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Post by Wilhelm Cransnikov on Oct 31, 2022 3:48:10 GMT
It simply made no sense. Hengist could not understand why the battle of Magadan occured, and far less why it is being celebrated. He slowly stroked the hair of Guilherme, who had slump over onto him during the long voyage over, as he tried to visualize an 84% civilian mortality rate. It seemed almost fantastical, the reports given from the front. How could losing 2% of the nation's population be acceptable? Why did the Magdali officers blame their enemy, when they were the ones commanding the now deceased? Regardless of any explanation Hengist was certain of one thing, this would never happen again as long as he still draws breath.
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Post by Empress Isabel de Roque on Oct 31, 2022 17:54:11 GMT
When the two arrived at Magadan, they were met with a large group of mourners. The old central plaza, that had become nothing more than a field of rubble due to the shelling, became a sort of impromptu memorial. The Locals had raised an old column from the city hall in the middle of the square, and laid flowers and candles around it. They sang an old Rodinan Psalm that the Priests had translated into Magdalese: Lovely is the Earth
Lovely is God's Heaven
Beautiful is the pilgrimage of the souls
Through the beauteous
Realms of Earth
We go to Paradise with song.
Ages come
Ages pass
The kin follows the kin before.
Never shall it go quiet
The sound from Heaven
In the glad pilgrimage of the soul
The angels sang it
First for the shepards of the Earth
Beautifully it rang from soul to soul:
Man, be glad!
The Saviour has come
Peace on Earth the Lord has given.
"Welcome, Your Majesties," Said a Priest. "I am not from here, but my heart ached at the plight of these Faithful. I came here to tend to the needs of the mourners as best as I could. Please, feel free to kneel with us a pray for as long as you'd like. God knows these poor souls deserve all the prayer they can get."
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