[h3][center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Hamelyn Jaegar ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center][/h3]

Hamelyn contemplated in silence. The alcohol his acquaintance had been consuming was an all too common occurrence. The nightmares encountered locked within the dungeons. The torture endured, focusing every ounce of energy into maintaining composure. Sleep was hard to come by in the cells and even still despite the freedom, what little sleep had been obtained was restless. Haunted by the terrifying memories of those years in captivity. The screams of people stretched or the wrack. The wimping cries of exhausted prisoners struggling with the heretics fork. Brutality was an understatement. The Apotheoses was consumed by an unending desire to reveal these secrets and refused to be swayed by the truth of ignorance. As if to think that a person might magically produce information they could not possibly know simply because they were abused and neglected within an inch of their very lives. It would have been almost comical if he had not been living it himself. 

Pushing through the flaps on Szazah’s leather, command tent Hamelyn found himself in the sullen camp once again. The entire encampment writhed with the feeling of uneasy anticipation. A thickness had taken over the atmosphere. Tension was on the rise. The march was to begin soon. Of course, Hamelyn and the party would find themselves scouting ahead to eventually branch off in search of the snow elves. But Hamelyn knew that few if any had ever believed they had existed. It had been many centuries since the last time snow elves had partaken in any civilized gathering with humans or any other race. As the historians told it, it was believed to be for good reason. 

Many centuries ago, the humans had sought out aid from the snow elves to locate a mysterious artefact from the frozen north. It was an artefact that would turn the tides of another struggle they faced that they were on the cusp of succumbing to. This artefact, allegedly a great fiery daemon that fell from the night sky on a night thought to be far darker than even the deepest cave was only a mere legend. However, humans having a such a predisposition for wanderlust and being prone to clinging to the last shred of hope despite all odds refused to be defeated. 

The humans reached out to the snow elves not only as a aid to find this great calamity that fell from the sky but also as a means to help aid in the defense of Astoric where the humans were struggling to maintain a defense. The snow elves had willingly journeyed further north to aid the humans in their expedition. However, they would not venture south. They would not willingly walk into the jaws of death and destruction with nothing to gain from the experience. They had not be revealed up until that point and they had little fear of exposure beyond that point. 

Hamelyn slowly meandered through the encampment. Spirits were downtrodden to say the least. When swordsmiths worked their metal, hammers were swung they merely dropped with a depressing exhaustion. Sacks of feed weren’t stacked neatly they were plopped into a pile. Even beyond the ale tents, soldiers who weren’t charged with patrolling the camp had taken to carrying flagons to maintain a regular state of inebriation. Those that had not were visibly chill with apprehension. 

The falling rain that battered the landscape was a perfect backdrop for this particular campaign that seemed so destined to fail. The thunder chased lightning off in the distance had been the perfect foreshadowing of the impending doom looming in the distance. A cold wind swept down from the northern plains, a breathe so chill that it threatened to freeze the water gathering around the bases of their tents. 

Hamelyn wandered around the camp for what seemed to be hours searching for nothing in particular. Perhaps unlike the other warriors involved, Hamelyn had not been looking forward to this expedition. There was still a matter of payment that Szazah had ignored which irked Hamelyn. But it would not matter. Hamelyn would either find his payment in gold coins or in blood; and more importantly the belongings of those that will parish along the way.

He was not afraid. He was not apprehensive. It was not that he was looking forward to the journey north but returning home was not as frightening for him as it may have been for others who were not as experienced with the northern expanse as he was. He was made in the north. He was made to trudge through the snow. He would lead them through this madness wherever they wanted to go. He would take them on this little adventure and return to the spot in which he passed out, buried by the blizzard and further, he would take them to where the snow elves had left him to recover. And when they did not find what they were looking for there, he would take them in whatever direction they wanted to go. But this war with the apotheosis, it was not his war. It was not the war of his tribesmen. This was the war of the civilized, sedentary creatures of the city. 

[I]SYNOPSIS: Filler post, wasting time waiting for something to actually happen.[/I]

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