Rivael Andur'me's Story

Endyne gave the approaching figure a once-over, her cold gaze stopping short of the ground and traveling back up his form to rest on his face. "I am Endyne Aphi'il, and as I had already mentioned I am the appointed medical officer to this particular caravan. However, my main duties lie elsewhere, and unless you are able to keep up with me both when I am treating the wounded and in battle, then I fear there is no room for you. If you decide to continue down the path of healing, find me at a later hour. I have things to attend to." She nodded to him - in her mind, the ultimate form of respect - and continued on her way to reach the caravan's self-proclaimed commander.

Meanwhile, a vividly careworn Rivael stood tied in attempts to dispatch a petite (albeit annoying) bird (no doubt the companion of an Orii'm), scoffing when finally salvaged from the avian's high-pitched chirps: "Pestering creature." The inquiries which came subsequent to one's monologue were prompt, conveyed by perplex figures hoisted upon the faces of those present. No retort was given. The lack equanimity no longer gave the privilege of corroding his nerves with each and every mundane issue. Truth be told, the male himself was unaware as to which location they would next pursue. Perhaps several hours of rest would solve the current predicament. Alas, the eve had not yet reached its grand finale.

"Can I assist you?" - a now disgruntled Neru'abar spoke, raven orbs narrowing when met with Endyne's porcelain visage. "I believe I have already extended my thanks for the given aid. How can I further assist you?" A repartee did not falter (as any would expect from the likes of her), the woman now eying Rivael with a squint, the corners of her lips turning down. She did not reply to his query at first, instead advancing a few more paces until she lay in his face. "Do you not even ask of me my name? Do you not care, o soldier? You call yourself a leader. But a leader would not dream of holding his people against their will. Though your attitude in that aspect disgusts me, thanks is not the reason I tail you. Only a fool would expect such."

Arrogance.

How dare she! A petty whelp with no significance to the Neru'abar lineage addressing him in such terms? Insolence! A soldier he indeed was, and if only for the honor of his etiquette and self-discipline were bristled fingers not permitted to strike the woman where she stood. "These, misfits, are not 'my people'. I am here to ensure the Synod's desires be done to the letter and nothing more. Two options were given: rise iron and arcane against the horde, or accept me as their beheader. I would only assume each of them found death more enjoyable when confronted with the eventuality of their voyage accompanied by a few of the Nieral. In spite of my current disposition, I assume it is only polite to know the name of my savior. Thus, would you be 'so kind' as to share it?"

She clenched her jaw, anger now coursing through her veins. But no, no. He did not know who she was. He may have been a benevolent man, set high atop a throne he did not deserve - but he did not know. She pondered, calmly now, whether or not she would inform him. If he asked, certainly, but now? No, she would hold her tongue. Her distasteful grimace reformed itself into a smile, and with an all-knowing glimmer in her eyes she replied: "I am called Endyne." It had a romantic ring to it, a touch of a melancholic ballad one would indulge himself in during the spring. No matter, as frankly she did not fit the archetype of females interested in such honeyed compliments.

"As I previously stated, I am Rivael Andur'me. Now, Endyne, would you care to inform me as to why you are shadowing me ever since you have tended to my wounds?" - the omens of a verbal spar were now evident. Yet he would not scatter bait as to further harass the woman. It was neither in his interest, nor did he have the energy available for such futile distractions. In return, she swore in her mind. It would have been nice to keep him at bay; to wait until the opportune moment when his reaction would best amuse her to tell him. "The Conclave has appointed me to watch over you." She left it at those simple words, keeping steady eye contact.

