"Cutter first," Zalan grunt. Up in a huff, the Fire Breather cut across their section of the command tent turned triage.

Big man Cutter raised a hand in protest.

"It's a fucking order if it has to be," Zalan growled without having to look. His hands snatched up the broom from Inrid who had answered Argo's call. The the young man laughed nervous. Shrunk back. Zalan set to sweeping up the shards, all scrape and tink across the uneven ground.

Argo tut his tongue. "Going to open up your wounds, going on like that, Captain," he worked his eye across Cutter, "Go on, have a seat, Sargent,"

Cutter obliged.

Enough of the glass gathered. Zalan handed the broom back to Inrid. Walked out from the partition that had separated the officer's table from the gathered casualties. Smell of blood in the air thick as a brick wall. Almost felt like a haze he had to walk through.

Nods, and quiet words to those Salamanders with eyes awake enough to see him. Touches on the shoulder. Grasps of the hand. Claps against nuckles as he lied through his fucking teeth. That they would be alright. He would see them home. So long as they hung in there.

Some had words to pass on. Those he listened to.

Vestin wanted him to find Roselia. Let her know where he kept his earnings. For the kid they had together, as much as for her. Mandu needed his brother looked after. Kid was good, just needed a little guidance was all. Zalan would do what he could.

"You'll be there for him, so don't go putting this shit on me, Mandu," th captain forced a grin. Squeezed the dwarf's shoulder.

"Aye, I'll be there," Mandu nod slowly. Smiled back. Paid no mind to fresh made stumps beneath his waist.

Zalan huffed. Gave the warfighter another clap against the shoulder. Turned and moved. Saw Tool stretched out. Some mangey mut layed over him.

"Baker," Zalan called out to him. The dog raised its head. Ears tucked back, Rumble in its throat. Zalan slowed. Raised his hand. "Aye now, pup," it only growled the more. "We are on the same side,"
 
Eyes rolled behind closed lids as Tool had slipped into a small nap moments after Argo had left. Curly had been laid onto a cot on the other side of the rest tent. Breathing deeply, Tool's vision passed before him like the flickering lights of an oven. Shadows danced and faces rolled past him of varying expressions, as if trapped in quick sand, he felt unable to move or look away. Then came his name, waking him from the darkness that gripped him. A bandaged hand caressed the dog's head as he turned to look at Zalan. Cracked lips bled as he smiled, nodding to the Captain. "All in one piece, I see. It is good to see you, Ignas Spiritus. Working to sit up, he managed a partial leaning of his elbow as the dog nosed him with concern.

"Did Argo give you any of the bread? It should still be fresh! What's the damage?" Tool did not shy away from the main plate of it all. His soul was at ease seeing Zalan there. No doubt the man did not remember his kindness, which was shown to his father, but he knew of it. From what he recalled, Zalan had spared his father, but he was not sure that was the whole tale. It was unlikely that Zalan even remembered Tool's father in the least. He must have spared many lives since he turned away from the Empire.

"I just wanted to say as well.. Do not blame yourself. We will rebuild, we escaped with the shedding of a tail and limb. They will grow back.. I'm sorry I was not better prepared for their assault." Tool bowed his head in apology. If only he had planned more, if only he had anticipated better. No, further still, if he hadn't glassed the bridge, would things have been different? Shaking the thought away, there was no questioning it now, for now, he could only apologize for what he had failed to do. That bastard Altuya.. Oh, he would remember him.. If he hadn't died in this exchange, he would perish by Tool's hand.

"Damn pity that Curly's hard-working dogs were primarily wiped out besides two.. Well.. One, I should say.." Looking to Curly's cot, there was another dog which had now gone stiff; it would be a hard find for Curly once he awoke.[/Shiraz]
 
​

Ignas Spiritus

A click from Zalan's teeth. "Why you gotta go call me that, kid?" he shook his head. Strode closer as the dog curled up and licked Tool's face. Slobbery tongue doing what dog's did to those they loved. "It's Zalan, or fucking Captain when formality means a lick,"

Zalan stepped closer. The dog growled some more. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Glad to so see you are still with us at least, Tool, busted up as you are," he confessed. Head hung lower than he normally liked to carry it.

Did Argo give you any of the bread?

"Don't think it made it to the officer's table just yet," he said through shit eating grin. Let out his breath. "As for the damage, we are good and properly fucked," he hissed the last bit through his teeth. Let himself sit in the quiet of it a moment. "I'll get us out of here though, don't you worry," he would spare they younger man the details.

For now, at least.

In Zalan's eyes, Tool's only concern was making it through the recovery. As good as Argo was, broken bones had a bad way of healing wrong out in the field, and complications turned costly too quickly.

I just wanted to say...

