Forgotten Realms:

Angels and Demons

Part XXIX

The fleeing Orcs ran into right into the allied forces of Tyranfal and Wyrvern's Rest. Both sides were clearly shocked by the other being there, but that only lasted for a moment. The allied fighters quickly finished off the Orcs, and those that weren't immediately slain, fled. Casualties were light on the allied fighters, and many cheered in their overwhelming victory.

Those cheers fell to silence as Altamar came into their view. The marching soldiers stopped in horror as they gazed upon the city. Bodies lay all around, most Orc, but too many of the city's defenders mixed in. Bellows of smoke wafted into the air as fires took building after building. The twisted gate looked like a fallen sentinel, broken and twisted. Fallen in its duty, the gate struck those coming to the city's aid like a rock.

Then calls were sent out by someone manning the walls, and the allied soldiers saw people moving about the walls. They soon marched double time, rushing forward and to an even more magnificent sight. More people were moving about, healers were running from wounded to wounded. The flags of Altamar still stood, and soon another one was raised above the damaged gate.

Altamar was damaged but was still alive. Those marching to their defense felt their spirits rise. The city would be hurting, but they had persevered. New songs and stories would be sung and told. Not a single guard or warrior in Altamar's defense would buy their own drinks for quite some time. Most of all though, a new precedent had been set. Now when facing adversity, the people would talk about having an Altamaran constitution.

While the defenders began to restore order, and the allies coming in to assist, someone was skulking about. A lone fighter, scarred from many battles walked the streets, looking into broken window after broken window. Glass crunched beneath his boots and raging fires still burned in some of the shops. He felt the heat, but he paid it no heed.

With each step he left a red footprint. That didn't matter either. All that mattered was finding what he needed. Peering into each window, he tried to remember which shops were on down this way. All the other shops he had visited had either still been intact, or was missing the item. Those still standing had guards or private security watching them. He wanted to stay away from those, as there had been enough violence for one day.

That thought was almost foreign to him. There was a time when he would have fought for the slightest insult, and when he used to fight for fighting's sake. The priest and wizard, poor Emily, had been good for him. They hadn't mellowed him out, as much showed him the proper time to fight, and what to fight for. He thought he was protecting them, but in the end they saved him.

Despite himself, a single tear ran down his rugged cheek. His younger self would have taken this as a reason to blitz himself with drink and not remembered anything for a week. However, Emily was worth remembering. She and the priest were worth the pain he now felt. He wasn't worthy of them, and the fact they stood with him, said a lot about them. It was why he loved them, and this was true love. They were his family.

Seeing a store for religious artifacts and reagents, he entered. More blood fell as he climbed into the ruined store. He ignored the pain and dug through the remains. Show cases were smashed, bookshelves were turned over, and the whole place was completely demolished. As such things were completely beyond use.

The fighter cursed as he saw the ruined reagents. The Orcs had ruined everything in here worth having. He felt his heart sink as kept coming up empty, and wishing he had brought someone who knew more about reagents with him. He knew what the priest needed, but not what any other class might need.

He resisted the urge to kick something, Emily would have told him to focus. She always saw things; she was very perceptive. She used to tell him that she just took a moment, and a breath, before she looked. That way she was ready to see what was there, and not rush headlong into danger. That was the fighter's gig.

Despite himself, more tears fell down and he just let them come. The wizard reminded him of what he wanted his own daughter to be. Kind, caring, smart, and confident, all these things he wished for her. The little girl loved it when Emily came by and they had become close. She was going to take Emily's death hard. He couldn't think about that, he had a mission.

So, he did what the wizard had always said she did. He took a deep breath, let it out and looked at the destroyed magic shop. Littered items abounded, and the fighter felt a scream raising from his chest, when he saw it. A small glint in the sunlight, which caused him to dig like a mad man.

Where he had been sitting, a pool of blood remained. It didn't matter, he had to dig. His hands hurt and his fingers were shredded. He didn't stop, just kept going. Debris flew by him, till he felt the cool touch of metal. Pulling with all his might, he dislodged the rod with a broad smile. The fighter ran back out of the destroyed shop and towards where the priest was.

The priest sat looking over the body of Emily, his body and spirit wiped out. Since her death, he hadn't fought, hadn't moved from his vigil. He had helped out with the wounded, but was never more than ten feet from his love's body. They had removed the spear that had killed her, and had dressed her in white vestments. He had always thought her first white dress would be on their wedding day.

The other priests and priestess were giving him a wide berth, more out of respect than anything else. With the fighting having finished, they were busy enough trying to save lives. They had told him to rest, because his skills would be needed as more wounded came in. Beyond saving what he could, there was nothing else for him. She was gone, and he didn't know how to go on without her.

Commotion came from his side, but the priest didn't look up. Not till a form slammed down near him. He looked up to see the fighter pulling himself back up. The priest helped the armored man up, his hands wet now. He was just about to go off on the fighter for drinking, getting falling down drunk, when the fighter slammed a rod into his hand. The priest looked confused till the fighter spoke.

