Fantasy A War in the West [OPEN]

[Agante Potatus]

V O D E N F E L L , 1 0 9 9 A U V


The year is 1100 After United Vodenfell (AUV). Azhar lies in religious schism over the identity of the New Prophet, Sachev is plagued by the White Cough, the royalty of Miven are declining, and the Theokolans are stronger than ever, striking deep into the Mivenard homeland. The elves, having been displaced for 2,000 years, live in the Yukavian Mountains in isolated forest valleys, or with the Dvergii, short humanoids who live in hidden towns carved within the mountains and forge the strongest magimechanical artifacts in the entire land, politically unaffiliated and fairly low in population.

In 1099AUV, Emperor Myronius IV Jurguin, Lord of Magistone and Emperor of Theokos, declared a war of conquest on King Arias II of House Jaen, Lord of Crownsport and King of Miven. Known as the War of the West, at the end of April, the imperial armies crossed into Mivenard territory and sacked every settlement they came across. Myronius, being the descendant of the ancient emperors, looks to expand his borders in a plan to further conquer the western world. As of now, Cassia and Zilea remain underneath enemy occupation, and the Mivenard armies are growing weaker and exhausted, relying on mercenaries and help from their northern allies, the Order of Caldia, their only ally in this entire war. Because of this many mercenaries and sellsword leaders have found ways to climb the social ladders and gain favor with the king.

Blood waters the crops and as mid-November approaches, so does the yearly winter. The war has taken its toll on Miven; with many crops having been burnt or stolen by the Theokolan imperials, few will make it this winter as food shortages run throughout the country and the poor commoners scrap up whatever they have left. You, on the other hand, may have the potential to change the course of history. Maybe you will take advantage of the conflict and rise to power through the military; or maybe you will work to forge a ceasefire between these two nations and put an end to the bloodshed. Maybe you, as an elf or Dvergii or orc, look to save your people from the disadvantages, isolation, and constant stagnancy of your people. Or maybe you will just keep to yourself and do your best to survive in a world where few are your friends; the choice is truly yours.

Many adventures await you.​

 

[Agante Potatus]

T H E O P H I L U S

Blood soaked the ground of what was the battlefield a mere hour ago. The bodies of soldiers, dressed in mail and aketon and halfplate, littered the ground like rocks across a sandy beach. Crows squawked as they fed on the bodies of the hundreds of dead warriors, accompanied by the buzzing of flies and other insects. The sky was red as the sun began to set, a light crimson like blood, a terrible color that often meant a sign of war and violence.

The Battle of Colsbridge, taking place at a small river town some miles south of Blackbridge, had been of large scale and quite deadly. 10,000 Mivenards had fought a bigger army of 25,000 Theokolans, and the defenders had fought well and hard, but were eventually overrun by the superior imperial forces. Theophilus's men had just gathered the survivors of the battle, as well as the local townsfolk who had watched the fighting and tried to flee, including Lord Wilfram of Lockehold, leader of the army. They were lined up, ready to await their sentence, as Theophilus emerged from the crowds of soldiers. He stopped his palfrey just in front of Lord Wilfram, looking down at the blood-covered man, his armor battered and his nose bleeding from the battle. "Tsk, if it isn't another stuck-up Mivenard lord." He drew his sword. "Well, it's time to get it over with." Lord Wilfram would struggle against his chains and fall back, eyes widening at the sight of Theo's sword. The noble whimpered at the thought of dying. "My lord, please! I was only doing as the king told me to. I'll... I'll make a good hostage! My family can pay you a ransom if need be--"

Wilfram's babbling was cut short by the point of Athrapi's blade plunging through his neck. The lord tried to scream, but it did no good with the sword in his throat, his mouth filled with blood as he spat and shook, smoke rising from the enchanted blade. Theo kicked the man to the floor, and after a bit of trembling Lord Wilfram stood still, his life leaving him. The other captured soldiers looked on in fear. "I want every man here lynched up on a tree. If there aren't enough branches, just leave their bodies in a big pile. Put the fields to the torch, and be ready to march by tomorrow morning," he shouted across the area. Theo's soldiers obeyed, although reluctant to commit the killings, dragging struggling and screaming soldiers away.

