#ffxivwrite2018
The crumbling walls of Camp Dragonhead were heavy with the echoes of orders and armor. When Temple Knights were first deployed to complement the dwindling numbers of the Hailenarte force, spirits had risen. The ill held hope that the camp could holdout against the dragon hoard had begun to gain luster. Many are the stories told of the Temple Knights - peerless in battle, noble of birth and keen in the ways of war. Surely they will turn the tide of this battle. And for a time, it seemed as if they had. But as the days turned to weeks even the brightest armor may tarnish and grow dim. Even the strongest stone will be carved away by the endless waves of the sea.
The hoard had descended from their mountain lair before dusk, attacking without preamble or ceremony. A roiling ocean of darkly gleaming scales and pitiless fangs sharp as glass dashed itself against the iron stone walls of the keep. The archers rained fire and arrows upon them, leaning over the walls at times to shoot straight down while being held fast by fellow soldiers. Swordsman carved into those that managed to scale the wall, the steel of their swords ringing against scale and flesh. When one knight fell they were quickly replaced from the diminishing ranks. For a time, this balance stood even until the last glint of the dying sun carried forth the tangled shadows of a hundred beating wings.
By dawn the horde abandoned its attempt at siege, driven back into the mountains at great cost. Hundreds perished and twice the number wounded. Raven hurried through the ruined courtyard amid the chaos that always accompanies a quiet patch in the storm of war, calling out orders as he went. He wove around the corpses of dragons and men alike, their mixed blood freezing into the sodden ground. “You there,” Raven addressed a knight, “gather anyone that can bend a bow or swing a sword and meet me here in three minutes.” He stabbed toward the ground with a gloved finger.
The knight was clearly on the far side of exhausted but to his credit he snapped to when addressed; his voice caught in his throat upon seeing his commanding officer. Raven’s long hair fell in strings over his blood streaked face. Bits of his once proud armor were missing and what remained told a harrowing tale. "I-I…Yes, my lord!“
"Belay that order,” a voice boomed from behind them both.
Raven and the knight turned in unison toward Brynn Alderscorn. Again, duty prevailed, and the knight snapped a smart salute. “Commander!” the knight responded.
“Make ready the horses and gather the wounded into carriages. We break camp immediately,” Commander Alderscorn said.
“Belay *THAT* order,” said Raven, his black eyes wide and disbelieving, never wavering from his father.
The knight was unsure how to proceed, not only having been caught in a conflict between high ranking Temple Knights but between father and son as well. He opted to simply stand at attention and keep his mouth shut and his eyes fixed to the distance.
“Break camp now??” Raven continued. “They’ve been routed, we need to pursue . We can win this once and for all!”
“Reckless and pointless, Raven,” Brynn said. “We retreat, the keep is lost.” Commander Alderscorn spoke with authoritative certainty, his tone leaving little room for argument. A fact Raven ignored.
Raven glared at him, confused and indignant. “It isn’t lost! I can win this battle for you but it must be NOW!”
“Reckless!” Brynn repeated. “Listen to yourself! *You* will win this battle? Look around you, boy!” Brynn’s arms spread wide, presenting the horror that surrounded them. “The battle is already over.”
The cold certainty with which his father delivered his words incensed him. He gestured violently, punching at the air, beating his gauntlet against his armored chest. “I don’t need to look around, *father*, I’ve seen. Whilst you hid in the map room planning escape, *I* fought and bled with my men!”
Cracks spidered through the sturdy façade of Brynn’s countenance as he was met with Raven’s ire and accusations. “I am responsible for the lives of these people, child, and for the defense of Ishgard! I will not be questioned by the likes of YOU who fight only for your own glory. Not for a single moment could you bear the weight of command!” Brynn roared, his deep voice turning heads throughout the demolished courtyard, stopping knights in their tracks.
“I would bear it gladly,” Raven growled, heedless of the spectacle they had created, “and far better than the likes of you, old man!”
“Then you are a FOOL!”
“AND YOU ARE A COWARD!”
Raven never saw the hand that slapped him, nor the look of pained regret that followed. He stood amid the held breaths and wide eyes of the collective audience of knights, his gaze downward. The filthy curtain of his hair obfuscated the look of shock upon his face making the humorless laugh that followed all the more disconcerting. He raised his head slowly, nodding and never looking back to his father.
The two began to speak at the same time but Raven’s sharp, cold tone sliced Brynn’s words off at the tongue.
“I’ll go on my own then,” he said. He turned away. “Stay and burn with the rest,” were the last words Brynn ever heard from his son.
