(2022-09-05) The Aftermath of the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	In the wake of the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel, the members of the Argent Dawn, the newly awakened Ebon-Blade, and Cobalt Company cope with the shock of battle and revelations. Group RP. 16,410 words.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

+ Show additional content warnings

descriptions of injuries, descriptions of medical procedures (non-magical), conflict between PCs

The battle is over and the Lich King has fled. What remains now for the side of Light is to care for the injured and fallen.

Far away in Stormwind, messengers fly from the Mage's Quarter to all parts of the city with the news. Brother Cinhil sighs and begins packing his potions and remedies. He knows what the aftermath of battle means.

The defenders are gathered around Tirion Fordring.

The Death Knights, disoriented by their sudden freedom, stand off to one side with their leader, Highlord Darion Mograine.

Enaliya grabs her head. She shakes it. She holds still for a moment, "He's… gone…" She begins to chuckle, "He's gone. He's gone he's gone he's gone!" She cackles maniacally.

Syarra blinks again, looking around, confused by the absence in her mind. She turns at the sound of Enaliya's voice, and looks at her with full recognition for the first time since her death.

Roper stands, staring across the battlefield at a broad-shouldered silver-armored figure with hands still bright with the Light, healing the wounded. Roper drops his sword, and flicks his wrist. Nothing happens.

Kiekel stands with the other Death Knights, still holding his sword in his hand. His grip tightens around the handle as he listens to Enaliya's laughter. "… So what are we supposed to do, now? Are we really going to fight in the north?"

"We finish the mission," Roper says, his voice hollow.

Roper cannot leave fast enough. The moment — the very second — someone offers him a way out, he takes it. The first portal opens, and he full sprints through it.

Kiekel and Corduin

Kiekel watches Roper walk through the portal, sighing. "Well… yeah, I guess there's a place we have to take back before we've got at least one thing to call home." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Corduin casts her cold, dead eyes over the blood-soaked battlefield. So many of these dead were by her own hand. She looks to where the Lich King had stood mere minutes ago. Her liege…her master. Gone. "He left…" she murmurs. "He sent us here to die." She shakes her head with disbelief. "No, he…he saved me. He wouldn't do that just to kill me off."

Kiekel rolls his eyes. "Come on, keep it together," he says to Corduin, his voice harsh. "With each hero of the Alliance or of the Horde dead, he's got a potential new knight. You didn't think you were irreplaceable, did you?". The gnome scoffs.

The thickly muscled woman scowls at Kiekel. "We're #@$%in' death knights. Not some common ghouls. This doesn't make any @#$%in' sense."

Kiekel seems to cower for a split second as Corduin begins to turn her anger towards him, but he quickly takes a step forward and shrugs. "Well, I guess to him there's not much difference between us and ghouls, are there?"

Corduin huffs in frustration. "That @#$%in' stupid. Of course we're different. He wouldn't give us this kinda power just to be foot soldiers." She looks up to the chapel. "But he knew…knew this place would-…and it was all for him…" she jerks her head toward the imposing figure of Tirion Fordring. "I remember this place. I…came here. Before I died."

Kiekel pauses, looking at the chapel. "I… I do remember this place as well…" he looks off into the wilderness of the Plaguelands, then shakes his head. "Anyway, if you're so sure he truly saw you as special, nothing's stopping you from traveling to him and making following his every order your destiny." He scoffs. "I sure know that won't be mine."

Corduin frowns, rubbing at her eyes and shaking her head as if something were buzzing around it. "No…there's…there's something. Oh @#$%…there is something stoppin' me…" Her eyes turn off into the distance, and yet seem to focus very distinctly on something unseen. "Someone…"

"Good for you," says Kiekel, contorting his face into a sad grimace. "Forget about whatever you think the Lich King has done for you, because he's forgotten about you already anyway." Kiekel cracks his neck. "In the meantime, there's a necropolis that needs us." He steps into a portal leading him back to Acherus.

Corduin watches Kiekel depart, frowning deeply. She looks again to the chapel, then up toward where Acherus looms in the sky…then finally back in the direction of her mysterious Someone. With a heavy grunt, she tears open the air, opening a Death Gate and stepping through it, vanishing.

Syarra and Enaliya

Syarra blinks again, looking around, confused by the absence in her mind. She turns at the sound of Enaliya's voice, and looks at her with full recognition for the first time since her death.

Enaliya turns to Syarra, "Oh hello sister. You finally remember me I take it?" She twirls her sword in her hand, "Nothing holding me back now."

"Sister," Syarra says flatly. She draws her sword, turning on the other death knight. "This isn't what I… I was supposed to be finished."

Enaliya lets out a closed mouthed chuckle, "Oh, there will be plenty of time for that later, but for now, I believe we have a necropolis to reclaim." Enaliya sniffs. The smell of fresh blood fills her nose and she is drawn out towards the Argent Dawn line, eyeing the wounded hungrily.

Syarra looks to Enaliya, and lowers her sword, slightly. "We? Do we still work together, then?" She turns as Roper flees, and looks to Corduin. She adds hollowly, "He didn't save you. He used you. There is a difference."

"He made me what I am, and that hasn't changed. You aren't the same." Enaliya waves a hand behind her, "You don't see the beauty of it all like I do." She gets uncomfortably close to an injured Argent warrior who is being healed. She stands and stares at them.

Syarra looks from Enaliya to the injured Argent warrior. There is hunger in her cold blue eyes, as if there hasn't already been enough death. She closes her eyes and turns away. "You're right. What you said before. We have a necropolis to reclaim."

Enaliya shakes her head and refocuses. "I suppose these mortals won't be willing to spare any of their precious blood will they." She sheaths her blade and wipes a line of drool from her chin, "A shame. Paladins have such a unique flavor." She steps away, "Unlike your Blood Knights." She adds pointedly.

Syarra's expression hardens and she takes one step toward Enaliya, then pauses. "How would you know?" She asks coldly. "Not from my squad, that's for certain."

She summons her own death gate, and looks back to see if Enaliya is following.

Enaliya halts in place. Her glaring eyes flash scarlet for a moment and then she carries on, letting that speak for her.

Syarra disappears through the death gate to Acherus.

In the chaos of the aftermath, one death knight watches the others, a look of disdain in her eyes. "Traitors…" she mutters as they return to Acherus to continue the fight. She slips away quietly, disappearing into the Plaguelands.

Ralaea, barely recovered from the fight, and visibly exhausted, catches sight of the retreating death knight, grabs her swords from where they lay on the ground, and gives chase.

To one side of the battlefield, a human Death Knight stares at the blood on his gauntlets. He looks around, something hesitant in the motion, uncertain. He watches his fellow Death Knights for a moment, then turns and strides away. In two steps, a screaming black steed rips free of the air at his side, stamping one frozen icy hoof. The man springs into the saddle, and they ride away.

Elsewhere in the field, Harvey stands, speaking with his former retainers Brendol and Tabiana. The retainers, despite their Lord's unliving state, are kneeling.

Some distance from the main cluster of death knights, one of their number, a Forsaken man, pulls himself wearily to his feet. "I'm getting too old for this," he says. He sweeps his cloak free of his sword and stomps through the portal to Archerus.

Many, many miles away, a Forsaken man lifts his eyes to the moon. “That’s twice now you’ve had me, and twice I’ve thrown you off, Arthas, you fuck. Not gonna give you a third chance.”

Ael and Enaliya

Aelladric sits in the dirt and blood, panting, leaning against a dead, rotted tree. The paladin is covered in mud and gore, and at the moment even he isn't sure how much of the blood is his own, or how badly injured he really is. All he can focus on, with a burning, obsessive intensity, was the presence of the Fallen Prince, Arthas. The Lich King.

He was right there, the paladin thinks. Not even a few hundred paces away. Right there. I could have… Ael leans back and sighs. Could have what? Taken the Lich King in single combat? Succeeded where so many mighty warriors had spectacularly failed? Illidan? Sylvanas? So many others? And you, a drunken, washed-up pretend paladin. Could have what?

He closes his eyes tight, tears leaking out between his clenched lids, as his head begins to spin and his strength starts to fail him. You could have tried, at least.

Enaliya scoffs as Syarra leaves and she decides to make her way over to Aelladric. She stands over him and licks her lips, "Well well, paladin. It seems we have a common enemy now."

Ael does his best to scowl in his weakened state. "We have nothing in common, slave."

Enaliya chuckles and smiles, "Not a slave anymore." She kneels down to speak to him, "I'm glad to see you still have some spirit left in you. I feared that the best I could offer you is to swiftly put you out of your misery. Paladin's blood really is the best."

Ael snorts, and grunts in pain at the effort. "Sorry to disappoint, slave. Seems I can't help letting the ladies down, even if they're bloodless corpses who until today couldn't even shit without Arthas' say so." He looks at her, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Do you shit? I suppose you wouldn't. Not a slave." He snorts again and grimaces. "Can't even shit." His voice is trailing off a bit.

She looks at him entranced. Spit dribbles out of the corners of her mouth as it hangs slightly agape. It's taking everything in her to hold herself back, "Well isn't this the situation…" She manages to come to her senses again and wipes the drool, "This will take a lot of getting used to… Speaking to you mortals…" She stands and begins to walk away, "Take care, Paladin. Perhaps we will meet again. Or perhaps not."

Ael grunts, eyes closed. "First time in years a woman's drooled over me and she's a rotter. Figures."

Light Side

Bree and Cam

Briellen Clay, at the moment the Lich King appeared, had just turned and ran away from the chapel at full speed.

Now, Briellen returns, her sword sheathed, climbing a hill and noting that the Lich King is gone. She can see that the fighting has stopped, but a slumped figure much closer to her catches her attention first.

Briellen drops to one knee next to an injured Cambrin, a simple flash of light healing spell passing over him to test - without expending much of her mana - whether he's still alive and will respond to her healing or whether he'll need a full resurrection spell.

Cambrin shudders as the power of Light washes over him, and his breathing seems to strengthen, just a little. He hasn’t passed death’s door quite yet, but was clearly inching towards the threshold.

