Numbers
Numbers. The only languages Beathyn enjoyed- truly enjoyed- were the ones that were spoken in numbers. They had no cursing or swearing. No words for hate, or ego, or lies. Everything was pure, functional, or an abstraction of life condensed to its simplest form.
Which was why it upset him to no end that The Sunguard’s books didn’t tally.
Unsung and unseen, just like the superior form and functions of their Elven latrines, Duskward Beathyn was the The Sunguard’s longsuffering Supply Officer. Who, under the command of Quartermaster Vulthaen Voidsunder, had become a self-appointed general of sorts. But instead of battle hardened warriors, or sharp eyed rangers, he led an army of clerks, cooks teamers, dockworkers, and the occasional courtesan. Together, they kept the gears of Sunguard moving, even if those gears occasionally needed to be greased with gold and the ‘appreciation’ of a professional lady of the night.
Delivery & acquisitions was Beathyn’s holy duty. For the Forgemaster Voidsunder was a busy man, ensuring their grain stores and coffers were filled, and working the Dawnforge to create weapons for the greatest heroes of the Sunguard. The nitty gritty had been delegated to the Duskward, and despite his best efforts, no one seemed to wonder where their payrolls came from or where the sausages in their mess halls were made. If he had to be honest with himself, no one actually cared, so long as they were waiting for them like plump wives when they were back from war. But the logistical corps of the Dawnspire did. Beathyn did. So being the overqualified paper pusher he was, he ensured that the complexities of handling the salaries of over a hundred heroes with different pay scales were sound, adjusted by rank and long-service awards. He ensured that their warmounts were fed and watered, and that their diets were balanced so did not look like fattened livestock the next time they were required. He ensured that the much loved combat pets in their local stable were kept happy and positively glowing- well, as much as warpstalkers and kunchong grubs could glow that is. Not only because these things needed to be done, but because, on some level, he enjoyed it. So Beathyn was a weird one for sure, but a weird one that kept everything running. One copper at a time.
But despite all that. The Sunguard’s books still did not tally.
While Vulthaen kept abreast of the coming and goings of the Dawnspire, Beathyn often travelled with the army. He needed to. Because more than once, his absence meant that their camps lacked drainage channels and competent cooks who did not reduce everything they were provided into a uniform grey stew. For the average Oathsworn who followed the Emberwards into battle, only ever did what they were told. They tended to be well-meaning but absolutely useless when it came to taking care of themselves. It was one of his core beliefs that you couldn’t leave them alone for too long unless you wanted a miniature apocalypse of lice to befall them.
But apart from preventing several varying kinds outbreaks, fresh water needed to be charted, scouted, and extracted from local aquifers. More than that, it needed to be transported by bladder wreathed donkeys, ensuring their mages did not suffer the indignity of becoming overqualified water fountains. Grain needed to be delivered, fresh vegetables foraged, berries crushed and mustard leaves grinded. It was one thing to be provided for, and it was another thing entirely to actually live.
But though he did all those things and more, the books weren’t tallied.
That for all he did, war and its machines had their own plans. They consumed. Indiscriminately, they consumed. People, gold, resources, lives, morals, and innocence. War ate them all. Taking them into itself and spitting out waste upon waste and ruin upon ruin.
So, the supply lines weren’t safe. Bandits stalked the roads. Holdings and farmsteads were burned, and had their livestock stolen or slaughtered. Winter was falling. The land was dying. So was it’s people. Families of the fallen needed to be written to. Their last will and testament recorded and followed through. Standard issued armor needed to be recovered and repurposed. Blood needed to be washed. New bodies found for them.
They did not tally.
Because sometimes, numbers alone were not enough. Love needed to be fought for. Supply trains needed to be protected, as did the ones who provided for them.
Sometimes, when streets ran red with blood and the land was torn asunder, he needed to speak in the only language that was universally understood.
Sometimes, Beathyn needed to speak with lead, and he had plenty of that in supply.
@curiouslich for mentions
@felthier
