Nostrum: Tales of Valor

Keen Eyes

Forest trees with mangled branches loom overhead as a small fire crackles and pops, giving off a warm glow and offering a place to rest. Belial, Briar, and Cronn huddle up near the flames, planting themselves against firm soil as a thin layer of fog rolls onto the improvised campgrounds. Their aching feet thank them for doing so but still throb against the restraints of footwear as if nothing has truly changed.

"Tell me, Briar; What brings a man such as yourself to join The Purebloods?" Cronn loosens the straps of his leathery boots before stretching his legs out in front of himself. "What charm is there in it for you, I should say?"

Briar thinks on the question for a moment, taking in all that he has been through since his first encounter with The Purebloods covenant no more than a year prior to this very day. Deciding on what is best to say he nods, lets out a sigh, and looks towards the moonlit clouds above.

"Knowing there is an end."

"Surely you've more reasoning than that."

"Is there a need for more reasoning?"

"I suppose not."

Briar continues to ponder for a few moments longer, having never truly thought about what more he could have wanted when he agreed to the removal of his Sigil; The one thing that tied his soul to this endlessly plagued world. The one thing that nearly gave him immortality. The one thing... that allowed him to dream.

"Reality is best dealt with when you lack distractions."

"Well said."

"How about yourself?" Briar pries. "What is it you're after?"

"Recognition."

"In what sense?"

"Well," Cronn starts, removing his overcoat as he does so, "we Nostrum have been given a bad name, and the Nostrum before us; All the same."

"Curious wording." Briar states with a grin. Cronn returns the expression before continuing to speak.

"Anyone who's been infected views us as the monsters we've set out to destroy. Those who lack infection show fear as well, and their reasoning is not unlike that of the ill. Choice of attire alone is enough to have stones cast our way, and when it isn't, we receive prayers instead."

"So, you wish to earn back the trust our history has cost us?"

"To put it so simply; Yes."

"Seems a lost cause, if you ask me." Briar and Cronn look towards Belial as he speaks these words, but they don't question his reasoning for them. "Those plagued by this scourge cannot be redeemed. Those who are simply corrupt minds- though their views have the potential to change- likely will not. You might as well accept these things, as you should the ink that's already been spilled onto paper." Silence pours over them briefly before Belial speaks once again. "Give yourself the recognition you seek. Depending on others is futile."

"What about you then, Belial. What brought you to join?"

"Marne." Belial's face contorts as he speaks the name. As if it now put a bitter taste in his mouth. "There have been many times I've seen him fall during a hunt. Myself, equally so in his eyes, I'm sure." Belial's distaste briefly turns to a reminiscent smile before fading back into its prior state of dismay. "Even so, I never thought I'd have to come to terms with such a decision. Joining The Covenant and having our Sigils removed was a step forward for both of us. A mutual agreement that we would endure the rest of our days together, and ward off what The Bethel started without coming back to it after all was said and done." Belial collects a small round stone in the palm of his hand and turns it about for a moment before casting it into the flame. Small flakes of vibrant embers swirl into the air as the pebble crashes against the fire's base. "Now, I can only hope to make it to the day we've eradicated this plague... for the both of us."

"Marne was a good man." Cronn states, resting a hand on Belial's shoulder. "An even better Nostrum, if I might say so myself. The Council is proud of his achievements thus far. I'm certain they'll be proud of his efforts on this night, too."

Belial grimaces at The Council's mentioning. Briar and Cronn take note of this behavior and share in a moment of pity for their friend, but neither speak more on the topic. Both feel a sense of guilt for what has come of Marne and wish not to bring Belial's wrath upon themselves. Instead, they continue to offer him their comfort and support as they regain their morale, preparing for yet another encounter with the spawn of beasts.

"So tell us, Briar; Were you born into this world, or did you come willingly?"

"Born. My father was contracted to come here, but he was less concerned with clearing out lycanthropy and more concerned with the maidens he came across." Cronn and Belial chuckle along with Briar as he says this. "As you've probably already guessed, my mother was one of them. Father passed shortly after my conception. He'd spent far too long doing what he pleased and not enough of what he was required."

"Born, as well." Cronn explains, not giving Briar a chance to ask. "Both of my parents were from another world outside of ours. They came here together and fought side-by-side for the duration of their hunting days. Shortly after my birth, their time here was spent." Cronn drifts away from the conversation momentarily, going into a dazed state before snapping back. "They handed me off to a young couple before their departure. Their headstones rest beneath The Bethel, or so I'm told. Of course, I myself cannot visit to confirm such claims." Cronn shrugs and shakes his head softly before looking over his right shoulder. "What about you, Belial?"

"Marne and I were neither contracted, nor born here." The expression across Belial's face grows even darker than before. Something neither of his companions could have expected to be possible. "Our mother died giving birth to the both of us. From then on, our father raised us. Until he too met his demise. Cancerous and incurable. He'd stolen vials from The Bethel before it took him away. He thought he could fight it if he used their Spatihor brew to be sent here

but he didn't want to risk leaving us behind in the process. So, being the loving father that he was, he slipped each of us a dose one night before we headed off to bed. He followed us to our room in his weakened state and took the last for himself. We drifted off with ease, which was quite uncommon at the time. Once we awoke, we were here, but our father never made it."

Briar reaches for a corked bottle strapped to his side by a length of rope, pops it open, and passes it to Cronn, who then passes it to Belial, who takes a large swig before resting it against his knee. The three of them gaze deep into the orange blaze above charred branches, letting the memories that brought them to this point play rampantly in their minds' eyes. In a place such as this, time can be an obscure concept. Constantly moving forward, but never truly progressing. No matter the memory, or the amount of time that separates them from one another, anything from the past feels as though it could have easily happened just the night before. If ever there truly was a night before.