Briellen drops to one knee in front of Cambrin. "Ah. Are you awake?" She begins channeling a longer, more powerful healing spell, opting for brute force rather than finesse in her healing in order to keep Cambrin alive long enough for her to work.

His left arm is swollen badly around the elbow and may be broken. There's a sizable dent on the right side of his chestplate where it stopped a warhammer blow. And there are cuts and gashes anywhere not fully covered by armor. He groans as the power of Briellen's healing pours into him, and his eyes flutter open. His right hand gropes for his sword.

Some of the blood nearby is also pretty definitely his, given how pale he looks.

"No, no, it's over," Briellen says quickly. The next wash of holy light Briellen is more careful to direct away from the dent in the breastplate, just in case there's anything that needs to be removed from the wound underneath. "You almost made it to the tents. You're so close."

"Over?" Cam says, his eyes not quite focused on Briellen. "Tents?" But his hand slips away from his sword-hilt, and his breathing has definitely improved. He winces when he tries to pull in a full lungful, though. "Urk. But… we won?"

"We won," Briellen says, trying to put certainty into her voice. She charges up a Holy Shock in one hand and holds it there, her eyes going unfocused as she looks for signs of internal damage.

Cam's right ribs are cracked and two broken, and from the bruising you'd think he'd been trampled by a full herd of kodo. Nothing seems ruptured or too severely damaged, but nothing looks quite right. And he's probably concussed to boot.

"What do you mean by tents?" he asks.

"Medical tents over there. You shouldn't be walking right this second." Briellen touches Cambrin's forehead with one finger, directing the Holy Shock towards the concussion in particular. "Need to get that breastplate off before I heal your ribs."

"Walk?" Cambrin starts to laugh but then his eyes bug out a little. "Ok. No laughing." He nods weakly at Briellen and fumbles at the strap that secures his breastplate to the backpiece. "It has to come off? No problem." He looks up at her. "And the tents weren't up yet when…" his left hand waves at the abattoir that surrounds them.

Briellen reaches for a flask of water she carries and drinks. "Yes, so I can heal your ribs. Do you need assistance?"

Cam makes one last attempt to undo the strap before letting his arm fall. "Yes, please, ma'am," he says.

Briellen takes over, removing the breastplate with quick efficiency. "My name is Bree," she says, and charges up another, stronger but slower-to-cast healing spell for Cambrin's ribs.

"Hi Bree. I'm Cam. Cambrin." Some tension slips away as her magic knits the bones back together. He sits up a little straighter and his eyes don't look quite so unfocused. He slowly scans the battlefield, or at least the little part he can see. "How did we win? My squad got overrun during one of the early rushes."

"Sir Fordring," Briellen says as an explanation, already getting to her feet. "I need to keep working." She gestures around the battlefield. More lives to save. "Light keep you safe." And Briellen moves off to keep working.

Vel and Celaven

Velrin glances over at Celaven and lowers her bow. She has a few bandages tied around her arms and legs, having since retired from fighting in melee in favor of providing ranged support as the battle protracted on. This wasn't the ideal battleground for an assassin. "It's over now… Are you alright?"

Celaven's face is pale and he looks exhausted, but he seems unharmed. He looks over her bandages, and says, "I'm alright. Are you? Do you need…?"

Velrin nods, "A little, thank you. I think these wounds reopened."

Celaven passes his hands over her, leaving a trail of Light. "This should help. And I should really report to the tent, now that the fighting is over. I…" he pauses. "I think she was there."

Velrin nods in thanks, "Do you need a nurse? I can come too." Her eyes go wide at the second comment, "Sh-she was here? With us, or…" she trails off.

"I think I saw her, with the other…" he shakes his head. "Maybe I was wrong, they already left… I hope I'm wrong."

Velrin's face is serious, "I pray you are wrong too…" She follows Celaven to the healers' tent to make herself useful.

Ben, and Sil

Ben Hazan has remained standing where he was, a little north of the chapel, staring at the space where the final scene unfolded long after the players themselves have vanished. His serviceable armor is spattered, one pauldron badly dented, and his tabard is so stained it's impossible to read the emblem beneath the gore. His hair is pushed back from his face in a matted tangle. His sword stands in the earth at his feet, but he holds his battered shield with a slack arm.

A passing cleric stops and speaks to him, and Ben blinks and looks around. After a moment, he nods uncertainly at the man, tugs his sword from the churned earth, and limps wearily toward the medical tents.

Sil sits by the entrance to the chapel, looking exhausted and dazed. There's blood on his armor, but it doesn't seem to be his.

Ben pauses outside the medical tents and turns to survey the recent battlefield behind him. He is still again a moment, staring, and then he shakes his head, a shudder running through him. He steps aside to an Argent soldier leaning heavily nearby. "Sir Elohad?" he asks. "Sir Sev?"

The soldier only shrugs, without raising his head. Ben turns to scan the field again and catches sight of Sil. He hesitates, torn, but the activity in the tent is an agitated hive in which he will not be useful, so he lingers only for a moment before redirecting his limping steps toward Sil at the chapel's entrance. "Hey. Sil, hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," Sil says to Ben, his voice sounding a little empty. "Yeah, I'm fine. This was… a real battle, huh?" He refocuses his eyes on Ben, and notices the limp. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Ben nods, keeps nodding. He looks around again absently, then back down at Sil, and starts to stoop before he changes his mind. "Just — ain't gonna sit yet. Not sure I'll get back up." He winces, tries to put a smile in it. "You seen any of our people? Cobalt? I saw Cole out there, an' Cam but I lost sight of him. Sir Elohad was – " He turns his head, scanning again.

"I saw Elohad and Jo earlier," Sil says, his eyes scanning the field. "Maybe they're inside somewhere? Or in the tents? Lotta people over by the tents."

Ben nods at Sil. "Okay. You — can you walk? You okay on your feet? I reckon I might — walk the place, make sure none of ours is out here." He does not specify what he means by out here.

After a moment he seems to remember he can do a new thing; he lifts a hand and a moment later a searing flash of Light falls briefly over Sil.

Sil jumps and nearly falls over when the Light hits him. He gives a tired laugh. "I forget you can do that now. Yeah. I think I can stand. I just… like you said, maybe I shouldn't've sat."

Sil climbs to his feet with the assistance of the wall of the Chapel and follows Ben to check Out There.

Mordecai, Ismene, Vond, Cheep, Colson, Therald, Celaven, Velrin, Cinhil

In one of the healing tents set up off to the south of Light's Hope Chapel, Mordecai Aspenwood is not particularly listening to what's going on outside. He and Ismene have been working for quite some time now.

Mordecai stands, hands outstretched over the still-warm body of a patient he just lost, and calls Light to his hands. It settles into the man's chest, Mordecai waits, and… nothing. "Lost another," he reports, his voice calm, and moves on to the next cot, reaching for a bottle of water at his waist. Empty. He digs through his bag. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. Full. Mordecai uncaps the bottle and chugs the entire thing.

At some point in the fray, Vond, mercifully insensate, had been delivered personally to triage by Colson with battered-in armor trapping a grievously crushed hip and side. It was the sort of injury that would have been quickly, invariably fatal without miraculous healing.

By now it had been prized out of him and his body restored to a state that could remain threaded tentatively through with a rattled grasp on life. The projection of to what degree he might recover is unclear, and among the injured arrayed under the healers' watch, this status is hardly unique. He is one among many, and at least likely to survive in the immediacy, so there are others to attend to.

Colson is moving at a steady pace through the battlefield, bright flashes of Holy Shocks and Flashes of Light on anyone he sees who looks even remotely injured, but he doesn't stop walking long enough to cast anything more — he has one goal: a healing tent at the south end of Light's Hope Chapel. His armor is badly dented and damaged around his waist, blood has dripped off the silver armor to pool into the grooves, but the paladin seems unharmed.

The moment he gets eyes on Mordecai, his speed increases, and there is visible, clear relief on the paladin's stoic face.

Mordecai is being tailed by a little gnome whose pink hair is tied back and held out of her face by a bandana. She's carrying a surgical tray stacked with rolls of gauze and splints and various tools, and her job seems to be exclusively to pass Mordecai things when he asks for them.

Mordecai drops the empty bottle of water back in his bag and bends over a woman whose (injury) arm is barely attached to her shoulder. "Scissors," Mordecai requests in a clear, even voice, holding a hand out. The gnome sets the scissors into his hand handle-first. Mordecai begins to cut away the woman's sleeve to clear space around the wound. He has his back to Colson at the moment.

Ismene Hazan pushes a hand through her hair. The baby-fine strands have seen plenty of such treatment, and she grimaces at the feel. She's kneeling on the ground and, as one injured man is helped to his feet so he can stagger away, she leans to the side to touch another. She blinks at the cooling flesh, and looks up at Mordecai. "I can… I just need a moment."

An acolyte, little more than a boy, hands her a waterskin. "No more potions?" she asks.

"No miss. You said not to let you have any more."

Ismene swallows gulps of water between gulps of air.

"No more potions," Mordecai agrees without looking back at Ismene.

Colson enters the tent, and immediately catches someone attempting to stand back up who clearly should not be doing so. Colson's hands are bare — his gauntlets gone.

"Stay down, soldier," Colson orders, his voice sharp with a ring of command in it. "It is over. There is nothing more to do now but heal." It's clearly past the point of being useful, but Colson sends a Flash of Light through the wounded soldier, a blessing of Wisdom following close behind.

"It's over?" Mordecai looks behind him, away from his patient. "Colson," he says, relieved, and then in that calm but authoritative voice: "Blessings for Ismene and I, please." He focuses back on the woman he's treating.

Ismene looks up as Colson storms the tent. "It's over?" she says, looking toward the battlefield. "Have you s – " She shakes her head. Later. Forcing herself back to her knees, she then bends over the corpse and whispers to it. For a moment it's just her whispering, then her lips take on traces of a smile and yet another wash of golden light hums. The body warms, wounds close, the chest rises and falls.

