Requiem of Depravity Redux

The sound of steel clashing upon steel rang throughout the valley. The skirmish between the Tivuorians and the Myrskite and Usvaan forces took place on the border of Myrsk and Tivuor, in a rainy portion of land where the rolling hills and forests of Myrsk met the plains of Tivuor. The battle had been in full force for several hours now. A thin, pale man sprinted away from the heat of battle, a bloodied and moaning ally slung over his shoulder.

The sprinting man was very tall and lean, with relatively smooth and pale skin. His hair was slightly curly and long, almost completely jet-black, save for a streak of turquoise running through the right side of his bangs, which mostly covered his face. Despite the look of grim determination on his face, complete with furrowed brows and grimace, his features were very soft and somewhat feminine. From each corner of his left eye were inked two lines that ran to his jawline. The streak in his hair, his tattoos, and his eye color were all the same shade. He wore the uniform of his nation, a light-blue coat over a silver breastplate, with a chainmail skirt and greaves of the same color, along with gauntlets that reached from elbow to knuckles. Most carried longsword or bastard sword into battle, but at his waist an ornate saber was sheathed. The handle was wrapped in strips of supple black leather. The hilt slanted forward at the bottom, a silver chain with a twinkling aquamarine in the shape of a four-pointed star hanging from it. The hand-guard was black metal, covering about half of the hilt. Scenes of Old Gods being desiccated by mist were carved into the surface. The blade itself was made of two different metals, the front half of the blade was a black metal from Tivuor, while the back half was the same silvery metal the breastplates were wrought from. The blade appeared to be segmented, like it was made of overlapping plates.​

As he reached his destination in the back of the attack force, he laid his comrade down gently, clasping the wounded man's fist as he moaned in pain. A medic attempted in vain to stitch together a grievous wound in the man's side. Several minutes later, the soldier's corpse was dragged off to a pile with the rest of the dead. The man remained, kneeling in the same spot. The way his head was bent, the marks on his eyes looked like tears. He sighed, stood back up and stared towards the battle raging ahead.​

“Lord Naeova!” a voice called out. The pale man turned towards a young, scared-looking squire. “Commander Coren is requesting your presence!” The squire looked more frightened with every word. Perhaps it was the boy's first time witnessing such horrendous bloodshed, perhaps it was Naeova's cold gaze. “Aye,” was all Naeova responded with, before turning on his heel and marching off towards the Myrskite commander's pavilion. He walked briskly, throwing back the entry flaps and entering dramatically when he arrived.

“You requested me?” Naeova asked, his voice nonchalant. The commander nodded, beckoning for the lord to come closer. “A temporary cease fire has been agreed on. There's something odd out there and we'd like you to take a small force to investigate. There will be Tivuorians on the other side that will be assisting you. For the love of the Divines, don't let a fight break out.”​

Naeova nodded and left. He gathered five soldiers at random, and led them to the area the commander indicated. Sure enough, the Tivuorians were gathered on the other side. Naeova raised a hand to show he meant no harm, and let his saber fall to the ground. The opposing groups gathered, tension running thick in the air. Naeova payed no mind, and only approached what he was ordered to look at; a large mound that suddenly appeared in the middle of the battlefield. He looked at it, confused. “Any idea what caused this?” he asked, turning to the rest of the expeditionary force. The Tivuorian leader shrugged. “We heard a rumble, and it just popped out of the ground,” he replied gruffly.​

Then the ground exploded. Naeova was thrown several feet away, landing hard on his spine. His vision blurred for a moment and he groaned in pain, rolling on to his side and crawling away from the writing mass that was jutting from the ground. Screams and shouts and running soldiers were then added to the din. Find the saber, find the saber... Naeova repeated in his head, crawling around in the dirt searching for his ornate weapon. He spotted the weapon several feet away, and scrambled to pick it up. He unsheathed it, just as a large tentacle snaked around his ankle and hurled him through the air. He landed against a rock, instantly getting knocked unconscious.​

During the period he was unconscious, Naeova was visited by strange dreams; dreams of times long past, where noble white-haired man, adorned in ornate blue armor wielded a broadsword of exceptional quality. Mist curled around his form, coalescing into a thick cloak. The man's piercing blue eyes locked with Naeova's and it was as if each layer of the man was being peeled away, every secret becoming known to the blue-armored man. The man opened his mouth, and a flood of sensory information flooded Naeova's mind, along with a rumbling bass voice. He spoke without words, but Naeova understood perfectly.​

“Find them.”​

He woke in a medical tent later that day, finding out that the sheer number of soldiers on both sides killed the massive abomination. Afterwards, the handful of survivors on both sides made an uneasy truce, helping to tend the wounded on each side. Two officers were traded, going back to each capital to relate their stories. Perhaps it would signal the end of the war?​

The next week passed quickly--Naeova 'requisitioned' supplies and fled to Thyella, thinking it an appropriate place to start his search. It was the farthest place for him to go, as well, making it the easiest for him to stay hidden. The cold wasn't too bad for him, considering Usvaan was relatively cool year-round, its winters being extremely cold. Thyella, however, was almost a constant winter season, and even during early autumn, the ground was covered with a thick blanket of snow. Not to mention Thyella's pact of neutrality; even if he were to run into an enemy of Usvaan he wouldn't be obligated to fight.​

When Naeova finally arrived at the small, dreary village, the inn looked as beautiful as a palace. Dressed in dark traveling clothes and a white coat that reached to his mid-thigh, Naeova wasn't exactly prepared for the snow and bitter winds. Every other location in Naeova's journey to Thyella, his garb was enough, but once he reached the tundra, he realized he needed to invest in a thicker coat or a fur cloak. He entered the inn quietly, heading for the back corner so as to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. It wouldn't have mattered; there were only a few patrons in the inn. They gave Naeova a nod of welcome and turned back to their business.​

At least I can get a hot meal here, he thought, drawing his coat around himself tighter. He got up and approached the bar, ordering a bowl of soup. He ate it quickly, sitting in front of the fire instead of by his gear. He wasn't worried about thievery, not in such a small inn. I wonder if the others were compelled to come here.​

Naeova sighed. Hopefully he wasn't just going crazy.

