Protect Life

[Brian]

After leaving the other keep defenders, Bjorn helps carry in the wounded.  Only one rock got through to the battlements, and it was far to the side of Parthipan's magical shield.  Beyond that, many more fell in the melee, so the majority are outside.

The other warriors appear to be picking up the example, though -- everyone who's capable at least tries to help bring in their wounded bretheren.

The thought occurs, briefly, that the Dreadmarch is denied this opportunity.

As Bjorn helps carry a stretcher inside the gates, he spots Lammermore sitting against the wall and being lectured by a vassal marked with the insignia of Liene (a cresent moon).  Lammermore weathers the diatribe, his eyes occasionally going to the sword that he's no longer holding -- Ekim is carrying it, and standing nearby, looking at Lammermore curiously.

[Bjorn]

When he's gotten the stretcher to the place it needs to be, Bjorn murmurs his excuses, and then makes his way over to Lammermore and the rest.  While not hiding his approach, he does not say anything, listening to the conversation already in progress.

[Brian]

When you approach you only catch the tail end of it.  "...better care of yourself, or you won't live to see the siege through," the vassal finishes, patting the last of the bandages into place on Lammermore's torso.  "Now, call upon one of our priestesses later.  You'll heal much faster after they attend you."

"Aye," Lammemore says, nodding stiffly.  The vassal nods back at him, giving him a suspicious look, then turns away and walks quickly to the nearest wounded soldier -- coincidentally, the one Bjorn just carried in.

"Aye," Lammermore growls, grimacing as one hand touches an edge of the bandage.  He then looks down at the chestplate that's lying on the ground near him, hopelessly dented by the blow he took.  It looks like Lammermore was fighting even though his armor had been folded sharply enough to cut his chest.

[Bjorn]

"At this rate, Sir Lammermore," Bjorn says, with more than a hint of dry humour in his voice, "you'll have us all thinking you don't want your job back."

[Brian]

Lammermore snorts at that, wincing at the pain.  "This is minor, without arrow wounds," he says, shaking his head.  Sighing, he adds, "I never trusted Dorian.  I should have said something, though."

[Bjorn]

Bjorn raises an eyebrow at that.  "Why didn't you trust him?" he asks, somewhat surprised.

[Brian]

"He seemed too eager.  You recall my concerns that he might 'accidentally' strike one of us while we fought the General?" Lammermore asks.

[Bjorn]

Bjorn nods at that.  "His alibi was quite good, unfortunately," Bjorn says grimly.  "Solariat has much to answer for."

[Brian]

"And the Archonae," Lammermore says, shaking his head.  Sitting up a bit straighter, he feels out the wounds on his chest and sighs.  "Bjorn ... I need to ask a favor of you.  I know it's not seemly ... but I need to heal if I want to be able to fight tomorrow night.  You're one of the only people I would trust with this task ... and I do not think Ekim would be willing to accept it.

"If you're willing to accept it, I would be honored if you would retain Wardenship of the keep until at least tomorrow.  I need ... need to see a healer and get some rest."  He grimaces.  "Forcing myself didn't help, I've learned.  But rest will."  He sighs again at this, and shakes his head.  "Armsmaster Renold would never have forgiven me for allowing myself to be struck so."  Lammermore then frowns, and looks around to make sure no one is immediately in earshot.  "I blame the blade of seven shadows," he says quietly.  "It impairs one's judgement."

[Bjorn]

"I noticed something of that sort, when Lord Kevin handled it," Bjorn says thoughtfully, at the same volume as Lammermore.  "It instills a bloodlust?"

He shakes his head, and returns to a more normal level of speech.  "As the healer said, Sir Lammermore, you must rest, for we all need you in the best condition.  I'm honoured that you ask me to help you, and I only hope I can live up to your trust."

[Brian]

Lammermore grunts in agreement.  "It's a glorious sword for a warrior, but a blade that turns on its wielder if that man is a commander.  I owe you my gratitude."  Climbing to his feet (and wincing) Lammermore groans.  "Ah.  Rest for me."  A trio of guards approach, and escort him back towards the keep, two walking on either side of him, and the third carrying the dented chestplate.  "Fare well in your task, Bjorn," he says before passing from earshot.

[Bjorn]

"And rest well, Sir Lammermore," Bjorn replies courteously.  With that, he turns back to continue aiding the medics, doing his best to project the air of a commander confident with reason.

OOC: Influence to bring PRE up to 14

[Brian]

As Bjorn walks across the field, most of the men there seem not to notice, except to get out of his way when he comes through.

[Bjorn]

Bjorn is only partly motivated by the need to raise morale.  This is a task that needs to be done, of course -- and he needs to give himself time to think.  Moving stretchers and helping triage requires sufficiently little of his attention that he can start to digest all that's happened over the past few days, and so he steadfastly continues to work.

[Brian]

After a while, there are no more stretchers to move.  Either everyone's been tended and is now walking (if still wounded) or moved into the medical base which is somewhere scattered between the Storm-rider tents and the keep defenders behind the keep.  Or their stretchers were taken away by the quiet Interers with their ghostly black cloaks and outfits.

Either way, all that's left in the yard are a few men inspecting the weapons and shields on the racks, and a few more running in from the field with discarded (but usable) weaponry and armor.