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vivala2024-10-05 10:12 pm
vivalamods) wrote in vivala2024-10-05 10:12 pm
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EVENT #04 - POST-WAR FUNERAL LOG
FROM THE SEA WE ARISE, FROM THE SEA WE RETURN
Whenever there is a mass casualty event, the Crimson Corsairs always follow a strict protocol. Since these events invariably occur in Flotsam, the storage of bodies in the salty sea environment the city rests upon is nigh impossible. Shipwrights and artisans from all Corsair cities work through the night, frantically creating coffins for the dead. As the Corsairs sort through the belongings and personal effects, they begin interring the bodies into the coffins within specialized cooling ships - not a long-term solution but the best that can be managed under the circumstances.
Once all the coffins are completed and the bodies gathered, the Corsairs gather in whatever is serving as Flotsam’s town square at the time. Today, as is often the case, Grand Admiral Hildegard is giving the speech, flanked by the flag of Flotsam and the admiralty council.
“Today is a day of sorrow, but also a day of triumph. For the first time ever, we met an Imperial Legion in battle. And today, we won. The foe was routed, their airships and Armors lie at the bottom of the Eternal Ocean, ripe for our salvage. The brave souls who joined the battle, knowing that it might be their last, the ones who gave absolutely everything to turn the tide and give the Crimson Corsairs a chance to triumph over the Empire’s cruelty and greed, to restoring a way of life that means more than toiling unto death, we salute!”
The admiralty council and the admiral give a sharp, military salute, that is mirrored with varying degrees of crispness by the assembled Corsairs.
“We will now begin the reading of names. When a name is read, we will release their coffin and return them to sea. From the sea we arise, from the sea we return.”
“From the sea we arise, from the sea we return,” the assembled crowd intones.
“Let us begin. Aaron Adel!”
Two workers remove a coffin from an enormous stack on a barge and send it to sea. The broken sobs of his husband can be heard as the coffin slowly makes its way out to sea, the small holes in the bottom allowing water to eventually fill it and sink beneath the waves, returning it to the Eternal Ocean.
This ceremony continues for hours. The Admiral reads steadily, her voice never wavering although she has to take frequent short breaks to drink water as she continues her grim duty. Sometimes, there are sobs as a name is read. Other times, a drink raised or the clatter of bottles. Occasionally, silence. But not a single assembled corsair leaves until the final name is called.
“Zyra Zvera.”
As the final body is cast out to sea, the Admiral lowers her head.
“We, the Crimson Corsairs, vow to carry on your fight. As you have laid down your lives for us, we know that we may someday be called to lay down our own lives. When we return to the sea, we know that we shall meet you again, to break bread and share a drink in Valhalla’s vaunted halls. To those who yet live, we thank you for your presence today. We know the souls are at peace knowing you who remain to mourn and carry on. The celebration of the dead and celebration of victory will begin now in the grand hall. I hope to see you all there.”
And with that, she turns on her heels and heads below deck, the admiralty council accompanying her. She will later reappear in the grand hall’s banquet and celebration, her face once again stern and unyielding, although the sharp eyes will note a hint of redness, artfully concealed with makeup. A mark of humanity on an Admiral that does her damndest to be the steadiest rock in the fleet.
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After that, it was largely people who died one at a time. Ilphyl is willing to sit at the celebration and listen to stories -- they weren't close to any of the dead, but living in Flotsam meant it was hard not to notice the change in the community, and occasionally offer a hug if they think it would be appreciated.
But eventually they did retreat outside, to whatever heights that wouldn't be in the way, and watched the sky. They start softly singing a hymn in Elven -- yes, no one follows the Dark Maiden here or even understands the language, but this one was more for their own reaction to the deaths than for the other mourners.
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When they reach the top, they'll find a familiar woman in a dark hat and dress poking out from behind the mast, and some pieces of shining blue plate armour nearby that reflect the moonlight. The voice softly singing can only belong to Nephenee, and it's full of sadness. But, somehow, she doesn't seem to notice Ilphyl's approach.
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"Ah, Ilphyl..." She starts, before shaking her head. "N-no, ya can come up here. Just...playin' a song, 'sall."
