A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

15 | Death • Part 1(edited)

The moon, his lifelong companion, cast its gentle glow upon him as Devereaux traversed Salvathre Streets. Despite being in the heart of the Serenel, he could sense the air pulsating with energy. A daring choice to establish such a place in Normies' territory. He couldn't fault the decision though.

His craving for liquor tonight had driven him, and this was the sole establishment capable of offering Devil's Snarl and, perhaps, congenial company within the compounds of Salvathre. Weary from his duties, flying home was out of the question. Cobb's Tavern had to do for tonight.

Aside from the occasional drunkard, rodent, or decaying feline, the street lay deserted, permeated by the scent of mould and age. Most of the back alleys and streets leading to the shore exuded a similar aroma. He had left behind the city's hustle and bustle, along with the likely disapproving gaze of an elf. His eyes flickered whenever he passed a ruined arch on either side.

Locals referred to this area of Serenel as Remnants Vale, built about two centuries prior the city was built and upholding its pride to this day somehow. Devereaux had traversed several of these, branching onto various paths. For those who explored extensively, these pathways resembled tiny veins, intricately connecting every alley within the heart of Serenel.

Though ancient, this place was no attractions for tourists. If anything it was popular for being populated by ghosts that a citizen in their right mind would hate to walk down this misty, cold, old street after sunset. The Dark Lord could see the reasons.

By now he had witnessed at least five Escaped Souls loitering about the arches and dark corners of the street. Their silvery forms shimmered though they did nothing to pierce the veil of darkness that had fallen upon the pulsing world. On another day he would have considered chasing one down but he was feeling too worn out already.

He had borne witness to the rise and fall of many kingdoms, the transitioning from monarchies to republics and parliaments. Once known as the Great Devereaux Severan, the raven sovereign, he hailed from a time when humans and ravens shared a mystical bond.

Within the Severan clan, tales of their raven ancestors were passed down through generations, whispered in hushed tones during twilight gatherings. The stories spoke of courage and daring, of ravens who braved the heavens to bring forth the gift of fire. They recounted the wisdom imparted by the ravens, guiding the Severans in matters of leadership, strategy, and the delicate balance between power and responsibility.

They consider him a figure of commanding presence and unfathomable power, their sovereign, a singular force within the clan, his every action and decision carrying weight and consequence. With a countenance that mirrored the strength of the ravens themselves, the sovereign exuded an aura of mystery and authority that commanded respect and awe.

Despite being chosen to the throne at a young age his presence was a captivating blend of charisma and enigma. His piercing gaze, the colour of smouldering embers, held the power to both intimidate and allure. Clad in the essence of night, he was a vision of darkness and elegance.

His authority was absolute, his word law. His voice resonated with a commanding timbre that demanded attention and obedience. Yet, beneath the stoic facade, his heart burned with a mix of passions and struggles, concealed from prying eyes by a carefully constructed mask of indifference.

He carried these burdens with stoic resolve, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement or compromise his duty. He was a pillar of strength for his people, a guardian of the Severan legacy and the bond with their raven ancestors. His kin.

Despite Devereaux's position as a revered leader, his own kin harboured seeds of treachery within their hearts. The very ones he considered his family plotted behind his back, driven by envy and thirst for power.