The Battle at Zynmyrinar part three (end)

The battle sounds were waning, though they still made my ears ring. There was still this orc captain ( I realized quite belatedly that he is indeed the Captain) in the door way and despite the both of us (Captain Seleane and I) hitting him multiple times he would not fall. While impressive I honestly was becoming quite impatient, the faster the helm was seized the fast this battle would end.
It was only after a dazing spell from The Captain and a substantial hit from one of my blasts and he began to look more haggard. It then occurred to me that he must realize he cannot hold out for far longer as well as we did, thus, diplomacy. This is also the time Moonflower arrived muttering about paperwork.
 
I laid out to him that, while I was currently out of reach, I could come in close and hit much harder, and that while the ship would be taken and he and his crew imprisoned, they would live.
He seemed reluctant but Moonflower added that our prisoner conditions were not squalid and that capture my be more favorable then fleeing in defeat. He then handed over his axe and as an honorable adversary called his crew to stand down. I recalled a word, I do not remember its direct translation but I did recall its use as a remark on honor and respect. The crew ended up mollified by this a fair bit and we have had no complications in taking the ship and crew captive.
 
We have ensured they were able to tend to their dead, at least on the ship. I wonder what happens to the dead on battlefields, do the looser just lay forgotten till they melt right down into the muck?
Perhaps I shall ask later.
 
I am rather pleased that I did not end up tumbling the ship, falling to ones doom seems unpleasantly suspenseful.
Perhaps if the Captain valued less his men and ship I would have struck rather then spoken.
*'Tisn't a pleasant thing to consider of oneself.
 
 
Wraith - by Nimolin
 
Do the dead care where their cadaver lay?
Offal strewn in frothing bouquet?
 
I have heard it so.
That, alas the throes of death
cannot cease the bitterness
of one final fetid breath.
 
So in the shadow, their bitterness remains
and drapes o'er the bone and far faded frame.
Film o hunger that flesh mightn't sate,
wretched lonesomeness rotted to hate.
 
How such empty things can last?
Alas! No canopy, nether mast,
nor mighty tow'r however vast,
can surpass the veil for one to ask.
 
(*yes it is a word I checked. )