Brow scrunched, eyes narrowed, and lips twisted, Zalan shook his head. "You stop that shit, Tool," he ordered. Walked over to the younger man, and grabbed him hard by the shoulder. The dog bit into his hand, but the blood and teeth did little to stop him."I'm the Captain, you hear?" no room for argument in it. Fire in his eyes. "Our success, our survival, it falls on me. No matter how the gamble breaks,"

He shook the young man, dog and all. "Your comrades are not limbs, Curly's dogs aren't tails," he said through teeth. Let go. "Think that way now, if it helps you make it through all of this," he flexed his hand. Stared at the puncture wounds, and fresh tear of teeth. Dog still curled on Tool. "But don't ever forget that, Tool,"

His eyes followed tool's to the dog on Curly's chest. Another click of teeth. "Rest up, Baker," Zalan growled. "That's your only job right now, rest up, and survive this bullshit until we make it back home, you hear me?" he walked over to Curly, scruffed up the dead dog with his bloodied hand. Dragged it out of the tent.

"We need a shovel!" the captain called out to those gathered outside the tent.
 
Tool could only stare in response to Zalan as he spoke. The hand on his shoulder brought back a flashback of the night before this all began. Smiling to himself he would not cease to call him as he saw him. With a nod he acknowledged his Captain's words in a somber manner. "Aye Captain.. Until we get back home." Tool could only salute while bowing his head in the mans departure. Stroking the dogs head, he gentle scolded her for biting the man. "That is Captain, we do not bite him dear Delilah." The dog groaned at him before curling up once again in his lap. Stroking her head all he could do it think.

'No dear Ignis.. You misunderstand, but for now there is much on your mind.. Go.. Rest.' Tool could only keep those thoughts himself however, he did not think of his companions as limbs, he meant to encourage as a salamander would regrow they too would recover. Sorrow pulled at the corner of his lips as he thought about all who had passed. A few he remembered trooping past on his way to rejoin the forces. Knots tied within his chest making it hard to breath, looking to Curly he felt even worse.

'Oh my dear Curly.. How deeply will your soul ache?'

As requested a Shovel was brought and Zalan shown to where Curly had buried the rest of the dogs who hadn't made it. A dozen or so mounds were easily seen before a pyramid of stones painted black.

"Here sir. Another soldier soon arrived next to Zalan with the recorded names with a few more recently added by Cutter. Argo's voice could be heard barking through the med tents getting soldiers bandaged and laid out as necessary. "Also sir, for you." Bread and cheese were handed to Zalan in a wrapped cloth before the soldier departed.

@Zalan
 
A shovel to him. He let it lean against his bad arm, bandaged up and slung to shit. Good hand still clenched and bloody over the dead dog's hide. Eyed the mounds.

Dogs. All of them.

Bloodied fucking dogs.

Smoke curled in his nose. Sour and sickeningly sweet, all the same as it turned to rot. Let the old hound down gentle upon the earth. Knelt with it a moment, head bowed to all the fucking stink. Eyes didn't dare look at it. Let his fingers run over its fur. Scratched behind the ears.

Shook his head.

Stole a look. Poor fucking miserable thing. Loyal to the end. And what did it have to show for it?

Just some pats against the skull, and a rough rub between the ears from a man whose name was knifed into the grain of Low Harbor.

Let his fingers come off. Grabbed up the spade. Stabbed it into the dirt, all odd twist and kick of boot against the head. Weight leaned into it. Handle against gut. Wrenched out of the soil. Again. Stab. Kick. Lean. Twist. Pull. Repeat.

Anyone asked to help, he barked them off. "Make yourself useful elsewhere,"

Sweat bead across his brow. Wounds stabbed and ached. Burned. Each breath. Burned.

But the fucking hole was dug. The dog laid in. Feet tucked. Head curled.

Here sir.

Zalan sat crouched over the shallow grave. Looked down at the dog. Tears clung to the corner of his eyes. Let them fall. Cold against smoke stained face that felt hot from all the night's burning still cooked into the cells of his skin. Took the report. Looked it over.

Also sir, for you.

His eyes found the wrap. Stashed the report absently, into an interior pocket of his unbuttoned jacket. Motioned for the round bundle of cloth with a snatch of fingers and roll of wrist.

"Come on, Yiwa, don't make me work for it,"

Yiwa looked wide eyed, and stepped over with the stuff. Handed it over to the low down captain of their unit, who just shift on his heels, and undid the cloth. Nod at the bread. Tore off a piece. Pinched a bit of cheese with it. Stuff it into his mouth.

Tears still falling from his eyes. He ate. Showed teeth. "Damn fine bread," he laughed. Shook his head. Ripped off a new piece, with a bit of cheese. Offered it to Yiwa. "Have some," he motioned.
 