As night began to approach, the mood in the army had changed quite drastically, going from a bloody and rough morning to a calm and welcoming night. The men drank ale and mead as they discussed the battles they had fought and the battles to come, the families they would visit once the war was over, doing their best to forget the atrocities they had been ordered to commit this morning; willing or not, it would have been treason to disobey their superior, and it was better someone else suffered as opposed to them.

A long day was ahead of him, so Theo took to sleep and get ready for the marching to come. As he slept, however, he couldn't help but pity the men who died at his command.​

 

[Kommadant_Klynx]

W I L L I N G S H A M
7 Miles from Colsbridge

While the soldiers of Theokos had prepared themselves for a long night's rest, the quaint village of Willingsham continued to stir with lively vigor. Situated on the small Tomms River, it was a farming village, home to only around 250 inhabitants. That night, the populace had accepted the stay of the famed Talle mercenaries, though it is hard to discern whether they were persuaded by words, or by the pointed head of an eight-foot spear. Once situated, the men of Talle had begun to party with the locals. Large, muscular men, they had attracted the eyes of the women, and to the dismay of their husbands, many had run off to be with their foreign lovers.

Aemon sat alone atop a rock overlooking Willingsham. His man danced and sung around him, their words echoing deep inside his mind.

"From there I got away,
me spirits never failin'
Landed on the quay
just as the ship was sailin'
The captain at me roared,
said that no room had he
When I jumped aboard,
a cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs,
played some funny rigs
Danced some hearty jigs,
the water 'round me bubblin'"

For once in a long while, Aemon was not sure of what to do. His men had traveled for days, passing by village after village, and stopping to party at each and every one. Sure, his men's spirits were high, and they certainly deserved some time for leisure after so much combat. But this was no life of a warrior, and each day Aemon grew more and more impatient. His scouts reported stories to him of a great battle not more than 7 miles away, where the Theokolans had since fought against an army of the Mivenards. This conflict greatly interested Aemon, and he debated whether or not it was time for his men to get a taste of a real war.

"You look tense, my dear," a woman's voice sounded from the darkness.

Aemon looked up to find the face of Margarida, his lover. The two had met at a village just like Willingsham many weeks ago. She was a mere tavern wench, and he the leader of an accomplished mercenary party. And yet, he fell for her, and they had been traveling side by side ever since. Margarida would stride up to Aemon. Even despite her poor background, she walked as any woman of nobility would, and with just as much refinery and elegance. She'd place down a wooden cup of mead, and take a seat next to the man.

"I've just been thinking, that's all."

Margarida would run her pale, thin fingers through Aemon's hair. "Something troubling you, then?"

"I suppose. The Theokolans have their army stationed not far from here," he'd stop to drink from his mead, gulping it down in mere seconds. "If I wanted a place as a Theokolan mercenary, now would be the time."

Margarida would study the man's face, her usual calculating and investigative expression on her face. After a few moments of thought, she'd slide her cup over to Aemon, and pat him lightly on the shoulder.

"Drink, and dwell on the thought. Perhaps the answer will be more clear to you when morning comes. Now, I'm going to get some rest."

And with that, Margarida would kiss Aemon on the forehead, and walk off in her usual dignified fashion. Aemon smiled and looked to the cup next to him. He took it up in his hands and stared directly into the reflection of the moon cast on the mead. She was right. A few drinks and a good night's rest would be all that he needed. Aemon would drink, letting the alcohol drip down his chin and onto his trousers. Enough of partying and village life. It was time he and his men returned to the field of battle, the place where his mercenary band had earned their fame in the first place. It was time to go to war. ​

 

[FireMaiden]

Tialha Yinmyar
From the infirmary tent, the loud sound of a tray and medical tools crashing to the ground got the attention of many people both inside, and outside the tent. The sound was followed by what sounded like a scream, and hurried murmurs as two of the field nurses ran to go get a non-injured soldier. Some however, were glued to the sight infront of them.

