Nostrum: Tales of Valor

Convener's Brood

With some consultation and a more than fair filling of mixed meats and porridge on his side, Belial joins in on Briar and Cronn's bull sessions, boosting his spirits and the trio's morale overall. As Devough and an assisting servant bring out a gracious helping of broth-drenched turkey and a pot full of boiled, seasoned greens, the three give their thanks and begin picking at the feast bestowed before them. As they do so, Briar catches a glimpse of Belial filling his wine-stained chalice with a foreign beverage that had been tucked away in a metallic flask at his side.

"What antics might you not be sharing with us?" Briar asks with amusement in his voice, pointing down at the container.

"Ah, it's nothing." Belial explains. "Just some of the brew Arbor introduced to us."

"And you think that a wise choice of drink, given the circumstances?" Cronn cocks a brow as he strips a sliver of dark meat off the bone, keeping his eyes locked on Belial as he does so.

"Well, it may be pungent, but it's a cocktail nonetheless." Belial states, raising his chalice into the air as if to say "Cheers."

"Hm." Briar squints as Belial's wording rolls around in his head, but brushes it off as nothing more than a coincidence before raising his own in response. "To each their own, friend. Cheers."

"Do tell," Cronn begins, turning in his seat to face the others more comfortably, "what is housed beyond the Convener's chamber doors?"

"Nothing of interest to those with a lucid conscience." Belial bitterly suggests, sipping at the beverage as he does so.

"And those without?"

With a hard gulp, he lets his chalice clatter against the table and takes in a shallow breath.

"The sorrows of man. Eternally etched into the physical realm; Kept so well hidden, that they may have never existed in the first place."

Cronn stares blankly at Belial, unsure of how to approach such a claim. His chewing slows and his breathing nearly stops altogether. Noticing this, Briar takes a swig from his own chalice and waves a hand in front of Cronn, forcing him to blink and look towards him, rather than Belial.

"He means it's full of documentations. Reports."

"Ah, as I suspected." Cronn chuckles, picking up his chewing once more and driving a fork through several vegetables in preparation.

"Well, we've yet another lengthy hunt ahead of us." Briar exclaims, lifting himself from the table with a food-induced grunt and bumping the edge with his now bloated gut. "We should rest up before heading out again. I'll see you both back here come nightfall." With this, Briar slaps the tabletop and heads off, venturing towards the upper floor housing provided by the Covenant. As he disappears beyond the walls that encase the great hall, Cronn turns towards Belial, intending to continue conversing.

"Is it something you've come to miss?"

"Is what?"

Cronn motions towards a pair of curtains ahead of them, as well as those that cover all other windows in the great hall. Belial looks towards them himself, taking note of a small sliver of sunlight poking through. The mere presence of it against his pupils causes them to shrink painfully and he quickly darts his vision away. Rubbing both eyes, he leans back into his seat and yawns. The turkey now taking a toll on his conscious state.

"Earlier on, perhaps. In times such as these- however- I couldn't find it any more spiteful."

"Spiteful?"

"Yes, spiteful. It mocks us with what it stood for in days passed. Peace, comfort, warmth, trustworthiness. Now? It does no more than taunt us with the memories of what there once was, then vanishes, leaving us only with what is."

"When did you become so philosophical with your words?"

Belial laughs heartily, showing teeth as he does so and folding both arms over his chest.

"A shift, in reality, will do that to a man." Belial's face comes to a bitter rest, his eyes now fixated on small particles that travel through the air around them. "Perhaps, one day, we will have these plagues contained as they once were. If we can accomplish such a feat then the light of day will have been vindicated, and the break of dawn will once again be something I look forward to." With these words, he scoots his chair back, giving himself enough room to get up from the table. Taking the last swig from his chalice, he knocks it against the surface and winces as harsh fluids travel down his throat. Then, exhales with satisfaction before lifting his cleaver and heading off to bed as well.

"See you when the midnight candy are in full bloom."

Belial waves back at Cronn without speaking, continuing on his way as he does so. Until he too is out of view. Cronn taps a fingertip against the corner of an empty platter, granting his psyche the time needed to assemble a coherent thought on Belial's current state. As he comes to the conclusion that he may never understand such a thing fully, Devough arrives once again, gathering up soiled crockery and wiping away any remains that have been spilled onto the table and its cloth.

"It must be difficult. Seeing such terrible things unfold before you, I mean." Her soft words catch Cronn's full attention, as they are the first she has spoken in his presence. Seemingly acknowledging this simultaneously, she nervously looks between her work and his surprised expression. "It's certainly a reality I hope to never experience myself."

"Nor is it a reality I

would want you to experience." He adds, with eyes full of woe. "Continue on with your duties here. Keep yourself separated from what we carry out, out there."

"I'll do my best. Though I must say, I don't feel I'm truly doing my part."

"Nonsense. Don't give such thoughts a chance to fester. Self instilled doubts hinder future growth." Cronn stacks several plates on top of one another and slides them over to Devough, who takes them with gratitude. "Besides, without the services you provide us, there would be nothing here to satiate or invigorate."

"I'll keep that in mind. Rest easy, Praise Tomorrow."

As Devough steps away, taking all that had been strewn about prior with her, Cronn is struck with a worn sense of familiarity. Almost as if the faintest of memories- perhaps not even one of his own- is trying to resurface, yet is not quite capable of breaking what barrier conceals it. Rubbing the heavy lids of his eyes, he shakes off this sensation. Having it summed up to a groggy mind, he trails off as the others did and finds himself a place to sleep.