The soldier scrambles to his feet, fumbling for a sword that's not at his waist. He nearly trips over the body of someone who wasn't as willing or as able to come back. There's nothing Ismene has to do now; another acolyte takes the soldier by the arm and encourages him to leave while she drinks water and waits for the next wound. And the next. And the next.

"Of course," Colson says, almost automatically. Blessings of Wisdom pass over Ismene and Mordecai, and then Colson just keeps going. Anyone he can hit with something to help gets a blessing. His mana barely seems to be draining as he does so, and his face looks calm to most.

"I saw him, alive and well," Colson says to Ismene in a mild voice to the unfinished question.

To anyone who knows him well, there is a snapped on, rigid mask of neutrality covering something horrible in his eyes, as Colson moves through the tent, assisting with a familiarity he has not needed in well over a year.

Ismene shakes her head rapidly as Colson's blessing settles in. "Oh," she sighs. "That's much better, thank you Colson."

As soon as the fight ends, Therald sheaths his sword and places his shield on his back. With other guards, he carefully takes wounded soldiers back to the healer's tents, as if he hadn't been fighting until now. Looking at his armor, it's clear he has fought, though, and has taken a few minor hits. He enters a tent with a wounded soldier resting against his shoulder, and nods at Cinhil, Ismene and Mordecai, the latter he looks at a little longer than at the others.

Brother Cinhil arrives with a group of healers from Stormwind, his bags bulging with potions and bandages. He spots the cluster of healers wearing Cobalt Company tabards, and marches over to them. "How can I best lend a hand?"

Mordecai looks over. "If you can heal, assist with the patients being brought in now. If you can't, move the corpses outside to free up space."

"If I can heal," Cinhil grumbles. "Sonny, I was healing before you were a glint in your father's eye." He hands off the bags to the gnome orderly? Nurse? Whatever she is. He stalks over to the triage line and gets to work.

Celaven heads over to the healing tent with Velrin and looks over to Ismene, Colson and Mordecai. "What can we do to help?"

"It will be helpful to have a healer roam the battlefield as well," Ismene says absently. "Better a small help immediately than a larger help late. Get them here, if they need more complex healing."

Cinhil hears Ismene's suggestion and, seeing that the triage line is already well-managed, nods. He snatches one of his supply bags back from the gnome assistant and trots out of the tent at a surprisingly quick pace for an older man carrying the load he is. He sees a battered, red-headed paladin bearing Cobalt's tabard out… talking to one of the death knights? He quickens his pace and trots in Ael's direction.

Celaven nods to both Mordecai and Mizzy. "I've been patching people up throughout the fight. I think the field is under control. Let me help here." He looks to Velrin, his eyes sad. "Can you help, with the dead?"

Ismene looks up and nods at the handsome Night Elf, then at his companion. She is visibly staggered, swaying back onto her heels. Her mouth drops, just a quarter inch, and she stares at Velrin.

Velrin nods to Celaven, "Of course. Whatever you need. I'm no healer, but I do have medical training." She turns to do as she's asked but sees Mizzy stagger and goes to help her, "Are you alright, Miss?"

Ismene keeps staring. "Am I – " She looks around, then back at Velrin. "Of all th — You. How are you here? Now?"

Velrin grabs hold of Mizzy and looks into her eyes, trying to see if there is anything wrong with her, "What is it? Did you hit your head? Shall I call a healer?"

Well, at least a sting to her pride jolts her out of gaping like a baby bird. "I am a healer," Ismene protests. "You were there, though. You were with Casker John. You saved my town, when the Horde attacked. I remember the owl charm."

"What? In Hillsbrad?" She asks, "Look, if you've come to blame someone for that attack, he's already dead. He won't be drawing the attention of Tarren Mill anymore."

Ismene's face suggests maybe she has taken a head wound and just doesn't know it. She appears to consider the possibility. "No, I'm here as a healer. To heal people." She waves her bloody hands in case that helps clear up matters. "Who's dead? I don — No, it's ju — Who would I bla — I'm not upset. I'm just shocked. I thought… there was a moment there when I w – "

Unfortunately, Ben's off with Sil and there's no one to stop her babbling so she has to do it herself. She takes a deep breath. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Or again. No, it's wonderful. I have to say thank you, a million times thank you! I don't know if you remember him standing down my mother and sending me off on a gryphon. He changed everything. You changed everything."

Velrin is a little taken aback at this sudden thanks, "You're welcome. It is my duty to protect, but now is not the time. We have work to do." She gives her a gentle shake, "My name is Velrin Silverbloom. It is nice to meet you."

Ismene brightens and smiles for the first time since she arrived at the Chapel. "Oh! Quite right. I'm Ismene Hazan. It's wonderful to meet you, finally. You must meet my husband! He's a paladin now." This is not the first time someone in this tent has heard her say that today.

Velrin smiles too, for the first time since the battle started, "I'd love to properly meet him someday, but for now there's work to be done." She goes off to help move bodies to where they need to go, be that healers or graves, "Light be with you, Ismene."

Speaking of whom… Ismene looks out at the battlefield again, but none of the weary, wounded paladins wandering by are the one she's looking for. She looks back at Mordecai. "He should have been here. I need to go make sure. Not to doubt you, Colson, but I just… He should've been here."

"You're excused, Ismene," Mordecai says in the Formal Healer Voice, and then, "Go find your husband, Mizzy," in the friendship voice.

As Colson gets closer to Ismene, he nods to her. "He was by the main chapel, last I saw. Start there."

Colson and Mordecai

Colson kneels next to one of the badly wounded, and it's clear he's losing this one. Warm Light surrounds his hands as he makes the attempt anyway — to no avail. The moment the Scarlet Crusader breathes his last, Colson sets a hand on the center of the tabard, closing his eyes. There's a brightness that makes Colson's wheat blond hair look golden for a moment, and the soldier draws in a sudden, painful sounding gasp. Colson begins attempting a stronger heal. "There you are," Colson says in a soft voice. "It is not too late."

Colson looks over at Mordecai. "Mordecai. I am going to the field to see who has not made it in. I need…" He doesn't finish the sentence as he stands.

With more fresh healers now in, Mordecai is taking a break from actively healing to let his mana recover, and has started giving directions instead - where to put new patients, who needs priority, and so on.

As Colson announces his intent to return to the field, Mordecai instead beckons him over. "Colson, come here a moment."

Colson obeys, walking to Mordecai. Up close, it's clear Colson missed most of the immediacy of blood, except what is around his abdomen, and that looks a lot more like blood from a wound Colson took. The damage to his armor in the center is bad, but he's not carrying any wounds at all, the armor not having punctured through so much absorbed a massive blow.

Mordecai looks drained and exhausted, but he manages a flicker of a smile. He traces a Fear Ward symbol over Colson's heart. "I'll be here. Bring back anyone who will need surgery — " He stops, and the tone of his voice changes, because he really doesn't need to tell Colson how to do his job. "Go do what you need to do," Mordecai says, softer.

Colson sets both his hands against Mordecai's face, closing his eyes for a moment. "I will come back," he says, as he lets go, stepping away.

Colson makes his way out of the tent, looking for those who have not gone for help, either because they cannot, or because they feel they cannot.

Cinhill and Ael

Ael head leans back and his form slumps further. "See ya around, slave." The paladin seems to be rapidly drifting away from consciousness. You could heal yourself. Nah. Don't deserve it.

Cinhill slows as he reaches Ael's side. "You don't look so good, sonny," he says. He keeps one eye on the death knight as light flashes and he pours renewing energy into the paladin.

"We're all slaves, dear." Enaliya waves behind her and walks through the death gate, sword drawn

"Well, she's a charmer," Cinhill says in a sarcastic tone as he reaches out to steady Ael.

Ael's eyes flutter open weakly. "Yep, I sure know how to pick 'em." He tries to brush the healer off, but he can't seem to muster the energy. "I been better, s'pose. Not like the mornin' after my night drinkin' with the Thunderbrews, but…" He tries to smile, and grimaces instead.

"Ach, Thunderbrews? Are ye mad, man?" Cinhil says in possibly the worst dwarven accent ever. He shifts to put his shoulder under Ael's to prop him up as he fishes a healing potion out of his satchel. "Here, try this. It's no Thunderbrew lager, but it's got a kick all its own." He starts to try and turn Ael around and head in the direction of the tents.

Ael eyes the potion for a strangely long while, seeming at war within himself on actually accepting it or not. Finally he takes it and chugs it down, grunting with the effort. Wiping his mouth with a muffled "thanks", he stretches his muscles with a groan. "Mad? Maybe. Dumb's the one I get more often." He starts to stumble towards the tents, waving over his shoulder in a way that strikingly resembles the just-departed death knight. "'Preciate it, friend."

Ben, Sil, Elo, Etone and Jo

Elohad heads toward the chapel, mopping his brow, his gaze a little distant. His armor is covered in blood, but either very little of it is his or he is very good at healing, because physically he looks hale and hearty.

Ben spots Elohad barely a moment after he's stepped away from the chapel's entrance with Sil at his side. He stops where he is. "Hey!" he calls, his voice rough. "Sir!"

Hoarse as he is, the call doesn't carry far across the chaotic aftermath. Also there are like four hundred Sirs present. He takes a deep breath and bellows, "DAD!"

Elo's weary progress is arrested by Ben's call; his head whips toward it, his entire frame looking as though it's been jolted back to life. As soon as his gaze lands on Ben he breaks into a slightly lopsided, loping run toward him. As he gets closer, the reason for the irregularity in his gait becomes clear; one of his legplates has been smashed out of shape in a way that can't be comfortable.

He doesn't seem to care though as he approaches to throw his arms around the young man.

Ben grunts and staggers, his own footing none too steady. He drops his sword, which is probably for the best, and wraps both arms around Elo to thump him hard on the back in a way that also may not be comfortable. "Shit, sir, I could not see you after it all got —"

He stops there. They all know how it all got.

"Did you forget I'm the Enduring? I endured." He's trying for his usual jocular, dadly tone, but some of the air has been taken out of it. He pushes Ben back, holding him by the shoulders to examine his face, and to do a quick once-over of the rest of him in a reflexive healer's fashion.

