Meanwhile, Veros and Atticus have ridden back south by about two miles to see if any members of the undead horde continued to follow them. They gaze into the grey curtain, which is beginning to grow darker by the minute due to the disappearing sunlight. However, nothing emerges from it.
“Looks like we'll be in the clear for the night.” Veros comments. “They seem to have given up.”
“Hopefully.” Atticus responds, examining the roadside and treeline for movement. “My head is still throbbing. I'm eager to eat and go to sleep.”
“I don't blame you. That battle had my heart going a mile a minute.” The veteran lets out a sigh, still exhausted from the life-threatening encounter despite the fight lasting only a few minutes. “Let's not waste any time, then. We should go back before it becomes pitch black out here.”
Satisfied with the lack of any noticeable undead presence, the two men turn and ride back to Kildare hurriedly in order to beat the setting sun.
After night finally arrives and darkness engulfs the area, the six Mistwalkers have shed their heavy equipment and made themselves as comfortable as possible in the abandoned home they've decided to inhabit until morning. They surround the fire pit, where a healthy flame dances and illuminates the room. The front and back doors leading outside have been blocked with furniture for extra security, and everyone's taking the opportunity to finally eat a small, rationed dinner.
“Royd.” Veros speaks up. “How's your back? Does it still hurt?”
The bulky man shakes his head, looking significantly less pained now that his wound has been properly attended to. “No, I'm fine. Moving my arm around is a bit of an irritance, but I don't think it'll make me any less useful.”
“You should've seen this big fella wince and moan while I was patchin' him up.” Kellar teases his comrade yet again. “He sounded like a giant child with a bad tummy ache.”
“Well, sorry for not being used to being shot at!” Royd responds with a scowl.
“This is the kind of thing you signed up for when you crossed the barrier.” The rogue lectures with a wag of his finger. “Heroics have a price, you know. Trying to save the world may be admirable, but it's fundamentally dumb. That's why most people don't try to do it.”
“I'm well aware.” The irate woodcutter bluntly responds as he bites into an apple he pulled from his sack of provisions. “I prefer the term 'brave' instead of 'dumb', however.” He finishes his thought while chewing.
“It's a bit of both, really.”
“What do you guys mean?” Zyra suddenly asks, puzzled at the nature of the conversation. “Is heroism a bad thing?”
“Naw, that's not what I'm gettin' at.” The ex-mercenary corrects her. “I mean being a hero is stupid on an essential level because it involves throwin' yourself into danger. That's the whole basis of it.”
The mage tilts her head, still unsure of the philosophy behind Kellar's statement.
“What he's trying to say,” Atticus chimes him to articulate the idea better, “is that the definition of heroism is more or less sacrificing your own well-being for the benefit of others, which is something most can't do, not because they're selfish, but because their self-preservation instincts win over their desire to help. Thus, if your desire to help wins, you fundamentally decide to throw yourself into danger for another person, which he feels is stupid on an existential level.”
“Ah.” Zyra lifts her head, now understanding the statement.
“But someone needs to do it.” Royd interjects. “If a heroic act didn't have risks, then everyone would be willing to do it, which means it wouldn't be an act of heroism at all because it would be expected of everyone.”
She contemplates the thought. “So a heroic act needs that sense of danger, and the hero needs to choose to throw themselves into that danger, with likely little personal reward, otherwise it's not a heroic act. I guess that makes sense. Sitting around and waiting for someone else to save Yhordran would be easy to do.” The pyromancer sighs, realizing that while it's a somewhat cynical way of viewing heroism, the specifics aren't necessarily wrong. “I guess we're all pretty dumb for being here, then.” She says with a self-deprecating smirk.
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The brawny fellow laughs. “Indeed we are, but we're also here because our convictions matter more than our lives. Not everyone experiences a situation where they feel that way. Depending on how you look at it, they're probably lucky that they don't.”
“That's true.” Zyra nods, agreeing with Royd's sentiment. “Throwing yourself into danger is a stupid thing to do in general, but you don't really care or think that way if you feel so strongly of why you're doing it.” She states, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she does want to save Yhordran and help her comrades. “But maybe we're not so dumb after all if we managed to make it so far without losing anyone.”
