Certain major characters belong to Obsidian...
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Cursing and grumbling is be heard from the demolished terrain, the earth shifts and the bass voice grunts with more volume before the sod begins to shift again. No one seems present to hear, not even squirrels or birds are looking for food here in the too early winter.
After a time, the ground heaves and a grimy fist waves up through a gap into the evening air. The oaths are clearer now, and at last a very dirty and bruised dwarf, with beard matted flat from mud and other liquids, heaves himself out of the rubble.
Looking at the sky, he heaves a sigh and wipes streaks from his face. Pulling a small hand ax that had been tucked into his clothing, he looks for a sturdy branch, and cleans it off, removing side branches and leaves.
Even as he finishes preparing the branch, an elf melts out of the woods and greets the dwarf in another language. Words are exchanged, and while the dwarf continues to move and shift rubble his face changes as he speaks between his efforts. The elf's face does not change in the slightest, but he begins to help the dwarf.
Listening carefully, the elf gestures for silence and calls out in a fluid speech. He seems to be speaking to another, though the dwarf only looks puzzled. When the elf is done speaking, they attack the digging with new energy.
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The dwarf and elf are pulling travois with bodies behind them as they reach a road. One being pulled, another elf bandaged and wearing the ragged remains of fine robes, seems alert, but the others remain too still and unbreathing.
There is no traffic along the road, only the occasional fresh corpse or rotten and decayed body. The small group has a pall of mourning as they travel, only broken by cross quips from the wounded elf. Encountering a squad of soldiers, the gloom seems contagious, and the soldiers join the smaller group. The larger group moves a bit faster now, still away from the morning sun and towards a small keep in the distance.
Meeting guards at the outer wall, there are cries of relief before the news sinks in. The gloom spreads, as bandaged soldiers, both in uniform and not, arrive to see the bodies as they are brought into the keep. The adventurers, living and not, are taken to the small temple, through the suddenly stopped sounds of repairs and training.
The smell of pyres of enemy remains hangs over the keep, reaching the inside of a makeshift infirmary. Rough, and new, bunks are full of the injured and recovering. Familiar faces are there, from sergeant to paladin to tiefling to gnome. Those helping with nursing have black armbands and say little to their patients.
A tired looking priest delivers some unwelcome news to the tall human while black birds fly into the window. The tall human sags a little, but shows no other reaction.
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Fewer bunks fill the infirmary now, and the priests and helpers, like the tall human, are kept busy caring for those recovering and those who have to deal with the loss of an eye or an arm. While still moving somewhat stiffly, the black-haired human seems whole aside from larger streaks of gray at the temples.
In the pause of the falling night, he moves out to the temple to speak with another priest, who looks at him with a measure of pity while giving no answers. Murmuring thanks, he moves outside and onto a defense wall, moving like he is much older than just a few tendays before.
Reaching the top of the wall, he looks over the crippled defenses and palpable gloom of the post from a familiar spot as the light fades like it did several tendays ago. Guards on patrol pass him, but do not speak as he thinks.
The squawks of black birds rise up ahead of their arrival to surround him. Dozens of the black birds make their unmelodious noise until they flutter close... when from each of them comes a score of words. The words may be more or fewer from each bird, all overlapping, but in only one voice. Words of fear, pain, longing, anguish, caring, loneliness, horror and a few rare wisps of hope.
His hands reaching a little into the murder of ravens, he spins slowly with tears on his face.
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A/N: This tale came from stray thought about the animal messenger spell. Thanks to my beta reader, who's been kind enough to point out some mistakes. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think of the story would be very appreciated.