Sil just watches the two embrace, a tired smile on his face.

"Did you see —?" Ben stops again, stares at Elohad, turns to stare at Sil, looks back to Elohad. Did they see? "Him. Right — fucken there."

"Yeah," Sil says, looking over to the spot where the Lich King stood. "Right there. Close enough to throw a knife at, if that could go through armor."

Elo looks between Ben and Sil, the lines on his brow deepening. "I was at a bit of a distance, seeing to some of the people who'd gotten trapped out on the edges of the fight, but… there was no mistaking him even at that distance. I thought he was trapped up in the ice somewhere. For him to get so personally involved…" He just shakes his head, uncertain how to finish that sentence.

"We won, though," Sil says. "Maybe wouldn't've, without Tirion Fordring. So that's… Cobalt helped, twice there. Yeah?"

Barely audible amid the post battle din, a group returning from the front line slowly close distance to Light's hope with a small platform in tow. Amid several mundane and magical amplifiers, a single vision in red commands song across the battlefield. The sound crisp and pure drives seems to fill the listener's mind with a sense of hope - courage, almost invasively, as wounds mend with unseen hands. Sparks of light surround the redhead as he performs hymnal after prayer, after liturgy without so much as a pause between for breath. The trance-like state only broken to cast down burning holy fire, the heat such that the air warps around the priest.

His regalia certainly shows signs of cinder, though the man himself seems to pay it no mind.
The convoy stops to deposit the platform, offering the priest no assistance in favor of attending to triage. The few who do approach while he still commands song are met simply with down cast, narrowed, near accusatory eyes. Though the songs he lets spill from his lips sing of Light and salvation, his eyes reflect something more of a song of deep hate.

Etone stands as a pillar of Light in song- as if to drown out whatever dark whisperings may still linger amongst those seeking refuge at the chapel. His own or otherwise.

Elohad's eyes drift over to the small procession even as he speaks, and at the sound of the song the lines on his brow ease a bit.

"I felt him," Ben says, hoarse again. "Before. When I was out — after Rae. It was him. I could feel —" He stops again abruptly to stare toward the radiant pillar of song and the red-haired priest. His brow creases.

Elo lets out a little whoosh of an exhale, a strange smile pulling at one edge of his mouth. "Light, it was good to see him like that."

Ben nods fervently, though his bemused attention is still fixed. Tirion Fordring, man. Damn.

Jo comes out of the chapel, looking around the battlefield. Her eyes look a little red-rimmed, and her usually tidy hair is half-fallen down. She spies Ben, Sil and Elo, and makes her way over to them. When the singing procession arrives, she pauses to listen for a moment, closing her eyes and seeming to take heart.

She walks the rest of the way over to the Elo, Ben and Sil and says, "You're all right. Of course you're all right. I don't think there's anything left for me to do here. Nothing to set on fire, anyway, and I've no skill at healing."

Ael, Colson, Ismene, Celaven, and Mordecai

Ael slowly shuffles towards the tents, better than he was, but still not in the best of shape. He stumbles to a halt and hesitates as he sees Colson exit the nearby tent. After a moment, he makes his way forward. "Lieutenant. What a pleasant surprise. Though, we do have to make the time to socialize in a place that isn't littered with the dead and undead." Ael forces a pained smile.

Colson's head turns immediately at the title, his bearing full military. Something passes over his face, too quick and too small to be easily read, and he's already moving to Ael's side before he can finish speaking. "Ael," Colson says, his voice calm and steady, as are the hands Colson attempts to place on Ael's shoulders. A strong Blessing of Wisdom hits a half-second later. Colson's eyes unfocus slightly as he attempts to sense how badly wounded Ael still is.

Ismene doesn't get the two steps toward the wide-open tent flaps without two quick heals to help the wounded hold on, but she does make it, almost bumping into Colson. She sidesteps and looks Ael over, pausing to see what the exhausted paladin can do in case the exhausted healer needs to take over.

The freshly-downed potion offered by Cinhill seems to be knitting shut an open, mortal wound in Ael's belly that he was not fully aware of. There are, however, quite a few other cuts, bite marks, claw marks, and broken bones. "I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"Of course," Colson says in response, as he starts channeling a powerful burst of Holy Light into Ael, completely ignoring the 'don't worry about it.' He examines Ael's armor critically, looking for where it's caved in, keeping any wounds from healing. "Some of these may not close. You are to go into the tent, and remain there until you are cleared by one of the priests," Colson orders, with full force of command in his voice.

Ael straightens, the beginnings of a glare in his eyes and the start of a protest on his lips, then sags and nods. Surprisingly, tears leak from eyes clenched shut. He sighs. "Yes, Lieutenant." Seeming to recover his composure, he clasps a hand on his fellow paladin's shoulder. "Stay safe out there, Colson."

Celaven looks out of the doorway of the nearby tent, stepping away from one of the beds. He hears Colson speaking to Ael and says, "There's room here. Come on in."

Ismene slips by Colson and smiles apologetically up at him and Ael. "You're a mess," she informs the battered man. "You'll need to remove some of that armor before you can be healed fully. Imagine your bones fusing to the armor! That's no good."

"Light be with you, Ael," Colson says, touching Ael's hand on his shoulder with his own bare one briefly. Colson's hands are pleasantly warm. He nods to Celaven and Mizzy, before he continues his way out of the tent, his eyes catching on the figures on the platform.

Ael looks between Celaven and Mizzy, then sighs again and nods, groaning as he tries to take off a pauldron and walk into the tent. "Y'sure I don't want the bones fused the armor? Could save me some time havin' t'take it off and put it back on all the time."

Celaven smiles at Ael and Mizzy. "I wouldn't recommend it, as a healer. Besides, one day you may want to take it off permanently."

Mizzy leaves those in the tent to answer Ael's bit of Because Paladin nonsense and begins picking her way toward the chapel. Healers have fanned out from the tent, treating those in triage, bringing more back to the main tent for fuller healing. Still, she has energy from Colson's blessing, and it would take a harder person than her to walk past moaning swordsmen. She tries to see the chapel steps, but there are too many people in the way. With a sigh of surrender, Mizzy makes her way toward the pile of the dead, grabbing someone's scurrying servant. "Go to the steps of the Chapel," she instructs. "Find a tall paladin with brown hair, golden skin, and brown eyes. He's probably saying the word 'fuck' a great deal. Tell him that his wife is well."

Ael smirks at the departing Mizzy, then looks at Celaven. "Permanently? Not likely, friend. Not in this life. Nah, I'm damned-near certain to die in the stuff."

"Ael!" Mordecai sounds relieved and friendly. "Are you here to," and as he sees the state of Aelladric's armor, his tone changes - still friendly, but now with an added undercurrent of authority and the calm certainty that his instructions will be followed: "That bed there, please. A healer will be with you in a moment."

Ael heads toward a bed, then stops, frowning, looking between the bed and Mordecai. He then focuses solely on Mordecai for several long moments, then begins to shrug out of a few more pieces of armor as he walks towards his second Aspenwood of the day. "Hi. Chaplain. Sorry. I'm fine, this is all– " he gestures at the filth coating his figure " – from… others. They actually sent me here to help… heal." The last bit comes out with more than a little hesitation and unfamiliarity, but then his jaw firms. "I want to help."

This is definitely not entirely true, but Ael does his best to stand firm and sell it.

Mordecai stops by Celaven, whatever he's in the middle of, and says, "I didn't get your name. I'm Mordecai."

"Celaven," he answers. He gestures to his tabard. "I'm with Cobalt too. Just recently to Outland and now… back, for this."

Mordecai nods, recognizing the tabard. "Celaven, it's nice to meet you."

Mordecai smiles at Ael. "Let Celaven here check you over, and when he clears you, I'll put you to work. Celaven, if you would, please?" And Mordecai moves on.

Colson, and Therald

Therald keeps traveling back and forth between the battlefield and the healers' tents, each time bringing more wounded with him. This one proves to be too much, though, and Therald falters, falling to a knee near the tents, exhaustion setting in. He tries to get up, still holding the soldier up against his shoulder.

Colson hasn't made it very far from the tents, as he keeps pausing briefly to either help physically move someone, or spend a brief second on a rapid heal to aid those able to hobble as best they can towards the healing tents, but he is making progress.

Therald finally manages to get back on his feet. He nods at Colson who walks past him, and walks back towards the tents, his legs wobbly.

Colson sends out a Holy Shock and a Blessing of Might to Therald as he passes by, exhaling slowly in relief at the sight of Therald being as alive and well as can be expected.

"Thanks," Therald says quickly as he begins feeling a little stronger again. He enters one of the healer's tents, carefully places the wounded soldier on one of the bed, than goes outside, looking for more. The guard feels his exhaustion coming back again and groans. He wipes sweat off his forehead and looks for an easier task to do.

Elo, Ben, Sil, Jo, and Etone

Ben says to Elohad, "Ain't that the fellow we met? We met him, right?" He's still staring at Etone like he isn't sure whether he's suffered a head injury unnoticed.

Someone's servant approaches cautiously and pauses. This person before him is tall and fits the general description, but he does not appear super paladinly and he is not presently saying 'fuck.' He clears his throat. "Uh. If … one of you sirs has a … wife? She is well."

Ben blinks, looks at the servant, looks to Elohad. Then he looks at Sil. No, Sil does not have a wife.

"Well, mine damned well better be,” Elo says.

Ben nods in agreement with Elohad. "Little?" he asks the servant, and cranes his neck toward the medical tent. The servant nods dubious agreement. Sure, 'little' is a sufficient descriptor, and he has other stuff to do. He hurries off before he can be interrogated further.

Ben glances down and refocuses on Jocoza. "You okay, ma'am?" He may not have heard her before in the general daze.

Elo absolutely did not notice Jo and blinks down in surprise at belatedly noticing her. He's tall, okay? And tired.

Being tall and tired is a whole-ass thing, Dad.

