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ursprünglich gepostet in:Destiny Fiction Producers
Bearbeitet von TheSuMan: 1/24/2018 8:07:29 PM
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Doom of the Dragons, Part Twenty-Two: What Remains

Greetings, Guardians, and here's part twenty-two of Doom of the Dragons! Here's[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/241726028?sort=0&page=0] part twenty-one[/url]. The FOTC ships came later that morning. Fourteen of them landed in the wheat fields beyond the palisade, crushing the crops beneath them. However, no one was in the mood to complain. As Marcella had expected, many of the villagers had changed their minds about staying in the town. They grabbed whatever belongings they could carry with them, and shambled towards the ships where the City Militia stood guard, their trained eyes watching for a Fallen return. Medics dressed in white moved through the village, treating the wounded from the previous night’s battle. As far as Marcella could guess, about three quartars of the village had decided to take a chance on the City. Even Yvette, the woman who had so opposed them the night before, made preparations to go. She looked up at Marcella, a look akin to regret in her eyes and her curly blonde hair flowing in the breeze. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then, she simply shook her head, and shambled off towards the ships. Marcella looked around the village. Suddenly, she noticed two medics crouched in the rubble of a broken building. Frowning, she walked over to them. The two medics were busy working on the old man who had spoken at the meeting the night before - Tychus, she remembered. The old man was in bad shape. A shaft of splintered wood protruded from his abdomen, and the medics had cut his shirt away, revealing an ugly pattern of bruises across his chest. His breathing was ragged and uneven. “Morphine,” one of the medics said grimly. He was a dark skinned man with short-cut wooly hair and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. The other medic obliged, handing him a syringe. She had wavy red hair that pulled back into a ponytail, and piercing blue eyes. The first medic injected the syringe into Tychus’s arm. The old man’s breathing became more even. Marcella kneeled down next to them. “How bad is it?” she asked. The medic didn’t even pause to look up at her. “It isn’t good,” he said. “He’s lost too much blood. And the internal injuries are. . . extensive. His left kidney’s been obliterated, and his dietary track has been pierced in multiple places. Given his age, well. . .” The man shook his head. “If we were in the City, he might have a chance,” the other medic said. “But there’s only so much we can do with a field kit.” “So,” Tychus said softly, “I suppose that means I’m going to die.” All three of them looked up at the old man. His eyes slowly eased open, and fixated on them. The male medic grabbed Tychus’s wrist. “You’re going to be just fine, sir,” he said. “Don’t bullshit me, Sonny,” Tychus said. “I’m dying, and there’s nothing you can do about it. No harm in hiding that fact.” He looked up at Marcella. “I take it my people are going with you for the most part.” Marcella nodded. “They’ll be safe with us, sir,” she said. Tychus nodded, and closed his eyes. “It’s almost a pity,” he said. “My grandfather was just a boy when the first palisade went up. When we decided to stop running and scavenging like animals and start living like men. I wonder - I wonder what he would have thought of this place. Of how far we’d come.” He closed his eyes. “I suppose,” he said, his voice growing quiet, “that I’ll ask him soon enough.” Tychus closed his eyes once more, and the ragged breathing stopped. The medic felt for a pulse, and then looked up at Marcella. His gaze told her everything she needed to know. “He’s gone.” The threesome sat there for a moment. Then, the first medic tapped his partner on the shoulder. “We should go and see if there’s anyone else that needs us,” he said. “Jamison said he’s got a woman trapped under rubble.” The two medics packed up their gear, and walked off with a practiced professionalism that Marcella would have admired on other days. Guardians saw a lot of death. So did the FOTC. It could be easy to forget that, given the roles of Guardians as frontline troops. And while they certainly saw the front of the fighting, the FOTC was never far behind, picking up the broken pieces. After a long moment, Marcella saw a shadow fall over her. She turned around, and saw Magnus standing behind her. The grizzled Awoken stared down at the fallen council member, his face devoid of emotion. “He was the oldest man in the village,” he said. “Been on the council since I was a boy.” Marcella nodded. “What are you doing with the dead?” she asked. “We have a cemetery by the edge of the palisade,” Magnus said. “We’ll bury him there.” Marcella slowly reached down, and picked the corpse up. She then stood up and faced Magnus. “Show me where,” she said. Nodding, Magnus lead her through the village streets, and past the destroyed walker, which still lay smoking in the village. They exited through the destroyed section of palisade, and made their way to a small field of grass, surrounded by stalks of grain. Scattered throughout the field were a series of small stones, names of the fallen etched onto their surfaces. At the far end of the field, several rectangular holes had been dug, with several villagers hard at work digging more graves. Behind them were several rows of bodies. Some looked peaceful enough to be simply sleeping. Others had been burned to charcoal when their homes had been consumed by fire the night before. All in all, at least fifty villagers had died in the attack. In the distance, Marcella saw a far different funeral being organized. The villagers, with Kim and the FOTC assisting, were putting the dead Fallen into a large pile. They’d be burned in a pyre later that day. No graves for them. Magnus walked up to one of the freshly dug graves. “This’ll do,” he said. Marcella carefully laid the old man down into the freshly dug hole. She and Magnus grabbed shovels, and proceeded to cover him up with dirt. When they were done, Magnus wiped his brow. “I’ll try and make a gravestone for him,” he said. “It doesn’t need to be anything fancy. Just something that shows us who he was.” Marcella nodded. “Better hurry,” she said. “The ships are leaving later this afternoon.” “I’m not going with them,” Magnus said. Marcella blinked, and turned towards him. “What?” Magnus looked up at her. “I’m staying,” he said flatly. “Don’t try and talk me out of it, because you won’t.” Marcella stared at the man. “Why?” Magnus looked at the gravediggers, and his gaze softened. “A lot of my people want to stay,” he said. “They can’t bear to leave everything they’ve ever known - and I honestly can’t blame them. But I refuse to abandon them to the Wilds.” Marcella stared at him. She couldn’t help but admire him for his bravery. Men like Magnus were few and far between. They genuinely put the welfare of their people above their own, and they were smart enough to pull off just about anything. “Magnus,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “if you stay here, you’ll die.” “Everyone dies,” Magnus replied. “I’ld rather it be with my people.” “You don’t understand,” Marcella said, shaking her head. “The Fallen will come back. It might be in a week, it might be in a year. But they will return, and we won’t be here to stop them next time.” Magnus nodded grimly. “I know,” he said. “I’ve made my piece with that.” Marcella stared at him for a long moment, and nodded. “Then good luck,” she said. She reached out, and gave him a parting hug, which the old Awoken returned. “Same to you,” he said. [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Groups/Post?groupId=1371758&postId=242386881&sort=0&page=0]Part Twenty-three: Before[/url]

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