Prologue: Unsung Heroes of Nostradaemus
The city of Nostradaemus sits between two large hills, Vantage and Hawk's Perch, the natural canyon had created a beautiful lake fed by a river originating from the ocean where fresh water fish spawned in the hundreds. Or so they used to, now the lake is near empty stripped bare for the State's demands. The people are poor due to the small export they contribute to the state, it's a frustrating place to live in but you make do with what you have. Some of the folk have moved towards the ocean under the supervision of the State Guard, they bring back fish from the saltwater to coax the lake to refresh its supply. But this, sadly is a vain attempt, the state usually confiscates goods from these men and women before they even unload them onto the docks by the ocean. Such a sad existence, but there is no reason to complain, amongst the twelve cities, "districts", there are those worse off than Nostradaemus those whose sole purpose is slavery, District 3, but no one bothers with one another. On this particular afternoon, the streets were thriving, vendors yelled from their booths at wandering men and women and the continuous murmur of recent news amongst the people never ceased. One woman stood out more so than the others, walking in soldier's armour fashioned from a lightweight polymer only found in District 1, her face was sullen, and a slight limp was easily noticeable each time she progressed. Several people watched, murmuring to each other as she made her weary path through groups of people who were haggling with the vendors, she stepped to one side to avoid a group of children playing tag, but this only caused the belt around her waist that held a sheathed sword against her hip to fall as the leather tore. But she did not bother picking it up continuing to move onwards without any recognition, instead a few scrawny underfed children eyed it momentarily before swooping in like hawks escorting it away, no doubt to sell it to the blacksmith. The female came to a halt in front of a door, the door belonged to the Nostradaemus Tavern, she looked up to read the sign taking longer than most others as her eyes swam in tears making the sign near incomprehensible to her. Finally absorbing the sign, she stepped into the confines; the air was stale with the smell of liquor and home cooking. She made her way quickly across the tavern and sat down at one of the empty tables, there weren't many, it was surprisingly packed on this particular day. Men laughed and enjoyed themselves slamming down beer glasses time and time again after guzzling its contents. Elderly men told war stories, stories of rebellions and the old world, the female listened in on every table as she waited patiently for a waiter to come. Finally, a petite elven woman finally showed up carrying a tray folded under one arm, she was very pretty with light hazel eyes and flowing brown hair which revealed only the tips of her ears was cut at shoulder length. She had a light tan and sharp features, but what concerned everyone else in the tavern was that she had luscious lips and was curvaceous, like most of the other waiters and servers.
"What can I get you ma'am?" she questioned, each word quickly clipped with an accent that sounded like it could be a mix of every race.
"What's the chef making?" asked the woman that sat uneasily due to the armour.
"Rabbit stew, fresh rabbit too. Interested?" asked the elf, pulling out a notepad from the apron that was amazingly cleaner than her work environment.
"Yea sure." said the woman, looking at the men a few tables down that had pulled several servers into their laps, which didn't seem to break the bubbly demeanor of the waiters.
"Ok, uhm, anything to drink?" the elf asked, "Don't mind me, but you seem kind of familiar."
"No, nothing to drink. And perhaps it's just coincidence." The woman said hurriedly.
The waiter handed the lady a handkerchief that she had tucked away in her cleavage, "Here wipe your face, I bet you look prettier without all that dirt on your face. And your eyes probably look a hundred times prettier without those tears." It was the best she could do to console the woman, as she didn't know the problem, but it must have been an abusive husband or boyfriend.
"Thank you." She said quietly and with that she began wiping her face until her white skin was finally revealed, she wiped her eyes and smiled.
Her stew arrived moments after the waiter had walked off and she began eating the broth, the meat melted in her mouth and the medley of flavours, scrumptious, and just like that all the tension was suddenly gone from her body, she was ok. A tall figure appeared in the door way of the tavern, eyes protruding from the darkness provided by the hood that cloaked its hair. The female looked up from her bowl of stew towards the figure, her cheerful smile was quickly replaced by quivering lips and with a slow trembling breath that escaped her as the tension returned, she looked on quietly. The figure casts its eyes around at the occupants of the room until it came to a complacent lock upon the face of the female that gazed back. She quickly downcast her eyes, gasping large gulps of air in an attempt to stay calm, reassuring herself over and over in her mind that it wasn't him. The figure moved silently towards the female, black boots barely making a sound as they collided and scuffed the wood. It finally came to a halt in front of her as she stared, panicking, at the boots of the now discernible figure of the male that the boots belonged too. A fairly tall fellow, standing about 6'5" at his highest, but knees almost always bent as if ready for anything. His pale green eyes searched the features of the female that shifted uneasily before him; he looked down at her combat armor which was stained with the blood of the comrades she had abandoned to die. He himself wore a black tank top; one arm was clad in armor, and the other, bare to reveal dozens of tattoos rolling along his skin. On his legs was a pair of black combat khakis with a utility belt adorning his hips that held any items he preferred to carry around. Dog tags hung around his neck and clinked gently against each other as he took them off only to toss them onto the table in front of the female. The female stared at the dog tags before looking up to finally meet the gaze of the man, a softness spread amongst her features as she looked into those quiet calculating eyes of his.
"Nero…." She spoke slowly, trying her best to avoid breaking the calm composure of her comrade, "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'm sorry for running away… I-I couldn't…" her words were abruptly cut off by the sudden steel that had replaced the expressionless features of her comrade's face. "P-please…" she managed to stammer out under the intensity of her former partner's glare. Nero finally spoke, the sound equivalent to that of a bear's growl underlined with the sound of gravel crunching beneath the feet of a giant.
"Thirteen men and women. Thirteen just like you… Then why is it…. That you were the only one that ran instead of fighting to the end?" The question hung within the air, begging to be answered by the woman, "Tell me Captain, why is it you took the easy way out? While the rest of us bathed in the blood of our own?"
The female captain seemed to break under the intensity of Nero's voice and drawn features, "I was scared." She admitted, knowing that this was not the answer that the man wanted to hear. Nero leaned down, until his face was level with that of the female's own.
"They were all scared Eria. But now they feel nothing." He said, hinting at the outcome of the events of the past day. Eria blanched, speaking more feebly than before,
"W-What do you m…" again she was cut off by the brute,
"You have until the next tournament to toughen up. Captain." He said.
Eria finally drew up some courage; she took a shaky breath and exhaled "Will do." She said with the escaping air, her face engraved with duty and honor, she would do as told and make the people of Nostradaemus proud, and make herself unforgettable.