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Heritage of Ash: Ch. 1- New Order

Twin moons began their slow rise over the horizon, their view obstructed by dense and thick rows of massive trees that reached high towards the darkened heavens. Wind rustled their leaves gently as their mighty branches creeked, the sounds of chirping insects adding their docile voices to the nocturnal symphony that surrounded a mighty structure. Standing defiant against the natural and almost living feeling of those woods, a looming and thick wall of low lustered metal snaked its way around what it guarded: A grand city of stone and steel, an epicenter of an unnatural caucophany of sound deriving from its inhabitants. Along the outer edge of the buildings and streets that lined the city like a hive of activity, a single dwelling stood. Its two story walls were an elegant, symbiotic blend of both metal and stone, a banner hanging next to the metallic door with the mark of the one who lived there emblazoned upon it in stark contrast to the dark blue color of the base. From the upper window, cast open wide to allow the cool night air and scents of the trees that lined the outskirts of the walled city, the recognizably dim glow from candle light burned outwards. Within, two shadows were cast on the walls of a comfortable and well sized bedroom, standing across from one another as their owners sat down, meeting one another's gazes. The one nearest the window spoke first, his manner both warm and casual.

"I love nights like these... the third season without a doubt provides the most serene moonrises I've ever seen. Makes one appreciate the peace of the times, doesn't it?" A friendly smile crossed his lips, the dark brown fur on his body making the plate-like formation on his brow and face stand out brilliantly in the illuminous pale light of the first moon peaking over the tree topped horizon.

"I admit, I don't get to enjoy it quite as often, or as well as you do for some reason, friend. But I must concur, this time of year does seem to offer the best blend of scents to the air. Sometimes I like to think that this place has always been this peaceful, you know?" His triangular ears perked up with some excitement as he asked in a light and conciliatory tone, thinking back to his growing up with such thoughts, his own fur tan and doing less to catch the lighting as his host's. In response to the question, his friend, casually sitting on the edge of his bed, raised a furry hand in toast, a small flask of liquid held as he took a long sip from it, its mellow aroma wafting up to his nose as he licked some remains of the cool beverage from his muzzle. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and turned his head towards the window, looking out it as if his thoughts could be seen just outside.

"I only wish that such thoughts had been reality. Once upon a time, our country very nearly didn't exist at all." The dark furred one said, his tone now somber and saddened. His companion raised an eyebrow in intrigue and confusion.

"I vaguely remember touching that subject back at the academy, but I don't recall most of the details... As I recall, we only spoke about it briefly to explain the governmental policies of today, nothing in depth though."

"I see." replied the host. "Well, I'm familiar enough with the subject that I think I can adequately describe the scene, that is assuming you'd like for me to tell you the tale."

"Ha! My friend, we both know that it'll be the only kind of "tale" that either of us actually have tonight." the tan furred one joked, leaning back in a finely crafted wooden chair comfortably, pointing out both friends' lack of actual tails. His bedside host only let out a small chuckle at his guest's lame joke, unsure of whether to be laughing at it, or at him for making such a terrible attempt at humor. But the host nodded with a smile and repositioned himself on the bed, leaning back against the near wall and putting two digits to his right temple, resting the others on the bridge of his muzzle and his thumb on his cheek as he looked at his still laughing friend in equal parts disbelief and quiet thought.

"Very well then, Durris," he started. "Where shall I begin, then?" The tan one looked to him intently and smiled wide.

"Let's try at the beginning of your supposed historic madness, Mahr, hehe." Mahr let a small smirk slip across his muzzle and rolled his narrow dual-slit eyes at the yet sadder joke, going quiet for a moment as he set the scene in his mind. Durris, now through laughing at his friend, felt a small itch at the back of his furred head, but dismissed it as Mahr began.

"Retsana," Mahr began, "Eastern most province of the Continent of Dairkhova and renowned trading locale for the merchants and ferryman of the day. Twas back when my grandfather's grandfather was barely old enough to carry a broadsword on his own, a time considered at first to be one of celebration and progress...

