AFTERMATH

[The Media Wizard 2954]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

What is it that you fear most, Onas?

 

The words cut like steel in the elven prince's mind. Amaesil rolled over in a simple bed constructed in the Warden Keep. Beside him, his loving partner slept; across the room, his two daughters held one another in a manner that would make any father's heart melt. Not this day, though. Not this day.

 

Amaesil rose from the bed and made his way to the nearby balcony. The night was dark, but he could still see the illuminated horizon to the east of the keep. Flames continued to lick skyward in the place that he had called "home" for the past sixty years. He stared at the horizon before his attention was caught by the mutterings below him. He looked over the edge to see a congregation of rangers speaking silently at the foot of the keep. Awake at this hour? he thought. I often wonder who are truly elven between us both.

 

With deft footwork, the elven prince robed himself and fled the keep. He wandered the pristine woodlands surrounding the old city of Amaethea, but the feeling was not the same. The animals had fled during the battle, and all that remained were trees and bushes too afraid of the encroaching firestorm to grow properly. Fear would not rule the prince this evening, though. He headed east.

 

 

 

The destruction of Elvenesse, Eir'thall.

 

Amaesil stood at the edge of his city. Fires covered the land and the river boiled from the heat. The elven prince could only stare in awe and sorrow at the blackened gate to his once precious city. It was only days ago that he had stood here alongside a legion of Uruks on horseback. When the first of the wyverns appeared, he charged forward like a fool. The gate slammed shut behind him, but he had felt no fear. He was certain he would survive. He had been proven correctly, but the cost was great. Too great.

 

 

 

The city will not remain, but the people's destruction will be on you, Onas.

 

As he stood among the embers, Prince Amaesil recalled the final moments of the battle. He had swung his sword many times, but it was the power given to him by Courage that had changed the course of the battle. He was soot-covered, tired and weak from charging across the city and fighting on many fronts throughout the battle. Despite this, he continued to lead more and more people through the secret tunnels he had constructed the months prior. Had we not made these tunnels at Lulubelle's behest, we would have been trapped in the city many times, he thought with a grimace.

 

 

 

Is there anything else you fear, Onas?

 

The elf had thought the answer "no," but the events of the day had changed such. He had faced a wyvern alongside his men, and only the strength of Courage allowed him to combat it; he had charged headfirst into warring golems in order to ring the bell of retreat; he had walked shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow Wardens into the Nether in order to slay a wyvern with the deft arm of Galan. Yet after all of that, there was one thing he feared more than anything.

 

 

 

Losing them.

 

The elven prince opened his eyes once again and saw the flames of the front gate. He inhaled slowly. "We lost my city," he spoke into the abyss. "But it will be reclaimed. My daughters and wife survive. My people survive. The strength of Courage and Amaethon flow through me, and Justice will be done."

 

Then, the elven prince returned home.

[Mewliet 451]

Visenya Sylvaeri finally settled into a peaceful sleep beside the elf prince, but not before making sure both girls were safe and tucked in. It was oddly quiet and the night air smelled of ash and soot from afar as the city continued to burn. Her home fell to ruin, destroyed by a merciless god. The Almenodrim elfess feared for what would happen next, if anything. Still, she felt safe and comforted knowing her partner and their children were safe. “Only good things will come next.”

[Minuvas 2837]

The Elf would be powdering his wig before he laid it gently on top of his head, a parchment handed to him by the estate butler. He would make the sign of the lorraine at word of the devastating news. "I had no less than a saints day ago received a letter regarding this matter, how terribly savage that this attack would come so quickly. Will the great Arch Drakkar ever be satisfied? The roots of Amathea were deep and its people had kind souls, I doubt they will be so easily put to the torch.....I do hope the Prince survived the affair. Can you please inquire as to the general health of the Prince, his family, and the Mali of Amathea , Chadwick? I know you happen to be a surgeon of sorts, is there anything you can do?"

[Air 649]

A very banished elf would be removing his fennic gear in a teahouse by his lonesome recalling all the destruction he witnessed in Amaethea "I may not like the leaders of Elvenesse too greatly but I sure hope that most of the inhabitants weren't slain. Glad they were too distracted with the dragons to kill me for entering their lands." The elf finishes removing his fennic gear and dressing himself in his usual dark robes "May not have done very much other than help a few people and load some ballistae, but perhaps that thanic bolt the 'fenn and I rammed up that dragons nether regions had helped turn the tides of battle" he snickers to himself as he recalled such "Some god..." 

[Royal_sheep 83]

A dark elf would sit next to a campfire, next to his little tent he called his home. Agis would start cleaning his weaponry, his spear, his shield, everything he couldn't use. The young elf remembered very little, one moment he was standing behind the gate, then everything went black and when he woke up there was nothing left. He did remember the wywern, lazily walking around the city's streets. He remembered the fire, the scale of destruction he couldn't help to stop.
The young elf, barely even 30, would shiver at the awful memories of what has happened that day, or rather that week. 
"It couldn't be anything else, than the wrath of gods themselves"

The young elf would end cleaning his equipment and tightly wrap it in skin, to protect it from the weather, so unpredictable around these parts of the shore.
"I can only hope that not too many died"

He quietly said to himself as he layed in his tent and wrapped himself in the furs.
He'd soonly fall asleep, hunted by the memories and souls he could do nothing to save.
 

