There was little news from the warfront at first; and the continuing silence became an ominous thing. Something had gone horribly wrong in Nalbina, though nobody could imagine the precise details. A tense air began to grow and spread through the war counsel and the barracks halls; half empty with the deployment of the forces of Dalmasca to the border. Soldiers paced, knights took to wearing full battle armor on habit alone as the palace walls filled with an apprehensive edge, much like the calm before the storm. The staff began to avoid the barracks hall as the warriors became more on edge, snapping at each other and stalking shadows in search of an intangible something to blame the heavy anticipation on.
Of them all, Vossler was the worst. The Knight-Captain prowled the halls with a scowl like hell brimming over, eyes dark with restless energy. Almost an omen to his arrival was the heavy fall of his armored greaves on the tiled corridors, a noise that carried on rooms ahead and acted like a warning. His own troops, people who admired and followed the knight without question, began to grow wary of his presence and seemed to vanish when he rounded a corner. The lack of information from the border was slowly turning the palace on its side and the longer there was silence, the worse the soldiers became; not knowing when to start putting things in order to move to the border themselves. Whispers began to spread of full out war.
All of this within the span of two days. When word finally did come, it was on the leading edge of the quickly retreating forces and Vossler was the first in the war room to receive it; chomping restively on the bit as he tried to coax the information out of the weary messenger who managed to get ahead of the returning fleet. Dead on his feet with exhaustion, the messenger still refused to relate any of the information until the remainder of the counsel had arrived.
Sweeping in as Vossler badgered the man in growing agitation though, was a person the dark haired knight hadn't expected to see in the halls of the palace at the dark hour. News had come shortly after the clock passed an hour after midnight and the counsel was taking too long to wake. Vossler hadn't been sleeping; torn into distraction by the lack of news. News was, after all, the blood of the military world. It seemed he hadn't been the only one and as he turned; his dark eyes focused on the ghostly presence of Princess Ashelia; dressed in robe and slippers with dark circles below her usually fiery eyes.
Fighting between dual urges, the Knight-Captain was unsure whether to bow in respect or avert his eyes for much the same reason at her choice of clothing. "Highness-"
"Quiet, Captain." Her voice resounded with impatience of its own and spurred by her actions, Vossler decided to simply bow, bending stiffly at the waist to all the distance his armor would allow. Even so, her agitation seemed to equal his own because rather than acknowledge his show of honor, she rounded on the messenger with a fury that nearly surpassed his own. "What news do you bring? I wish to hear it now!" Taken aback, the messenger fumbled with words until Vossler reached out to rest a gentle hand on Ashelia's shoulder. Twisting under his touch, she slapped it off and cast him a look full of venom and sick with worry.
"Your Highness, please." In her eyes, he found a mirror to his own turmoil and gestured to a high backed seat near the counsel table. Though she fought with her own mired sense of dignity and responsibility, Ashelia finally surrendered and allowed him to lead her to the chair; perhaps sensing his own blind desperation to find out what had happened. "We will learn nothing until the remainder of the counsel is present."
"I cannot bear to wait any longer." The posture she took was so stiff that Vossler feared the woman might break. But it was then he realized that, even though he had met the Princess several occasions before and only briefly, she was made of stronger stuff than he had first assumed. It took all he had to calm himself and try to delegate his own strength to the young woman, but in a few moments of sitting in quiet exposure to the other's agitated sense of self they both seemed to relax. "Captain Azelas.." He was surprised that she recalled his name. "I must know."
Even more of a surprise was the sudden shimmer to her eyes, and sensing the oncoming tide of worry; Vossler pulled off a hard metal gauntlet and laid his hand encouragingly over the Princess'. Briefly, her eyes flashed darkly in a sort of righteous indignation at his forwardness, but after the initial reaction passed her features softened and she seemed to accept the gesture of support. Their shared despondency lasted only moments though before the doors into the war room opened, the remainder of the counsel filtering into the room in small groups. Ashelia was on her feet and at the beleaguered messenger's side in a heartbeat and as the counsel crowded around the man to hear the news, Vossler stood by in a practiced veneer of calm as he tugged the metal layers of his gauntlet back over his chilled fingers.
