The ladder carriers arrived with minimal casualties. Soon afterward, most of the defenders of the wall fell and the gate was opened to the rest of the company. The rest of the keep was taken swiftly and easily, as was expected from the Ebon Hawks. 

That didn't stop Soren from seeing scenes of the battle replay in his mind occasionally. A scene of blood here. A flash of terror there. It all blurred into an uncomfortable mess that he got used to drinking away at night, not yet used to the mental rigors it took to be a part of the Ebon Hawks. Ruthless, efficient, cunning, he had all these in spades, but he still had yet to figure out how to lock away his feelings for those he slew. 

Many sleepless night were sure to follow today.

Fortunately the young recruit was still on duty and had to remain the stoic mercenary he had to be, which meant at least that he could turn off his mind and bury himself in his work. He had no time to grieve for the child he held in his hands who only a few hours ago was one of many the keep's defenders had armed, nor could he give mind to the woman that he was supposed to dump into the pit next who only recently was waving a knife around, mad with grief over the death of her son. 

It was unpleasant work and they had tried to save those that they could, but many people do strange things when their backs are forced against the walls. 

Soren heaved the child's body into the grave with a grunt before moving onto the woman next. The mercenary swore under his breath as he tried to lift the woman by himself. He took a few slow, lumbering steps before dropping her quickly and calling over Tinder with his grave detail. The mage shook his head, spouting some excuse of seeing to another burial detail. The recruit had some choice words to say about that, but the recruit thought better and sighed, resigning himself to filling this particular burial pit himself.

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The Lieutenant grumbled as she was called away from the breakdown of the siege engines. While deep down she knew any person in the company could take down the engines better than any regular army engineer, she still fretted that one of the idiots would impossibly ruin [i]something[/i] as they often tended to do. 

The goblin's nose crinkled as the smell of charred flesh wafted downwind toward the original camp. 

There were rumors that some nondescript disease was running rampant through the keep even before the company came. Of course they only found that out after they had stormed through the gates and saw a mass of corpses already piling on one side of the camp. The healers and mages did the best they could to contain the isolated cases of the disease popping up among the soldiers, having already set up a quarantine area all around the keep as they did their best to eradicate whatever traces of the disease is left. 

All very important and dire stuff, the Lieutenant understood, but still, could they have at least burned the bodies where the smell wouldn't spread all over the damn place. 

[center]- - -[/center]

The Captain, looking no worse for the wear than he did last night, stood in the same tent at the same briefing table as last night, since the keep was apparently currently uninhabitable. People, he could handle, but diseases were another headache entirely. His healers assured it was nothing they couldn't handle - as long as the mages stayed out of their way of course, with the mages feeling much the same toward the doctors and healers. It was frustrating to deal with the two groups to say the least. 

Suddenly both of his tent flaps burst inwardly to make way for Patcher and That Old Grizzly Fart (Grizzly to people he hadn't completely alienated himself from), the company's head doctor and wizard respectively. They came in, mouths already chattering about this problem or that with some person or another, the Captain didn't know, and he didn't particularly care. What he did care about was their incessant screeching was not helping with the constant migraine he had when dealing with either of them and they both of them together made everything exponentially worse.

The Captain pretended to listen carefully and diligently as each person flung their figurative feces at the other before he raised a finger to silence both of them. Their arguing stopped immediately. The Captain held the finger up for a long while, enjoying the brief peace and quiet. 

After the pounding in his head lessened ever so slightly, he pointed his finger back toward the flaps, away from them. The two head dunderheads opened their mouths in protest, each about to say something that the Captain probably wouldn't care about. All argument went away once the elf turned his tired look into a hard glare that cowed the both of them, a glare that was practiced and perfected over literal centuries. The message was clear, and both heads began storming out, thankfully waiting a good distance away until they began their squabble again.

[i]'They are all literally children,'[/i] the elf though exasperatedly as he began looking over his plans and reports again, their next destination not pleasing him at all.