Cry For War

Chapter Eight

It was within hours that the four of them were sent out on their first mission. A small, strange territory deep in Múspell. Any signs of life were long gone, instead replaced by ash from what one could only assume was a burnt out forest, or rather what was left of it. Coincidentally, the charred remains of the land sent chills down Veronica's spine, the ash making her throat feel as though it had been coated in charcoal and soot. She didn't want to admit it out loud, mostly out of concern that she would be made fun of by her cohorts, but this may have taken the cake for being one of the most distressing things that she had ever seen.

"Sweet Elimine," murmured the Ostian, placing his hand briefly on the priestess's back as he spoke. He'd been through a lot back home in Elibe, but this? Something about this felt foul and selfish. It was by no means interpreted to be for the greater good, nor was there something to manipulate and make it seem that way. He was tough, mentally and physically, but something here didn't sit right with him. "Are you sure this is the place? Kiran... Wouldn't have sent us to this place if it wasn't right?" he began, taking a moment to properly think out what it was that he wanted to say about the hellish environment that they'd been sent to. He wasn't one to be stricken with fear in most situations, though he wouldn't have described the current feeling as fear. It was uneasy, unsettling... There were a million words to describe it, and yet he couldn't speak a single one.

"Shh..." Ephraim hushed, distinctly on high guard. His shoulders were raised, eyes scanning the area to the best of his ability, even if the fluttering smoke and debris were more than enough to obscure his vision. "Stay focused, we can't let this be a distraction," warned the man clad in green. "We're close to the heart of Múspell now, we have to be discreet," he continued forth, denying his gut instinct to enact all out guerilla warfare. It was a twisted paranoia that had formed within his stomach. He'd been betrayed twice before by one of his own men and by his own dearest friend, he'd been through the savagery of war in all of its forms. So many had lost their lives in Magvel, and he would not allow that to happen again. Even so, he couldn't deny that his cohorts were right to suffer now. The heat made his late father's armor unbearable, his eyes beginning to sting from all of the powder in the air.

Celica allowed a tiny sigh to escape her lips as they moved forth, suddenly regretting not bringing a mount of any capacity, glancing briefly to the black mare that had accompanied the other princess on their march. "Oh? Since when are either of you concerned about anything? The trail has already been cleared by the previous team, you have nothing to worry over. We've taken up these weapons already, brought ourselves this far..." she gently reminded the two armored warriors, only to be disrupted by a harsh cough on behalf of the Emblian princess. "I assure all of you, we can clean up and catch our breaths. We're so close now, it would be a death sentence to stop now." As little as the two men and the other princess wanted to admit it, she was right. Sitting idly by the volcanic heart would have been asking to die, to have castle guards seize them and do unspeakable things to punish anyone who stood in their way.

  Such things were a little too familiar for Veronica's liking.

"Alright, alright... You don't have to chew me out, Celica. I don't think either of us are ready to throw in the towel just yet!" Hector returned, shifting his grip on the lance that had been asked of him for this mission. He was more than eager to return to his axe, but all the same, he was no good with making plans. Such things, in his own opinion, were better left to people like Mark or Kiran, people who knew a thing or two about leadership. Though it did hurt his pride a bit, he knew his place was on the battlefield, not in stuffy clothes sitting on a throne while others did the work for him. "I'm just saying, if we don't get this done soon, I think I might sweat myself to death-"

  "I second that," chimed in Ephraim, whose face definitely told a similar story. His usually fair skin had gone red, his hair falling out of place and sticking to his forehead and cheeks. "Say, Veronica, could we at least tap into our rations. I'd be lying to say it wasn't necessary by now."