We found ourselves sitting around the same fire. Veneir, Manus, Thimotheus, Zora, as the one-eyed woman had introduced herself finally, and Simue, who had found a couple of sheets of folded parchment to write on. The fires were crackling all around us. Laughter and yelling filled the night, especially since a stash of alcohol had been found and passed around. There was something strained and strange in the air. The laughter was too joyful, the yelling too loud. It reminded me of the stories I heard of sickness spreading through towns, while the people locked themselves away and indulged in the most sinful debaucheries. Because death was inevitable. We may have given them hope today. They had given themselves hope today, but in the end, it had been only a small step on the way to true freedom. The real threat had not been addressed yet. As long as Barak Bloodbraid was out there, there would be neither peace nor quiet.

"[Death of a Thousand Cuts]?“ Manus was leaning over the fire to read aloud what Simue had written in neat little letters "I never heard of such a Skill. What class does it come from?“

Simue smiled a sad little smile and shook her head.

"You mind telling us? Sorry, I did not mean to pry...“ Manus sputtered, caught off-guard.

"I would like to hear about your Skill, Manus.“ I changed the subject. "It was very impressive.“

Manus turned to me, shrugging with a smile, not really comfortable with the praise. "It was [Form of the Silver Giant]. It is the signature battle form of our knightly Order, the Order of the Adamant Heart. We fight on foot, to maximize the impact of the battle form. Or we did, rather.“ His voice turned from enthusiastic to thoughtful and heavy. "Not enough Knights left to form a shield wall with, I fear.“

"I knew you to be a Knight, Ser Manus.“ Zora said. "I just did not expect it to be one of the noble Orders from the Capital. I assumed they were ordered to stay and protect the Emperor.“

Manus nodded. "It is why I am a Knight no longer.“ His cheeks reddening with shame. "We are [Guardian Knights], sworn to protect the weak and those that cannot protect themselves. As we received the order...We broke one oath to fulfill another. But please don‘t...Nevermind. You are clearly a Knight as well, Sera Zora. From where do you hail?“

She laughed. "Am I? No, I was a Squire. Sworn to the Order of the Mistwalkers. But I was a [Swordswoman] well before I heard my calling. The Order fell early, but we fought for months behind enemy lines. I think they still do. It is where I met Simue. We walked into the trap, that was our downfall, together. Curse that cunning Wyldling Bastard.“

"Cunning, is he?“ I asked. Simue threw the stick she had been poking the fire with into the flames. Frowning in anger.

"I don‘t know if he‘s cunning.“ Thimotheus said from across the fire. "But a Bastard he is, that much is true.“

"Either he is, or someone that gives him counsel.“ Zora spat. "I just can‘t wait to give him his due.“

"As can‘t I. I just have not seen much of the man but the evil brute. I cannot imagine the beast to be smart as well.“ Thimotheus said.

"You have not fought him?“ I asked.

He shook his head. "No. I fought the horde. Got surrounded and overwhelmed, once my Spellbook ran dry. I awoke in his ‚care‘.“ He spat into the fire. "My leg was already gone then. I have him to thank for this.“ He wiggled the stumps of his missing fingers.

"We all have him to thank for a lot of things.“ Manus said silently, and the group nodded seriously.

"And look at what a remarkable group the man has created in his hubris.“ Veneir laughed through his veil. "Myself not included, of course. But yesterday has shown me one thing. That he will rue the day he forgot to finish you off.“

"What a group indeed. The Crippled Circle.“ Zora laughed mirthlessly.

"The Wounded Pride?“ I tried.

"A lot of wordplay for something so sad.“ Thimotheus said.

"What about you, Hannibal? I heard the First Mate call you ‚my Lord‘.“ Thimotheus turned his sharp eyes to me. I shot a glance over to Veneir, but he just shrugged, smiling with his eyes.

"I was a [Margrave] for a day, before I...fell. The Raven, to be specific.“

"Ravenrock?“ The mage whistled. "That was the first Margraviate that fell. How did you survive?“

"I cannot bring myself to say the words. Even now, after everything, it seems like a fairytale to me.“

"Well then, that sounds like a story worth telling. We all have been brought here by chance and fate. We will believe you. You earned that much by freeing us from that cell. But we won‘t pry if you wish to keep your secrets.“ Manus said, his face friendly and earnest.

And I don‘t know what it was, the strange day, the camaraderie I felt, the desire to share my experiences, the friendly faces...I told them everything. All of it. Silence reigned a while after I had finished my tale. Then Simue raised a parchment, two words written on it:

Holy Shit.

Later that night I walked with Manus over to the hospital ship. I had regenerated a good chunk of my Mana, Manus had recovered as well, and we were ready to exhaust our supply of healing Skills once more, before resting for the night.

The hospital was a frantic mess. We had the [Surgeon], Bosun Marge, and around 20 other volunteers with related and helpful Skills and skills, working through the night. We have had a lot more volunteers of course, but after a while, they had been sending away to care for the lightly wounded that were taking part in the celebration and did not need to be in the hospital. Manus and I were the only survivors with Skills that did not require any expertise, and so we were not qualified to work here, but we came in as often as we could to use our Skills and get the hells out of the way of the professionals again.

We needed help for our simple task anyway. Manus had to be shown the worst cases, those that could use a little miracle. And someone had to point out to me which cases needed the strength to fight for the night or who could use my help to combat a fever or gangrene.

Manus had a gentle soul, talking to the wounded and dying with an open mind and heart, listening to them and giving advice, when asked for. He had been a religious man in another life. I found his way of handling the situation admirable, and so I tried my best to listen to the needs of the men and women I used [Reinvigoration] on, inspired by Manus conduct around the wounded. Often times they inquired about friends or family, and I promised them to ask around. They knew me. I mean, of course they did, I almost personally cut their bindings and led the charge on the Wyldlings this morning. But they knew me to be a Lord aswell. Words traveled fast in the Wreckage.