Sitting one of of the cots was deshelved looking solider. He was a veteran, having seen many battles, the scars that littered his exposed torso and arms giving this away almost immdeiatly. Her hair lay plastered to his face with sweat, an almost crazed, blood thirsty look clouded his blue eyes, blood trickling down his face, and trickling down a large gash that covered a large part of his extended arm. He must not have been feeling it, or at least, was able to ignore is as he squeezed tighter. In his hand? The throat of a young Elven woman. Tialha.

Despite the situation, her eyes were calm, and she made no movements so she wouldn't end up spooking him. He could easily snap her neck with a single hand, she had watched him do it in a previous battle, however she did not want the same fate to fall onto her. Her eyes moved to the other nurses, before quickly moving back to the soldier, Verhan, as he applied more pressure. "Unhand me," She managed, an odd throbbing sensation creeping it's way up her neck.

"You." He growled, pushing himself up to his full height, dragging her closer to his body, and up closer to his face. She was thankful that he at least had now put his other hand around her waist so she would not choke to soon, but now both of his hands were applying an uncomfortable amount of pressure. "I should break you in half." His voice was low, but not low enough to avoid the ears of Tialha or the others watching. Honestly, she didn't blame them for not stepping in, some of them could barely handle a kitchen knfe, let alone go up against a man like Verhan. She did however, hope that another soldier would arrive soon, she could now hear own her racing heart.

"You'll...You'll die if-if you do," She choked out, at this point struggling to get a decent inhale. Verhan cocked his eyebrow, before letting out a low grumbling chuckle, tightening his hands even more. One of his thumbs was pushing into her throat, while the other thumb was digging into the area just under her ribcage.

"Why is that? No one here is going to stop me from killing you. And they'll beleive me if I tell them you were a traitor, especially after you helped one of those Mivenard bastards," He growled, his lips breaking into a crazed smile. "You're just a little maid. It doesn't matter."

Tialha couldn't breath at this point, saliva was dripping from the corner of her mouth, rolling down her chin and onto his hand. He breifly looked disgusted, just barely releasing a small amount of pressure that was enough to let her get a small breath. "He may be cruel, but Lord Theophilus wi-will have your head for killing one of his servants," She smiled, before she was suddenly dropped. Verhan watched as she stayed on all four for a few moments, coughing and greedily taking in as much air as she could. Without his eyes leaving her slender frame, Verhan sat back down as he watched her shoulders shake, her own hand gently touching her own neck.

A few minutes would pass, before she finally calmed down, her heart beat returning mostly to normal, and she finally stood. Her cheeks were still flushed, the color dancing up the length of her ears, the steely calm storm had returned to her eyes. She glared at him, before picking up the medical equipment that had been dropped, and exchanged it with another set; before she reluctantly began to stitch his wounds. As she did, Verhan would occasionally catch a glimpse of his handwork; a large bruise forming around her neck that would leave her skin purple and blue, almost black for a while.

She wanted to stab him in the eye with the needle in her hand.​

 

[hostage]

MYRRE OF FERDAIN
The forest was alive with voices. While the rest of the world slept, the wee hours of night drifting by like tendrils of mist on a gloomy morning, the elves of Ferdain were awake. Not many knew of their gated community, nor their traditions. This night, however, was one of mourning.

Myrre stood by her mentor’s casket, shedding no tears yet feeling her brittle heart break inside of her chest. As Sinbad’s family approached his still form, Myrre stepped back, giving the now widowed woman space to grieve. Sinbad had faded last night, and the day had been granted to prepare for the passing ceremony.

Already, Myrre’s mentor was fading. His hands were already transparent, and his hair nothing more than wispy trails of mist. Ferdain’s most powerful enchantress had taken it upon herself to aid Sinbad into his next life. His body was quickly becoming a mass of particles, something almost unrecognizable. Then, and only then, would his family let him go, releasing his last form into the sky.

As Myrre paid her last respects, the wife of Sinbad released a long wail. Her haunting voice made the thin hairs on Myrre’s arm stand on edge. Her keening song would last throughout the rest of the night, then would stop as she dedicates the next day to silence, a respectful vigil to her passed husband. Myrre said a soft goodbye to Sinbad, thanking him for his years of great service to her people and pledging her loyalty to his name. She was now Ferdain’s blacksmith, and with great honor would serve the elves.

