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Requiem of Depravity Redux

Discussion in 'Roleplay Archives' started by CodasterTheDisaster, Dec 9, 2014.

  1. 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.
  2. "Please, take care of him."

    "Of course. But are you certain about this...?"

    "Without a single doubt."

    Those words echoed through the young woman's head as she trekked through the deep snow. It felt like ages since she left Myrsk on her magnificent steed; with all the traveling that was done, both of them were extremely tired and tattered.

    The woman had one hand to her mouth and another gripping to the reins, and every so often she would switch. She wore a long cloak stitched of wolf's fur and under that, warm black traveling clothes. Her fiery red hair peeked out of the edges of her hood, gently brushing her pale, flushed face. Her fierce blue eyes were a gift from her father, as with almost everything else she brought with her: her gallant horse, Maria; her sword, a beautifully engraved cutlass; her knowledge of her Art--

    The sight of the small building ahead was a blessing. Maria must have thought so as well, as she suddenly galloped full speed ahead towards the sanctuary, almost causing the young woman to fall off. Instead, she laughed and grabbed hold of the reins, and soon the distance between them and the village was nonexistent. Maria found her food and warmth first at a little stable, where the young woman paid the man watching over the horses just a few coins too many out of pure generosity born from her relief of finally finding the tiny little village. She had plenty to spare, after all.

    It was her turn to warm up, and soon she found herself at the little inn. She could feel people staring at her as she entered and decided to keep her hood up as her red hair would just attract even more attention. Something was nagging at her in her head even as she sat down and ordered some food. Was the cold finally getting to her, perhaps? She rested her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands, covering her mouth.
  3. "Ah, Thyella- the land of How Do You Survive In This Cold?" The woman grumbled as she trudged through deep snow "How I love your pristine, can't-see-shit-because-everything-is-snow landscapes."

    She was pulling her horse, Gylia, behind her as she had tired of carrying the girl. The girl's cloak whipped around due to sudden wind and she began to curse at nothing in particular. She was travelling from her home of Silar and was bound for Thyella, but on the way she had been attacked by various wolf-like creatures. No matter, she was indeed two days behind schedule but at least she had arrived. In the distance she saw a village- she knew it was a village because it was the one thing not completely white- and she laughed. She laughed as she began jogging over, even Gylia sped up. She dropped Gylia off at a stable, paying the caretaker double the normal price- of course that was because she had requested extra extra good care for her horse, for Gylia was her best friend! Er- best horse.

    She checked to make sure her ornate yet practical axe (as she much preferred them over swords) was attached to her belt before entering the establishment and taking a seat. Her black hair, slightly gray despite her young age, was held tightly in a short ponytail- which she undid as she took off her cloak. Her clothes were of course all dark purple with hints of green- her favorite colors. She had food from Silar, but felt it rude not to eat from the inn that would be providing her shelter- after all, the workers in such small establishments put care and effort into their craft.
  4. 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. 
  5. The girl raised her eyes to glance at the man at the center table. He definitely had a lot of gear. She glanced to her own bags and to another woman who had a bit of baggage. "Travelers..." She hummed to herself "Everyone else must be from around here... Why would three travelers- all with weapons- come to the same, small, barely that important village in Thyella?" She stood and walked to the center table, loudly pulling out a chair and taking a seat across from the man.

    "Noble? Army man? Maybe both?" Her voice was as rough and tired as usual as she rested her chin in her palm, scrutinizing his features before leaning back and clearing her throat "Yurina. That's my name. I'm from Silar, come for a bit of diplomacy and... Well... Let's say I'm on a search for clues of an ancient evil, and leave it at that."

    "Unless you would like to add?"
  6. The sound of Naeova's gear hitting the floor was enough to knock the woman out of her little trance. She lifted her head and watched the man curiously. Her hood fell to her shoulders, allowing her red locks to scatter down her back. She watched him carefully, not daring to make a single move until another woman, presumably another foreigner approached him as well. She listened as best as she could to their chatter. After hearing what the oddly-dressed woman had to say, she stood up and made her way towards the two. "It's odd, isn't it?" Her voice was rather lax, but also soothing in a way. "Someone in the right mind wouldn't come to a place like this under normal circumstances, y'know? 'specially with the war going on..."

    She grinned and pulled back a chair and flopped down in it. There was a brief look of pain her face as her bottom made contact with the hard wood of the chair, but it left as quickly as it came. "We're certainly all here for a purpose?" She looked between the two, as if asking for confirmation, before her gaze finally landed on Yurina. "Silar? Well, damn, that's quite a ways. You must've been traveling for a very long time. I'm Elsa Naunet, from Myrsk. Pleasure." She turned her gaze to the man sitting with them, flashing him a charming smile. "And who may this gentleman be?"
  7. 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."
  8. "Alliance indeed." She trilled "And I suppose our travels won't be too pleasant, yes. All the same... There's been something nagging me." She leaned closer, lowering her voice and opening a map onto the table. 

