EVENT #04 - POST-WAR FUNERAL LOG

[vivalamods]

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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Comments

[purplexing]

He didn't know these people. He'd never met many of them and can't possibly put faces to the names recited in the litany of death but he still feels like something heavy's settled in the pit of his stomach. He watches from a rooftop of one of the neighboring vessels, watches as one after another, a coffin is dispatched and sinks.

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.