Larien felt she would never get used to the sounds and sights and smells of war - the cries of the wounded taking their last breaths, the fear frozen on the faces of the fallen, the stench of bodies rotting in the sun. She hated the fact that when she was able to get a little sleep to rest her weary body and soul, she dreamt of the sounds of death and destruction, of battlefields littered with bodies. It was such a waste of humanity that the only way that enemies would lay down together in peace was through death. She felt empty and helpless inside at the massive slaughter going on around her.
The battles had become more intense as wave upon wave of enemy soldiers marched on the Keep. Already the Angels had sustained casualties. Larien was curious as to whether they would have been able to have gotten to their soldiers earlier if they would have survived. Phamy, while she was a strong fighter, had been wounded and had lost too much blood by the time Larien and her clerics could pull her from the mass of dead bodies scattered near her. There was nothing Larien could do to save her. Larien’s heart ached at the loss as Phamy had just recently married and was looking forward to a new and bright future with her new husband. The clerics carried Phamy’s body to the caves, gently placed it along the wall, and covered it with a light blanket to await the family’s claim. Larien thought the news of her death would be best delivered to the family by King Sylvain so she sent him a message. Stankara was brought to her with a severed leg. Larien’s suturing skills were not enough to save his life. He died in the arms of his wife with his five young children, ranging from his one year old to his seven year old, close at hand. The wailing of the children left behind cut deepest to Larien’s heart. They would never know their father but through stories and shared memories told by the oldest ones. While battle was sometimes a necessary evil for survival, death was never easy to witness or experience by those left behind. She was just thankful to the gods that the loss of an Angel was so infrequent. This siege was proving to be particularly hard on them already.
While Larien was busy tending to those injured who were brought to her, Deamon was constantly looking out for her whereabouts. Sometimes he was so engrossed with the enemy that he lost her from his sight. He never knew where she might be. She battled hard when she was on the field. At least then he would know where she was. He only hoped, and yes even prayed to the gods, that when he could not readily find her, she was with a patient working her magical healing powers. He could see several of the Angel warriors – Carl, Earnest, Butch, Bernardo and Caro - cutting the enemy down with swings of their mighty swords. He kept his eyes scouring the faces of the enemy, hoping for some sign of Larien’s executioner. As yet, he didn’t find anyone that might match the description of a high commander.
The hours ran into days – days with little rest and nourishment, days focused on death and minor victories. The Angels were already battling the second enemy wave, having dispatched most of the first. They became numb to the noises and foul odors around them. The Angel warriors took rest and food only when reinforcements came on the field. They were focusing their strength on winning each individual battle so they could go on to the next and the next. There were always enemy soldiers ready to slay. Larien and some of her other clerics – Kat, Melilot, Saori, and Susana - were busy administering bandages and stitches. In spite of their best efforts, more Angels were dying, their bodies lining up along the cool walls of the caves. Larien stood next to them and wiped her brow in bone-weary exhaustion. How many more Angels will have to die before the enemy was defeated? How many more lives would be altered by death? Usually they would get hurt and would heal to fight again. This battle, THESE battles really, were entirely different – almost as if there was a different reason for the fighting. Larien shook her head in sadness, wishing that she could do more for them and realizing that she could not.
King Sylvain stopped by three times a day to check on the status of each person in her care. If she couldn’t take the time to inform him herself, she had her clerics do it. She was glad to see that he was taking an interest in the Angels’ welfare. He even took the time from battling to personally give his condolences to all the families that lived within the Angels’ walls and who now were taking shelter within the mountain. For a few of those who had lost their lives, there was no family to notify. In those instances, he sat with the dead Angels saying prayers to the gods to send their souls to the other world. The list of fallen Angel warriors was becoming longer: Nemanja, Prerica, Laura, Deep, Mana, Alterlo, Nicasius, Ryan, Vladimir, Stefan and Ron. Each life was being cut down in its prime by an enemy without care as to the consequences left behind. Each life cut down for the sake of what? Wrath? Greed? Pride? Envy? Lust? Larien’s head ached with unanswered questions, lack of sleep, and sadness at the destruction surrounding the world of her beloved Angels.
Soon a new day dawned. On this day, the sun was not smiling and sending forth her warming rays. Instead, the sky was filled with multiple shades of gray from the palest white-gray to the most intense gray-black. There were layers upon layers of clouds covering the heavens with varying degrees of ferocity - each rain cloud laden with moistness waiting to spill and shed its tears upon the inhabitants of the Keep. There was no room for the sun to reach out to comfort those in mourning. This was definitely the saddest day for the Angels of Aragorn. The cloud covering was just the demi-gods’ way of showing their sympathy and sorrow at the carnage on Earth.
