From The Ashes

Prologue

14 June 1486 AD - Fourth Era - (After Descent)

The full moon sat upon its dark throne of twilight, its silvery glow illuminating the otherwise pitch black skies around it a rich cobalt blue. Its army of stars stood vigilant, glinting both around it and below it, their image reflecting back up at them from the still,smooth depths of a silent ocean. The waters were as still as the night, with the exception of the occasional ripple from beneath the steady sway of docked boats, their anchors lowered to sleep on the seafloor and their sails drawn in ghostly wraps at the tops of masts. The decks of these boats had already accumulated their own thick, shimmering blankets of snow, despite being used throughout the entirety of the previous day. This similarly applied to the pier at which they were moored, the dark of the wooden planks that comprised it imperceivable under the thick deluge of glittering white.

The pier was not large, and had no formal arch or gateway. It was raised only a few feet off the surface of the water, and easily converged with the earth of a simple pathway, which led down to the hulking shadows of the nearby town. Eilifdalfa was its name and despite being the largest settlement in Noshara,it was little more than a simple fishing town where its residents carved out a difficult life, though to be expected from a settlement so far north and based in the heart of the frigid tundra. Many simply called the region "the unforgiving land'', and for good reason. The brutal winds that cascaded down from the ring of mountains known as the Valley of Rime carried with them the song of ice, the promise of frostbite and the howls of malicious laughter at attempts of survival made by those who dared, in spite of all its futility.

The streets of Eilifdalfa were desolate as usual at this time, the only people wandering the streets being the night guard, their lanterns held aloft in whatever hand was not occupied by spear, halberd or sword, their armoured steps muffled by the crunch of snow.

Two such guards stood motionless with their backs to the rear wall of the council hall, a building only marginally larger than those around it, though holding an importance greater than any other.

They stood alert, their pikes held high in tight grips, their tips pointing skyward, for now. They stood several paces apart, the space between them occupied by a young boy kneeling in the snow, whose hands were tied behind his back by a thick coil of rope. He shifted his arms a little every now and then, as the ropes caused his wrists to burn and numb uncomfortably.

His head was bowed, and his dark brown hair fell into his pale face as he shivered in the raw air. He couldn't be more than sixteen, by the look of him.

He was scrawny too, his ragged linen tunic sagged on his rangy form and seemed far too big for him. His trousers, on the other hand, came short of his ankles and hugged his lanky legs like a second skin.

His head shot up as a door creaking open on rusted hinges sounded from beyond the wall.

He began to shake from something more than the cold. Each crunch of approaching feet in the snow shot spikes of terror through his entire body. Each moment seemed to take an unbearable eternity to him.

Eventually, the form of a woman rounded the corner of the building. She was tall and slender, wrapped from head to toe in thick fur-lined cloaks. What few wisps of hair were visible beyond the depths of the hood were platinum blonde in colour and straight as though they had just been ironed. A pair of startling icy green eyes regarded him for what seemed like hours before she turned to his guards and said,

"My thanks, gentlemen. I shall take him from here. Resume your rounds of the village."

They both bowed in concedence. The guard on the left pulled the boy to his feet, none too gently, by his arm, and nudged him forward towards the woman with the butt of his weapon, before turning and following his companion away.