Indignation now encircled Rivael. A guard had been instructed to survey him? Odd. Did the Synod not trust in his skills? In his capacity to foresee this quest to its end? Or perhaps there were other reasons for their 'betrayal'. No matter. This was not an issue with which he would bother himself now - more worrying was the fact that he could not place a single drop of assurance in the one standing before him. Even more so, vigilance now gained the status of a prerequisite in any and all interactions between the pair. Withal, first and foremost one needed a motive, a reason for the Council's actions, and one way or another, this woman would spill them out (or so he thought):

"Ah. Have I been graced with a servant, or a guard? And if it is the later, inform me, how could a woman aid a soldier in battle? Whilst I have no doubts that you wield metal as well as the next individual, I assume you can do more than that."
"I can be of service to any and all - do not doubt that, or I will not hesitate to go back the way I came. I have been sent to accompany more than twenty guards and soldiers along the course of my loyalty to the Conclave, and I use the word loyalty with great reluctance, as I do not serve them entirely willingly. What do you say to me now, man? Do you still desire to know precisely why I am in service?" She had cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, and during the entire display of rage and emotion didn't move her feet an inch."
An impetus perchance, and even if blunt, one could no longer stall the conjecture which now gained size behind pursed lips: "I am inclined to believe that you are bound to my path. I am also inclined to believe that your behavior is but a facade meant to veil your true nature and the purpose elucidating your presence. If your orders permit you, then I find myself compelled to ask you to depart, permanently." - he had played his cards, a wager against Lady Lucky. In either scenario, what would ensue had already been branded as acceptable.

"It is not this kind of leaving which I speak of, naive sir. That which I imply is only reachable by means of a great feat of energy. Perhaps I ought to show you what I mean: it would certainly convince you to respect me. However, to perform this task, I require some form of sustenance. Provide me with this, and I shall certainly hail to your request."; she waited for him to either comply, or make himself a hypocrite.
"Ah, so it is nourishment you require in order to produce your magic? Bizarre, I must admit. Albeit, I have witnessed magi rake the skies, wizards twist and turn the arcane to its limits, I doubt that any magic you may produce would be enough to astonish me." - the affirmation brought with itself a rather large apple, agile fingers catapulting the fruit in the woman's lap. The female swiftly proceeded to catch the apple in her cold, smooth hand, rising it to her lips in a matter of moments. She took a bite, and continued to work her way around the fruit until no skin was left. She rolled the apple across the ground onto nearby foliage, assuming it would either decompose or be found by forest creatures.
"I'll have to ask you to give me your hand, or you will not be able to travel with me." - superiority drenched her plea.
"I have no intention of accepting your invitation. You asked for edibles and I complied, simply as I have no need for a weakened guard. If you shall continue to travel alongside me, you may at least carry your own weight."

And with that, a now exhausted Rivael spoke past the rustles enshrouding the camp: "We leave at dawn. Be ready. Those which shall not be prepared by then shall be left behind." - his tone firm enough as to pierce through the other on-going conversations, the male now dismissing the Neru'abar present before him as to finally catch a glimpse of rest.


*Time lapse: morning*


A scorching sun now clambered past the horizon's transparent line, the lamenting sounds of both insects and beasts adverting the forest's wake. His belongings had been neatly arranged from the night before, the only items discarded being a set of linen bandages which were prior used to patch-up the remnants of inflicted rakes. The itinerary had been established several hours ago: the convoy was to pursue the main road performing the link between Orii'm and Shara through the southern route, hiking through the northern woods as to avoid contact with the Synod's current location (a feat which would continue to repeat itself until he would reveal the true motives hiding behind their actions). Once past the northern woods the caravan was to traverse the Howling Caves and enter the Shara Empire through the Iron Walls.

Reviewing the agenda once more, the male briefly nodded in satisfaction, burly fingers clasping across the spear's apex as to wrest the object out of solid soil. "Let us commence the march. Ensure the camp fire is thoroughly extinguished and that no other objects of importance such as arms or armor stand scattered. Gather provisions and any items which you may find useful as the journey ahead announces itself to be long. Torch anything which remains behind." - the words were firm and baronial, the Neru'abar now commencing to lead the procession to the main road and beyond.

And thus, off to war they were again.