Post by Nevare on Jul 9, 2009 19:24:23 GMT -5
It wasn't unlike Nevare to find himself far from civilization. It always seemed, even throughout childhood, that Nevare sought a semblance of peace, or even a brief respite, far from his own family -- mostly his father though.
It's not that he hated his father, or rather...well, he did; there's no point in covering such up bying frivolous. It's not like someone would use the knowledge against him. Either way though, his father wasn't someone one would look up to albeit the man's a renowned tactician. He had proven his worth over the years as someone who could be relied on when it came to battle, and Nevare had always been looked to with expectancy to excell over his father, but therein lies the problem.
His father, for years, had sought to make Nevare a god amongst men when it came to battle. He was bred for such from a young age and then on to excell in nothing more but bloodletting. It's that mood, and way of being, that had led Nevare's father to being the brusque man he was; a man who wouldn't shy away from the use of physical discipline to stir his son toward the right way. Truth be told, it had been enough to make Nevare more bestial than anything; full of emotion and with lack a of control -- no fear.
How many nights had Nevare considered stealing a blade and whisking it away within his bedroom? He couldn't count, but there had been many. Hell, there had even been a number of times Nevare longed to spirit away a blade into his father's chambers and end the man's life, but a hound couldn't bite the hand that feeds him. That's the thing about it all. Nevare, despite all that he had suffered at his father's hand, couldn't bring himself to do one thing that he wanted to do. Yet, what did it matter?
Ages had passed since then and Nevare's out on his own. He's bringing glory to his name for the acts he had stirred across the land by way of his hand. He had served under numerous banners and had conquered natives far and wide in the name of one lord or the other. He had even championed against others; slaying them upon the doorstep of their wall or manor -- lordlings and princelings. Nevare had proved himself on the field time and again as an unmovable force. He was one of the people; a man who would rub elbows with the fellow beside him. It's that reason for why morale rose so high whilst he was within the ranks. It's seeing a man who's seemingly death-defying in the midst of battle that could make others feel much the same, but as for now?
Nevare had nearly been victim to a blade, stone and the elements; his side being pierced and a lunged stone having struck the back of his head. As for the elements though...well, the mountains were harsh with the bite of winter. His fingers were still somewhat numb and his legs ached; his sides burning. He's warm, but he had already managed to push through his fever thanks to one other; a child, or rather, a boy. Yet, Nevare knew he could not linger any longer within the abandoned ruins of the citadel.
Nevare had already gone through the majority of his provisions, and from what he had left, he couldn't imagine himself staying any longer than a day or two. It's somewhat of a startling revelation though considering the fact that he's still healing, and the fact that now he had to deal with the mountains once more lest he starve to death. It's enough to leave him on edge and grunting with displeasure when filling Aquilon's panniers and dressing himself.
At least the gods were in his favor.
It's something he thought to himself when making note of the somewhat fair weather. It wasn't a howling, shrieking storm as it had been during his flight through the mountains; a tactical retreat that had turned a headlong run throughout the snow whilst astride Aquilon. His men though had been lost to the elements, and Nevare considered the fact that they may all dead out there. Yet, that alone brings another concern to the forefront of his mind. What of those who had chased them into the mountains?
The ambush had been successful and the enemy had been more than knowledgable. It was a frightening thought to know your enemy could think ahead and plan their movements, but it had been days since Nevare had arrived at the citadal, and like his men before him, they'd think he would have died, no? Certainly he thought the same whilst he cinches his clothing tight and tucks a cloak about his body before mounting Aquilon with ease.
Now all Nevare had left to do was begin his wayward trek across a snow caked mountain. He grunts and grudgingly nudges Aquilon forth toward the goat path he had taken a few days prior.