Myrre crept back to her small shack in the middle of the woods, then settled onto a mat in the middle of a bare room. She traced a nimble finger around the swirling designs on the rug, chanting softly under her breath.

“A Sinbad Heléthïel,
silvren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chared palan-díriel
o ennorath
Fanuilas, se Opthranon!”

It was a song of thanks to the otherworldly forces of the Earth- the Palan-díriel-who were responsible for delivering Sinbad to his final resting place. Those who lnew him were all required to devote the night to hymns of thanks and praise to both the Earth and the passed. Myrre would not move from her spot nor cease tracing the symbols on her mat for the rest of the night.



​

 

[Kommadant_Klynx]

W I L L I N G S H A M
6:30 AM

The next morning was a foggy one, brought on by the cold nightly showers just hours prior. The Talle Men, who had partied nearly day and night, now took shelter within many of the village homes, to the dismay of their inhabitants. Once awoken, they ate and drank hearty meals and many bathed in the village tubs in order to counteract their hangovers. However, by 6:30 that morning, the men of the Talle Mercenaries had been called to the center square of Willingsham in order to receive new orders from their master.

Aemon stood before his soldiers, around 1,000 spritely young lads, now clad in their morning garments. Margarida stood by his side, her golden blond hair waving in the winds. Peasantfolk watched from the sidelines, their arms crossed and eyes perceptive to the foreigner's new decree. Aemon elevated himself on a pile of wooden crates, standing proudly for all of his men to bear witness. As if on cue, a pair of servants would drag forth two linen sacks, coins rattling inside of them as they slid across rock and dirt.

"Good morning to you all. I hope my call for service has not disturbed your slumber," Aemon bellowed, his voice loud and pronounced for all to hear. "As per usual on a morn' such as this one, I have divided up the wealth. Each of you will take a sum proportioned to your rank and status."

Aemon motioned towards another servant, an elderly man known only as Liam. He was short, his back hunched forward, and his limbs thin and ghostly white. Not one of the Talle Men knew much of the man, as he was a quiet fellow, and no one had bothered to inquire about his past. However, he had been with the company since its beginning, and despite only holding the rank of a servant, he has been entrusted by Aemon with many of the important duties of the party. One of these duties was to assign each and every man to his share of the party's treasury once every month, and today was that day.

Liam would climb onto the top of the crates and remove a parchment from the inside of his robes. The ancient man would unroll it with it with his long, spindly fingers, revealing a list of every man currently in the warband. Over the period of 20 minutes, Liam would call out a name in his coarse, elderly voice, and a man would step up to the linen sacks and collect his monthly pension. The mercenaries had done this time after time, but, for the new recruits, most of which who were villagers of Willingsham who had just signed up for the position, it was their first real look into what riches they might find in their adventures with the Talle Men.

By the next hour, the foreign mercenaries had prepared themselves for the quick march to Colsbridge. Many were forced to say goodbye to their peasant lovers, though some took them along for the journey, where they would serve as personal maids for the soldiers. The eventual march lasted around 2 and a half hours, as the Talle Men took advantage of the many roads paved by the locals decades ago. Men on horses were sent out to scout out the way ahead, in order to assure that the paths would be clear when they arrived. As they traveled, dust and dirt was thrown up into the air, and the silence of the forests was disrupted by the chants and songs of happy men.

Aemon's company arrived on the outskirts of Colsbridge at 9:30 in the morning. The plains were green and plentiful, and the men set their livestock free in order to graze and rest in the morning sunlight. Meanwhile, the soldiers were given 30 minutes of rest, before they were put to work establishing a small camp to last them at least a day out in the wilderness. Meanwhile, Aemon tasked a horseman known as Mánus with sending word to the Theokolans, with an invitation to speak with Aemon directly, and hopefully come up with some kind of agreement. ​

 

[Erreul]