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"...Honestly, Ah didn't e'en hear ya...singin' or climbin' up...Sorry." Boy, she would've gotten a tongue-lashing from some of the other soldiers back home for that, or at least feels like she might've.
The soldier's emerald eyes dart away from Il as she continues with some hesitation. "Um...actually...Ah was gonna look for ya soon...so...ya comin' up here works..." It gets rid of some awkwardness, but it also introduces other sorts, in her mind...
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"What were you looking for me for?"
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Arguing that won't lead anywhere worthwhile, though, so she thinks about how to answer their second question. It's a simple question, and yet...
"Uh..." This time, her eyes stay looking away from them. This is hard to admit...
"Um...ya...remember the anonymous post yesterday? Um..." And she starts fidgeting something fierce with the ends of her hair, "...that was...me..."
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He does not know many of the dead...but he knows a few. Corsairs he had friendly sparring matches with, or who he met at quiet mealtimes. People who had been warm, and friendly, and welcoming to an Outlander.
But it's not just them Link thinks about, as the funeral marches on. Because there was another mass funeral that he never got to attend. Comrades he never really got to say a proper goodbye to. His own family, who Link still didn't know whether any had survived. Because the Calamity had wiped out entire battalions and entire villages, while everyone else who'd survived had been trying to rebuild...Link had been locked away, still and sleeping in the Shrine of Resurrection.
He hadn't even remembered them.
The only saving grace was that this time, this time...they'd been able to save the civilians. He had to hope that that gave some comfort to the souls of those who were now gone.
Then the funeral came to an end. And Link stayed, watching the still ocean, for a long time after that.
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“Hell,” she breathes, “There’s more than ten men here.”
A prayer she has not spoken since far before she became Deedee comes to her lips, and she extends her arm in a gesture towards the fallen that one could be forgiven for thinking was a geek’s sci fi reference.
“Yitgadal, v’yitkadash, sh’mei raba b’alma; di-v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon…”
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Perhaps that is the best to describe what he is experiencing as he watched the funeral. None of these people were friends, but they were people he got to know - the ones who taught him how to rig a ship, who foolishly challenged him to a drinking contest - people he might have actually become friends with given time, but who were comrades nonetheless, people he knew instinctively would not have betrayed him or the other outworlders - and he felt the pang of regret of not getting to know them better sooner.
Quietly, he walked to an isolated stretch, where the ocean water seem stiller than the rest with a bottle in hand. "{{Gorram}}. This is a word that was taught to me by a comrade I had met who had departed far too soon." Harlock started as he uncorks the bottle. "It is a Tokagan word said between brave men... no brave warriors, comrades-in-arms who never betray each other, it is a word they say in a toast or in greeting." The man steps into the surf, tilting the drink into the sea.
How many deaths did he see? The innocent civilians in settlement of the Human Planet all killed, Zoru who found pride in the end, the Tokagan homeworld blown up as punishment for their defiance to the Mazones, countless Mazones either as enemies or because they had failed their queen, Kuzco and Professor Daiba killed because they knew too much, Commander Kiruta who defied the pirate's assessment of his character... and his dear friend Tochiro. Far too many, and now there is more, and will be more.
"I had thought perhaps I might have a chance to teach this word and it's meaning to you, like Zoru had taught me. May the cosmos cradle your souls in peace," With that, he puts the bottle to his lips, gulping down what was left from the libations.
Death is part of life, but there was so much of it, and the sting of loss never truly ends - Harlock knew the Corsairs will be feeling it for a long time.
It's damned curse that the dead cannot come back to life.
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And while he had done that, the Empire had been here, slaughtering hundreds.
He could justify it a dozen different ways, and they were all perfectly legitimate justifications. He wasn't suited for naval combat. He couldn't have changed the course of the battle by himself. His injuries were still not done healing and he couldn't strain himself too much without collapsing.
Listening to this list of names, Ziel couldn't make himself care about that. He still felt like he'd failed them. When he'd ruled the Dawnwings, he'd told himself he would die for them. Then they died and he lived. Now, once again, hundreds more had died while he'd lived. A black anger was slowly filling him with every name, equally directed at the Empire as it was at himself. Showed how much his oaths were worth.