The funeral pyres were being organized by Fëanáro in an outside cave to the back of the mountain so the bodies could at least be laid to rest in a quiet setting away from the fighting. Fëanáro had already presided over the bodies with families; Phamy, Stankara, Vladimir, and Laura. Today’s sending forth to the underworld was for the others who had fallen. As clergy, he was bringing closure to those Angels who laid their lives down for their friends and fellow warriors. The greatest frustration for Fëanáro - he had no idea when this all would end. He, like so many of the other Angel soldiers wondered just how many enemy soldiers were yet to come. How many more Angels would die before this madness was over? While death was a very real possibility for anyone who goes into battle, the Castle Angels had been most fortunate in the past to come out with so few deaths. Now, this time, they were not so fortunate. He slowly walked up the staircase towards the back cave. Each step he took made him feel every year of the age he really was. His heart and mind remembering past losses of those he had loved and buried. Sadly, he made his way to the other bodies awaiting the release of their spirits to the other side.
Those in battle were unaware of the departure of their fallen comrades. They did not have the luxury of waiting for all to be present before the service could be performed. So while Fëanáro sent the dead on their way, those on the field sent the enemy to theirs. Combat was gruesome and unkind and hand-to-hand combat carried its own chaos. It was hard to get away from looking your enemy in the face as the death blow was delivered. The warriors stepped over bodies lying at their feet. Boot marks were left in the fresh blood soaking into the dry dirt. The dead humanity with their weapons and shields still gripped in lifeless fingers lay in silent testimony of what had happened, their eyes staring blankly up at the sky. Vultures circled over the battlefield waiting for an opening to land for a quick bite to eat. These were the visions of death! This was the truth of war!
Deamon found himself shouting words of encouragement to any Angel close at hand. “Keep at it, my friends! Stay strong!! Remember that we are protecting our families and we must not let these walls fall to the enemy!”
In his continuing search for Larien’s whereabouts, Deamon noticed that Bone Face looked to be sneaking away from the battle. When Deamon looked over at Bone Face’s twin brother, Josh, who was often called 666, he saw that 666 also noticed Bone Face’s departure. Deamon exclaimed, “Maudit! What is he up to now? We cannot afford to have him get into trouble! We have enough on our hands with these hordes of enemy attackers!” Not one to talk much, Josh shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in bewilderment at Deamon’s question just before he dodged the blade of an advancing over-zealous enemy warrior. Both of the brothers’ attention was distracted from further discussion of Bone Face’s departure. War was calling them to pay attention to her. Bone Face would just have to wait. As Deamon thrust his blade into the heart of the enemy, he hoped Bone Face would not get into any trouble. He had enough on his plate to deal with as it was…he didn’t need any more.
Bone Face was not aware that his departure had been detected as he left the carnage and made his way towards the Keep. He felt that his presence would not be missed with all of the activity around the Angels and this would be a good time to make his search. He felt strongly that someone was hiding something very important and he vowed to find it. Once he did, and if it was what he thought it was, he would eliminate it - with great pleasure!! He was going to rid the whole world of it by himself if he had to. He would then have his revenge! He dreamt of achieving this for years and he felt he was extremely close to the fulfillment of his vow. His mouth drooled thinking about how sweet it would taste! His eyes sparkled in anticipation. His heart was racing like the wild horses in the open meadows. Bone Face was a strong and resilient warrior dedicated in his pursuit of what he thought was right. And this was feeling very right to him.
Bone Face had deep chestnut brown hair that brushed the top of his collar. His eyes were hazel and, depending on his mood, they would change between green and a light brown. People that actually took the time to get to know him could read his mood by looking at his eyes. When he was raging mad, they would be green. When he was in a mellower mood, they would take on a soft brown coloration. He stood just shy of 6 feet and there was not an ounce of unwanted flesh on his body. Bone Face prided himself on his fitness and his strength. Men had learned over the years not to challenge him to an arm wrestling match. He won them with ease. His fingers were like a vise squeezing his opponents’ hands; his well-defined arms were overpowering in their leverage. His name had not always been Bone Face either. It was Tom and, once upon a time, Tom had a normal life like all the other boys in the village. He got into mischief with the other boys, took apples from the market with his brothers, had a crush on the cute girl in school, and even looked forward to traveling to other lands. At least until THAT day! The day that forever changed who he was – who he ultimately became. The same day, in fact, that changed the relationship between Deamon and Larien. The same day that took his face away from him. Perhaps the grotesqueness of the scars made him compensate in other areas, like his strength.
