Making a choice

Rexxan staggered over to the perimeter of the camp and watched the village burn. The battle had ended, night had fallen, and both sides were licking their wounds. The Thrane encampment was guarded by unsleeping Warforged. Like steel statues, the Warforged silently witnessed another Cyran village burn.

The Dwarven mercenary wandered over to the nearest Warforged and leaned against the metal body. Insolently taking a draught from a large and very battered metal flask, he waved at the burning village.

"Makes life worth living doesn't it?" Rexxan grinned.

The Warforged adjusted its grip on a large scythe and said nothing.

"See? That's my problem with you... things!" Rexxan punctuated his comment by banging his flask against the 'Forgeds metal body, spilling amber liquid. "You can't feel or... anything!"

The Warforged noted the amber liquid on its metal body and went back to watching the fire.

"What's your name?" spat Rexxan. "Or rather, excuse me, what silly nickname did some stick of a Cannith Artificer give you?"

At first the Warforged seemed reluctant to answer.

"Scythe" it finally muttered. Again, it adjusted its grip on the large scythe.

"See?" demanded Rexxan again. "Some little stick of a man pops you out of the forge, puts a completely impractical weapon in your hand and sends you to war."

The 'Forged looked at the scythe as if seeing it for the first time.

"You don't get to choose and that's the thing!" yelled the Dwarf mercenary. Another Warforged looked over at the argument, undoubtedly annoyed at the noise. "Less than a minute into life, you get told what you are and what you are supposed to do. I have seven children. Seven! Not one of them wants to use an axe!"

Scythe looked around, but it seemed that Rexxan had left his axe at camp.

"My oldest wants to be a priest. A priest!" the Dwarf seemed to be gathering energy as his rant continued. "I've a daugter who I haven't seen in ten years and as for the others..."

The Dwarf's eyes went a little foggy and he gazed at one of the burning buildings. "You don't get to choose. That's what makes you a thing. You get told; circle the enemy, burn the village, leave no survivors. You get told and that's what you do."

"You followed the same orders for a sum of gold" pointed out Scythe.

"That's different!" roared Rexxan immediately. "I made a choice to be a mercenary. I could have stayed home and learned my father's trade. I could have adventured and seen the world..."

The Dwarf had become increasingly animated during the discussion. Waving his flask around and spilling no small measure of the amber liquid on the 'Forgeds metal body. Small rivulets had appeared in the 'Forgeds Thrane markings.

"I could have done any number of things!" ranted Rexxan. "I chose to be here. You, my metal friend, are a slave and will always be a slave. Always be setting people on fire to be cleansed by the Silver Flame."

On that thought the drunk mercenary quieted down.

"We've both lit people up for the Silver Flame, you and I. Fire and drowning, those are the worst. I've seen many men die, and women too. Fire and drowning..."

"Many Warforged were destroyed today" Scythe seemed to be trying to change the subject. Scythe also had just noticed the effect the amber liquid was having on his army markings.

"Flame!" groused Rexxan. "More Cyran than ours, i'd wager. They're going to have to join companies in the morning. Knowing them, they'll spare no expense at salvaging the ones they have. Damned waste of time, if you ask me."

"You should sleep" Scythe said. The Dwarf had been running out of steam. He was now leaning more heavily against the 'Forgeds body. Scythe gently pulled the battered flask free and held on to it.

"Yeah, sleep" muttered Rexxan. "Plenty more people to be cleansed tomorrow..."

The Dwarf turned his back on the burning homes and staggered back to the camp, leaving the Warforged alone with its thoughts.

Peri felt like the most harried Artificer in all of Cyre this morning. They had taken such losses the previous day when the Thranes had flanked them that two companies of Warforged were being merged. Everything should have gone like clockwork except that each generation of 'Forged were more intelligent and independent than the last. Even now she saw one Warforged wandering through the camp, covered in mud and holding a pair of war picks, looking completely lost.

"You there, Warforged!" The petite Artificer called out brushing dark hair out of her eyes. "Come over here."

The 'Forged hesitated for a moment, then walked over to her. It was muddy and seemed to have only a bit of its Cyran markings remaining.

The Artificer made an impatient noise and muttered a cantrip, cleaning the mud off. With a bit of exasperation she noticed that her spell had removed the Cyran markings as well. Quickly, she adjusted the spell and new Cyran markings covered the 'Forgeds shoulders and chest.

Now with all the mud gone, Peri saw that the 'Forged had taken a blow to the head. Some bladed weapon had cut right through its ghulra. The ghulra was an identifying mark placed on the forehead of each Cannit Warforged as they left the forge.

"Great. Just great. Your ghulra has been damaged" vented the tired Artificer. "What is your name anyways?"

"I am Pi uh Pike..." the Warforged was acting strangely and stumbled over the name.

"Pike, not Pick?" the Artificer wasn't really paying attention. She had produced a small crystal from her satchel and was going over the minor ritual to activate it. Small glyphs started to appear revealing a kind of registry. A ghulra appeared and a name beside it. With a gesture she switched to the next name.

The camp had been getting busier during this exchange. The Cyran army was waking and preparing for battle. Armed figures had started bustling about, jostling the pair.

As Peri tried matching the damaged ghulra to one in her archive crystal, a Cyran captain was calling to his weary troops.

"Listen here you lot! I need a volunteer to escort some mage on a fact finding mission..."

The Warforged, Pike, snapped to attention so abruptly that Peri almost dropped her crystal.

"Sir!" barked Pike. "I volunteer for the mission."

"Ha! Should have known better than to call for volunteers when one of you is around" the human captain said happily. "If all my men were as willing as you, we'd have won this war. Off with you then. The mages name is Jan and he'll be waiting on the north end of the camp."

"But..." Peri was completely nonplussed as the Warforged ignored her and ran off to the north. It was unlike a Warforged to ignore an Artificer, especially since they relied on the mages for maintenance and repair. Shaking her head in frustration, she made a mental note and went back to looking for any more stray or damaged 'Forged. Hopefully she'd have them fighting fit before the Thranes attacked again.