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His eyes glance to the clear, starry skies of Sestra from the grand over look of the spiraling staircase leading to the Sestra Keep. His helm stares firm for a few moments before looking down to the city below. It's torch lights carried by citizens, and refugees, the lanterns adorning the streets. It is a comfort in his mind this night, that Sestra held. Despite the odds, and the potential numbers involved, Sestra held. The people and their faith in the Tyrant Lord withstood an onslaught.
Slowly his helm's gaze turns towards the cemetery. Many of the faithful had fallen in this battle. As corpses streamed in, his mind briefly turned back to the Second Sundering, for which, he was assigned desk duty at the time. The killing fields outside Sestra were blood soaked. As reports filed in, he realized the worst, that the Citadel and the Nexus were the target of far more sinister assault.
Many faithful this day died in combat, much was lost, but as the corpses streamed in, he realized something. The undead army would quickly be replenished, even as the Triad and Legion mourned their own loss. Places like the Citadel, while missed, could replaced. Even the Nexus, while it's lost felt, was only a "thing" to him. Passion ... even compassion, lost to him long ago.
The Legion and Triad fallen would be harder to replenish. Much was proven in this battle. The resolve of both sides tested, neither obliterated. Neither side claiming ... at least out right, victory publicly. Although in his mind the results of the battle were clear. Emotional defeat is just as good as obliteration. The Black Hand certainly had none of that while reports indicated otherwise, within the loyal of the Legion and Triad.
He descends down the stairs and greets the citizens as he encounters them, greets them, and shakes their hands, before making his way to his office to pen several letters.
Slowly his helm's gaze turns towards the cemetery. Many of the faithful had fallen in this battle. As corpses streamed in, his mind briefly turned back to the Second Sundering, for which, he was assigned desk duty at the time. The killing fields outside Sestra were blood soaked. As reports filed in, he realized the worst, that the Citadel and the Nexus were the target of far more sinister assault.
Many faithful this day died in combat, much was lost, but as the corpses streamed in, he realized something. The undead army would quickly be replenished, even as the Triad and Legion mourned their own loss. Places like the Citadel, while missed, could replaced. Even the Nexus, while it's lost felt, was only a "thing" to him. Passion ... even compassion, lost to him long ago.
The Legion and Triad fallen would be harder to replenish. Much was proven in this battle. The resolve of both sides tested, neither obliterated. Neither side claiming ... at least out right, victory publicly. Although in his mind the results of the battle were clear. Emotional defeat is just as good as obliteration. The Black Hand certainly had none of that while reports indicated otherwise, within the loyal of the Legion and Triad.
He descends down the stairs and greets the citizens as he encounters them, greets them, and shakes their hands, before making his way to his office to pen several letters.