. Our supplies are limited for the time being, and feeding more mouths will bleed us dry. Leaving them be will cause their anger to fester, and they will attack once more."

"There is no reason why we should let them live."

"I said leave them be. I will not allow such inhumane acts under my command.", her gaze doesn't break.

He stares at her with a disapproving look. Eventually, he lets out a long sigh and reluctantly agrees.

"Fine then. Do as you wish."

"Good. I'll be calling for my troops and stand them ready for the raid. The priestess will pray for the bodies in my stead. Assist her."

"Yes, I will. May you do me a favor chief and bring the squire here? She ought to learn something by now."

"... Is this about last night?"

"It is. She won't survive, that girl. She needs to get used to this, as do you."

"..."

"Sure."

She walks off into the fortress, the man looking back at her with an expression of disappointment.

---

The delighted laughter of men and women echo throughout the camp. It's a gathering of soldiers under the banner of the Ivory Knights, all of which are eating their hearts out.

Due to the recent attack, the majority of them have been worn down, some severely injured and have been kept within medical camps, so this feast truly is a delight for them.

The soldiers chat and prattle on as they enjoy the dull albeit ample food in front of them, until the tent's draping cloth lifts open, revealing the Commander, a woman clad in silver armor, engraved with gold and gemstones.

The men and women that once sat hurriedly rises up to salute her as she passes by the tables. The hardened maiden walks towards an open room where the smell of grilled fish and flour wafts out.

"Keft?"

Upon entering, the inside appears to be a crudely-built kitchen, a grill elevated by four sticks atop a flame lies in the middle while two long tables are put by the side with ingredients stacked upon it.

On one of the corners stands a girl with long, pointy ears bears a knife, hacking away at vegetables and putting them within a pot of stew by her side.

"Keft!", the lady calls out. The girl looks back and notices her.

"Commander Renner! The food..."

She pauses. Realizing something, she suddenly becomes visibly nervous.

"I-I hope I didn't use much of the supplies! I just thought treating the knights for fighting so hard would be good--"

"Do you want to come?"

...

A silence fills the room.

"The preistess needs help with the bodies, along with Adrin. They wish to pray for them."

...

"We do not have that many able bodied men at the moment, the ones that have remained unscathed will come with me to gather what's left."

...

"Y-yeah. I'll come with! Is she ready? It might take a while, so it's better to get a move on early!"

"You can say no if you want to. You do know that, right?"

"..."

"I-It'll be a breeze! I need to be strong, just like Adrin said, right? I don't want to hold any of you back after all!"

"Besides, old man Ustef will look after the kitchen for me anyways! He may look old, but he can handle any task without issue!"

...

An awkward silence yet again plagues the atmosphere. The woman hesitates on allowing the girl to even take a single step outside. Such a vile scene is simply too much, a child should never even have to see anything of the sort at this age, if not ever.

But in the end, she sighs. She knows she wouldn't be able to change her mind. She's devoted to assisting them, almost to a fault.

"Sure. Ready your bag, along with pieces of wood and rope. The priestess may ask to make crosses for the dead. I'll be informing her about everything. Meet up with her by the barracks."

"Yes, Commander!"

The child hastily marches out the kitchen and away from the camp. A sigh escapes the silver clad woman's lips. Without a thought, she walks toward the pot the little girl was using before and stares at its contents.

It's a slightly watery mixture of both meat and greens, topped by some odd seasonings she does not know. It's a delightful sight, with a smell that reminds her of home.

But she looks past that. The fat floating above the mixture, the minced vegetables that have turned soft, the steam hitting her face, nothing. Instead, she looks back at herself through the liquid's reflection.

Dark circles under her eyes along with wrinkles all over plague her youthful face. She lets out a sigh of silent frustration.

"I need a rest after this."

"But you come here routinely, no?", The Witch chuckles as her pale hands touch a protruding grey rock beneath a towering mass of blush, contorted stone.

She traces her palm across its rough surface at a gentle pace, as if it were a child sleeping under a starless sky. She then presses her ear against it and smiles warmly.

"Whoever this may be, I will not ask. But..."

"Do you recall?"

No.

I do not know who that is.

"Then why visit?"

Because.

They appeared important.

But I do not remember why. Nor do I want to find out.

"Hm.", The Witch looks upon the stone then to you. Then back again.

"You refuse to mourn?"

Yes.

Change is a dangerous force.

"Hm...", She falls silent, lost in thought.

"And yet you're here. For the hundredth, nay, for the thousandth time...", she goes quiet once more.

After some time, the scarlet-clad woman reaches into her rugged belt of leather pockets and lays out several candles.

She lights one after another, using a lamp strapped to her waist to ignite each wick, drips their melted wax onto the stone then sticks them upon it. The amber light glows like small newborn stars. The Witch stares at them for a while before talking, never once tearing her curious gaze from the little dancing flames in front of her.

"I may not be able to force you to change. Neither do I know this person, whether friend or foe, but..."

"I will be here, from now on. With you."

"You don't know how to mourn, no? You visit this place and stare blankly at this rock every day, while denying ever doing it for the one who passed right here."

"... Then I'll mourn in your stead.", The Witch smiles warmly at you, then looks back again.

"Even if it may harm me, even kill me, I will mourn for this person I know not of. For you. And in exchange I will ask you a favor."

She pauses. The soft yellow lights illuminate her tender, loving eyes, both drenched in welling tears.

"Remember them for me. The death of their memory is a fate worse than the sufferings of life itself."

"So, recall for me."