A Glimpse of War
”Razar! Oi!”
He hadn’t heard anyone shouting his name until there was a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his eyes on the half-elf, letting out an annoyed grunt.
“What do you want, Eran?”
He hissed at the man, whose beautiful green eyes were sparkling. The half-elf chuckled at him and tiptoed to stand in front of him, probably because the brown-haired one knew the tall dragonborn would just walk away and ignore him if given the chance. It was surprising how fast the man could be when he wanted to, no one would have guessed from the limb which had left him unfit for frontline duty, but he could fulfill his role in by preparing food for the soldiers.
“Don't be such a party pooper! Come on, let's have a drink.”
“We just got back. I have to clean the armor and my weapons...”
“Oh, yeah, right. How did it go?”
Eran's face turned more serious and he shifted his weight on his uninjured leg. He knew that more often than not the squad had shrunk with a person or two, if they had had a run-in with the enemy.
“Cut one person off of your list of mouths to feed. Grexan was shot, he ain't returning.”
New wrinkles found their way on the cook's face. His eyes of the shade of the forest had that realization in them. Yet again one person was lost; You never knew when one of your comrades wouldn't be returning. Even if one learned to expect the worst, one never wished for it to happen.
“Alright.”
Eran nodded, in that curt way which showed both regret and respect. Even if Grexan, a spunky green dragonborn with spiky ridge on their back, the clown of the group, hadn't been their favorite person, he had still be a brother-in-arms. Losing someone so young made one to wonder when it would be your own time to go.
“Come to the mess tent when you're ready.”
The cook said and Razar answered with a silent nod, before he headed back to his squad.
The atmosphere in the mess tent was calm. Most people had already eaten, his squad was the last one to return back to the camp and damn were they hungry. If you didn't know the right people, all you would have had left would have been watered-down broth with odd bits and pieces in it: the perpetual stew they had going on in the back was something he and his comrades called 'the last resort'. Many wished to hunt their own food instead, even if there was a high risk of being left without anything to eat. Perhaps it was better not to know what was put in the great pot which was kept shimmering on low heat throughout the day and the night. Even when Razar wasn't that picky, the stew truly was something he would eat only if he was properly starving. He pondered on the question of the stew, when a plate with two seared steaks was pushed to his direction.
“There. One of the lizards didn't make it. I saved you and your comrades one piece each when it looked like you wouldn't be making it for the dinner.”
“One steak? But I count two.”
Razar commented, lifting his eyes to Eran, who shrugged.
“Grexan isn't needing it anymore.”
He reminded bittersweetly and the black dragonborn slowly nodded.
“Thanks. You sure you don't want to trade it to something?”
“Well, if you come across some fresh ingredients on your missions, bring back some. Like mushrooms, they keep well and are easy to substitute meat with.”
“Okay. I'll see if the palefaces leave me alone while I tend to some mushroom picking. Perhaps they are polite enough to wait until I'm done before they shoot me full of arrows.”
Eran bursted out laughing and slapped Razar on his back, both of them grinning, before Eran left to tend to his duties and feed the hungry soldiers.
Razar nodded to Xorasha who sat on the other end of the table. The woman was good in using her sword; Fast and agile, like a blue gust of wind when she leaped from one paleface to another. She was almost fast enough to counter those damn bladesingers and that was the sole reason she was one the cornerstones of their squad. He couldn't evin begin to count how many times she had saved their collective ass in the midst of battle. Razar noticed her hissing in pain, when she sat down. His yellow eyes observed the lithe blue dragonborn woman, who was a little younger than he was.
“Are you hurt?”
He tilted his head, observing her calmly.
“Nah, just a nasty scratch… It'll heal on itself.”
“Don't be stupid. If it bothers you, go and see a medic.”
“I will, if it bothers me.”
She shut him down with a fierce look in her pale eyes and he chuckled a bit, continuing on eating his tasty steaks, which just a few hours earlier had been a part of one of their steeds.
His squad was on a silent mood. They had lost one member and some had been closer to Grexan than the others, but still everyone could tell that the absence of his laughter was deafening. The silence was like a thick invisible blanket which had been laid over them. Some tried to speak, but the interactions died quickly. No one was in the mood.
One by one, Eran brought everyone of their squad a mug, which was filled with something that smelled of both earthy and sweet at the same time.
“It's from your alcohol quota, but I'll let it go unmarked this time.”
Eran said nonchalantly and returned to tend the perpetual stew which was slowly bubbling in the corner. Razar took a sniff of the liquor and after deeming it suitable, he raised his banged mug.
“To Grexan.”
He said and the others repeated in a somber way.
“To Grexan!”
The liquor tasted oddly sweet, but it had quite a kick. Just like Grexan, Razar noted to himself and smirked. No better toast the green boy could have had to see him off to the afterlife.