Cam, Colson, Ben, and Mordecai

Cambrin rests for a bit after Bree moves on. She’s healed most of his wounds, but his head still feels a bit fuzzy and the rest of his body is one enormous ache. Eventually, though, he pulls himself upright, gathers his equipment, and finds a broken spear to use as a walking stick, and slowly, slowly, makes his way towards the tents.

Cam sees his officers clustered together by the chapel but their presence doesn’t really register with him. Just as earlier the world became nothing but the clash of steel and sweep of sword, now it’s just one foot in front of the other, punctuated by the thunk of his makeshift walking stick.

On another scan of the battlefield, Colson catches sight of a familiar figure, and his pace — which had been slow and steady — transforms into something closer to a very fast march, almost a run. "Cam!" Colson calls out, his voice carrying easily over the field, the sound of someone with a lot of practice making himself heard over long distances.

Colson’s shout penetrates Cam’s haze and he lifts his gaze from the ground to look in the direction of the shout. “Hey, Colson,” he says in a still unsteady voice.”

Ben's head swivels at the sound of Colson's carrying shout. His gaze finds the running paladin, and then shifts in the direction he's running, and his eyebrows rise. "Fuck," he says, too late for the servant to appreciate. "It's Cam." He steps away from the little group and heads in that direction too, at a less fluent pace.

Colson moves to get an arm around Cam, to replace Trusty Makeshift Walking Stick to aid Cam. As he does, a healing Holy Shock passes from him to Cam automatically, while Colson's Blessing of Might follows quickly behind. Although there is little left to heal that can still be healed, Colson appears calm and steady. "The tent is this way," he says in a voice still filled with that sense of command. "You will be alright."

“Thanks, Colson,” Cam says. He leans heavily against the paladin. The magic is certainly helping but any experienced healer can tell that the physiological repo men are going to have their way with him for a few days.

"Hey, hey." Ben jog-limps his way up to Colson and Cam. "You got — I lost sight on you, Cam. I ain't seen where you went." He falls in on Cambrin's other side but gingerly does not touch him. He casts an anxious look at Colson over Cam's head, and then back to Cambrin. "You good? You're good now. You're gonna be good."

“Hey Ben,” Cam says. He manages a weak grin. “You should see the other guys.”

Ben grins back at him reflexively, encouragingly, though it doesn't quite touch his eyes. "I bet," he says. "I bet it."

Ben is heals-specced for Moral Support and Sandwiches, and he is all out of sandwiches. To Colson he says, "Give you a hand?"

Colson nods to Ben. "He will be alright," Colson says, and he sounds very sure of that, perhaps warranted, perhaps not. Colson nods to the other side of Cam. "He needs rest, as soon as possible. No immediate danger, but the sooner he is lying down, the better."

Colson addresses Cam directly. "Let us help you, so you can tell us all about it sooner. We will get you where you need to be."

“Lying down sounds good,” Cam says, and lets Colson lead him where he will.

Ben nods at Colson and falls back, and lets the pair head for the tent without him. He stands there looking a little bit lost, a little resigned, and then glances wearily around again.

Colson gets Cam to the tent."Mordecai," Colson says, as he gets there. "Non-emergency, fatigue, and recovery from recent wounds. May need eventual additional treatment." Colson's voice is calm, but there are lines of stress around his eyes now.

Mordecai directs Colson to one of the cots to put Cambrin on. "Cambrin? Hello."

Cam nods, says “Hi Mordecai,” and lets himself be led to a cot. He lays down and is asleep in seconds.

Jo, Elo, and Sil

"I'm just fine," Jo smiles, tucking a stray, ashy clump of hair behind one ear. "Not my first battle by far. Though I do wish I'd had time to plan some clever traps."

Elo kneels down and takes Jo into his arms as though she were a little girl. He holds on maybe a little too long.

Jo makes a little sound of surprise, but then wraps her arms around him as far as they go. She says quietly, "I was here, this time."

Elo gives Jo one last squeeze. "I know, sweetheart, I know. We finally saw one through together."

Elo rises back to his feet and looks between Jo and Sil. "Either of you seen Sev? Sev Black. Sir Sevastyn Black, you know, the uh – " He gestures vaguely. Whatever he's trying to convey, it's obviously Grand in some way.

"Yeah, yeah," Sil says, "Saw Sir Black in the battle, not sure where…" he looks around.

Elo tenses a little. "You seen him since?"

"I don't uh…" Sil trails off.

"I saw him in the chapel, after," Jo speaks up. "Not sure where he is now, but he made it through."

Elo's shoulders loosen. "He's all right then. Just probably meeting with the other… you know… big guys. Uh, important. But also I guess… anyway." He exhales wearily, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Elo surveys the busily working healers, then considers his misshapen legplate, then looks to Jo.

"This thing keeps tearing up my leg over and over again, so I'm going to hearth back to Ironforge and figure out how to pry it off, and let Nir know I did in fact Endure. Send me a note if I'm needed out here again, all right? But I think there's not much left to do here younger folk can't do better and without a bum leg."

Jo smiles at him. "I'll probably head out soon myself. Not much more a battle mage can do to help. But I'll stick around a while longer, and let you know if anything comes up."

Elohad gives Jo a weary salute, waves at Ben across the field, and then takes out his hearthstone, coaxing out its familiar, comforting green glow.

Ismene, Vel, and Bree

Ismene begins with the newest of the corpses, those laid out but not yet stacked. Her quiet word is enough to stop them from preparing more corpses for mass burial. "I'll need water," she says, then looks over her shoulder at the tent. "And mana potions, if there are any to be found." While one of the confused men nods and runs off, she kneels at the side of the body and reaches out to brush the hair off the woman's face.

She whispers, perhaps a prayer, perhaps a plea. The body remains untenanted. The wounds gape, raw but no longer bleeding.

Ismene sighs and turns to the next.

Vel makes her way back in with a body carried on each shoulder. She sets them down gingerly on the floor, "There's still more outside. Let me know if you need anything."

"Miss," the servant says, bringing several water bags with him, "I found someone who might have been him. He wasn't saying f —- Uh, pardon miss. Ma'am. Sorry. But he asked if you were little so I think that was him. He seemed fine?"

Ismene nods at the intelligence and sits back, taking her hands off the soldier who sits up, his hands rising to a throat recently slit open. "I was… It was so cold," he whispers. Then he starts. "My men!" He scrambles to his feet and staggers away from the dead, back among the living. To some degree, at least.

Another soldier staggers away from the line of corpses, helped as he cannot yet stand. He is babbling about the cold, the dark, begs the servant to assure him he is not dead, that he is alive, that the world isn't covered in ice and hate.

Briellen makes it to Ismene, looks over at all the bodies, and asks, "Which of them are left to try and save?" She is here to help.

Sucking water, then air, then choking as she tries to do both at once, Ismene gestures vaguely. The pile has been unpiled, and the line to the left is significantly longer than the line to the right. Those on the right are being covered with capes or cloths or their own shields.

Briellen puts a gentle hand on Ismene's shoulder, giving her a Blessing of Wisdom (which probably just refreshes the duration of Colson's), and kneels down by the first person in the line on the left, getting to work.

Finally done trying to inhale water, Ismene gives one last cough and smiles at Briellen, moving past her to the next in line. "There won't be as many more, now. There are more healers here, and the paladins that survived will be moving through to heal the worst of the injuries," she says. Maybe to encourage Briellen, maybe to encourage herself.

Ben, Colson, Ael, Celaven, Velrin, Mordecai

Near Ben at the battlefield's mucky edge, a soldier grunts and sits down hard in the mud, an arm wrapped across his midsection. Ben glances his way and then turns, his brow furrowed with concern. "Hey. C'mere, hey." He crouches beside the man and offers another of those brief, blinding flashes of Light.

The soldier uncurls a little and gazes at Ben, who offers him a hand up. "C'mon. Tent's this way." He helps draw the man to his feet, and leads him carefully across the uneven ground in the direction of the triage area.

Ben leads the shuffling soldier to the tent, lifting open the flap and stooping to enter with him. "Got one," he reports to whomever is nearest inside, and sweeps the space with a look. His expression is grim again.

Ael turns to Celaven and stares at him challengingly, slipping one hand behind his back to try and furtively heal himself a little better.

Celaven gestures to a bed. "Let me just get your armor off and make sure nothings' fused." He smiles placatingly. "We'll get you back on your feet in no time."

Ael scowls and sighs, almost pouting like a child, then, also like a child, aggressively stomps towards the indicated bed, yanking his gauntlets free. "I really don't see why…"

Celaven patiently and gently helps him to remove the armor checking over him with hands awash with Light. From time to time, the Light flows into him, repairing some internal damage.

Ael stares at the roof of the tent as night elf works, scowling. "I keep telling people that I'm fine. Just tired."

Velrin comes in again with more bodies. She overhears Ael and steps over, "Then just try to relax. We'll make sure you rest up well."

Celaven smiles gratefully at Velrin and turns to Ael.

"You were not fine," Celaven says quietly. "And that's not a failure. You just fought the Lich King and his death knights, and you survived. That is a victory for the Light."

Ael looks between them, then sighs and slumps. "Fought some death knights, maybe. Didn't fight the Lich King. Not even close. He was right there and I just… I just…" He rubs the his hands over his face. "I just froze."

"The Lich King is far beyond any of us, believe me." Velrin tries to pat Ael on the head, "There's no shame in that. You fought bravely and with honor."

Ael blinks at the pat on the head, frowning slightly. He looks like he wants to say something, then shakes himself and continues. "Yeah, but we have to try, don't we? He's never going to go anywhere, and this is just going to keep happening- Lordaeron is going to keep happening- if people don't try." His voice gets a bit strangled at the end.

Velrin continues to try and ease him, "You did your best, now just relax while we make sure you get some good rest ok?" She says sweetly.

Celaven nods. "To do that, you need to live. And your body needs to heal. I've done what the Light can."

