Scroll: Mid-Campaign Recollections
From FiranMUX
Summary
This scroll was written by Centurion Kelarik Cylisti during the Campaign for Ellish in 42 A.U.
Scroll Text
Recollections At The Midpoint
I know that there is only so much that can be said about any given battle from one man's perspective, but I felt that perhaps I should write down some of my scattered recollections of the camp, of military life, perhaps little things I recalled here or there. And so that is the goal of this scroll's contents. It will likely be scattered at best, so please bear with me.
Our camp, this season, is larger than normal to house the immense army which we have fielded, along with the priesthood from the temples in Anarinuell. While I spend the majority of my time in Supply, where I eat, sleep, drink, write, and dispense goods and supplies to the military forces alongside of my brother and the other members of the Fighting Fifth, there is much more to our camp.
An area has been set aside here for tents which have been consecrated as temples to the various gods. These 'templetents' are of a decent size, much like a pavillion, and are capable of holding a goodly number of worshippers. They are not elaborate like the temples in the city, however; they are comparatively scant in decoration and detail, intended to be functional. There are few benches, and therefore chests and trunks are used for seating purposes. Small, travelling altars have been erected in each. When not in Supply, I am often within the Firanosian tent, doing my daily meditations and offering up my prayers.
An additional tent has been placed to house the honorable dead. The first to be brought to that tent was not one of our fallen soldiers, but an unknown person whose unidentifiable, rotting body had been anchored to the Shamibelian standard. Their funeral was a sobering moment for our military, and while we could not tell if it was man or woman while they were alive, their sacrifice will always be remembered by those of us who fought for the control of that standard at Judano's Climb.
There is a large barracks space, dotted around its exterior with smaller tents brought by individual soldiers. There is rarely any peace and quiet outside of those smaller tents, and truthfully, there isn't much inside of those tents, either. The camp is noisy with the tremendous amount of personnel whom dwell here, and it is hard to find a place to be truly alone. I find myself hiding in a haywagon in Supply more often than not, trying to seek some form of silence.
The Fifth's cooks, Rally and Barasa, do a tremendous job in supplying the Firan forces with good-quality fresh food to supplement our preserved food stocks. Often, they are cooking by a fire out front of Supply, soldiers drawing near to smell the sweet reminders of a more normal life.
There are no baths here. We all smell. You get used to it after a while, I'm told, but while I'm used to my own stench, I'm not so sure I'm used to anyone else's yet. There's been a couple of instances where I went out and stood in my tunic in the rain, just to try to get rid of a layer or two of dust and grime.
An area has been set aside for the housing of the griffons, and other than utilizing the paddock for some training, I have not gone into that space. Griffons make me a bit nervous. They're fine, I'm sure, but my stench is pretty potent right now, and I don't want them to see me as a prospective snack.
There is a large and amply-supplied medical tent next door to our Supply tent. In it, cots are prepared for the injured, and there is almost never full silence in there, especially after battle. In fact, I dread going there immediately after a conflict, just because of the confusion within. The healers do a magnificent job of patching up our injured, but I could not focus if I were in their position, not without a lot more training than I've already got... and I'm not sure I ever want to go that far. I may stick with just being able to tie a bandage in place.
Our camp has no trees. To me, this is a disconcerting thing. It has long been a habit of mine to go and think about the harder issues I face while cradled in the branches of an oak or a pine, an alder or an ash. But here, there are no trees. I saw a few scattered, defiant trees in and around Garen's Gully, but we pick the flattest space that we can find for our camp to be placed each time we move, and the Shammies have bombed the everloving crap out of the battlefields we traverse for the last forty-plus years, so I suppose I should have anticipated the lack. It doesn't make that lack any easier to take, though. No trees in camp, not a single one.
Soli's back lies below, and there are two states for her skin: mud, or dust. There is no such thing as an in-between where you are not either slorping through muck or coughing from the bluster kicked up by a breeze. If there were grass to speak of pg the areas where we call home, it would be easier, but the tromping of thousands of boots tends to wipe out most grasses very quickly.
I have run multiple training sessions for the soldiers, instructing them in rotation techniques and staves, spearman structure and line layout. Norik instructs most of the archers in their volleying tactics and the finer points of handling a bow. Between us, and a handful of other willing people, we are slowly but surely bringing up some of the weaker military to be stronger combatants. Gods only know that those who I've trained have been in need of the practice. I look forward to possibly working to ensure there is more training in the future upon our return to Anarinuell, for our military should never be in such a state again. We are good... but oh, we could be so much better.
I will never, ever, /ever/ forget to bring canvas with me again for a military camp. Similarly, I will bring an overabundance of bones, proper foodstuffs for the cooks, hay, rope, scrolls, shovels and tools, sinews for new bowstrings, and a great number of other items which, in the rush to load wagons, were left behind. We are incredibly well-stocked as a camp, but like the training, there is a definitive need for items which we did not bring with us. And I keep sending to the city and praying that things will arrive here while they're needed.
Someone instituted a 'no shouting in camp' rule. While I understand the desire to keep a camp quiet, that rule irritates me to no end, especially as there truly is no peace here. I try to follow it as best as I'm able.
The feeling of the camp is much like a miniature city. People move around, they talk, they sing, they share stories, they worship, they eat. Supply is the Forum and the marketplace, a hub for activity, incoming mail, repairs, and all needed items. Each aspect of Firan life is represented here somewhere, with the only omission being the children; there are no children in a battle camp, thank the Gods.
I'm sure that there is a tremendous amount more that I could put down in regards just to the camp life, and then I could begin on further recollections from the field itself. But sadly, I have spent too much time writing today already, and there is work that needs to be done. Supply never ceases. It operates twenty-four hours in the day, seven days in the week, with people coming and going constantly for this and that. And I need to return to that process, although I'm tired and desperately in need of a nap. That, too, never ceases.
{Signature} The signature of Kelarik.
{Date} Dated Sep 22, in the year 42 A.U.
