After brother Valetni was done, Morr announced to those attending that tomorrow those under his command would make their way further towards Pikewall, after all, their mission still stood and so did they, even though the lack of horses, them having been butchered during the attack, would slow them down critically.<br/><br/>A discussion with commander Kurze decided that at the same time, efforts would have to be made to contact the other outposts and the Temple itself by pigeons and, just to make sure, send ten Hellguards of his own, to get reeinforcements if needed. And, considering yesterday's so very unlikely attack, such would be needed.<br/><br/>The crowd gradually dispersed, going after their daily duties, though a number remained to bring the bodies outside the fortifications, to the graveyard that had been set up there.<br/><br/>Initially, marks of wood would be fixed onto the graves of every fresh fallen, later to be replaced by proper gravestones. The wood would then be used to create crossbow-bolts, though of course not nearly every bolt of the Hellguard originated from a grave, it was yet such an amount that every soldier made sure to aim properly, for a waste of ammunition was equal to a desecration of the dead.<br/><br/>Morr decided that, for now, the purpose demanded that he rest his form, for he had grown unsteady, weak. Taking his leave for now from the rest of the group, he made his way to the barracks, the remains of the demon having been successfully burned. They were not immune against fire, viable to note for later.<br/><br/>He was tired. So very tired. By the time he made his way up the stairs, he was doing barely more than stumbling, the weight of his armor almost rendering him immobile in his state. He did not like to sleep, always he would be forced to reexperience memories, memories that he spent a good deal of his waking time already reembracing to keep himself from repeating any possible mistake. Doing so in his sleep was merely inefficient.<br/><br/>It took him some time to remove his armor, though the breastplate was currently at the smith for repair, unclasping all the straps that attached the plates to his body was not easy, his fingers wavering in his weakness. It was surprising how accustomed to his helmet's confines he had become in the week, not once had he taken it off.<br/><br/>Finally, setting all the plates in order, easy to reach, though he would certainly be unable to put it back on in time when an emergency arose, he laid himself to sleep on an unoccupied bed.