I looked for the Doctor, but he was busy in a situation involving a lot of screaming, two helpers trying to restrain a man, and a metal saw. I so did not want to have anything to do with that, so we slipped out after having done what we could.

The next morning we found ourselves in some kind of impromtu war council. Throughout the previous day, the display of competence and leadership had distinguished certain people, that now took on parts of the responsibility. Like the responsibility to talk about our next steps. The Wounded Pride was there, as I still called them that in my head, Captain Locksley and First Mate Higgins, Fjora and Khodan representing the workers and Gideon, representing what fighters we had. The Doctor would have been here as well, but he had cursed us out of the hospital, declining the invitation with a lot of choice words.

"539 dead. So far, that is. There are 87 more in critical condition, as of an hour ago and by the word of Doctor Dulmore“ Veneir stated calmly, his eyes not betraying what he really felt. "That means that we have 979 survivors, the crew of the Albatross not included. Of them 189 are stable, but in the care of Doctor Dulmore and should not be moved.“

The group needed a moment to take that number in. It was high, but that had to be expected. But still, hearing it made it more real somehow. We had lost roughly a third of the freed slaves. My stomach churned. Was there something I could have done? Could I have done more?

"The Numbers are good.“ Captain Locksley said with cold determination. "For unarmed and untrained irregulars to storm a fortification of trained and leveled soldiers, Wyldlings on top of that, I expected the result to be much worse. I can only congratulate you for the good work you did yesterday, ladies and gentlemen. I expect the good result to stem from the intervention of the high leveled individuals present here. We had not thought to factor you into our estimations.“ He threw me a look that could be construed as disapproval. "But you acted on your own terms and saved a lot of lives that way. Well done.“ He nodded to the Wounded Pride.

"Which brings us to the present.“ He continued. "What to do next. I, just for the sake of full disclosure, can tell you that we can take about 150 passengers on the Albatross. Maybe 100 more on the longboats and dinghis. There may even be a chance to restore a ship or two from the Wreckage, depending on the time we have.“

Fjora looked to the floor, clearly intimidated by the company, being a simple [Chargehand] herself, but she mumbled something in anger. Khadon had no such reservations. He slapped his fist in his open palm and roared: "Leaving behind hundreds of poor souls for the Wyldlings to feast on when they return? And then what? Where would we even go?“

Captain Locksley raised his hands. "I merely stated the facts.“

Somehow silence fell over the group as people thought about options. And somehow, every now and again, the looks fell on me. I realized far too late that everyone expected me to take the word.

I coughed. "Gideon,“ I said, "I think you have the most insight in this. How many men and women are really fighters? With fighting classes and professions?“

He scratched his beard. "I have 36 who used to be professional [Soldiers] and [Guards]. There are 21 civilian [Hunters] and [Archers]. Out of all of them, I have the highest level with 14. But there are a lot more that have fought with bravery, my Lord. In time they could be one hell of a militia. Or even professionals, if they train and join the ranks.“

"14 and lower? That will not do.“ I muttered absent-mindedly

Gideon sat down, his face reddening in shame. "I am sorry my Lord.“

My eyes widened in the realization of what I have said. "No, no! I am sorry. I only meant that we cannot risk the lives of our people against a monster such as Barak Bloodbraid. Your lives are important, more than ever, and the people will need you for protection in the months to come.“ I spluttered.

"The Raven is right.“ Zora stood up. "We just have not enough forces to defend ourselves.“

"What do you suggest?“ Manus asked sharply, a frown on his face.

"We cannot defend everybody from Barak Bloodbraid and his ire. I suggest we do not defend "anyone or anything. I suggest we hunt him down like the rabid dog he is.“

"Who will?“ Veneir asked after a moment of thought. "I count you, Zora, and Simue. Manus, of course, the Captain and the young Lord. Thimotheus is missing a leg and can‘t possibly climb in the mountains.“

"And I daresay that the Captain is needed here.“ I added. "Not only to take command but to oversee repairs. In case we fail. In case he needs to make a run for it with as many people as he can. And in case the ships of Barak Bloodbraid return with more warriors and slaves. The Albatross is our last line of defense against those.“

Locksley nodded. "You can take Higgins, though. He is good enough. That makes five. Dire odds against Bloodbraid and his elites.“

"The Wyldlings do not know the mountains as I do. I led them astray for days, fighting them alone until he mobilized his elites and went after me himself.“ I argued with confidence. "It is not going to be a fair fight. They are searching the mountains for a single man. They are not moving as a group. We fight them on our terms. One after the other.“

"What if you miss them and they return while you are out?“ Thimotheus asked.

"Can we somehow topple this giant rock?“ Veneir asked, pointing to the Needle.

"Good idea. Lock them into the Broken Lands with us, if you must. If you can topple the Needle, that is.“

"That depends on you, good [Mage].“ Locksley said, turning to Thimotheus. "Can you enchant ballistae bolts with something substantial? We only have a couple of dozen non-lethal shock bolts left, meant to disperse and disorient crowds with lightning.“

Thimotheus scratched his chin. "Depends. If my Spellbook is here somewhere, if he has taken it with him and we find it, I can do a lot. If not...I can do a little.“

"One more thing.“ I said and smiled a little, rubbing the flame mark in my palm. "We are not alone. I have allies on the way, ready to pick a bone or two with their forsaken brothers and sisters.“

"Gods damned Wyldlings?“ First Mate Higgings blurted out, no longer able to keep his professional calm.

Everyone, that had not spent the night at the fire with me and knew what I was talking about, started talking at once.