{"sf1_id":894417,"sf2_id":null,"title":"A Tale of Ashen Wings - Chapter 1: Upon Ashen Skies","author":"Andre Valias","words":1885,"posted_at":"2015-08-04T12:56:00.000Z","tags":["Dark","Death","Dragon","Dragonian","Fantasy","Male","Medieval","Nords","child","elves","execution","flames","law","order","setting","story"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/894417-a-tale-of-ashen-wings-chapter-1-upon-ashen-skies","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/894417","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=894417\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"The skies were overcast and heavy over Blackhold that\nmorning, as though the gods wished to make the world their stage and the\nexecution their play. But as Akalgan saw it, there was no way drama or\nemotional connection that Imperial playwrights often crafted within their own\nworks would be found in today's events. The mighty Dragonian stood out amongst\nthe crowds in both muscular and foreign appearance as well as attitude and\nstance. All around him were Dark Elven citizens and their odd few Beastman\nservants accompanying them, all excited and headed towards the parade grounds\nof the castle. Some spared the Dragonian their mixed attentions, with many eyes\nabsorbing the striking features of one of Arkathia's children so far from home.\n\nHowever, Akalgan did not return the courtesy of their\nnotice, and kept his arms folded behind his head, relaxed as usual. His scales\nwere grey like the ash that fell from Mount Kilikadros, with fierce amber eyes\nthat sharpened his look. The great wings that were the pride of any Dragonian\nremained closely folded behind his back to keep any odd fool from running into\nthem. His figure was well-toned and fairly muscular, befitting of a warrior whom\nhad seen many battles. Two straight and sharp horns adorned his draconic\nvisage, and his facial structure was common of any Dragonian. He wore the garb\nof his vagabond mercenary stature: weary leather armour with hide tapering and\nstudded leather boots that provided more than enough protection and plenty of\nmobility, his outfit in general coated generously with patchworks and minor\nscratches. Across his chest and over his shoulder was his potion vial strap\nthat also held his quiver of arrows to his back. His crude but sturdy hunting\nbow was slung over his other shoulder. But what was the most notable feature of\nthe fierce wanderer were his swords: three to be precise, two of them short and\nmade of steel, and the last of them long and forged of ebonite.Often, Akalgan would cast a glance to the clouded heavens\nand think of other places than where he was at the moment, caught amongst a\ncrowd of gossiping and murmuring people who were excited to watch men die. The\nthought of it disgusted Akalgan; that killing men was apparently a rare and\nexotic commodity, or perhaps a luxurious form of entertainment to common people\nwho more than likely would have no idea how to wield a stick in the face of\nadversity or conflict. Although, at the same time, there was the thought of the\nsame people who will be cheering for the executioners being sent screaming and\nfleeing for their lives if even just one of Akalgan's past foes pursued them. That\nthought brought comfort and amusement to Akalgan's mind. But even then, he\nwould still be reminded of how pathetic the people were when he would\ninevitably overhear one or two conversations that went along the lines of \"Hurry\nup, we'll miss the beheading!\" or perhaps \"I hope one of them begs for\nmercy!\"--\nAs though you would not do the same... Akalgan thought with\ndisdain, glancing about the multitude of Dark Elven faces staring onwards with\neither glee or expectation. Akalgan shut his eyes for a moment, feeling\noverwhelmed by the sheer carelessness that seemed to outdo his own. He then\nresolved to try and pick up his unconcerned demeanour by looking to the sky\nonce more, when he felt someone tapping on his side to draw his attention.\n\"Excuse me, sir,\"\na little voice began. Akalgan cast his gaze downwards and found a young Dark\nElven child staring back at him, his hand clasped inside his mother's own as\nthey walked. \"Are you a dra-go-nee-an?\"\nhe asked. He seemingly struggled with the rather-simple name. Akalgan tilted\nhis head in slight annoyance, as he had little-to-no patience for children of\nany race or culture. \n\"What of it?\" He\nasked in response. The child tilted his own head in awe at the gruff voice. \n\"They say you breathe\nfire like the dragons, but walk like Humes!\" The child exclaimed. \"Can you really breathe fire?\" He then\nasked. His mother expressed disapproval by tugging his hand closer to her.\n\"Dear, enough of\nthat...\" She murmured. But the child was persistent as he stared unblinkingly\nat the Dragonian. \n\"Pleeeeease?!\" He\nwhined in ignorance of his mother. Akalgan rolled his eyes and then glanced around\nhis headspace, making sure there was nothing above him that would catch fire.\nHe then decided to humour the child, for his own amusement totally. \nAkalgan unfolded his arms from behind his head. He then hung\nhis head back and puffed his chest slightly as he took a deep breath. If he\ncould see the child getting visibly ecstatic, Akalgan probably would have burst\nout laughing instead. But Akalgan kept his eyes to the sky as he let out a\nferocious plume of fire into the air. At that moment, everyone around him suddenly\nducked and shuffled in panic and surprise, and the closest of them felt the\nheat of such intense flames. Akalgan cut off his breath of fire when he had\neveryone's attention. There they made a visible circle of isolation around him,\nand the crowd had stopped moving to stare at him in shock. Akalgan glanced to\nthe child, whose mother had pulled him away instantly and cradled him in her\narms, but she could not shelter him from his own wide-eyed and dumbfounded awe.