† Sayaran †
Another damn white temple was where he was sent.
Pale, blaring, obnoxious, nauseating, headache inducing white stone.
Sayaran was beginning to hate the color, or lack thereof, just as much as he hated scripture.
They used so much of it that he often thought their "divine mandate" was merely a reason to strip mine other nations to build their own.
And the architecture wasn't even ornate or beautiful. Everything they built was square cut, bland, brutal, and devoid of life.
Another sigh escaped him as he made his way into the grand hall of Cyricll Temple. It's where he'd been stationed after his evaluation.
A little man, balding with a big nose and a nasal clip in his voice, occupied a table directing recruits and priests to separate groups. As Sayaran approached and handed forward his conscription papers, signature Eenoan blue eyes looked him over.
What he saw was a young man, no more than twenty-five, tall and riddled in muscle. His appearance was that of the Evellian, chestnut haired and brown eyed. Unlike the Eenoans his face was decorated in piercings with large weights hanging from stretched earlobes.
With raised eyebrows, the little man let out a huff, "You're in the back, red markings, section twelve." The man flicked his papers back at him in a rude gesture.
Sayaran ripped them from the man's hand with equal sass and earned himself a scowl and another huff. The man said something under his breath that went unheard as the Evellian was already out of earshot, following chalky colored lines.
The red line flowed back, split off from blue, green, purple, and yellow, zig-zagged through the building that should not have been as big as it was, past one through eleven and right to twelve.
"You must be Sayaran." A squat man, thick in muscle and square in build scowled out at the crowd. It was a glare so well worn, Sayaran immediately knew it was just the man's face. He rested against a table strewn in books, files, weapons, and shackles carved through with strange writing Sayaran had never seen before.
Sayaran nodded, eyes going to a taller man next to him. Three scars cut across his face, one eye lost to whatever had attacked him. Contrary to the horrific scaring, in a smooth, soft voice he introduced himself, "I'm Joseph, and this," he pointed to the squat man, "is Abraham. We've heard good things about you from the grand templar."
"Oh really?" Sayaran was a little surprised that the old bastard had spoken highly of him.
"Aye. Ist ara om mararr."
"Oh, I don't speak any of the Eenoan dialects." Sayaran had never taken the time to learn the various ways the Eenoans spoke. It seemed silly to hold onto dying language. Especially when a global language had already been adopted hundreds of years prior.
Abraham chuffed through his nose and rolled his eyes. Joseph shrugged, clearly more good natured than his partner. "He spoke highly of your skills. Said you were a little defiant and stubborn. Though I think that is expected of you Evellians." Joseph smiled, his remaining eye twinkled.
Sayaran returned the smile. "Well, we do enjoy our individuality."
"So I've seen! Allin," Joseph called the grand templar by name, "said you are incredibly skilled with a scythe. That's quite the odd choice of weapon"
"Mm, the scythe is my specialty, but I can also work with daggers, ring blades, and tactile needles." These were a few of his specialties.
Joseph whistled. "No staff?"
Sayaran shook his head. "Not my thing." He wouldn't tell the two that he thought the staffs were inferior when it came to battle, especially when their opponents wielded magics and weapons that could easily destroy the wooden rods.
"It's tradition." Abraham grumbled, then quickly changed his tune as he caught sight of someone over Sayaran's shoulder. "Oh, no. Not that crazy bastard."
Before Sayaran could turn a duffle was slamming onto the table. Its owner was a lanky man, with curling blond hair and a dimpled chin. He possessed a cherub face, too handsome to be a warrior.
Unlike his pretty appearance, icy blue eyes held a lunacy Sayaran had seen in a few men. Serrated, winding, and filled with an demented mirth.
"Nice to see you gentlemen again." If his eyes hid any of his craze his voice shattered the illusion entirely. Its eerie cadence cut out in a whooping howl that made one's skin crawl.
Syayran took an instinctive step away. He'd seen that look, heard similar voices whisper through the dark from mouths of fangs and wills of evil. He knew a monster when he saw one.
"You seem to be missing one… and plus a new one!"
Abraham spit on the ground at the man's feet and Joseph scowled.
The lunatic shrugged. "Poor Benjamin. I heard my sweet little muse ripped out his throat. "
"Shut your mouth!" Abraham snapped and Joseph shuffled.
"And I see she also took your eye."
"That's enough, Orias." Joseph warned in a low tone.
"And you must be Benjamin's replacement." His chilling gaze fell upon Sayaran, observantly cataloging him.
Sayaran said nothing. Thick arms crossed over his chest, fists tight. He didn't know who Benjamin was, but by the other men's reaction, he had been someone they deeply cared for.
"Cat got your tongue?"
"I have nothing to say."
"What, not even a greeting for a superior?"
"We look about the same age." Sayaran let his eyes roam up and down the lunatic in a similar manner he'd been observed. He wasn't going to let this man's cocky attitude go unrivaled.
"Well we'll be working closely together, so you should introduce yourself."
Sayaran ground his teeth together. Still he didn't speak a word, just rolled his shoulders back.
"Hmph. Well then, Sayaran Baylan, I'm sure we'll be friends in no time." Orias said smugly and bounced his brows.
"Unlikely." Sayaran quipped.
"Leave him alone, Orias." Abraham barked.
The lunatic shrugged with a smirk and began to pull items from his duffle. He laid out a slim bow and a quiver of arrows. Sayaran could immediately see the vyra wrought and woven into their arrows and quills. It was unlike that of brute force that most Eenoans pumped into their staffs. Orias' energy looked wicked, like viscous poison.
He did not want to know what he did with those arrows.
An eye, watching from peripherals, stayed trained on the lunatic. Sayaran had a lurking suspicion that Orias was going to be more than just a nuisance. Better to keep an eye on the shifty man.
"Allin informed me that there would be another?" Orias sang between whistles, setting a pair of similar shackles next to the others. Apparently the table was to display their weapons.
Sayaran didn't bother. Now that the crazed man had joined their group, he thought it best to keep his talents hidden.
"She should be here any time now." Joseph's voice held none of its smooth and tranquil properties as he addressed the lunatics question.
"She?" Sayaran asked. "I thought women were not allowed to join the temples?"
"Usually no. But special exceptions have been made for a few in the past. She is one of them, and currently the only woman serving in our ranks."
"Are you boys talking about me?" A stark yet feminine voice called from behind him.
"Aye."
Separating herself from the crowd, a middle aged woman came to join them. She was no more than chest height, yet her muscles were well toned and tanned. Soft brown hair with hints of silver was cropped at her shoulders in a sleek bob. Chocolate colored eyes quickly swept over the men and the contents of the table as she held her hands behind her back with relaxed ease. Scars hatched across her arms and one split her forehead.
"It's good to see you again, Commander." Joseph bowed his head in respect.
Commander amongst the priests was a high title, and for the only woman serving in the temple to possess it was impressive.
"Please, no need for formalities anymore. We will be working as a team." The woman smiled with a wave of her hand, "Call me Ama."