Graken leaned against the tree, eyeing the band of men walking down the road just down the way, it had be a long march but finally the small party of 50 had made their way to where they here heading. Hefting his axe up he looked over at the fires of the camp they were there to investigate, and it soon became clear as the men began to gather them selves for a quick rest that the march had taken some of their energy. He slowly looked through the men that his lord had gathered and made sure they all made it in order, looking for any that had clear distress or injury before the battle come. Harioun got of his horse and made his way over. "How are the men brother?" He asked as he approached, motioning to the band with his hand. Graken straightened up and saluted, then leaned his axe against his arm. "Well brother, march might have taken more than I thought out of them but nothing that can't be soldiered into them afterwards." He stopped and looked down the road as if checking if the had been seen or not. "I assume they are stopping for dinner, because I have seen no sentries." Harioun took a look down the road, then at the men taking off their bags and checking each others gear. "Alright, I'll take half around the left side and attack out of the forest, I want you to take the other half and assault the front." Graken once again saluted and turned to the men and simply walked down the middle, forcing the men to step aside, and when he reached the end he turned to one half. "You will follow our lord into the trees, and follow his commands further, go." The men fell into line behind the young lordling and he then turned around to the rest of the men. "Right then brothers, we will knock on the door." He flashed a grin and set his axe against the wall, picking up his shield and hand axe. The men returned the grins as he did, looking at each other, if Graken was joining them, they were getting stuck right in. He soon rejoined them and set the men into a box, with hims self in the front. The bandits in the area had been raiding for all of a week but had done irrefutable damage to the outlying town they damaged, to Graken and the men at his back who had taken the duty to defend the realm, the order to remove them was came too late. They were all trained and bred to fight, and they would do just that with gusto. Shoulder to shoulder the men marched right through the front of the camp, and soon the bandits reacted, jolting from their sitting areas and tents to grab their weapons or anything else they could get their hands on. "Spread out and ready to receive!" Graken yelled as the men followed like clockwork, soon expanding into a line across the opening of the camp.

If it could be claimed this was fighting, that would be a joke. It was clear that many of the bandits had been peasantry before they decided to go on their own, and as Graken hacked his way through those that attempted to fight back, the size of the camp had been over estimated. As Harioun charged from the treeline with the men, all spread out around the little clearing, the bandits had been surrounded, and those that didn't run or lie in their own blood quickly threw down their arms and surrendered. Harioun looked around and simply shrugged as he snorted at the miserable excuse of those that still lived. "That mayor certainly had a sense of humor if this is the great bandit army he had been raging about." Graken nodded and looked at one of the bandits who was an orc, eyeing him back. "Very true brother, should I take prisoners?" Harioun started to walk off back to his horse, taking with him the personal retainers. "Up to you my friend, I care little honestly. They have committed treason, do as you wish." He waved his hand dismissively as he disappeared over the hill. Turning back around Graken walked up to the group of four in front of him and looked at the orc, and in one fell swoop dug his axe into the shoulder of the beast, ripping him away from the group. "You fucking animal, did you really think that this'd gone well for you?" The orc gripped his shoulder and bore his teeth in pain, attempting to get up, Graken simply kicked him hard in the now pouring wound. The men around all watched and grinned, getting their fill of entertainment today. "I know animals can't speak, but truly what is your excuse?" He took the orc by the braid of the hair and ripped him to his feet, smashing the pommel into the orcs eye before planting it in his back and finishing him off. One of the soldiers let out a disappointing grunt. "What's with the mercy ser, that was prime beatin post there." He turned and began cleaning his axe off with a handkerchief "Shut your hole soldier, slit their throats and kill the wounded, scrounge the camp for anything useful, Sergent, the men can keep a quarter, we need to get most of this stuff back to the town." The grizzled man next to him saluted and gave the soldier who opened his mouth a quick kick in the butt, rounding on his ear with a smack. The men got to their dirty work and soon went about scrounging the camp, and soon after a short break began to march back to a little town just outside Ozeraz, and another tusk sat in a bag in Graken's pouch.

 

[hostage]

Myrre of Ferdain
Myrre woke from her trance to the sound of birds chirping in trees. Streams of sunlight through her windows painted intricate designs along her pale skin, and butterflies flitted along by the windowns of her hut. She lived a humble life, though many who knew her understood that she held art and wealth in high regard.

