MOD PLOT ↠ NONE TO RETURN

[faderifting]

WHO: All characters signed up to participate in the Battle of Ghislain
WHAT: The Inquisition regroups and heads home
WHEN: Covers the period immediately post-battle (11.28) through the journey back to Kirkwall (11.29-12.1)
WHERE: North of Montfort, Orlais, and on the road to Val Chevin
NOTES: This is Post #2, covering the immediate aftermath of the battle and the journey back to Kirkwall. It's a free-for-all. Post #1 covers the battle itself. More info on the OOC post.

The Inquisition and Orlesian armies eventually limp to a halt along the Imperial Highway north of Montfort, where wide fields and gentle hills offer clear lines of sight and a sparsely equipped fortress provides some shelter and fortification. It's a soundly strategic location—if Ghislain is lost, Montfort is the last major city between the invaders and Val Royeaux—but among the rank and file there may be too much chaos to appreciate it.

For the remainder of the day and well into the night, the fortress and surrounding land are a frenzy of activity. The wounded who were not left on the field must be triaged and tended to with limited supplies, while many healers and surgeons out of commission themselves and the remainder worked to the bone. Scouts, soldiers, and even support staff in sturdy enough condition to keep working may be tasked with assembling camp from the few remaining supplies, taking reports on known casualties or acquired intelligence, or further fortifying the new location. The Orlesian army sends one of its battered cavalry units toward Ghislain to attempt to provide some warning, and from the Inquisition's number a few patrols are sent back toward the battlefield or toward Ghislain, with stern orders not to re-engage, only to watch for signs of pursuit, and to direct any stragglers.

Those who remain in the fortress are in for a long, miserable night, with meager rations and makeshift bedding, if any of either, while the wind shifts directions and grows colder. By morning a number of the wounded have died, but attempts to build a pyre are hampered by the sudden swell of a storm that starts with freezing rain and then transitions to early and unpredicted thick, heavy snow.

For a few hours that morning the two armies attempt business as normal, but it soon becomes clear that the storm is getting stronger, and they risk being snowed in with more people than they can feed. Many, including the Inquisition's Gallows contingent, are ordered to disperse. Many crowd into wagons, with any transportable wounded receiving further attention en route and neighbors hunching close to preserve heat whether they like one another or not, while those able to do so follow on foot or horseback over the rough, flash-frozen highway toward Montfort and then west toward Val Chevin. The storm doesn't abate until they've nearly reached the city, but once there they're able to stop, eat, and spend a few hours indoors thawing out before proceeding home.

Comments

[rowancrowned]

"A dracolisk attacked our healer," he offers by way of explanation. "His safety was paramount. A bone in my hip is broken," clearly he didn't press for details, "and the healer saw to it, but with the retreat, there was no time to fix it entirely."

And Isaac had healed others after Thranduil, so it had not been a waste. And so Thranduil lays, warm and finally in less pain, and doing his damndest to better himself by sheer force of will.

And sleeping.

He smiles at her as she touches his face, gracefully submits himself to her care.

"Beleth," gently. "I will be well. I still have so much to do. We have so much to do."

[arlathvhen]

"That was very noble of you." Not that he wasn't aware of that, or needed her validation. It feels like a bit of a pointless statement, but—well, it was very noble of him. "A dracolisk is what got me, too. Nasty creatures, entirely. I'm glad not many in the Gallows use them." If just so she doesn't have to recall that attack every time she's near one.

After a few moments of silence, Beleth starts to fuss with Thranduil's hair, trying to pat it into place. "There is a lot to do, once we're well enough to do it, but. Do you think it'll really matter? That it'll make a difference, now." She's being fidgety, tense nerves working themselves into anxious energy. "I mean—We've done our best. We all worked so hard, and tried so hard, gave it everything we could, and—this is what our best got us." A little hand wave, a gesture to the entire fortress in general.

Then after a moment of thought—"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with my dark thoughts, on top of your injuries, and everything else."