Irolt and the Split Party

The hardest part about the retreat wasn’t even the decision to do it, though making that call had been absolutely devastating to Irolt. It wasn’t the fatigue or the fear that followed. It came after the group doubled back from the dead end. He knew which path would take them back to his abandoned base, and it seemed the hardest thing in the world to continually walk away.

I could go back, he thought with each step. We could still go back.

And the possibilities plagued him. If the base was empty, if he could get his people armed properly, if they could call for reinforcements, then there was a slim chance. The Resistance thrived on such chances panning out.

But the probability of them succeeding in such a dangerous move was not great enough to risk the lives of his allies. His own life, perhaps, but not the lives of those who trusted him as a leader. He knew that. The temptation to try anyway was the worst part.

He was unfathomably relieved therefore, when the tunnel they were in began to wind up toward the surface. 

The five Resistance members stepped up into the soft orange glow of a field at sunset. Irolt’s torment gave way to pure sorrow as he looked out to see the town of Allia, already in the distance. A forge filled with freshly delivered supplies sat unused, having only been unpacked that morning.

A lot has happened since then.

“So what do we do now?” Franza asked softly.

They’re asking me.

He should have an answer. He felt crushed under the pressure of being a leader and having none of the things a leader should have. No answers. No morale. No base.

All I have is this sword, he thought bitterly. And even that is stolen.

“I’m going to seal up this exit,” he said.

No one helped him look for a boulder big enough for the job, and especially no one helped him to move it into place. He didn’t expect them to offer, nor did he ask it of them. They were all as beaten and tired as he was, and lacked the sense of failure looming over them that motivated Irolt alone into action.

By the time he had gotten the exit sufficiently blocked off for any Parliamentary people deciding to give chase, the others had settled into the tall grass, bound their wounds, and broken out the rations. They looked almost like a proper adventuring party.

Almost.

Irolt was now clearly aware of just how young the newest recruits seemed. Two kids who would now be unsafe in their own hometown, and a dog whom they seemed to prefer to him.

I won’t be able to keep these three safe on the road.

So he offered up his decision. “I want you to go to the nearest town with a Resistance Cell,” he started.

“The closest place would be Irolladice,” Cantrippy offered. Irolt was grateful that at least one of them had studied the coded maps he’d supplied and then destroyed. Geography had never been one of his strong suits, and he was further east than he’d ever ventured before.

“Right,” he confirmed with an authority which he did not truly feel. “I want you guys to go to Irolladice and find The Resistance Base — look for our symbol. Tell them that the Allia Base was compromised and they should send word to Zazeezy to inform her.”

“Why can’t you tell them?” Allia asked.

“We’re not all going to go.” He answered. “I’m going to stick around here with Belthor, and we’ll assess the situation on our own.”

“I don’t think we should split up,” Allia argued.

“We’d much rather stick with you,” Cantrippy added.

Irolt took a breath, preparing himself for the argument he believed it would take to get the group in line. Before he found his resolve, another curious thing happened.

Franza stood and slightly shifted their position to align themself with Irolt’s half of the group. Then they seamlessly picked up the argument for him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” they said. “The most important thing is that you guys are safe. We’ll handle this from here.”

“Thank you, Franza,” said the scaley, who actually stood to hug the dog. 

Irolt looked to Belthor questioningly, and the elf just shrugged.

“You’ve got it,” said Allia, who stood and helped support his friend. “Whatever you say, Franza.”

The human had always been fairly argumentative to Irolt, even with his title as leader. Both of the town natives had questioned him and his orders relentlessly in their time with him.

But they’re so eager to accept orders from Franza.

Perhaps the dog would prove to be useful, and so Irolt stayed quiet as the other newbies headed for the road and toward Irolladice.

Earlier in that hellish lifetime of a day, he had found himself wishing for someone more charming to help in recruiting. If they wanted to help get people to follow his orders as well, Irolt felt like he was in no position to refuse that help, even if it irked him.

And Franza didn’t seem like they were done contributing, either. When the two others had faded some into the horizon, the dog turned their attention on him. “I think we should find you somewhere to rest, buddy.”

I must look as bad as I feel.

He wanted to argue, if only to regain control of the situation, but he was quickly becoming too tired to protest.

“We’ll head for the tree line,” he said. “Away from the city. And we’ll look for a place to set up camp.”

He didn’t know how they’d set up camp. He didn’t have camping supplies with him anymore than he had tools or his proper weapon. But he knew better than to sleep out in the open, especially now that he was officially an enemy of The Parliamentary.

“What will we do tomorrow?” Belthor asked.

But the dog once again spoke uninvited on his behalf. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

Irolt took in very little of his surroundings on the short walk, his body feeling ever heavier.

“What about here?” Belthor asked.

He had stopped the three of them outside the entrance of a small cave that could only be described as ‘not great.’

The last thing Irolt wanted was to sleep in a setting so sad and reminiscent of his mood, but it was shelter and it was there.

He nodded reluctantly.

“Maybe it’s better on the inside,” Franza suggested.

It wasn’t.

If the cave had looked small from outside, it felt even tinier on the inside. The oppressive stone walls made the interior feel cramped and secluded. The floor was slimy, the air thick enough to chew. All the fog that had looked so majestic surrounding the town that morning seemed to have collected inside and festered into a stagnant sort of swampiness that permeated everything.

“Maybe a fire will help?” Franza practically pleaded.

It didn’t.

Irolt, who was uncomfortable with flames under the best circumstances, didn’t even bother to object to the pitiful fire they were able to start inside. Belthor ignited the flickering light over the only dry patch of moss, and it sparked sadly just long enough to make the smell of mildew more pronounced. Irolt, who always slept lightly for fear of infernos starting, was even able to drift off before it died entirely, a first for him.

But in his dreams, the fire was alive and well, and everywhere.