He hadn’t heard anyone shouting his name until there was a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his eyes on the half-elf, letting out an annoyed grunt.
“What do you want, Eran?”
He hissed at the man, whose beautiful green eyes were sparkling. The half-elf chuckled at him and tiptoed to stand in front of him, probably because the brown-haired one knew the tall dragonborn would just walk away and ignore him if given the chance. It was surprising how fast the man could be when he wanted to, no one would have guessed from the limb which had left him unfit for frontline duty, but he could fulfill his role in by preparing food for the soldiers.
“Don't be such a party pooper! Come on, let's have a drink.”
“We just got back. I have to clean the armor and my weapons...”
“Oh, yeah, right. How did it go?”
Eran's face turned more serious and he shifted his weight on his uninjured leg. He knew that more often than not the squad had shrunk with a person or two, if they had had a run-in with the enemy.
“Cut one person off of your list of mouths to feed. Grexan was shot, he ain't returning.”
New wrinkles found their way on the cook's face. His eyes of the shade of the forest had that realization in them. Yet again one person was lost; You never knew when one of your comrades wouldn't be returning. Even if one learned to expect the worst, one never wished for it to happen.
“Alright.”
Eran nodded, in that curt way which showed both regret and respect. Even if Grexan, a spunky green dragonborn with spiky ridge on their back, the clown of the group, hadn't been their favorite person, he had still be a brother-in-arms. Losing someone so young made one to wonder when it would be your own time to go.
“Come to the mess tent when you're ready.”
The cook said and Razar answered with a silent nod, before he headed back to his squad.
The atmosphere in the mess tent was calm. Most people had already eaten, his squad was the last one to return back to the camp and damn were they hungry. If you didn't know the right people, all you would have had left would have been watered-down broth with odd bits and pieces in it: the perpetual stew they had going on in the back was something he and his comrades called 'the last resort'. Many wished to hunt their own food instead, even if there was a high risk of being left without anything to eat. Perhaps it was better not to know what was put in the great pot which was kept shimmering on low heat throughout the day and the night. Even when Razar wasn't that picky, the stew truly was something he would eat only if he was properly starving. He pondered on the question of the stew, when a plate with two seared steaks was pushed to his direction.
“There. One of the lizards didn't make it. I saved you and your comrades one piece each when it looked like you wouldn't be making it for the dinner.”
“One steak? But I count two.”
Razar commented, lifting his eyes to Eran, who shrugged.
“Grexan isn't needing it anymore.”
He reminded bittersweetly and the black dragonborn slowly nodded.
“Thanks. You sure you don't want to trade it to something?”
“Well, if you come across some fresh ingredients on your missions, bring back some. Like mushrooms, they keep well and are easy to substitute meat with.”
“Okay. I'll see if the palefaces leave me alone while I tend to some mushroom picking. Perhaps they are polite enough to wait until I'm done before they shoot me full of arrows.”
Eran bursted out laughing and slapped Razar on his back, both of them grinning, before Eran left to tend to his duties and feed the hungry soldiers.
Razar nodded to Xorasha who sat on the other end of the table. The woman was good in using her sword; Fast and agile, like a blue gust of wind when she leaped from one paleface to another. She was almost fast enough to counter those damn bladesingers and that was the sole reason she was one the cornerstones of their squad. He couldn't evin begin to count how many times she had saved their collective ass in the midst of battle. Razar noticed her hissing in pain, when she sat down. His yellow eyes observed the lithe blue dragonborn woman, who was a little younger than he was.
“Are you hurt?”
He tilted his head, observing her calmly.
“Nah, just a nasty scratch… It'll heal on itself.”
“Don't be stupid. If it bothers you, go and see a medic.”
“I will, if it bothers me.”
She shut him down with a fierce look in her pale eyes and he chuckled a bit, continuing on eating his tasty steaks, which just a few hours earlier had been a part of one of their steeds.
His squad was on a silent mood. They had lost one member and some had been closer to Grexan than the others, but still everyone could tell that the absence of his laughter was deafening. The silence was like a thick invisible blanket which had been laid over them. Some tried to speak, but the interactions died quickly. No one was in the mood.
One by one, Eran brought everyone of their squad a mug, which was filled with something that smelled of both earthy and sweet at the same time.
“It's from your alcohol quota, but I'll let it go unmarked this time.”
Eran said nonchalantly and returned to tend the perpetual stew which was slowly bubbling in the corner. Razar took a sniff of the liquor and after deeming it suitable, he raised his banged mug.
“To Grexan.”
He said and the others repeated in a somber way.
“To Grexan!”
The liquor tasted oddly sweet, but it had quite a kick. Just like Grexan, Razar noted to himself and smirked. No better toast the green boy could have had to see him off to the afterlife.
A short story about the past of Razar Tiaraad, a dragonborn war veteran, before the accident which deemed him unfit for service.
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