Her cabin was mostly bare, including two rooms each mostly empty. A small fireplace stood in the main “living room,” while a modest bed and shelf occupied her bedroom. The outside of her cabin was displayed with multiple glass windchimes, each enchanted to warn her of different things: intruders, oncoming weather, and what time it was.
~~~~~~
Myrre travelled through the forest, nimbly avoiding the tangles of undergrowth in the dark paths and making her way around the hundred year old trees that were packed withing the woods. Her silvery gowns flowed around her, helping her form blend into the shadows and giving truth to some of her many titles. Most of the village knew her only from her name, Smoke Watcher, as she could be seen flitting around the edges of Ferdain surrounded by smoke and haze.

Just as Myrre stepped out of the dense forest, a man approached her. She was barely twenty metres away from the walls of her village, what was the issue with waiting? The stranger lifted his hood, and Myrre relaxed immediately. It was merely Eretri, the chief watchman.

“Ilath-driel, Steelbender, pardon me for interrupting,” he said, dipping his head. Myrre waved her hand in dismissal. “What is wrong, Eretri?” she questioned. The elf-man twitched his long ears nervously before answering. “You are needed by the silcreath,” he informed. The counsel? Why would the Elders need her? She shrugged off her surprise before thanking Eretri and sweeping past him into the town.
~~~~~~
“Farewell Ilath-driel!!” the crowd shouted. Myrre stood before the edge of the forest, a light pack on her shoulders and a young elf by her side. The council had informed her that a diplomat had gone missing outside of Ferdain, and Myrre was chosen to find her, or at least learn of what may have happened. With her was Helexir, a teenaged he-elf. He would learn the customs of the world while training under Myrre to become a diplomat.

After many farewells and a short reiteration of the pair’s mission, they departed on two elf-horses. The majestic creatures carried Myrre and Hele away from Ferdain and into the hostile world around their safe haven. Hele turned almost backwards in his seat, transfixed on how small Ferdain looked from the outside, but Myrre kept her eyes on the horizon, watching closely for any who dare challenge them. ​

 

[Kommadant_Klynx]

OUTSKIRTS OF COLSBRIDGE
11:30 AM

Four horsemen departed from the main party of mercenaries. Led by Aodhán, a strong and reliable member of Aemon's Riders, they were tasked with sending word to the Theokolans of the arrival of the famed Aemon of the Talle Men. They found the road to the city to be paved with the death and decay of battle, though many of the bodies had already been burnt into great piles of ash. Aodhán and his men would bring their horses to an abrupt stop as they neared a group of commonfolk around a pile of untouched corpses on the side of the road.

"Hail to you, men of Miven!" Aodhán shouted from atop his mighty steed. "Out for a bit of looting, are we?"

One of the common men would turn, pulling his hood from his head. His hair was long, though slicked back, and he had a thick black beard that ran along the entirety of his jaw. He was older, perhaps in his 40's, and was short in both stature and physique. With a tremble in his voice, the peasant responded. "Men of Miven we are not, good sir. We are simply here to burn the last of the bodies."

Aodhán laughed in his usual hearty tone of voice. "And yet your pockets bulge, and your voice quivers! Do you not know the law of this land? Perhaps you take me for a fool."

The peasant was quick to shake his head. "No, sir! I did not mean any ill will-"

"Save your words. It's time for you to die, thief!" Aodhán shouted as he gripped the wooden handle of his javelin. Lifting up his arm, he would pull the javelin high over his head, before releasing it into the looter's gut. The man would let out a howl of pain and terror, and the other three bastards would unsheath their blades. However, Aodhán's men were quick to take hold of their own weapons. Three 6-foot long shafts would soar through the evening sky, and pierce their victims with deadly precision. The bandits would shriek and scream, before falling face-first into the dirt and mud.

