1866-10-12 - Macabre Muderous Memories of Mourning
Macabre Muderous Memories of Mourning
Summary: Dawn begets dreams brought on murders. Past events turn temporal and nightmarish. One cannot escape their past and all the twisted reflections it brings.
Date: 1866-10-12
Related: None

It was a horrid, terrible thing. Perhaps the stories did it justice. Perhaps they were but an exaggeration. Perhaps they were but veiled whispers with the truth hidden and the worst of the butchery kept from public view.

But for Dawn of Bazan, her good cheer from her time in Pacitta had since passed on her return to Sunsreach and finding the abomination and the rumors spreading like wildfire. For her, it brought too many bad memories of the Succession War. Brother against brother. Brutality for the sake of brutality.

In her quarters in Sunsreach, late at night, Dawn tossed and turned. The hot and heavy weather having turned over to a cool, crispness of the fall which made it easier for her. But on this night, her dreams were all too heavy and hot with memories.

Was her dream a memory? So vivid. Was it a twisting over of events of what had gone on then in the war? Was it a mix of both brought to the forefront? It was sometimes hard to tell. Was this something that had gone on? Was it something that was merely one series of memories of horrors merging all together?

For those who supported the Rose, but were outside of the heavily fortified castles that the majority of the outnumbered Rose’s forces were in, life was a constant shift of paranoia and combat, moving in small groups from safe place to safe place.

There were rules, as far as the Rivanans were concerned in the small fortified outposts they held over the summer. Each small village cluster a world unto itself, protected as best by whatever barricades or even trenches they could maintain, in small platoons throughout the dotted countryside.

Never go anywhere alone no matter what. Whether you heard screaming, crying, or anything unnatural. Always go in the smallest of at least four, preferably more. Whether it was to a latrine trench, to forage for food, or even on something as innucous as a patrol.

Never trust the locals. It didn’t matter however long they’d been friendly. All it took was the Thorn grabbign their family and they would sing whatever tune the brutal soldiers wanted them to at knifepoint. Hostages were a grisly, but effective thing when it came to getting info. Who could discharge a man of his family’s safety when he could free them by betraying strangers?

The third, among numerous other rules of keeping oneself alive was to look at everything when it came into the camp. Whether it was food (to make sure it wasn’t poisoned), whether it was reinforcements (to make sure that a caravan hadn’t been ambushed and the Couvieran’s replaced them to kill everyone), whether it was armor (that was purposefully cracked and blades that were dulled).

These were among many other rules that the small, isolated and fortified hamlets what passed for the Rivanan occupation of the lowlands went by. First and foremost they were populated by paranoia. Which probably served the resisting members of the dutchy, protecting thier homes from invaders, as much as force of arms did.

The day had started out normally enough. Two groups had gone out with small axes with intent to clear the small forest that had grown around the camp in the rains. Any cover let the raiders come, whether it was to shoot arrows or sneak in at the dusk to slit their throats. The only thing which kept them from burning away the clearings was the pernisciousness of the winds and the heavy rains.

For Dawn, the heat had been unbearable. Muggy, sticky.. Sweltering heavily in it, the young woman was working at trying to pack together osme medicines and bandages to treat some of the sickness that came in from the insects which always swarmed after it rained and flooded.

Yelling and screaming came from a few hundred yards away as she went to grab at her staff. The axemen had come upon something. Or had something come upon them?

She quickly joined with a couple other of the camp followers as the entire cordon was going on an alert. Scurrying, Dawn went at a faster jog as the commander of the small hamlet signalled her and two of the other axemen. “Sweep and check.” The screams were likely from there being injury, so sending a healer made sense.

Her bag in front of her, Dawn and the two guards wnet a hundred yards from the hamlet, towards the screams.. They were still going on, not stopping.

She was still a healer, even as a noble, and they were still loyal men. So she was going with a pair of the guards to check on the area and report back. The patrol had not been gone for that long..

It was easy enough as they came around the bend to see why there were screams. Men, arranged in a line. Chopped up with limbs askew, hacked over and put to form letters. Bodies of loyal men - friends, soldiers, nobles.

And they had been macabrely arranged in this few hundred yards outside of the camp to form letters.


The screams ended. Everyone in the camp packed up and fled.

And in her room, she woke up. Screaming, perhaps? Or maybe her throat was too raw to get it out. Was it a nightmare? Was there some element in truth to it?

Slowly heaving, Dawn went to drag her body towards the basin as her stomach emptied itself from the meal she had had earlier. Sleep would not come back to her tonight.

And so she would face her morbid, twisted reflections on what was and what might have been, hoping that her proverbial nightmare did not have an element of truth to it.

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