 

First, the hooded one walked in. Then came the flamboyantly-dressed woman. One wears her hood to remain inconspicuous, and the other is obviously foreign, Naeova thought. Had the second not entered, I would not have suspected the first. He got up and returned his bowl to the barkeep, purposefully walking slowly back to his gear so he could afford a better look at the two newcomers. He picked up his pack and walked back over to the center, where the fireplace was, and dropped his gear on the floor. The thud that resulted was obviously intentional, so that the two might spare a glance his way. If Naeova's hunch was correct, and usually it was, then all three of the foreigners were at the inn for the same reason. He let out a slight sigh, sliding off his coat and folding it neatly on top of his pack. His black shirt exposed most of his pale arms, though with them being exposed he could now feel the heat of the fire better.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and opening his ears. There was nothing more he would learn by looking at the newcomers, and now that he was purposefully facing away from them, he would listen to the sounds of the bar. There was little chatter between the few local patrons, mostly about the winter and worries of whether or not they had adequate supplies to last. I guess I'll wait for the sound of footsteps. 

 

Naeova's teal eyes caught the Silarian girl as she took a seat across from him. He remained silent for a moment, contemplating how he would answer. She was definitely...forthcoming with her plans. Perhaps she was bolder than Naeova. Perhaps she was just less cautious. "Noble or army man, hm?" he began, his voice quiet and smooth. "Once I would have said both, but now I say neither. Ancient evils do certainly have strange ways of forging a new path in my life," he said, hinting heavily that he knew what she was talking about. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the hooded woman get up and move over, her hood slipping off to reveal bright red hair.

Once again, Naeova listened without speaking, his eyes focused intently on the newcomer. A slight smirk played about his lips as she introduced herself. "My name, you ask? I am Naeova Dest, from Usvaan." He bowed his head slightly, in place of the elegant bow he would usually perform while introducing himself to such fair ladies. "Aye, you are both correct. I believe we are not here under normal circumstances; after all, I should still be in Myrsk, in battle. Then again, I may be considered among the deceased." He leaned forward on his elbows. "Nice to make your acquaintance, lady Elsa. And you as well, lady Yurina." He flashed a smile briefly, exposing his slightly-crooked, yet white teeth. "I wish our future travels to be pleasant, but a nagging voice in my head tells me that most likely will not be the case. Regardless, here's to a strong alliance."

 

Naeova looked thoughtfully at the map. "Wolf-like creatures, you say?" He stared at the map for a few more seconds, thinking carefully on what he would say next. "I do not think that has anything to do with our meeting. I have a theory, actually. The three of us have gathered here, yes. But what drove you to come here? A random choice? Did you actually need to come to Thyella? Or were you...compelled to come here. A driving, unconscious desire to come to this harsh and frozen land; to a small village, no less, and not even a village with an attraction. Perhaps you were nudged? Personally I think we were guided here  by something hidden in our mind." He drummed his fingers on the table.

"How about you, lady Elsa?" Naeova asked after a  brief moment of silence. "Have you noticed anything odd lately? Strange urges and the like?" He regarded the redhead with an analytic gaze, no traces of emotion on his face. His eyes were cold and calculating, but there was something about his presence that prevented him from seeming harsh or hostile. Truth be told, Naeova had a very protective nature, and he was willing to let himself be injured before someone or something would lose their life. Perhaps it was this personality trait that balanced out his icy exterior.

 

Naeova's first impression of the newcomer that barged in was that he was feline, despite the bulky and manly appearance. He was certainly boisterous, that was for sure. Naeova's calculating gaze came to meet his, and he let out a small sigh. "A storm, hm?" He took a moment to glance out the window, towards the sky. It was late, so the sky was darkened, but it was obvious that thick clouds were moving through the sky at a rather rapid pace. Naeova turned back to the group. "Perhaps," he said, his gaze moving from the newcomer, to Yurina, and finally to Elsa, whom he guessed wouldn't be fazed by the storm.

"Now, may I be so bold as to ask your name, sir?" Naeova questioned, his gaze once again focused on the very golden man in front of him. He remained silent, though a brief look of confusion crossed his features as Yurina spoke of her experience with the wolves. "A guide, perhaps?" he murmured. "No matter. There are four of us here. Now, we're all from different, lands, or so I assume, so what do you think  of that? We've all heard the legend of the Seven. I've heard it's told differently depending on the land you hear it in, from the Seven being divines, to the Seven only being blessed by the Divines, or even the Old Ones being the divines and the Seven stealing their power...Regardless, I assume you all know of them. Perhaps...We're to be the next Seven? If that's the case I say we wait for the other three. It would explain our sudden urge to group here in this godsforsaken village. What say you three?"