Ael's voice rises and he appears to get heated. "I did not do my best, aren't you listening?! I didn't do anything! Didn't move toward him, didn't swing my sword at him, didn't blast him with the Light. I could have, he was so CLOSE! AND I DID NOTHING!" His eyes brim with tears for the 3rd or 4th time today and his hands ball into fists. "I have spent so. Many. Fucking. Hours. DREAMING of what I would do if I had him in my hands. PRAYING to the Light to give me a chance, just ONE FUCKING chance to TRY and make him pay for EVERYTHING HE HAS TAKEN FROM ME!" Ael plops backward on the bed, staring vacantly at the roof of the tent. His voice goes from shouting to almost whispering. "The Light gave me that chance, and I did nothing…"

"That's enough!" Velrin snaps, eyes flashing, "Every single person here feels the same as you, and are they sitting here feeling sorry for themselves? No. They are resting and recovering so that next time, the Lich King doesn't get away so easily. Now sit down and get some sleep!"

Ael doesn't respond, merely nods, face blank, and continues to lay and stare at the ceiling. His face is a mixture of shock, inner turmoil, and deep thought.

Celaven looks between the two of them, considering whether he should say anything more. He decides the paladin has enough to think on for now.

Cinhil, Therald, Ismene, Colson, Mordecai, and Ben

Ben, having been relieved of his wounded charge — or the wounded man perhaps having been relieved of him — steps to one side and looks around, again at a loss.

Colson passes by Mordecai, an assessing look to his gaze, and he presses his lips together. There are two (2) water bottles still on the paladin, and he unstraps one, and moves to give it to Mordecai. "Water," he says. Colson seems well hydrated. He doesn't seem tired, but it's Colson. Who knows if that means anything at all right now.

Mordecai takes the water bottle. "Thank you," he says, and drinks it. "Are you going back out there?"

"Yes," Colson says. "I can march for at least another two, maybe three hours." There's a hint of a smile in his voice.

Mordecai smiles at Colson and passes the empty water bottle back. "I'll be here."

Elsewhere on the field, Cinhil is tending to those who are truly beyond the Light’s help. He arranges their broken bodies as best he can and casts blessings to ensure their remains are not disturbed by any scavengers that might be drawn to the scene. He marks the site of each fallen defender using a magical device from his days as a circuit priest. A small dome of glowing light covers each form, guiding the bearers who come to gather these last fallen.

Therald, after taking a short break, goes back to work, walking through the battlefield, looking for people who might still have a chance to be healed or brought back to life. He recognizes too many faces that should not be recognizable anymore.

Soldiers meet up with their compatriots. There are shouts of joy from time to time, quickly muffled. "I thought you were dead!" is repeated, the claim sometimes pushed away with an answer of "Healer," or "Paladin" and sometimes pushed away with a bad joke that allows for more laughing and back slapping. The clang of armor on armor is no longer the cry of war but the ring of survivor exhilaration.

And Mizzy falls face-first into a dead guy. She's still breathing but it takes her a moment to sit back.

Colson steps back out of the tent, the paladin scanning the pile of dead, and the priestess attempting to resurrect them. He exhales slowly, as he looks for Ben.

Therald runs up to Mizzy. "Are you okay?" he asks, offering his arm to help her get up.

Ben is as of several minutes ago inside the tent, having brought in a wounded guy, and is standing off to one side looking lost and being generally ignored by the Busy.

Ismene leans on Therald, but doesn't rise. "Can't get up," she says. "They might still come back." She gestures to the line of corpses, to Briellen working nearby on the same line. "We have to try."

"You're not helping anyone exhausted like you are,” Therald answers, even though he was trying to help while exhausted just a few moments ago. He looks around. "Just take a short break and let other healers take over."

"They're all healing the living," she says. "Someone needs to call to the dead, before they're too far away." Not that she can do anything yet. She just leans on the warrior's strength and tries to catch her breath. "I don't suppose you have a mana potion, do you?"

Therald pauses, hesitating. He looks at the dead, recognizing some of his comrades. "… No, I don't, sorry," he sighs. "I can go look for one." he pauses again. "If you promise you'll be okay."

"You need to rest," Briellen tells her firmly.

"I will," Mizzy promises. Maybe she's answering Briellen too. "Uh… just don't ask Mordecai for one. The pretty redhead man. He'll ask if it's for me and then he'll give you a lecture to give to me." Well, that part's probably not to Briellen.
Therald looks at Mizzy, then Briellen, unsure of what he should do. He ends up looking at Mizzy one more time and nodding. He carefully, slowly, lets go of her, making sure she isn't about to fall and start running towards the tents. "Even if she doesn't use it, someone else there probably will," he thinks to himself as he runs, quickly losing steam.

To Briellen, Ismene says, "There probably aren't more than one or two more here that will come back now anyway. I think most of them have gone on. But… one or two is still enough to make it worth trying."

"I agree. And I'm working on it. Now sit down and drink some water, please, ma'am." Briellen's tone isn't unkind, but it's firm.

Colson steps to Ben's side, Colson's face looking serious, as he hands his final water bottle to Ben. "I think Ismene may be reaching the end of what is safe for her. We healers are prone to overextending ourselves, finding it hard to stop, in the wake of…" Colson shrugs his right shoulder, to encompass the Things. "Sometimes we need someone to protect us from ourselves." It sounds a lot like the voice of experience.

Ben takes the water mechanically, without looking at it. "Where is she?" he asks. "I thought in here, but —" He looks around again.

"Where the dead are, performing resurrections," Colson says, his voice soft. He gestures with a hand towards the pile.

"The dead?" Ben glances toward the tent flap, knitting his brows. He sets the water he's just taken down on a table to one side, and starts for the exit and the piled dead outside.

Colson picks the water back up, and tries to catch Ben before he gets too far. "Ben! If you can, get her to drink the water," Colson says. "She needs it." Colson holds the water out again.

Ben turns back, stares at the water, takes it and turns away again all in a trance. He picks up the pace as he nears the exit, and shoulders his way through.

"Mizzy?" he calls. "Mizmainy?"

Colson sighs in relief as the water continues its intended destination to a priestess, as he turns back into the tent. He opens every bag he has, looking for something. When he comes up empty, he tilts his head back, closing his eyes, and exhaling slowly. He makes his way back to Mordecai.

Therald is almost about to run past Ben when his legs give in for a second and he bumps into the young man, before falling to the ground. He doesn't let that stop him this time, though, and gets up, difficulty, but immediately. "Sorry," he says to Ben as he begins running towards the tents again.

Ben puts out an arm to catch Therald, but the man's already gone. He turns and stares after him, baffled, and then turns back in the direction from which he was coming.

The last of the fallen defenders attended to, Cinhil joins one of the details working to clear away some of the fallen Scourge. “Light watch over you now, whoever you were,” he murmurs as he blesses each pyre, for these, too, are victims of the Lich King. If he can do nothing more than mark their passing, acknowledging that these souls bear no fault for what they became, well, someone owes them that.

Ismene looks at Briellen, confused, and says, "Ben?" She doesn't look like Ben. This is very perplexing.

Mordecai, Ael, Colson, Cheep, and Therald

Mordecai gives Aelladric a minute to process Velrin's words, mostly because he's busy directing other healers and circulating, but he does eventually return to Aelladric. "Ael," Mordecai says quietly. "There's still healing to be done. Are you ready to help?"

Celaven nods to Mordecai, off to the side. "He's stable."

Ael finally stirs and turns his head to look at Mordecai. Expression still largely vacant and empty, he nods.

"Thank you," Mordecai says to Celaven. He focuses in on Ael. "Ael, I need you present right now, not drifting. Are you here?"

Ael slowly sits up, and stares at Mordecai, his expression twisting into a mixture of anger, sadness, and resignation. "Oh I'm here, alright. Got nowhere else to be, do I?" He slides off the bed and stands on his feet.

Mordecai puts a hand on Ael's shoulder. "Thank you," he says, and somehow it also sounds like 'I'm sorry'. "Magical healing or mundane, today?"

Ael shrugs. "Magical, I suppose. I can use the Light, after all. I'm still a paladin, at least."

"Mordecai, I am out of water," Colson says as he gets in closer, and he sounds calm to most. But there's a note in his voice for those that know him very well that sounds like panic. He looks between Mordecai and Ael.

Mordecai reaches into his bag and starts pulling out empty bottles. "I should have… Just a moment."

The tiny gnome who has been following Mordecai around clears her throat and holds up her tray, which contains several full bottles of water. "Here!" she says in a squeaky voice.

Therald runs up to a tent. He notices Colson, and a healer taking care of another young man. Oh no. Is the healer the one he's supposed to be avoiding? He's a redhead man, and pretty… and a Mordecai. It takes him a few seconds to finally place him, but that's definitely the Mordecai he knows. He shakes his head, clears his throat and asks Colson, as low as possible as to prevent the paladin's husband from hearing him.: "Sorry to interrupt, Sir Aspenwood. Do you happen to have a mana potion on you?"

Colson turns to Therald, brows raised faintly. "Ah, possibly," he says, reaching into a Runecloth bag embroidered with a Baffled Sheep, and takes out a slim, rather small mana potion. It looks like it's been in that bag for awhile, and there's been some separation of the ingredients. Colson shakes it experimentally, and the ingredients recombine. "It should still be good." He holds it out in offer to Therald.

He turns to the gnome, kneeling to take two bottles off the tray. "Thank you," he says, as he straightens and ties them to his belt. He seems to settle more, once they're on him.

"You're welcome! You can take more than that if you want!" the gnome says, cheerfully. "Mordecai, here." She passes Mordecai a bottle of water. "Leave the empties with me."

Therald nods. "Thank you, Sir Aspenwood." he grabs the potion. Before running out again, he turns to Mordecai and goes: "Sir Aspenwood." He doesn't wait for any kind of answer. Therald goes back out, holding the potion in his hand. He starts running, but he clearly has been progressively slowing down.

Ismene, Ben, Cinhil, and Therald

Ismene tries to get to her feet, which isn't exactly a great distance but nonetheless, she's unable to rise. So fine. She'll yell for help. It sounds like this: "BEN?!"

Ben locks onto the sound of her voice. "MIZZY!" he calls, and jog-limps toward it. He begins run-limping when he catches sight of her.