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A meal shared and companionship rekindled as the soldier shared some of the food with Zalan. Grasping the shared food Yiwa bowed his head in gratitude. He paid no mind to the Captain's tears having shed his own recently. "Damn good indeed Sir." His accent was that of the eastern marches of land. Taking up the shovel he covered the hole for Zalan as he placed an open flask of water next to the man.

"Thank you Captain. Hell of a firestorm you made. It's an honor to walk beside you." Yiwa took another pinch of cheese and bread before taking the shovel with him and heading down the hill back towards the tents. A firmly packed gave was left covered and a lone flower placed on top.

The sound of horses and calvary could be heard across the slopes as scouts rode from the frontlines back towards the Fists tent. Curly had made his way up the hill in silence as his sunken face eyed the tombs including the newest. He made no sound for there was none to be made, he could only place a hand on Zalan's shoulder and gaze off.

"Thank you Captain.." His voice was low as he stepped past Zalan and knelt beside the grave. Slumped shoulders soon rolled back to straighten his back as he offered a small prayer. "Argo says to check back in once you are ready sir. Cutter is going to speak with the Fist and Captain Altuya.. I pity you both truly.." Curly knew of Tool's rage very well, the deep seeded anger that could soon turn murder if the man had no restraint. Reaching out he offered a hand to his captain.

If taken he would help clean up the bottle and rewrap the rest of the food all together. It would not due to have it spilled out on the earth. The land itself seemed quieter, more still than before. Shroud energies here were off set, the sky split between sun and wanting to rain.

Clearing his throat Cutter approached the command tent ignoring the stations guards on either side. Pushing open the flap, there sat the Fist and Captains with their aids in a semi circle. "Sergeant Cutter reporting.." He gave his salute before standing at ease.

@Zalan
 
Zalan took the flask. Gave it a swig. Grunt at the mention of the firestorm. Growled at the mention of honor. "Just trying to keep us alive, Yiwa," he shook his head. "Honor's got nothing to do with it,"

Didn't want to touch on all the hell they had let loose last night. The stink of it still clung to him. Ash and iron. The armonium dust that set to blaze from the mouths of the firespitters. The horrible twist of the shroud burning out of the air.

Horses drew his eye. Watched their riders dismount and enter the command tents. Footsteps came near. A hand pressed against his shoulder.

Thank you, Captain...

Why did they keep thanking him. Fucking damn it. At least he kept it from his face. Curly did not need to deal with his bullshit right now. None of them did.

...Check back in once you are ready sir.

"Heard, Curly-man,"

... I pity you both, truly.

"Done with that," he cut. "We work our way out of this, as always," Looked at the hand offered a moment later. Nod. Half wrapped the bread and cheese. Offered it over to the houndmaster. Took one last swig from the flask. Gave that over too.

Walked back to their company tent.

Company Commander Prityin sat behind his table, his seconds, Captain Mahta, and Iluna, there beside him. Captain Altuya opposite with his sergeant, Hinu, there beside.

"Sergeant Cutter," Commander Prityin gestured welcome. "We have news that the Black Talon, Lihark, leads the company of Harpies that ambushed us in the dead of the night,"

Altuya's face, permanently set into a frown, looked to Cutter, with little care in his eyes. "Your Captain, shares a history with that man,"

"Enough, Altuya," Prityin said firm. Set his eyes back to Cutter. Softer. The eyes of a man who sought understanding from the one he spoke with. "He sent us an assurance," he motioned to a soldier acting as attendant. "An offer,"

A missive was handed to Cutter. The letter finely written with deep plum colored ink.


Give us the Fire Breather, and you will be granted safe passage to Crorefell.
​

​
"We cannot retreat from our position, or evacuate our wounded, with the Harpies harrying our flanks," Prityin spoke all tombstone.

"We will all lose twice over what we suffered last night, with no guarantee the Empire forces will not catch us in the march," Altuya added.

"Zalan will agree to it," Captain Mahta said sure. "He would not want to see any more of his company lost to this field,"

"We were expecting him, here, Sergeant," Captain Iluna let know. "Has he succumb to his wounds?" concern only for the potential gambit lost.
 
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There was silence for a time, and Cutter had pointedly let Altuya's words wash away like water to sandy shores. Contemplation and irritation spun through the Sergeant's mind. He weighed how to answer and respond to what was said. The food that Tool had sent with him remained tucked away, not to be given. It was like they had hopped out of the frying pan and into a freezer, first burned and now to be frozen in place, given up like slaughtered animals.

"He is seeing to the men as a Good Captain should. He is the glue that holds this company together and the gut needed to rebuild it." Cutter spoke evenly and calmly, refraining from spitting on the floor. Of course, they would do this; they cared about their hides more than those they had tossed to the flames. So long as it wasn't them, then it didn't matter.