Aodhán smirked, before moving to reclaim his javelin. His men would do the same moments after. After rounding back up, the small party would continue on with their journey, not even uttering a word of what had occurred as though it were insignificant to them. Within thirty minutes, they arrived and were met by a patrol of Theokolan soldiers. The four showed only respect and kindness, even laying down their weapons. After around 10 minutes of discussion, the scouts agreed to relay the message to their general, that Aemon of the Talle Men had arrived, and he had a proposition for them.
Agante Potatus ​

 

[FireMaiden]

Tialha Yinmyar
Mentioned: Agante Potatus Kommadant_Klynx
Her nights were late, and her mornings were early, meaning that Tialha only got a few hours of sleep in a shared tent with the other maids from Theo's home back in Magistone. They all got up to go an preform various chores that the men needed, this morning she was part of the small crew making and preparing breakfast. It was simple stuff, like porridge and water, or just handing out rations. Lord Theo and higher ups would get better stuff, and her and the other servants would be eating last. From starting at around 5 in the morning, and stopping just around 7, Tialha had to eat quickly, before she would make her way back to the infirmary tent. Many of the servants working there in the camp would trade duties daily, but she was one of the few who took the same job each day. It made sense after all, it was the main reason she was brough out here in the first place.

Upon entering the tent, the rancid smell of blood and infected wounds made her nose wrinkle. Half the folks tending to the wounded could barely bandage a wound properly, let alone clean one. If she had her way, Tialha would do most of the work herself, but there were far to many people to deal with for that to be a realistic option. Anyway, the first thing she did was make her rounds, checking up on a few of the soliders she knew were almost ready to be allowed back into battle. Wounds were closing nicely, or whatever illness they had were in its final stages, and most of them really had nothing to do but wait and pester anyone working there in the tent. Honestly, it was a bit annoying, but as long as they weren't causing any trouble, Tialha wouldn't tell them to stop.

The second thing she was going to do after checking up on everyone, was to look for s certain balm that would help with the nasty bruise that had turned her throat a dark purplish blue, almost black in certain light. It was ugly, and while she could take care of it with her magic, she would prefer the balm. Less draining, and if she remembered correctly, the army had a small surplus of it. And after a few minutes of rummaging through their supplies, she found it. Even through it was an Elven formula, she didn't know what the ingredients were. It smelled a bit like peppermint, and it was cool despite being stored in nothing more than a crate and small metal tin. Her neck felt a little better after she rubbed a small bit into her skin, before she slipped the tin into her pocket. She wouldn't be keeping it, but it would make reapplying easier.

Another few hours passed of Tialha just doing her job. Mending a wound there, redressing bandages here, it involved doing alot of the same thing for a large group of people who all smelled bad and had crude mouths. However, they all had some interesting stuff to say. Like a rumor that some mercenaries may be trying to join them. "Oh really? Why do you say-hold still-why do you say that?"

"Just word passing around from a few of the scouts. Don't know the company name, but they asked to speak with the General directly," a man said. Mavric, older than most of the soliders now, but still a wothy opponent. Gray hair papered with what remains of his original brown, stocky in build, but with strong features. He was kind though, and apperantly knew how to take care of himself. This was only the second time Tialha had seen him in the infirmary tent.

"Do you think he'll talk to them? It seems a little odd for some mercenaries wanting to join with an army," Tialha said, snapping off the thread from her needle after tying it tightly. She grabbed some gauze, pressing it to the feshly stiched wound, before she began to wrap his leg.

"I don't know lass. I guess it depends on who's wanting to join," he said, moving slightly so she could wrap it the best she could. "Say...what happened to your neck?" He asked, cocking his eyebrow as he paused breifly, before quickly continuing. "Well?"

"Nothing you need to worry about Mavric, it's alright." She was trying to shrug off last night's incident because while he deserved it, getting Verhan in trouble wasn't worth it. And the silence that followed either me at that Mavric was going to drop it or-

"So, the rumors are true then." He saw her tense up again, a slightly disappointed light taking over her eyes. "You really expected these people to stay silent?" She shrugged a bit, standing up as she do wished wrapping his leg. "I don't think anyone would blame you if you reported him to someone. Again she shrugged.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, people are more likely to believe him than they are me, so there's not much point," She said this, moving to pick up the dirty bandages and needle so someone could clean them. "If you were a woman, you'd probably understand." And with that, she walked away from his cot, going off to find something else to do. And that ended up being going to collect some more water for the people there in the tent, which took her out and down to near the edge of camp where barrels of fresh water were kept.​