In what was possibly the strangest thing he'd seen, the knight turned to regard the counsel with a raised eyebrow. Like children awaiting some fantastic tale, the counsel members circled the messenger; his low words carrying strong against the tense silence that engulfed the room. Princess Ashelia stood closest it seemed, pressing into the circle with desperate hope. While they awaited the important news, the messenger recounted the units they had been faced with and the attacks set upon them.. But he hadn't yet told them, what they all wanted to hear; what was the accumulated loss? Had Nalbina fallen?
And then he heard them; roaring on the wind in the distance like dragons or an ill storm stirring. Transports. There was no mistaking the guttural howl of damaged glossair rings; and before anybody else in the room could register the distant how,l the palace broke into a flurry of action. "They return!"
Cape flashing out behind him in a sweep of heavy blue and gold canvas, Vossler turned nimbly and made for the broad double doors as the messenger sputtered in surprise; his information forgotten as the advance party of troops reached the Rabanastre proper.
Footfalls of metal and stiff leather echoed down the corridors before him as Vossler raced toward the courtyard, his deep voice amplified by the arched hallways as he roused any within earshot. Wounded always came on the first transports and medics would be sorely needed. Though it would take longer, he cursed and split down the hallway that ran through the barracks to get more troops for support. Even so, he didn't stop his headlong flight through the royal hall and as he passed the rooms of his troops he smashed a metal clad fist against the wood; knowing it would be enough to jar the already frayed nerves into full wake.
By the time he swung back into the hallway that led to the courtyards, there was already a steady crowd trailing toward the open grounds where the transports would land. The ground lit up with a hazy blue glow of the glossair rings as the transports began to touch down, people moving in a flurry of desperation to be first to receive the news.
Over the roar of the crowd and the clicking spin of unbalanced rings that held the transports aloft, Vossler shouted orders to his troops. The area needed to be cleared, the crowd placed under control and a path made free for the arrival of the wounded. A triage began as soon as the doors opened and the first litters were brought into view. Soon, the medics had everything under control and Vossler directed the freshly arriving troops on how to best approach the situation.
More transports began to arrive, so he never had the chance to look for Lord Rasler or for Basch; praying that they had managed to keep safe during the bloody exchange in Nalbina. The bodies of the fallen were draped over with whatever was handy to mark their fall; capes in some cases and sheets in others. Narrowed eyes scanned the survivors put into triage as they came, looking for a flash of blonde hair and silver Knight-Captain armor. He also hoped though, that he wouldn't find it amongst the moaning and bleeding injured.
The sudden commotion that broke out behind him as he barked orders ran a cold finger down the back of his neck. With a chill that sent the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling upward, he dismissed the bleary-eyed troops before him and turned to face the sudden wail that pitched over the crowd.
"Rasler!" It was Ashelia's voice, so choked with dismay that it took him a tense moment to discern. Then he was in motion, jamming people aside with little regard to their station or rank as he fought for a place where he could see what was going on. But there was no mistaking the pain of her exclamation and he knew the sight that awaited him would not be a pretty one.
Somebody snapped angrily as he shoved them aside, the metal rounds of his elbow and shoulder guards doing little to gain him popularity as he applied them both with the hard skill of battle. He didn't care. Knight-Captain Azelas was already known for his quick temper and rough nature and so he used his reputation to his advantage and cut his way forward, coming to a halt as he cleared the last of his obstructions and found himself gazing upon an unquestionably tragic scene..
Lord Rasler was dead, of that there was no doubt. Half an arrow still jutted from the young Prince's chest, lodged between the overlapping plates of his armor and set clean beside his heart. Ashelia knelt on the ground, fingers wound between his and her pretty face a mask of bitter loss. Even so, the Princess cried no tears though there was no doubting the pain she was in. Vossler spared a moment of silence, head bowed at the passing a man who had so much promise in him..