Having bought their communal independance from the Magistrate in the western province of Shaertra's domain, Marshals from across the land held lavish celebrations for their people, commemorating the occassion with song, dance, and drink. However, while all well and good, none had thought far enough ahead as to whom would be made the new official ruler of the now "free" Retsana. In order to ease the transition, an elder but experienced man by the name of Selvas, hailing from the well respected Trovis Clan, had been sent from the west to act as Overseer. The position, while mostly honorary in nature, granted Selvas a personal guard force of an entire legion, as well as authority to keep the peace however he could, so long as it did not threaten the security of Retsana's neighbors, or threatened the locals. A savvy group, the Retsanan people, Selvas felt as though he'd have his work cut out for him, even experienced and wise as the aging man was. Taking residence in a gift manor overlooking the Vra' Lin basin and Etrin river that runs southwest to the Strait of Renn, Selvas found himself comfortable in the proud stone and wooden halls of his Estate.

One evening, in the late of Second Setting, Selvas' steward, a mousy and somewhat nervous young scholar, bearing grey fur and dressed in robes of her station from which her tail swayed as it poked out from underneath, hurridly entered the main hall from the outside, nearly falling over herself twice to reach the elder man sitting in the wide, many candle-lit hall. As she neared Selvas' seat at the back of the room, the greying man gave her a gentle, calming smile and motioned her to come closer. She nodded frantically as she approached and took a deep breath, easing her nerves a bit. Her voice carried a semi-northern accent, typical of Retsanans, and spoke in a still nervous but more professional tone to her master.

"Overseer, Ser, there's a man approacing the manor. I-I don't recognize him, but he was alone and I don't like the look of him!"

"Calm yourself, my dear. I'm sure that this is merely a guest seeking council. I admit I've been seeing an influx of those lately, but, let's entertain our visitor. Could you please show him in, Verris?" His voice was calm and well mannered, having a central sort of accent, showing little of his advanced age. The young Verris, being somewhat reassured by his even tone, bowed her head and ran back to the great wooden doors, letting their guest enter the manor before running off into the corridors of the manor to perform her duties. The visitor was cloaked, hiding his face until he neared Selvas. Once close enough to speak, he lowered his hood and removed the concealing garb, revealing his form adorned in formal, ceremonial armor. Bearing a broad right shoulder pad emblazoned with the mark of his clan, his armor was made of polished steel with brown leather overlay on the chestplate and chausses, trimmed with ornate inlay bronze for contrast. He drew his sword from its sheathe and set its tip down onto the smoothe stone floor as he looked straight at Selvas and spoke.

"Hail, Lord Overseer. I thank you for allowing me the honor of visiting you, even at this waning hour of the evening. I am known as Turin, and I come before you this eve to ask for your assistance in a matter most serious," Turin said, his ash blonde fur accentuating his armor well, his plates engraved with old tribal markings. Selvas gazed down at Turin, his sharp eyes examining every inch of him as he spoke.

"Be welcome, Ahser Turin, and worry not for the hour. Your visit is appreciated, should the matter that you so obviously wish to bring to my attention be in fact as serious as you claim. Speak your business, young one."

"Thank you, Ser Trovis. I realize that the days for many are celebratory and meant to be light, but I fear not all feel this way. The present lack of a unifying leader has led to fracturing among the Marshals. Several have attempted to gain power in their regions in the province already, and though my own forces have quelled these upstarts, there is only so much that I can do. You were gifted a legion force to aid in maintaining the peace, and while the Marshals that planned to revolt were swiftly undone, my own forces are stretched thin and I so humbly request your assistance in establishing order once more." Before Selvas could reply, Verris reemerged from the hallways and into the main hall, carrying in her arms numerous scrolls that nearly fell to the floor as she frantically struggled to keep them in hand and reach the Overseer. Lightly panting, she stepped in close to Selvas and whispered into his wolfish ear, his own armor, of similar design to Turin's, clanking a little as he leaned to his side to listen. His eyes shifted about, casting a quick glance towards the kneeling Turin. Sending Verris away, Selvas let out an audible sigh and put his greyish white muzzle into his paw, holding it in discontentment.

"Ahser Turin, I've just been informed that you are none other than the son of the recently deceased Marshal Pavok, a renowned military strategist and commander. Is this true?"

"It is, Ser Trovis... But, I don't believe that this makes-" Selvas stopped him there, a grave tone now in his voice.

"It makes all the difference, my young friend. I have heard of you, and I am aware of your reputation as well. Reports claim that you are cunning, also decidedly harsh to those that speak out against your... methods. I don't believe that I can provide the assistance to someone such as you."

"But Ser! The province is on the verge of chaos, and you'd sit by and do nothing?!"