"Bring her back," the fighter said. "That is a rod of resurrection. Bring Emily back."

Realizing what was in his hand, the priest immediately turned it and aimed. Back during seminary, they had taught them how to use magical rods like these. The magic was stored inside, and many an adventuring company kept one around for instances just like these. They were expensive, which meant the priest on purposely didn't ask who the fighter had acquired such an item. He followed the law, but for her, the priest was willing not to ask questions that would weigh on him.

He concentrated as he had been taught and felt energy erupt out of the rod. He saw a luminous golden light bathe Emily's body. He dropped to his knees and the light gently absorbed into her body. Seconds flew by as minutes, which felt more like hours to them. Both fighter and priest waited for the first breath, waited for Emily's spirit to rejoin her body. Both held their breaths, waiting for the miracle the fighter had brought in.

With one ragged breath, Emily returned to the world and both men cheered. The priest grabbed her up, embracing her tightly. The fighter stood back, a feeling of mission accomplished filling him. More than that, more like he finally did something right. She had always told him he was better than he knew, and that day he had finally proven her right. He had done good.

"What happened?" Emily asked. "I felt myself falling and then somewhere else."

"You're back," was all the priest could say. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

Emily pulled his head to her chest, "It's okay, I'm okay." Seeing her white clothing, "I think there more to this story."

It was then that the fighter fell over. It was also then that the priest realized his hand had left reddish streaks across Emily's white funeral dress. Looking at his hand, the same one that held the resurrection rod, it was covered in blood. It wasn't his blood, as he discovered wiping his hand clean on his vestments. Looking at the fallen fighter, he instantly knew.

All around the fighter was blood, and the priest was by his side. Rolling the fighter over, the priest called on his deity. Without his full rest done, he hadn't regained all of his healing abilities. The best he could do was a small, light wounds like heal. Which as the priest soon found out, was very much too little. The fighter's body was decimated by wounds, and even if the priest had been at full strength, still may have been beyond his skill.

"What happened?" Emily asked, her voice quivering as she saw one of her friends dying.

The fighter smiled, "Old man dies, young woman lives. Fair trade."

"No! You can't die!" Emily screamed. "You have to live. Think about Rianna, she still needs her dad."

"Emily, she's been fine without me for all these years," the fighter weekly said. "She needs you and Jeremiah. You both are the role models she deserves. I'm just.."

"You're more than hired muscle," the priest, Jeremiah countered. "You called me your brother, and you're right. We are family."

The fighter nodded, his skin becoming pale, "You both showed me I could be better. I finally got to repay you."

With that the fighter's breathing became increasingly shallower, till his breathing had stopped all together. Emily fell into Jeremiah's arms as more priests came to help, to no avail. Jeremiah tried to comfort her, even as he tried to deal with the massive whiplash in emotions. All the while two more stretchers were brought in.

For the priest, he had his love back, but he had lost a man who proved to be better than a friend. He mourned the loss of a brother in arms, all the while elation fought with the return of Emily. All he could do was pray, and he called out to his deity to grant him a miracle. He had tried it when Emily had fallen, but the fighter deserved just as much. He added to the end of his plea, that the fighter be allowed into the heavens, if he couldn't be saved.

One of the attendants carrying in the two stretchers was Captain Reynolds, the other was one of his lieutenants, Ellen Winstead. They noticed the crowd forming around the faller fighter. They set down Kirann and Raven, one was still unconscious, the other aggravated at being treated like glass. Instantly Raven was up, and holding Kirann's hand, letting him know she was still there.

As Emily's tears hit the ground, a shift happened in the Aasimar monk. His eyes opened and he weakly sat up. Raven tried to keep him laying down, but knew she wasn't going to win this battle. Instead she took his arm and helped him up. Together they made their way over to the gathered group. Upon seeing the resurrected wizard and the dying fighter, Kirann began to glow again.

Reaching down he put a hand on the fighter's head, "Fierce warrior, may you find your way to paradise."

"I'm not sure he would like that," Emily said. "He's a good man, but one that thrives on fighting. His whole life was one big fight, till he got to our little party."

Jeremiah smiled, "His life was hard, but he found one with us. Still fighting, but for a better purpose. Big lug was better than he knew."

Kirann nodded, "Rest now, your fight is over."

"My fight is never over," the fighter said, but the voice came not from his body.

All gathered saw the fighter, bathed in a holy aura. Armored in angelic plate and wielding a polearm of fire, the fighter brought his fist up to his chest. He gave the priest and wizard a smile before he disappeared into a flash of light. As he did a sense of peace fell over those gathered.

The dead body of the fighter began to cool, and his friends stood over it with the knowledge he lived on. Somewhere, under some god's command, he was still fighting. Like the fighting he did for them, this would be in the service of something greater than him. Which left them with the need to send him off properly. They would be secure in the knowledge, somewhere out there, their friend as raising hell for the side of good in the Heavens.