The Slave Knight Part 1: The Dagon

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Ride to the Bost

They examined their dead and dying. Thankfully the slave knights suffered little casualties. Sir Joan from the Wenches suffered a blow to her head, that she seemed not likely to wake from. She was breathing, and her eyes moved beneath their lids, but as it was, she seemed to be unresponsive to any stimuli. Sir Jefferson from the Wild Boars had suffered immeasurably. A severed leg and a lost eye, but believed he could still be of some use in spite of his crippling. They were able to fashion a makeshift leg out of some dead branches and the like, which made his hobbling less troublesome, yet most knew that Sir Jefferson would be near useless in a real battle, or if they needed to run far and wide. Thankfully, most of the horses had not fled at the site of the fire, fight, and blood, and that would be a great help for the crippled slave knight.

It was Sir Jonus that was the biggest and most troublesome loss, and it seemed he was most mourned by all. While the intervention of the unknown werewolf had helped immensely in saving him and getting him out of the barrage of high elves that he had suffered through, it was too little too late. He had lost a great amount of blood, his right arm was hanging on by threads, and what was left of his face was a wreckage of gore, teeth, and bone. Not to mention that countless ills and injuries he suffered around his neck, back, and chest.

He was able to speak whisply, and he often coughed up his own excrement and bile. Most of his words were curses and hatred toward Sir Wallace, who tarried far away from the main camp, knowing his failure would mean a reckoning that he had no desire to face. Regardless, it was Sir Wallace who had the most concern and trepidation toward Sir Jonus. He took on the brunt of the guilt and would by no means take any solace from anyone, not that any of the slave knights were willing to give him the solace he needed. They would undoubtedly blame him for Sir Jonus' eventual death. Then it would be his time to pay the price for his incompetence.

It was the cabal that had come together to work on the situation. A cabal that was buttrested by the likes of Sir Yashua and Durug, neither of which who were invited, yet none would tell them to leave. The Wild Boars would need all who would be willing to come forth and lend their support for some semblance of leadership. It went without saying that Sir Wallace was not invited.

They had been able to set up camp, at what Bogargz had assured them was the edge of the Forest of the Fuhries. Their venture through the forest was coming towards an end, which made all involved happy and ready to make their moves toward and through the Bost and to the Dagon. The fuhries built a massive fire and separated themselves from the slave knights and their ilk. They tended to themselves and the little wounds that they suffered, foraging, and picking dry all the goods left behind by the dearly departed high elves. They had also begun digging a massive grave to burn the dead elves, knowing that if the wrong person or persons were to come by they would choose to create contemptible wraits, or ghouls, or orcs, or what have you as elven bodies were rife with magics and could be used for all sort of vile purposes. It was Bogargz's plan and idea and he was more than happy to lead the fuhries to its completion. All in total, three hundred elves who were killed in battle, and would be left to burn in a roaring fire to dash away all the untold problems the dead elves would cause.

The bonfire roared fiercely and the meeting of the cabal was set in motion, albeit very tentatively. None truly wanted to speak on anything, and were content for the time being to just sit and stare into the fire. They stared long, seeing if the fire would provide them with any respite, any direction, anything to tell them what to do. It spoke harsh nothings into the ears of the cabal.

"Kill him, we should," Durug said bluntly, none considering he was referring to Sir Jonus. They knew he spoke of Sir Wallace. "Orc tradition. Dereliction of duties. You kill. You no give rites. You let shit eating orc die. Sir Jonus deserve us to do much more than that. This is true, and this is known. Durug tell you afore, yet you no listen." Durug tempered his anger as best as he could, but it bled out from him powerfully.