[Setsuko_ 308]

A spot covered man, clad in dented and damaged plate, sat beside his fellow Rangers. All around, they bore the signs of their conflict, soot and ash stained their faces and clothes, his comrades in armor bore the same dents and scratches. Cillian bowed his head for a moment, wiping away the blood that had continued to run from his nose with a cloth. Beside him, another flexed their Animii hand absently, looking on as the others spoke. The man handed over a water flask, to which Cillian gratefully accepted. As he took a swig, he felt his scorched throat both scream in protest and cry in relief. He handed it back as his gaze rose to the group, forcing himself to stand despite the exhaustion and damage his body had sustained. He moved to stand beside a blindfolded ranger, crossing his arms as he listened to the conversation, his friend moving to stand upon the blindfolded ranger’s other side. 
 

With a glance over the Rangers, Cillian couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride snake up his back. Despite everything, each member still stood. Proud, strong, alive.

[Pancho 2498]

As Kosher Daesmon walks into his home, he collapses on his bed, taking off his breastplate, revealing a patched wound from the battle. "So many good people dead, more wounded, to not even satisfy the wrath of that lizard." He finally changes into his trench coat, deciding to wander to the woodlands surrounding Elysium. As he does, he sees a steady stream of people coming from the lake, himself being at the front of them only hours prior. "Better late than never"  

[Unwillingly 11113]

 

---

 

Get up.

 

That familiar voice broke Eir'thall from his sacred sleep, and he sat up, so rigid and tense. He had made his den somewhere in the attic of a tavern, blessed with naught more than a floor cot and the skittering of mice that frequently stirred him from rest. He was never a picky sleeper, but this was not a choice. There was nowhere else. Beggars can't be choosers. 

You need to look. You need to see.

 

There was resistance —  cold denial to those words that went unspoken, but the sentiment was there. It was easier to say no, easier to deny all and be done with it, no matter how much it ate him up inside. The druid's hand lofted, and he'd drag his fingers 'cross his eyes as to further wake himself.

You care. I know you do.

 

Perhaps, at one point. . . No, it was true, but he'd never admit this. Not to anyone. He had given up this game of trying to convince what cannot be convinced, deceive what cannot be deceived, perhaps with hope that he may one day be able to convince himself such as well. As true as it may be, he'd never show it. He was a master of his own emotions. Outwardly, at least. 

But he could not go back to sleep. There was something greater on his mind —  something of wroth and despair.

And so he did not.

[CorweenieTheJedi 889]

7 hours ago, Air said:

A very banished elf would be removing his fennic gear in a teahouse by his lonesome recalling all the destruction he witnessed in Amaethea "I may not like the leaders of Elvenesse too greatly but I sure hope that most of the inhabitants weren't slain. Glad they were too distracted with the dragons to kill me for entering their lands." The elf finishes removing his fennic gear and dressing himself in his usual dark robes "May not have done very much other than help a few people and load some ballistae, but perhaps that thanic bolt the 'fenn and I rammed up that dragons nether regions had helped turn the tides of battle" he snickers to himself as he recalled such "Some god..." 

 

Sevrel had seen the traitor in the midst of the fray, and had a clear opportunity to snuff him out. Something stayed his hand though...

[DrHope 586]

"There are so few of us left...it was foolish to risk such death" 

As night gathered in the woods of the Hinterlands, many had already gone to rest: yet there remained a blind man who could not afford such a luxury. Three times he had already tried to fall into that deep lull of slumber and three times he found himself unable and so he stood at the highest most level of the tower. Over and over again his mind recounted the battle that had only been some hours ago, the old trees that now smoked like pyres, the rivers once so blue marred by blood and ash. This was his home and it had fallen to the draken foe.

 

Once more his thoughts dwelled on his people, not just the elves he counted as brothers and sisters, but the few adunians that had come with him to face the dragon. He had hoped naively to find somewhere safe for his people to rebuild, a haven against their hunters, and now it was razed to the ground. Experience reminded him that no such place would exist without their willing to defend it, though he remembered the cost, for it was in blood and it was that precious resource he could not spare. 

Luckly, not a single child of Harren was lost in the siege, though how lucky would they be next time?  How many battles could he afford to send them on before eventually one fell, or worse? Perhaps it was best he scattered, leading his people deeper into woods unseen.

 

Such anxious questions plagued his mind and as his gaze turned on the razed city, whose remains now flew high in great columns of smoke, idle talk could be heard coming from below. As he pried his eyes from the sorrowful scene, he saw a few rangers late in the night, still standing watch over the tower. Their forms were shrouded in hooded garb though they were not a sight for suspicion and held themselves proudly. Amidst all this chaos, his rangers stoically guarded so that others could sleep and he was reminded of a single goal he had instilled in his men. A daring statement that had not been spoken for centuries, not since the last Elendil had dared dream. 

"We will run no longer"