“Well, we could also just be exceedingly lucky. Things like that ambush earlier today – and my injury – they're all just the price we have to pay for trying to do the right thing.”
“Why is it that you think we've made it so far? Has no one else tried to actually venture all the way to Armasstadt?”
“Lena mentioned that there's usually weeks between Mistwalkers making it all the way to Terrance.” Veros interjects. “Most Mistwalkers die on their first outing, either by incompetence, ill-preparation, being overly adventurous, or more. But then how many die on their second outing? Or third? Or perhaps never go back into the mist after their first? Most make it a point to never go past the Rosemont line to begin with. There could've been dozens of Mistwalkers capable of reaching Armasstadt and quelling the mist by now, but none of them chose to continue. But we'll never know for sure.”
“Right.” Royd agrees. “They knew the risk of continuing and chose to heed warnings. Doesn't mean they're bad people for not trying.”
“Speakin' of risks,” Kellar chimes in, “are we going to have a lookout for the night?”
“I don't think that'll be necessary.” Veros answers while standing and approaching a window next to the front door. He peers out into the village, and though the combination of darkness and mist makes visibility extremely difficult, he can see no sign of any undead presence – no movement amid the abyss. “If they were following us, they almost certainly would've reached us by now. Plus, I'm sure the horses would raise a racket if they tried to circle around the house.”
“I know I said this before, but I still can't fuckin' believe they managed to surprise us even though we expected an ambush of some sort.” The rogue, once again, complains of the enemy's tenacity. “These undead bastards really are somethin'.”
“I think we all expected them to just impede our path north judging from the footprints.” Veros responds while sitting back down. “We didn't expect them to go through the trouble of sneaking up on us so closely for so long. It's good that Atticus had the sense to stop and turn around, or we really would've been in trouble. Everyone did a good job at holding their own when the fight started; it went as well as it possibly could have.”
“I have a question.” Zyra interjects. “I hope this isn't a dumb one, and I realize this is late, but I was wondering why we travel in the formation that we do? Why are Erik and I in the center of the group and still on horses while everyone else is on foot? I sort of just went along with it, but after the encounter we had earlier today, I was pondering the reasoning behind it?”
Veros shakes his head. “It's not a dumb question.” The veteran leans forward, preparing for a long-winded explanation of the strategy behind their travel formation. “First off, Atticus and I are on point because we have the most close-combat experience, so we should be the ones to take the brunt of an attack when we run into an enemy. Royd and Kellar are at the rear because they're also experienced, but to a lesser extent. Or, at least Kellar is; Royd has the raw strength to make up for the lack of fighting expertise.”
Zyra nods, studiously absorbing the new information. “And why are you off your horses? I know we want to protect them because they're are transportation and such, but isn't that some sort of disadvantage?”
“Not necessarily. When you fight on a horse, the only real advantage you gain is mass and speed in one direction, and it's at the sacrifice of maneuverability. If one person on foot and another on a horse – both with equal skill and the same equipment – were to fight, the person on foot would actually have the advantage because they can make smaller, precise body movements quicker and easier. All they have to do is wait for an opening because the person on the horse will have a harder time covering themselves.”
“So Erik and I are usually on horses in case we need to make distance quickly?” Zyra asks for further clarification, but is continuing to grasp the idea.
Veros nods. “Exactly. You and Erik are at your best when at range, so staying on your horses for when you need to create that distance is better for you than it is for us. It's alright for you to sacrifice mobility for speed because unless we're crammed inside a small building, you'll only be using magic in the first place.”
“Okay.” The mage nods, now in full understanding of the necessity of their strategy. “I never really thought about it like that. I've never seen a battle before, so I simply assumed it was always better to stay mounted.”
“In extremely small-scale battles like the ones we usually have out here, it's better to fight on foot. If we had a large cavalry and the horses had armor for themselves, then we could just charge through everything, generally speaking.”
“That makes sense.” Zyra comments, seeming more enlightened on the topic of combat strategy.