There was not much in life that made him afraid anymore. He had certainly been through a lot during his lifetime. But it was the more recent hundred years or so that fashioned the man that he had become. God, how he hated the look on people’s faces – their fear of him showing in their eyes, the way they treated him, the way they wouldn’t look him in the face when they talked to him. He hardened his heart a bit more every time he saw them visibly shrink away from him. Did they really think he would not notice? After all, he had the same thoughts and feelings and desires as any normal man. He wanted to be accepted. He wanted to be able to give his opinion on important matters. He was finally at a time in his life where he was going to change all of that. This was HIS opportunity! He was going to be rewarded for his patience!! He was going to take charge and make people either continue to fear him because of his looks or force their respect because of what he was about to accomplish. He was sick and tired of their pity. He had absolutely no need for it anymore. He was moving on. He deserved what Deamon had – a LIFE with endless possibilities! This was the first step in realizing it!
The sounds of the battle diminished as Bone Face put more and more distance between him and the battle. Since most of the Angels were either on the field or in the mountain caves eating or resting, he thought that this would be the perfect time to search the Castle grounds and dungeons. He wasn’t quite sure how far he would have to go in his quest for answers. He just knew that he had to do it quickly before his presence would be missed by his brothers. He was not prepared, at this time, to let them in on his thoughts and suspicions. He wanted hard core evidence first.
He wandered through the maze of streets and Castle corridors and made his way first to the dungeons, his eyes ever watchful. His natural instinct kept his footsteps quiet against the cobblestones. Bone Face’s hand reached out to grasp the door to the little-used portion of the Castle. He glanced quickly around to make sure his actions were not being observed. The door had not been greased in a long time and it took a bit more strength than he thought to open. He quickly crossed over the threshold and let the door close behind him, controlling the bang with his body. He let his eyes get use to the dark so he wouldn’t have to use a torch. The slits in the walls give him just enough light to aid him in his descent. While he felt fairly confident that he would run into no other human down in the bowels of the Castle Keep, he still was cautious. He wasn’t sure what excuse he would need to use if he were caught snooping around. However, it was a chance that he was obviously willing to take. He knew that the Angels were not the type to use this area for which they were intended. They were much too trusting and forgiving – at least most of the time. They usually just banished you from the kingdom, not jail you! King Sylvain was a bit of a crazy man to begin with and Larien was just not the type to pass judgment on anyone if she could help it. So as he went deeper into the underground rooms, Bone Face pulled his cloak closer around him as he shook off the dank, stale air. He could hear the scampering of the nocturnal inhabitants that called this part of the Castle home, probably mice and rats and other creatures as he parted thick cobwebs from his face. The only other sound was that of his boots as he made his way around the inner sanctum of the dungeon area. After an extensive search, there was no indication of what he was seeking here in the caverns under the Castle. He felt disappointed but sure that it would have been kept close by. That meant that he would have to search in the Tonathium Mountains and that would have to be left for another day and a whole lot more time, especially with all the caves and niches on the mountainsides!
Bone Face made his way towards the other set of stairs that would take him out of this hell-hole. As he was slowly ascending them he heard the faint sounds of conversation. This made him stop dead in his tracks. Muffled voices! He placed his hand close to his sword in anticipation of having to use it as he stealthily continued up the steps, his body hugging the cold, moist wall. He had no idea where the two people actually were so he had to be extremely cautious to not give himself away. As he made his way higher and higher up the staircase, the once muffled voices became louder and clearer to him. He stopped suddenly as he recognized one of the voices, the one raised in anger. Since he was so close to them, he concentrated all his efforts into understanding what was being said. He could not believe what he was hearing. Bone Face had all he could do to stay quiet and not move. Not move!! Not make a sound!! All he wanted to do right then was to rush out and kill the bastard whose voice he recognized!! Even though he was listening intently to the conversation – ultimatum actually – a part of him recognized the need to give Deamon this information. It was Deamon’s job as Master of Whispers to deal with this vital information – not Bone Face. This was far more important than the reason for his quest, which wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. This new discovery, however, could go somewhere and that would NOT be good for anyone!!
Bone Face waited there in his prison still pressed against the stone walls; the cold seeped into his body until the voices subsided and left. His body eased its stance but he still found himself waiting. He did not want to let anyone know that he was privy to the conversation or its information until after he spoke with Deamon. He eased his way up the stairs and through the archway, watchful for anyone that might still be lurking about. Darkness was descending upon the village which helped disguise his actions. He brushed away the cobwebs that clung to his hair and clothing. People might ask where he had been if they were to see him covered with the silken webs. They would know for sure he had NOT been on the battlefield the entire time. Once free of the Keep itself, he made his way slowly back to the battlefield to find Deamon. He couldn’t stop thinking about the words he heard uttered in anger. His body was no longer cold. He was sweating and his head was spinning as he realized the consequences should the information in his possession become a reality!