But where was Basch?
As the crowd surged back into life, he found himself drifting away from the heartbreaking scene before him, turning a deaf ear and blind eye to the Princess' pain in the way only a battle hardened soul could. It effected him on a level he denied himself access to as he rounded the ships to search for his friend.
Ship after ship turned up empty, soldiers recounted seeing Knight-Captain Ronsenburg alive and well, but couldn't tell the dark haired man where he had gone. In a growing frenzy that frayed his nerves and set his jaw into a sharp angle so tight that it ached, he turned away from his self-assigned duty and busied himself with helping whoever was near enough to need it.
The night passed into the early dawn hours and beyond; wounded coming in waves and triage carrying them away to be worked on as medics wielded curaja and curaga with unrelenting expertise. Through the panic of the events, Vossler's awareness came in surges as he did what he could; directing those who found themselves mired in shock and impatiently sending several exhausted medics and soldiers to their barracks to rest and salvage what energy they had left.
At one point he snapped back to awareness at the pained moans of the wounded as he aided a medic in moving a bloodied soldier to a wing set aside for medical treatment, and as the young man writhed on the narrow litter he offered what words of comfort he could. Whether the man had survived or not wasn't knowledge he possessed, he fell back into working on instinct and reflex after that. Relief came in waves; fresh aid arriving as he sent more and more soldiers away to eat and rest. Eventually, there were no more wounded to be treated, no more litters to be moved, no more dead to process. The sun was sinking back below the horizon though and the courtyard was heavy with the scent of blood and an encompassing weight of despair.
"Captain Azelas.." A tentative voice at his elbow broke the silence and Vossler turned from his quiet survey of the transport ships and their living coat of technicians and engineers. The youth who addressed him bore a tight look of apprehension. "Your presence is requested in the war counsel.."
"I see." The day had passed without food or rest on his part and Vossler suddenly felt very, very old.. But there was no time. War was upon them. He looked impassively down at his hands, brown and flaking with dried blood. Flexing his fingers, he shifted his attention coolly to the young man and jerked his chin toward the palace. "You are dismissed. I know the way."
The chaos that had engulfed the palace upon the arrival of the transports nearly a full day ago had since been reduced into small kicks of action, people filtering through the palace in various stages of weariness and melancholy. What hope the wedding had breathed into the people of Rabanastre seemed to have died with Lord Rasler and the clear announcement of Nalbina's fall. There was little grace left to Vossler as he trudged through the halls, muscles aching under the unforgiving layers of metal and leather he continued to wear. His armor was dingy and blood-smeared, the gleam of polish worn down by long hours of dragging back and forth through the palace halls.
When he entered the war counsel, what little conversation there was died down as all eyes turned to him; bedraggled and weary, carrying the scent of stale sweat and dried blood with him like a morbid perfume. The frown on his face and the set of his jaw was enough for them to understand that whatever they said now, he still would not go. King Raminas gave him a sour, but concerned look and attention returned to the sand table. Vossler scanned the gathered officials and strategists but still found no sign of Basch. Tired as he was, the continued absence of his friend jammed a hard fist into his stomach.
"We find ourselves facing a dire course of action. Lord Rasler has fallen in battle and Nalbina has been brought beneath the heel of the Archadian Empire. Though I fear there will be no success in it, we must go to the defense of Nabradia and give our allies time to retreat." The King's words brought up a chorus of complaints. Nalbina had fallen with a remarkable number of casualties and with the forces of Archadia possessing a solid foothold in Nabradia already, they would stand no change of success. The loss of life would be overwhelming. "There is no other course of action available to us. We must give them a chance to get to safety." Understanding that he sent his men to the grinder, the King seemed to wilt under his decision.