So all he could do was stand there and force himself to listen to the entire list. It made it feel like he hadn't abandoned them, quite so much.
Once the list was done and people started dispersing, Ziel set off at a steady pace to the nearest bar so he could drink until he passed out.
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"I'm sorry. If only I were stronger..."
Over the past seven years, Gohan had made the mistake of assuming the world would stay at peace and he wouldn't have to fight any more. Ever since being drawn into this world, he's regretted doing that. Sure, he had no way of knowing this could happen, but he still wishes he could have changed things.
That these deaths were mostly not his fault to begin with is a concept that hasn't occurred to him yet.
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Donnie's not sure what he's feeling in this moment, but it's no more comfortable than how he's felt in the aftermaths of earlier missions. He hadn't been here and hadn't seen these people die, the latter something he's mildly grateful for.
There's so many... he thinks. But that's not surprising, and statistically he's heard that these losses aren't as many as what could have been.
He swallows, trying not to let his mind wander towards estimations of losses, of the number of crew members on Imperial ships, of those who might have been trapped or crushed within the mines upon its attempted destruction. But if it wasn't them who died, it would surely have been them. Would the Empire honor their lost?
He can't watch the entire funeral, eventually slipping away some time perhaps not even midway through, feeling a little guilty for it, but also feeling that if he stayed any longer he'd be sick. It's too much to process.
He doesn't escape far, sitting at the edge of a barge with his shell resting against the wall of the structure there, the wind still carrying Hildegard's strong voice as she continues through the lengthy list of names. Donnie watches the water lap against the barge, but right now taking a swim doesn't seem like as great an idea as it usually is, not when the sea is full of the dead.
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He can't be: he's too busy in the kitchens of the grand hall, cooking and directing others on cooking the meal they'll have in celebration of the victory.
Which is not to say that Senshi isn't listening to the speech, to the litany of the dead. He's using his ethernet device to listen as the Admiral honors the dead and returns them to the sea they loved, the sea they sailed together.
He knows too few of the names.
He knows too many of the names.
But all of them died fighting for the freedom they believed in, and managed to better an Imperial fleet.
To mourn them is appropriate. To not live the life they fought to defend?
Unthinkable.
And so, Senshi cooks for those who still live and therefore still have the priviledge and duty to eat, hoping to throw a feast worthy of their wake.
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She watches the proceedings with clasped hands and sighs lightly at the words spoken by the Admiral meant to convey strength and unity, to heap glory upon the deceased. She understands the need for this, the comfort it might bring. But she cannot agree.
There is nothing glorious about death. Whether one dies well or dies pitifully, all reach the same end. That is the conclusion she has come to. And that is the reason she wrote every name taken by the corruption and tied it to the guardian trees on the other banks. All were unified in death and all deserved to be remembered with dignity and honor. But it was not something she could think of celebrating.
As the proceedings disperse, Shu faces the ocean and murmurs her own prayers in her language for a considerable length of time afterwards. She concludes with a long, deep bow towards the turgid waters.
"Forgive us, those who live on. Forgive us, those who could not protect you. Oṃ vajrasattva samayam anupālaya vajrasattva..."
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He doesn't cry while standing there in the crowd. He knows that the sight of what looks like a crying child will only upset others further, and make the Corsairs question his presence in their ranks. When the reading ends and the crowd breaks, he wanders the Flotsam ships to see the fleet for the first time. He takes in the faces and the locations, saved away in his memory, but his thoughts remain with the families of the dead, now and from years ago.
Eventually he finds a quiet place to sit and stare out at the ocean and he allows his tears to flow, silently. If anyone catches him, he has the words on the tip of his tongue. "Yes, robots can cry."
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He's stoic throughout the whole thing, it triggering memories of The Fall of Insomnia, of Altissia, and he silently curses the fact that he wasn't stronger, even if he knows damn well he fought as hard as he could. He's got the injuries to prove it taking their damn sweet time to mend. Of course he would be a lot worse off if not for Agelika and Shu's healing and then Link having his back.