Ben is limping. Ben is limping. There's a second attempt on Ismene's part to get to her feet. When that doesn't work, she sort of crawls a bit and scrabbles at the ground, managing to get technically on her feet but not exactly upright, either. She looks like she just crawled out of someone's TV seven days after they watched a cursed video tape.

Briellen looks over at Ben. "You know her? Get her to rest."

Ben reaches her first, because run-limping is faster than crawl-scrabbling, and then he drops to his knees and manages not to collide with her as he holds out the water bottle. "Don't get up, Don't you fucken get up."

"But you're limping! Why hasn't anyone fixed that?" She glares around at any healers in sight… then stops and watches Cinhil a moment. "Oh," she says faintly. "That's so kind. I should help."

Cinhil smacks the dirt from his hands as the last detail finishes up for the night. It will take days to clear the field; for tonight, they are done.

Ben seizes Mizzy's shoulder. "No. No, you need a break from helpin'. You can help more after water and a rest, c'mon now."

Cinhil walks back towards the tent. His back is straight and his shoulders squared, but he moves a good bit more slowly than he did earlier.

Mizzy watches Cinhill go. "Oh," she says. "Well, he's done with the prayers for the lost anyway." Her brow furrows a little — if one can tell under all the smudges of blood and things less savory — in consternation. Then she remembers and looks back at Ben. Mostly the leg part of him. "Let me see," she demands.

Ben shakes his head. "No," he says sternly. "I am fine, Mizz. You ain't lookin' at nothin' until after some water and a sit."

Mizzy blinks at Ben. "I'm not sitting?" She is not. She is still kneeling.

Cinhil’s ears perk up at the sound of the stern young man’s voice. He makes his way towards the couple. “You young people all right?” He asks in a gruff tone.

Therald finally catches up to Ben and Mizzy, completely out of breath. He stands next to them as well as next to Cinhil, bending, holding his knee with one hand, and extending the other one holding the mana potion towards Mizzy. He tries to form a sentence, but the words just won't come out because of the heavy breathing.

Ben looks up at Cinhil, and then at Therald. He looks a little confused again. But then his gaze fixes on the mana potion, and he reaches up and nabs it. "Nope."

Ismene's eyes brighten and she reaches for the skinny little potion bottle but fails to nab because Ben. With a scowl at him, she looks up at Cinhil. Looking up makes her sit back on her heels. "He's limping," she informs the senior healer.

"Well, then, sonny, let's get you looked at," Cinhil says. Recognition lights in his eyes. "Oh, you're Ben-something, right? Met you at that dwarven place one night. Come on now, don't dawdle. Let me take a look." He fishes a water bottle out of his satchel and passes it to the young woman. "You there, potion-boy. Go find a stool for the lady, will you?"

Mizzy stares at all the water and, nothing loathe, takes both bottles.

"Drink up, girl," Cinhil says more gently. "You can't help them if you burn yourself out."

"Ben Hazan," Ben tells Cinhil. And then, "I am a paladin," as though he's just been asked to produce his driver's license. "And I am okay. It's just — my armor took a whack." He looks from Cinhil to Therald. "She needs to sit. Yeah."

"No one limps because just their armor is hurt," Mizzy says. Quickly, before anyone can chastise her again, she drinks from one of the bottles.

Cinhil goes into full stern middle-aged man mode. "Well then, youngling, it stands to reason that what's inside that armor took a whack. Get it off! Quick now!"

Maybe Ismene looks a little smug while drinking.

Cinhil angles so Ben can't see and gives Mizzy a sly wink.

Therald finally catches his breath, noticing the potion in Ben's hand. He nods at both him and Mizzy. "I'm… I'm going to see if I'm needed elsewhere." He clears his throat. "Unless you need me to help with something here?"

"As stool for the lady, if you'd be so kind," Cinhill says to Therald. "Or a chair. Or a reasonably flat and clean log."

"I can sit on the ground," she says. "You need to rest, too." She looks Therald over critically. "Go find a flat spot and lie down on it."

Therald shakes his head. "Sir, uh…" he nods at Cinhill. "Is right! I'll find you something more comfortable." He begins running towards the chapel. Therald grabs one of the chairs inside the chapel. He looks at the holy water font, places the chair on the ground, splashes some of said water on his face, grabs the chair again and dashes outside.

Ben finds he cannot boss Mizzy while she bosses Therald and he is also being bossed by Cinhil; the circle of bossing is too much for the exhausted man. He sags a little, resignedly. "Mizz," he says roughly. "I am gonna fall over in a minute. I will let this fellow here look at my leg if you will fucken sit an' drink some water and not fuss on anyone for a bit. Okay?"

He glances up at Cinhil and shifts from his knees to a seated position in the dirt, stretching out one leg. It was hard to tell initially in all the spattered grime and beneath the edge of his filthy tabard, but his cuisse is badly dented across his thigh.
Mizzy makes Big Brown Doe Eyes at Ben and plops backward to sit. This does take her a little far from Ben. She butt-scoots closer. She sips water, all innocence. Of course she can be reasonable. See? See how reasonable? Everyone see?

Cinhil kneels by the younger man, places his hands carefully on the dented section, and closes his eyes. His hands glow with holy light that then flows into Ben's leg.

"It is just bruised," Ben tells Cinhil with all the authority of a Benvincible 23-year-old who has not actually seen it. "… but thank you."

"You mean the bone is bruised," Cinhil growls. "Maybe a hairline crack. You're lucky your femur's not broken." He leans back and the light fades. "Get that hunk of metal off your leg now, sonny."

Ben is fading fast now, too tired to argue further, and sets about grimly unbuckling and unfastening. When the armor plate comes away from his leg he swears involuntarily as the by-now-familiar pressure changes and, apparently, it does indeed hurt.

Therald comes back towards Mizzy, holding the chair, out of breath again. He places it on the muddy ground - which doesn't actually look very safe - and says, smiling. "There you go!"
His legs give in again due to the exhaustion, and he falls on his knees.

Mizzy stares up at Therald's chair. It's very tall. She uses it to hold her extra bottle of water. Taa daa!

Therald gives a thumbs up at Mizzy after she uses it to put her water bottle. He difficulty gets up using the chair, takes a deep breath and braces himself. "I think… I'm going to go check if there's… a bed I could borrow, just for a short nap."

Cinhil once again places his hands gently on Ben's leg and light pours forth. "You're gonna have one hell of a bruise there, young man," he says, as the light works to mend bone and tissue. "Stay off your feet for a day or two, or this will cause you even more trouble later." He looks over at Mizzy. "Think you two can keep each other on the straight and narrow, or will I need to make house calls?"

Mizzy leans an elbow on her chair and buries her nasty hand in her nasty hair. She smiles at Ben and replies to Cinhil, "Oh, I think we can find something to do if we stay in bed all day."

Ben does not dignify either Cinhil or Mizzy with a response. He may, now that the pain in his leg is easing, be involuntarily dozing off with fatigue.

Cinhil sits back and slowly, creakily, gets to his feet. He waves down a couple of strapping night elves who've just arrived and asks if they can help his young friends find a place to rest.

Gradually, the chair takes more and more of Mizzy's weight. Blinking takes a very long time. She'll just let this blink last a bit longer because her eyes are dry, you see. The empty water bottle falls from her hands. It's fine.

Therald slowly makes his way to the first tent he finds - if the undead threat hadn't been taken care of, someone might have confused him with one of the ghouls. He enters and drops face first into the closest bed he finds, to the displeasure of the soldier who was there before him, now having to share a muddy, bloody bed.

The elves move to help the two over to where some pavilions have just been set up. In Mizzie's case, this may mean one scoops her out of her chair and carries her to a nice cot.

Cinhil then works his way through the tents where the convalescent fighters lay. After a while, he finds Cambrin asleep on his cot, one hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He breathes a deep sigh of relief and then lays down on the ground beside the young warrior to sleep.

After a few insensate moments, Ben rouses enough to look around groggily. He climbs out of his cot and limps — sorry, Cinhil — the two steps across to Mizzy's, then settles down to stretch out on the ground directly beside it, reaching a hand up to hold hers over the cot's edge. And then he's asleep again too.

Ael, Colson, Bree, Cheep, and Mordecai

Ael heads away, nearly-stumbling, from the commotion, eyes locking on an as-yet unattended-to wounded soldier on her cot. He hurries to her, trying to pull himself together on the way.

Ael kneels at the woman's bedside and, still half-distracted, mutters "You're going to be alright" and reflexively throws out a hand to summon the Light for healing. And then, in that moment, the thing Aelladric had for over two decades most expected, most dreaded, most yearned for, finally occurs.

The paladin, hand outstretched, calls upon the Light to heal the soldier, and… nothing happens. Frowning, staring at his hand in confusion, Ael thrusts out his hand properly this time, and tries again. Again, nothing. Closing his eyes, breathing deeply, he looks inward. Where once there was the irritatingly-constant presence of the Light, there to comfort him, aid him, judge him… there is nothing. Silence.

Ael stares at both hands, now, mouth agape. Abruptly, with one choked sob, he looks about to see if anyone is looking, then rises and rushes from the tent into the night.

Mordecai definitely clocks that, but he can't go after Ael. He does, however, move over to heal Ael's patient himself.

Colson, on his way out once more to the field, catches sight of Ael, and what reserves the blond haired paladin has is rapidly burned as he darts forward. "Ael!" The ring of command is sharp in Colson's voice, and Colson moves fast on Ael's tail, youth and motivation on his side.

Briellen looks away from her line of the dead at Colson's shout, but she's almost done and Ismene is resting. She lets Colson handle this one.

Ael stops, straightens, and wheels around. Even in the scant light from the tents, his eyes are clearly wild and brimming with tears. "WHAT! Sir."

Colson reaches out a hand reflexively, his voice going gentle and soft, soothing, as he engages the Paladin Voice. "Ael, what are you doing? Has something happened? Did someone speak something to you or ask something of you? Do you need help?" Colson asks each question, inching closer.

Ael moves rapidly close to Colson until they are almost nose-to-nose, and the other paladin would be forgiven for thinking that Aelladric was either going to strike him or kiss him. He looks like he is going to scream again, but instead he speaks in a low, hollow voice. "Colson. It's not there."