"I will not. My duty is to keep the peace, and so I will, but I will not allow my own strength to be wielded by one who lacks one of the chief virtues of leadership. Your request is denied. Now be gone from my home, before I invite my guards to show you their own "hospitality"." Grinding his teeth and saying nothing but a low growl, the disregarded Turin turned swiftly on his heel and walked towards the doors, re-doning his cloak and clenching his fist tightly, claws digging into his paw and dripping a small trickle of blue fluid onto the floor. Before exiting through the door, Turin looked back at Selvas and cast a dark gaze that could never bode well for those whom received it.

"Mark me well, Overseer. You will regret refusing to aid me this night. Believe me, your banner will not hang over this hall for long." Turin slammed the great wooden door and left the room echoing for a moment. Poking her head around a corner, Verris slowly neared her master once more, revealing her face from under her hood in concern. Her eyes were obvious in their worry and concern, but seeing this, Selvas only smiled and patted the young vixen on her head.

"Do not worry, my dear. Our guest will not be troubling us again."

"Ser, if I may ask, what happened?"

"He asked for something that I could not give him, and could not accept this fact with grace. Do not fret, it's over." With a forced reassuring smile, he kindly waved Verris on her way, an assured and happy smile on her face as she returned to her duties. Once out of sight, Selvas fell silent. His fur stood on edge as the air suddenly gained a subtle coolness to it. He could feel what was coming soon in his old bones, a storm unseen by the good people of the Province, and anyone who could not find shelter would be in peril of being washed away. As he set about writing orders for his guards to be on alert and to prepare for what may happen, the skies above were dark, moonless and foreboding.

Two nights later, none among Trovis' men would find a moment to sleep. Fully clad in their armor, patrolling the basin and nearby forest edge cautiously, all were quiet as they watched for what they knew to be coming. From atop the solitary watch tower nearest the manor, two Qes stood, observing the area for the slightest hint of enemy movement, their backs aglow with the light from the large signal fire behind them. The last thing either saw, were two arrow shafts right in front of their muzzles before they sank into their flesh, killing the two outright without so much as a whisper. Next came the outer perimeter sentries, each systematically executed and dragged into the shadows with the professionalism of assassins. Before any of the remaining legioneirres, now numbering 286 of 300, could see what was amiss, a light nearly as bright as the sun rose from within the Kraeo'vesha Wood, catching their attention with no effort. Only when the firey mass decended rapidly did the men realize what was happening. As the fireball struck, it shattered and fractured, sending white hot shards and searing metal shrapnel in all directions, cutting down numerous troops and knocking down many others.

Raising themselves up and unsheathing their blades, the legioneirres fanned out, forming many smaller units that littered the now illuminated field of battle. Their eyes were raised up as more incendiary masses were launched at them. As they moved to avoid the inevitable impacts and explosions, the signal went out; a lengthy, ominous howl that spread out steadily across the tree lines and from the lower basin sounded, followed by volleys of dark shafts that found their marks, one after another at terrifying efficiency. Within moments, the guardian legion had been reduced to slightly more than half its original size. Realizing they would die out in the open, the men and women of the legion cried out bravely, drawing their weapons and charging into the basin and forest, determined to take as many of their hidden foes with them as they could before falling. In the darkness of those trees and branches, blade met blade and metal met flesh,rapid flashes of orange light shooting through the melee, burning their marks and setting the ground ablaze.

Before the end, an injured Sen dragged himself to the strong wooden door of the manor, and pounded on it desperately. "Trovis!" he cried. "You must get out now! The legion is fallen, we cannot-" at that moment, he was made silent, a swift blade across his throat that spilled the former soldier's blood onto the soft ground. As the assailant watched his dying victim cough and choke, he turned his gaze upwards to the hanging banner above the doorway, emblazoned with Trovis' clan mark. The murderous figure turned and walked away, grabbing a lone archer as they swiftly moved across the grassy hillside. "Have your archers burn this place. Tell them light their arrows and set it to the fire. Leave nothing but smoldering ash and ruin, do I make myself clear?" His tone was dominant and foreboding, his gaze falling on the archer who met his gaze coldly, but merely shrugged and nodded, whistling loudly to rally his men to him. As the burning arrows were let loose and began to rain down on the manor, the ordering figure grinned malevolently and turned away, speaking softly to himself as he made his way back to his camp.

"I did warn you not to cross me, former Overseer... I suppose I will take your silence as submission to your master. Now, stay there and burn, as willed by he who brought your death: Turin Pavok, the new Magistrate of Retsana."