Snippet #2464114

Pravus was ascending the hill from which the enemy had retreated from. As he climbed higher along the path to see where they were going off to something happened. He only managed to turn just in time to see the leader of this rag tag group of entities lay down a rather large rune inscribed on some form of cloth. This wouldn't of garnered even a fraction of his interest at that moment as he still had his duty to maintain if it were not for the light that enveloped the battlefield. Without warning Pravus was abducted from the scene of the battle.

---

Standing in the old halls of a luxurious mansion he peered from his marred mask, scanning his surroundings.
Is this another test? His mind kept it's battle ready edge keen for more challenges. Pravus wouldn't of been overjoyed but he would not of felt upset had this change been another trap sprung on him to fight through. What he got instead was the supposed leader who had yet to even introduce himself milling about the mildly crowded foyer with people who were not present at the battle. Pravus was no fool. It dawned on him quite quickly that this was not another challenge at all but a stop, an end to which the nameless leader yanked him to without his consent.

This figure went about consoling the residents as a shepherd tends to his flock. He felt no warmth in his heart for this so called kindness the leader had expressed to their own and his opinion of the man changed not. He listened as the man turned from his herd and faced the warriors from the battle they fought for him. This man shifted his appearance to give him a more veteran appearance before he spoke, a rather unimpressive magical ability as it is a familiar effect from his own society prior to it's gruesome downfall.


He listened to the man's words carefully as he spoke. He was ordinarily grim but this man had done something that displeased him greatly. Those who died on that battlefield were simply left to rot while the living got to rest, magic tending their needs like busy maids while this man struts about pretending to be a fatherly host. Because of what their leader did he was not able to bury those who died and give them their funeral rites. Almost anything else the nameless leader could of done would of been inoffensive but directly interfering with his duty was a direct offense to him. The grim dead had become graver.

Ordinarily this would be the point where he would of simply left these people to their fates and gone on back to bury the dead back at the battlefield but he was a careful listener. When the leader here said he would send them home he knew exactly what the man meant. Back home, back to Tiatha, back to Sed. There he still had to finish burying the rest of his people but even if he were bury them all he would need to come bury those that died at the battlefield as well. He could not omit a single person from this, to do so would mean failure on his behalf and he could not afford to fail his father again.

Despite that though he knew there would be some serious challenges with finding his way back to this realm. If he was to have any chance of returning to the field where all those who died at that battle still lay then he would need to remain here, at least for now. As much as the idea of proving himself to this two-faced shepherd felt wrong like the sensation of having one's thumbs trapped in thumbscrews he had little to no choice but to convince this man that he was needed here.


Lowering his head he turned his thoughts from this unpleasant predicament towards other concerns. He was rather damaged from the battle, most of his gear broken save for his trusty family shovel still firmly held in his hand but his first thoughts were not of himself but of the spirit he encountered during the battle. She and her living counterpart were of the most relevant interest to him for he was sworn to serve the needs of each spirit so that they may pass safely and comfortably into the afterlife. He would need to learn of how this girl managed to separate her spirit and remain active as soon as possible though. If the girl's spirit was torn from her body by dark magic against it's will or perhaps if it was simply the girls greed, forcing her own spirit to serve her, then he would be forced to release the spirit so it could pass on into it's designated afterlife freely. Other than that he would tend to it's needs until it is ready and able to move on from this world to the afterlife
of it's own belief.


He walked over to the swordswoman and her spirit, addressing Myon as he arrived within casual talking distance.
"Hello Myon. It is good to finally meet you under less hurried circumstances. I have been hoping to speak with both of you but the battle demanded my attention at the time. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier." He politely greeted them both, the spirit a bit more than the body as he is more familiar with Myon and he finds himself more comfortable speaking with fellow undead such as spirits and other reanimated entities capable of civility and conversation. Even though he was rather bitter about the current situation he found some comfort in the opportunity to speak with Myon freely now.

"My name is Pravus. It is a pleasure to meet you." He removed his blood stained mud caked glove and extended a rather clean but somewhat damaged hand to shake. Though she may be a spirit if she were to shake his hand she would find it just as solid as though her form was solid as well.