Although they're not his people, of his world, they were still comrades in arms, so he says a silent prayer of his own to Etro for the fallen. That they might find peace in the afterlife.
Noctis stays until most of the crowd has disbursed, staring out at the water long after the ceremony has concluded. Only once dusk starts to settle does he head for the dining hall to join the feast.
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924 souls lost.
It's a number large enough that, were it not for the myriad coffins on the barge floating close by, she wouldn't be able to visualize it. But there they are, stacked and labeled with the names of those who'd given their lives. It might have, perhaps, been a mercy if it'd been enough to make her numb.
But it's not.
She hadn't known them well, but there were many there she'd served alongside as comrades, a bond all its own. And now, they lay still, quiet, never again to hold mugs high, sing raucous sea shanties, or hold their families close.
That thought hit her the hardest, more than just because they're lost comrades. Because while she hasn't lost brothers-in-arms before now, she has witnessed death en masse, and she's witnessed it close to home.
How many children were without a father, wives without a husband? Like her and her siblings? Like her mom?
During the ceremony, she stands vigil the whole time, shield and halberd in hand, though not in all her armour. Rather, the plate is worn over a long, light dress of blue so deep it's almost black, her emerald hair braided and bundled under a matching hat, like her mother had worn it. There's very little emotion shown during the ceremony at first...but as the names are called and the families grieve, the façade of control and calm almost falters, pained flickering across her face, in her eyes. Only the resolution to be a silent, steady Sentinel over those who have passed, and something steadfast for those left behind to count on, keeps the mask up.
By the end, it takes every ounce of tenacity and discipline to keep it from shattering.
While others attend the banquet and celebrate the hard won victory, from high above the waves in the crow's nest, quiet violin music drifts down. It's a somber, unsteady tune, born either from too long without practice, or from the emotion being poured into it, or, perhaps, both. There's a barely audible voice singing along to the tune, in a language no one but its maker knows.
Even this far removed from her father's death, and the death of so many others in the village, she still remembers that funeral dirge.
After having some time to talk and bleed off many of the emotions she's been feeling for awhile, she finally does what part of her feels she should've been doing for awhile now, and that's check on others. So she does that, quietly approaching others in both the celebration and around the ship and docks. Her eyes are still a little red, making their emerald green almost as bright as the stone itself, and the emotional and physical exhaustion are far more obvious now, but..she needs to see to the others, both those who lost someone close, and not. So she goes around, asking others how they're doing, and lending an ear or shoulder to those who need it.
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"-Eh?"
Rezo does look terrible, though he hasn't realized it; he's pale, and clammy, and slumped against the cabin wall. Nephenee's greeting at least alerts him to the issue of his posture and he straightens up, keeping a hand on the wall to support him.
"Miss Nephenee?"
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There's some rustling of cloth and the armour rubbing against it as she searches the small pack at her hip, before she tugs out what she's looking for. "Here, gimme your hand..." She's not about to just grab it unless he's about to fall, "Ah got some ginger candy to chew on. It should help with it. Barrin' that, Ah got peppermint an' some other stuff..." Heck, worse comes to worse, she's got tea, but that's a little more time-consuming and they'd have to go find a kitchen nearby...quicker is better.
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That, and well, the funeral. Rezo wouldn't consider himself highly affected by this sort of thing anymore, but it's easy to think on... unpleasant things, in this situation. Too many reminders of things he'd rather not think about, losses that would be hard to explain.
At least being off-kilter means that it doesn't occur to him to do anything but oblige when Nephenee asks for his hand. He shifts his staff from one hand to the other and holds out the now freed one.
"You're well equipped, aren't you?"
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When she takes Rezo's hand in hers, it's soft, like it she's wearing gloves, and warm (because frankly, the woman is a furnace). "Kinda have to be," she says, placing the ginger chew in his palm, and closing his hand around it with her own, just so he won't accidentally drop it while he's off-balance. "Never know when someone'll need somethin'. Learn fast in the army an' as a big sister."
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Another thing that surprises him: "You have siblings?"
He doesn't think she's mentioned them before. Just former comrades.