    "As you can see, this is Silar." She pointed as she spoke "There are various skirmishes or other troubles around the lands, including the one you are coming from, Sir Naeova. I could've been sent for diplomatic action anywhere- and in fact several people were pushing for me to go to other places."

    Yurina sighed and glared at her map "Yet why here? Why this small village in Thyella? As far as I know, there is no trouble here... And most peculiar of all, at one point I strayed from my path as I realized a town actually affected by skirmishes was nearby... And... And as I did so, a pack of strange wolf-like creatures drove me out. Do they want us here, or were they simply keeping me away from that town...?"
  9. 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.
  10. Elsa listened carefully to Yurina's anecdote about the wolf creatures. "Things like that can't really be coincidences, can it? I guess you can call it 'fate', then." She nodded, leaned back, and crossed her arms. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure myself... Why I came here, of all places, I mean." She paused in thought. "I think... I think, soon after some of the men in my town left to go to war, I had a dream. Someone told me to come here." She shook her head, dismissing the thought. "Hah, it's silly, ain't it...? It's just a random urge, I guess." Oh, what a lie. Calling it a random urge is an understatement, considering what she left at home.

    "But there has to be something here, right?" Elsa looked between the two. "If we were ushered here by some unknown force, there would have to be some significance with this place. It just wouldn't make sense otherwise. Or maybe I'm just over-thinking it..."
  11. Why did I come here...? What purpose do I have in this small village...?Grumbled the taller man as he trudged through the snow. He looked around, unable to see much through the blizzard, until he saw the lights of a small inn up ahead. He made his way towards it, his broad shoulders hunched.

    When he stepped through the door, he let his hood fall back, revealing a mane of golden hair and almost leonine features. He strode through the patrons, his golden gaze sweeping through them and settling on the unlikely group in the center table. After he grabbed a stein of ale, dropping a few coins down on the bar, he walked over, dropping his pack with a suspiciously loud clang, beside the table. Settling down, he regarded each of them in turn. "What a strange little group ye got 'ere." He remarked, taking a long pull from his stein and slamming it down. Letting out a gusty sigh, he leaned back. "Bit o' a wee nasty storm brewin' up outside. Best be takin' shelter 'ere tonight." he commented, his golden gaze warm, but guarded. Looking at him, he looked every inch a warrior, from his battered armor to the weapons stashed over his body. His arms were thick and corded with muscle, and his beard was braided to keep it out of his way.
  12. Yurina looked to the new arrival, closing up her map "I suppose we are a ragtag little group. How about you? Monster run-ins? Sudden urge to travel?"

    Her eyes widened and she turned to the rest of the group "Now that I think about it... When the wolves forced me back onto my path- I could smell flowers even though there were none, and I heard a voice. It sounded just a hint angry, like it was mad that I was trying to go somewhere else... God, it wasn't even in words- but I think it said... I think it was saying 'Find them' or something..."

    Yurina sighed, playing with the details on her axe's handle "But who to find...? Perhaps if we search this town... In books or by word of mouth, there may be information. A myth or legend, perhaps."
  13. 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?"
  14. "Th' names Corrymir, and as fer us bein' the next Seven, I dun know what ye been drinkin', Laddy, but simple folk like us don't get honors like that, d'we?" The warrior said, nodding his bushy head and taking another swallow from his tankard. "As fer what brings me 'ere, well, I'm a mercenary. My nose kin sense gold a mile away, and it led me 'ere. Why, I've naught a clue, but I'll stick around fer a bit, see what russels up." he said, letting out a rumbling chuckle. "Group like this, we're bound to find trouble lookin' fer us, especially if others are thinkin' we're the seven."
  15. "It can't be a coincidence, can it?" Elsa tilted her head curiously. "The dreams, the wolves, us meeting here... There's just too many coincidences stacked up on one another. That many coincidences can't be possible, can it?" She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, trying to recall the story she has told oh so many time since she was a child. "...Still, we can't just jump to conclusions like that. The four of us meeting like this is an odd occurrence, but I doubt we can just go ahead and say that we're the next Seven. There could be other explanations for this..." She chuckled nervously, unable to think of another explanation. "Or maybe it really is just a coincidence." For whatever reason, Elsa seemed awfully desperate to dismiss the idea that she was part of the next Seven.
  16. Yurina watched the conversation unfold in silence. The next seven? Could there even be a new generation of heroes...?
    One thing was for certain- she definitely could not be part of the seven.
    Silarian folk, being from the land of 'life' and all that, were generally assumed to be some of the most diplomatic and kind folk. While that was partially true- Yurina was quite the diplomat and did her best to be kind- it was not a stereotype Yurina could say she adhered to. She fiddled with the handle of her axe. She had struck down more people than she would have cared to speak of- too many for her to be a hero. Well no, perhaps a hero... Yet certainly not the hero of life. Why would she- a woman running from her people- be chosen as a savior? She had made a mistake in lying to these folks, giving a false name and acting as though she was a noble sent for diplomatic reasons. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

    "Perhaps you may be of the seven- but I am absolutely certain that I am not part of your group."

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