Heritage of Ash, Chapter 3: Telling the Tale
A break from the telling of the story to revisit the present, and a ominous tone cast even in the darkness.
"So, let me get this straight, Mahr..." Durris began, his ears lowered by equal parts curiousity and concern. "Turin is the one responsible for having the Pavok clan's name in our language? Not sure how to feel about that really..."
"No doubt. Pavok's name is now synonomous with most of the curses you hear around the outer city and outlying settlements, for good reason. The man was ambitious and proved his trechery quite easily."
"So it's true then? He just walked up with his troops and attacked Trovis' manor without so much as a formal declaration of hostilities? That's insane!"
"Perhaps, but that's the truth as my clan has always told it. My clan has been around since then, don't forget, and things like that tend to stick with you over generations."
Mahr nodded and took another sip from his flask, letting out a refreshed sigh as he set it on the cabinet next to his bed and locked his eyes onto the candle's flame, flickering and dancing in the otherwise darkened room. Mahr reached into the cabinet and pulled out a flint and replacement candle, blowing out the dying flame and letting its dark blue smoke rise and fill his nose with its aroma. Even in the near total darkness of the room, Mahr and Durris' eyes gave a soft, near unnoticable glow from behind their pupils. To them, the room was still lit and clearly visible, though the shades of color and images had distorted as they saw the remnant heat cast onto Mahr's fur and the cabinet top from the candle. Upon lighting and setting down the new candle, their eyes shifted back into their normal appearance, no longer casting the soft glow and letting the two see normally again.
The room again illuminated by the glowing of moon and candlelight, Mahr took a seat back onto the edge of his bed and adjusted himself comfortably. Leaning against the wall, he pulled from his robes a small book, detailing within the numerous clans of the story's period. He opened it to a marked page, his eyes glancing over it's every detail while keeping it obscured from Durris' view purposefully. Durris noted this, but decided that it was best to simply let his host do what he felt necessary to stay focused, giving himself a mental shrug and voicing a question.
"So, what of Larkiin and his men? I can tell that the smith and other advisors were loyal, but what of the people who were still in the village? I would think the sudden orders to begin preparations for battle would dishearten and scare many of them."
"You'd be correct, Durris-Rett, many of them were. Larkiin was a good man, by all accounts, and cared for his people greatly. Such a decision could not have been easy for him, but I can understand why he made it. When faced with such a threat, and being the kind soul he was, he had to do something for his people, even if it meant preparing them for the worst. Something like that, though, is hard to hide from so many for very long, and my understanding is that he made no attempt to do so. Instead, as my clan tells it, he went about things another way."
"Did he stay and fight with his men, Mahr?"
"Well that, is a worthy question, dear friend. One that can only be answered in time. Do I still have your interest in hearing this tale?"
"The twins have not yet reached the beginning of their descent, so I can hear more before the eve is out. Please, continue"
"Very well, but I warn you... many things from this point on will not be easy for you to hear..."