Colson doesn't seem even remotely alarmed by the movement, although there's a hint of an expression on his face, a frown of thought. "What is not there, Ael?" His voice is so soft, almost a whisper, and his hand hovers just outside of actually touching Ael's shoulder.

Ael grabs Colson's head with both hands and presses his forehead to the other man's, tears flowing freely, now. "I tried. I just tried to heal, to call it. And it. Is not. There."

Colson sets his right hand over Ael's, looking back and forth between Ael's eyes. Colson's hand is very warm to the touch.

It dawns on him, and he exhales slowly. "The Light did not come when you called?" Colson doesn't sound alarmed, at all — there is a depth of calm to him.

Ael does not speak, just continues staring wildly at Colson, giving the absolutely slightest and shakiest of nods.

Colson inhales slowly, holds it, and exhales. "Ael. It happens. I have come to the end of my strength, and felt nothing when I reached once more. I have even failed to heal before, reached into that place inside, and the power refused to come to me, when I failed to feel compassion for my target. It has always returned. The Light will never abandon you, Ael. Never. You do not have to earn its grace." Colson's hand imparts a sense of a Blessing of Wisdom on Ael. "You are already worthy of it, flawed and imperfect as you are. Have faith."

Ael shakes his head frantically. "This isn't… Colson, this isn't that. I've had it not work, fuck, dozens of times. When I was too tired, too angry, too drunk. This is… different." Tears are streaming heavily, now, but Ael's mouth is twisted in what approaches disgust. "Colson, I can't have faith. I… The Light has not abandoned me. I think… I think I have finally abandoned it."

Colson looks at Ael, and there's enough of an expression there to be readable even on Colson's stoic face — it's as if Ael confessed that Arthas is actually a Muppet, and Ael is his muppeteer: confusion (what's a muppet??), and disbelief. "You…have abandoned the Light?" Colson starts to say something, changes his mind, and then blinks, asking. "How? Why?"

Ael releases Colson and takes a step back, staring once more at his hands. He remains this way, silently, for a very long time. "I do not know… how… And as for why…" He looks up. "Brother Colson, it hits me that I've never asked. What Libram have you studied most?"

Colson remains where he was, staring intently at Ael. "Holy. It is the only one I ever mastered," he answers.

"And do you, by chance, recall mine?"

"Retribution," Colson answers immediately.

Ael nods, shakily. "It was Saidan who held your Libram, wasn't it?"

Colson inhales sharply, and there's a flinch in the Holy Paladin. "Yes," he says, his voice even, but there's an undercurrent of emotion in it. "Sir Dathrohan was the one entrusted with it. He surrendered it, likely before he was…taken by the Dreadlord."

Ael nods, half-listening, and presses on. "Meanwhile, Fordring was given mine. They were friends, I understand, Dathrohan and Fordring. Didn't work out so well for Fordring eventually, though, did it?" He gives a surprisingly venomous snicker.

"Sir Dathrohan believed Sir Fordring fell, and tried to remove the Light from him." Colson's voice is steady. "It is not our place, as paladins, to act as though we have that right. You saw how Sir Fordring is now. The Light burns as bright as ever through him. Sir Dathrohan was wrong, imperfect as any one of us. No mortal can take the Light from us." Colson's lips press together. "The Light does not come to the unwilling, though. If you choose to turn your back to it, then it will let you. Yet, it will still be there, waiting, for you to reach out to it once more. It will always forgive you, Ael."

Ael's face turns into a snarl, and he spits on the ground at Colson's feet. "I don't WANT it's fucking forgiveness! I'm not asking for it, I never asked for any of this! You and all the rest of these fucking priests and paladins, always so fucking SURE of yourselves! You believe in the 'Light' so damned much, it makes ya feel so fucking warm and fuzzy inside! What have YOU ever lost?! What if one of those damned fucking DEATH KNIGHTS had caved in your precious Chaplain's fucking skull today?! Death Knights serving ARTHAS, who, in case you've forgotten in your 'faith', was a fucking PALADIN who thought HE was right, too!"

Colson waits for the end, his expression calm, ignoring the spit. He steps forward closer to Ael. "Do you want to know what would have happened to me if I lost Mordecai – truly lost him — today, Ael? I would have become a monster. I would take all this faith, all this power, and I would destroy myself with it. I have vowed to find tenacity in the face of destruction. I have vowed to walk in the Light's grace. And I would break every vow for one, single chance to be back at his side, no matter the cost. I am not Holy, Ael. I am a man, under the armor. We are the Light's children. Yes, even the former prince. Even that monster you saw. Even the monster I could become. That is how deep its grace goes, Ael."

Colson exhales slowly, and looks down at his hands. "I lost a friend and comrade, who I wanted to be there for on her path, as a brother. She is one of the monsters we fought." He looks back up at Ael.

Mordecai is still working. He has been on his feet for a very long time. Now that the wounded have stopped trickling in, he is slowly and steadily making his way through checking on his patients, coordinating what healers remain at his disposal, and drinking water whenever he gets a chance.

At some point, though, the little pink-haired gnome tugs on his robes. "Mordecai."

"Yes, Cheep?" Mordecai begins to bend down to speak to her at gnome height and nearly falls.

"Youuuu gotta rest," Cheep says sternly.

Mordecai assesses the current state of the tent. "Nico, if you could take over for the night, please," he requests, addressing one of the other priests.

"Me? Oh, uh. Yes, Chaplain." Nico, who has not been here that long, moves to the center of the tent and looks around, a little lost.

Mordecai sighs and begins quietly explaining his patient-sorting logic to the other priest. He goes over who has and who hasn't been treated, whose belongings are currently being kept where, and so on. When Aelladric begins to shout outside, there's a brief pause, and then Mordecai continues the debrief.

Ael stares at Colson, in frustration, embarrassment, and disbelief. "Then what fucking GOOD is it, Colson?! How is it any better than a tool, or a weapon, that comes to you if you WANT it bad enough? Look what's been done in its name! Look what's been done USING it!" He breathes deeply, trying to calm himself. "I like you, Colson. I do. And I'm sorry for your loss. But where was the fucking LIGHT for her on her path?! Why should that be YOUR responsibility?! 'The Light protects'. 'We are the Light's children.' I've had children, Aspenwood. I've LOST children, to HIM, and his SCOURGE. To the LEGION and to the ORCS and to EVERY f-cking thing the fucking LIGHT is supposed to protect us against! Could you even COMPREHEND that kind of loss?!"

Colson holds out a hand to Ael. "No, I cannot," he says, honestly, his voice calm and gentle. "I, too, am sorry for your loss, Ael. The Light is not a person, not a father, not like us. It doesn't love us. We are its creation. We can serve it. We can follow in its path. But, we can fall. We leave it and we can still find power, the same as any other. I have burned with that righteous anger, Ael. I struggled for years to find that power, and only when I saw what the Crusade did to it, twisting its purpose, did I feel that burn of Retribution inside of me. If you are expecting the Light to pass judgment on others, you will never see Justice. It empowers you as one of its chosen warriors to do that, Ael. That is what a paladin is."

Mordecai steps out of the tent and begins to approach Colson and Ael, slowly and very quietly.

Colson immediately turns his head to Mordecai, as though he could tell he was there, and there's again that sort of sag of relief as he sees that Mordecai is (still) alive and well.

Ael looks between the two, scowl deepening, if that was possible. "It doesn't 'empower' us, Colson. We TAKE it. Just like the elves, just like the Crusade. We use it like a TOOL, like a wizard with his spellbook, or a gardener with his spade. I am FINISHED bowing and scraping and PRAYING to a glorified hammer."

Colson looks at Ael calmly. "You can stop using the Light, Ael, but you can never leave it. The Light is life. It is creation. That gardener with a spade is part of it. The wizard with his spell book creating water for us all is part of it. You will always be a part of it, whether you fight with your sword or your Light. So long as you uphold its tenets, Ael, you will still be a paladin. It is up to you if you want to be its instrument in full, or not." With that, Colson reaches out a hand to Mordecai.

Mordecai's face is almost blank as he steps over to take Colson's hand. "I am pleased to report my fucking skull is still intact," Mordecai says, his voice very dry and a little bitter, to Aelladric.
Message could not be loaded.

Colson squeezes Mordecai's hand three times, his face still utterly calm, almost stoic and blank, as he regards Ael.

Ael regards Mordecai with an incredibly strained grin. "Well, the Light protects, then, eh? Whole lot of its 'servants' weren't so lucky today, though, were they, Chaplain? The Light is also DEATH, or hadn't you two noticed?" His voice cracks. "I am DONE being anyone or anything's 'instrument', Aspenwoods. Unlike the Light, apparently, I am NOT a hammer."

"Let those people get their rest, which they have earned," Mordecai says, his voice low and angry. "Please excuse us." His grip is very tight on Colson's hand as he begins to walk away.
Message could not be loaded.

"Light be with you," Colson says, in a low voice to Ael, without an ounce of sarcasm or mockery, as he follows Mordecai.

Ael stares after the Aspenwoods, watching them until they hearth out of sight, and staring vacantly in that same direction even longer still. Finally, among the snoring, moaning, and weeping of the medical tents, Aelladric lets out a specific whistle to call Dolly. As with the Light, he is met with silence. After many long, pained minutes of waiting, Ael gives a resigned sigh, and he walks off on foot out of the camp.

Mordecai doesn't actually go that far before asking Colson, "Do you have your hearthstone?" You know, as if Colson might have lost it somehow.

"Yes," Colson says. His voice is shaking, as is his hand in Mordecai's. "Please. I." Colson swallows. "I have it. I can make it home."

Mordecai nods and fishes his own hearthstone out of his bag. There's a lot of clinking of empty water bottles before he finds it. "You want me to go first?"

"Yes." Colson waits for Mordecai to activate his stone, before Colson starts his own.

Mordecai nods. "I'll wait for you in the lobby. I'll be right there waiting." He activates his hearthstone and vanishes.