\nAkalgan snorted a laugh and kept walking as the people made way for the\nfrightening warrior. His arms were once again folded behind his head ever-so\ncasually.\nAkalgan walked past murmuring people after making such a\nscene. He did not care for the gossip of people about him, however. On the\ncontrary, he preferred it over the gossip that normally preceded an execution,\nand was quite pleased that the common folk made way for him in perhaps fear,\nawe, or both. The Dragonian liked to think of himself as different--perhaps even\nbetter, than the common folk he walked alongside to the same event. He was a\nweary traveller who wished to know all there is to know about the location,\nincluding how they executed those sentenced to death. He had only arrived the\nday before and heard the news over a drink at the inn he paid rent for a room\nto stay at. \nWhile he was at it, Akalgan took the time to note the architecture\non either side of him a bit more. Blackhold lived up to its infamous name with\nbuildings and structures constructed with blackstone. Thus, the city itself\nappeared to be a dark and imposing place that overlooked surrounding lands near\nthe border-mountains, as Akalgan had witnessed on his way to the city. However,\nthe use of blackstone was purely for aesthetic purposes. Blackstone, from what\nAkalgan had heard, was only slightly stronger than the common stone that built\nmost cities. Other than that, the building style was very typical of Dark Elven\nculture, as the architecture bore a sort of rough-cut form of elegance that\nreminisced of Herefell's ashlands. The middle to upper class seemed to have\nmore intricate designs as befitting of their station, whereas the lower class\nhad more common looking buildings, but they did not look by any means much\nlesser than those of the middle-class. Hm... Just like Aka-Rokun... Akalgan\nthought of home for a moment, but then decided against comparing Dark Elves to\nthe proud Dwarves and Dragonians of Arkathia. He drew his eyes back to the\nstreets once more, and continued the foreboding walk. \nEventually, the main street that Akalgan followed emptied\nout into the parade grounds before the Black Citadel. The sight of Blackhold's\npride at so close a distance was enough to convince Akalgan to pause and look\nupon the magnificent centre of power. Within inner walls was a structure that\ntowered well above any other within the city by far, as though to reach for the\nskies. Elven-like towers and spires sprouted about the citadel, connected to\nthe main structure by covered bridges. Jutting out from the highest levels of\nthe citadel was a bridged bastion that overlooked the parade grounds and the\ncity onward. Akalgan could only imagine the omniscient vision that the vantage\npoint provided. The citadel itself was covered wherever possible with great\nstatues of heroes past, worn by time and circumstance. The sight was enough to inspire\nrespect from Akalgan toward the city, as he recalled tales of how the demon\nhordes of the 2nd Ending were thwarted in this very place.\nHowever, the tolling bells and gossiping voices brought\nAkalgan back to the present, and he returned to what he was doing. The\nDragonian followed the rest of the Dark Elves to join growing mass of onlookers\ngathered before a great stone dais. Seeing over the many common citizens was no\nissue for Akalgan, and he watched intently as the Ordinators--the martial hand\nof the Dark Elven theocracy, lead the sentenced prisoners toward their decided\nfate. Already on the dais was the executioner--dressed in robes of black with\nhis hood up and a skull mask to hide his face, whose arms were folded with\nexpectation. Beside him was the grandmaster of the city's ruling house, the\nHouse Sendalas. Akalgan recognised this only by the symbols embroidered onto\nthe Dark Elf's exquisite robes, and figured the city's leader himself would be\npresent to condemn the accused.\nIt was a visibly pain-staking walk for the prisoners up the\nstairs and onto the dais. There were seven of them in total, all burly Nords\nwho were a little far from home. Their padded armour and garments of their\nhomeland were worn and tattered, and Akalgan could only assume their stay in\nHerefell was an unpleasant and unwelcome one. However, despite standing before\ndeath and a jeering audience of many people, there was no fear in their eyes.\nAkalgan tilted his head curiously at the sight and situation the Nords were in.\nDo\nthey not fear death? He wondered. Akalgan did not get the chance to dwell\non it any further. The grandmaster Sendalas turned to the crowd and cut the air\nwith a firm hand and the masses fell silent at his command. Even the bells that\nhad tolled for the last hour were stopped. The timeless moment was enough to\nmake Akalgan raise an eyebrow. \nOnce the parade grounds were so void of noise that only the\nbreath of the wind and clinking of shackles could be heard, the grandmaster\nspoke.\n\"People of\nBlackhold,\" he began clearly with his hands clasped behind his back. \"Today we shall witness the Tribunal's\njudgement delivered upon these unworthy fools!\" The crowd eagerly shouted\nin agreement, and the grandmaster continued. \"The Ordinators themselves have found these Nord pigs guilty of\nconspiracy to assassination! The Law of the Three prevails!\" He shouted out\nwith his fist held aloft in a leading gesture. The crowd shouted back with an\nenthusiastic cheer. The grandmaster then turned towards the sentenced Nords,\nand smirked as he held his hand towards them. \"And thus to you, I extend the hand of death; may the Three have mercy\non your souls!\" He announced to them. The grandmaster subsequently glanced\nto the executioner and nodded. ","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/894418-a-tale-of-ashen-wings-chapter-2-untimely-deaths.json"}