>>6117886The Company Strikers, pulled from a loose gaggle of the adventerous and those with training from other times. The Isenfrii Company tries not to ask too many questions. The Commander thinks of it as an implied promise. You don't need to tell, and he won't need to ask, and if neither then make assumptions about the other, perhaps some friendship can grow without burden by past deeds or prior lives.
It sometimes works.
You can wander the Wastes and find a different self.
The small reinforcement column takes in the camp. Tents aren't quite up to standard straight lines. Someone ought to have organised a dith digging, provide a basic defensive position. He winces at the disorder. But his eyes slide across the sprawling wounded in the improvised field hospital and he chokes down every bitter thing he was about to comment on. The sentries arranged there are at attention, and the medical specialists are performing miracles.
It's an odd form of triage. Partially its too horrid. There are so many wounds, so much pain. Partially its too easy. The enormous sharp shardblade parted flesh and armor with equal frightening ease, and the cuts are clean in the extreme. Careful stitching and most of these wounded won't even scars. Because of the rapidity of the response and the fact the field medical station was fortunately right by the carnage, actual casualties have been lower than estimated. The blade brought pain like the weight of the universe bearing down and that disabled those cut much more than actual physical damage. If they were lucky. Some were not. The thing went through bones with malicious ease as well.
Might be a long night of hard work.
But at least it's a long night of work that can be done, which is much preferable to the alternative.