Clearing his voice, Vossler squared his shoulders back and fixed the gathered counsel with a measured look. "Our forces have been decimated. War has consumed Nabradia. Lord Ralser lays dead and Princess Ashelia is widowed. All of this rests on the hands on Archadia. How can we stand idly by while more suffer in Nabradia?" Though weariness had taken its toll on him, he somehow found the energy to lend strength to his words. "We cannot, in good faith, let the victims of Nabradia drift in war while we have the means to still fight back. To aid them. We must do this, to prove we are not cowards to Archadia and to prove that we are not heartless to our fallen allies."
"But we will be destroyed!"
"We stand little chance against the Empire."
"But it must be done." King Raminas took up the reigns once more and Vossler sagged against the wall, pressing the heels of his gauntleted hands to his eyes. There was little hope in what they did, but the Knights of the Order were still needed. And so they would go.. even it was to face their own ends.
The arguments continued well into the night, but King Raminas was unbending and Vossler backed his liege when necessary. By the time they had all accepted the situation, stubbornly though it may have been, it was nearing time for the funeral of Lord Rasler; set together quickly in the coming madness that only war could inspire.
Though it felt wrong somehow to bow out of the ceremony, Vossler hadn't the energy left to attend such an emotionally charged event and made his way slowly back to the barracks wing. He passed weary and melancholic soldiers, rooms being emptied of the possessions of the dead, whispers of war and challenges boasted to the far away Archadians. It all rolled off him like some waking dream as he made his way to his own room, pushing the door open and letting out a penned up groan of combined frustration, impatience and worry.
It took forever to strip away his armor, and despite the overwhelming urge to collapse onto his bed and let it be until he woke, he dutifully took to polishing each piece and placing it away with a long practiced care. And then, once it was all done and taken care of he found that sleep refused to come. His muscles were knotted cables, gut clenched in anticipation and worry. Even his mind refused to calm, running through each and every scenario of utter destruction at the hands of the Empire he could imagine. It started with wearily pacing the confines of his room, muttering complaints to himself. When that did little to calm or relax him he sat heavily on the edge of his mattress and willed his frayed nerves to be calm. And when that wouldn't work either it was with a huff of anger that he destroyed the small table that stood by the door of his room; dashing it to splinters with a roar of helpless rage.
And while the whole of Rabanastre grieved the loss of Lord Rasler, Vossler gathered together his things and took the long pathway through the barracks to the showers to rid himself of the lingering feel of defeat and failure that clung to his skin. The warm water did little to loosen his muscles and less to ease his temperament and in the end he returned to his room; clothing wet and trailing water through the corridors.
Opening the door with a vicious kick, he cursed himself and Archadia as he crossed the threshold and came up short. The destroyed furniture was gone and replaced, his room tidied and smelling of clean sandalwood, but it was the appearance of his fellow Knight-Captain on the edge of his bed that caused him to lapse into surprised silence. "Basch.."
"I failed." Interrupting the other Knight, Basch looked up from the floor and fixed a bloodshot look of utter misery on Vossler. "Lord Rasler lies dead and Nalbina fallen."
"None of it is your fault.." The silence between the two was tense and Vossler fought for the right things to say. Obviously, his friend held himself responsible for the young Prince's death. "What is done is done and none of it can be changed, no matter how much you long for it. Nobody blames you, Basch."
"Nobody needs to, Vossler. I carry the blame well enough on my own." Basch rose to his feet and moved wearily to the door, intent on leaving. Helpless, Vossler reached out and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder; frowning at the sudden tension he found there.
"Do not do this to yourself Basch.." Drawing in a shaking breath, he looked down at the floor and noticed that Basch still wore the armor he had fought in; the scent of blood and oil mingling over him still. "We go to war, Basch. I need to know that you will be well enough to support this. There is.. little chance that we will succeed in this endeavor."
"So I have heard." Pulling away listlessly, Basch continued down the hallway. "I will be ready, this I can promise you." Renewed despair settled across his shoulders as he watched Basch continue down the hallway. It was disheartening to see the change in his friend and he prayed that the next few days of preparation would be enough to shake him out of his misery.
The night passed slowly onward and still, Vossler found no release. Sleep could not gain victory over his restless mind.