He did not need Mahta's answer to know his own Captain's mind. While his heart was in the right place, Cutter knew Zalan still didn't understand just how far his men would go to see him free. Even against his orders, if needs be, what were they without their heart? They weren't some simple piece of machinery to be refitted. Gods, what would Baker do? One of the newest additions had already found his version of a walking deity to follow.

With a firm salute, Cutter listened quietly to their response to his words. He needed as needed and spoke as necessary; there was no point in speaking further nor speaking of his thoughts unless asked. That damn Altuya needed a good lashing as well. Something to flay the frown from that ugly mug might be worth looking at and speaking to them despite obvious struggles.

Tool leaned on his crutch as he watched the Sergeant leave the tent at a quickened pace. With eyes shadowed, Tool knew something was wrong just by his gait. Trouble was afoot, and they had barely even licked their wounds. Wheeling around, he hobbled to his bedside and pulled out a box. Some of the same smokes that Zalan had shared with him before. Inhaling deeply, the spiral of smoke left parted lips as he adjusted his posture. His ears had been keen on the Harpies still residing in the area, a great threat to them should something fall through.

Tool understood well, remembering the blade on Zalan's hip and its design he had a vague idea about why Cutter was so irritated. "Bastards want the Cap'n, don't they?" For Tool, it was a guess; little did he know how accurate he was. The crunch of boots got closer as Cutter walked by and handed him the sealed package of bread and cheese.

"Here, Baker.. They do not deserve your kindness today.." Pausing mid-step, he eyed the youth who now smoked the same green roll Zalan did. Reaching out, Tool shared the roll, allowing Cutter to take a long drag.

"I know what they want.. I can hear those horsemen running the flanks.. It's the Captain, isn't it..?"
The cherry flares up in the dusky light. Once he had had enough, he looked Baker over with sympathy and patted his shoulder. "Be strong, Baker, and recover well.. It'll all get sorted out. Until you get better, there's nothing you can do to help. So focus on what you can, and let the rest of us who can do." Cutter patted Tool atop the head much like a Father would his son and departed, giving Baker back his smoke.

That was all Tool needed to hear; if he hadn't been stabbed in the damn hip, he could do something. No.. Not this time.. Taking a long inhale himself a low whine brought himself round to the Delilah on the bedside. Reaching out, he stroked her head and painfully sat down. "Oh my beloved.. I thought we were past this.. It appears I was incorrect." Wrinkling his nose, Tool picked up his sketch pad and began to draw..

Cutter paused before pushing into the company tent sitting beside Zalan. "It's damn ugly.." Cutter handed Zalan the paper with the demands from the Harpies.
 
Bandages cleaned. Roll being smoked, Zalan took the missive. Stared at it a moment. Smiled wide and twisted open with teeth.

“That why you keep trying to outrun it like a rat on a sinking ship?”​

"Ugly?" Roll bobbed on his lip. He smacked the paper like it was the bounty bill of a lifetime. Winced on account of his left arm being a mangled mess. Shook it off. Shook the parchment, all snap in the air. "It's a done, ten imperial gold piece, deal, and our company gets the upswing, live on, grow new," took a long drag. Defeat clear in his voice. Forced an ugly bark of a laugh from his throat. "Was only a fucking matter of time, Cutter," felt his guts twist with anger. Plucked the roll from his lips and smashed its head against the table. Curled his fingers tight.

Fist rattled to table. Shook markers that dotted small map. Knocked over others.

"For all the shit Altuya gives us," his Jasper eyes set on the red hair figurine knocked over on the table. "The fucker never did take the Imp's coin, did he?" shook his head. Clicked his teeth "Lihark has an honor to him, he'll take my head to the Imps, save his men the bleeding, give the Imp commander across the river his little victory too," Let his hands fiddle with one of the imperial figures. " Our forces retreat. Nice and tidy," breath fell out. Left the figure on the table. Got up.

Looked the big Sergeant in the eyes. Man was like a father to all of them. "Well Cutter," gravel in his voice. Took a moment to clear his throat, stand a little taller. "I've got some letters to write, I'd want you delivering them, when you can," looked away.

Thoughts all, oranges and dove nests, swirled with hound tails and bread loaves. Remembered the dream. Bones amidst the ash. Green things grown through. Fucking hells.

"You make sure the Manders get back home, big man," he looked to him. Grin right fucked with defeat. Shook his head. "I'll do my part," looked back to the map. "And," to the tent flaps that separated them from the triage floor. "Make sure Tool stays out of trouble," a laugh. "Deserves more than all this hell," moved to the parchment and quill side. Sat down. Started scrawling.
 
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