Ahinu shree-Jaya the Golden Warcat, Anathema to the Empire

Title History

Role

Chapter 6

He feels the coolness of the stone slabs beneath his crossed legs and
hears the gurgling of the river as it rolls lazily by. A farm cat purrs
and he hears that too, just as it no doubt hear his own low rumble. Two
cats, sunning themselves on the rocks. One at peace, one denied it.

A trout breaks the surface of the water and he opens his eyes just as
the last ripples vanish into the current. Raising his gaze he considers
the island city just visible in the distance. Its white towers arc
upwards from the horizon like the fingers of some bloodless corpse.
Ahinu remembers it well, and hates it all the more for doing so.

Kavan is still there, no doubt, in his dojo, dutifully training the next
generation of recruits and filling their heads with nonsense. His
former teacher refused give up the location of this place when saked,
surmising correctly that Ahinu must have had a hand in Ashana's demise.
But the old Maran could no more keep it hidden from the Shadow Sect than
he could sprout wings and fly, and so here Ahinu sits. Here, with her.

Remembering.

Slowly, gingerly, he removes his silver mask and sets it to one side. It
leaves his face so infrequently that few in the Empire even know what he
looks like. Then he repeats the gesture with the razor-sharp extensions
strapped to his paws. Free of these, he lifts one paw to his face and
traces the path of the scar he finds there.

As he lowers it his eyes settle upon the hoop of gold at his wrist, and
he recalls how the years seemed to fall away when he wore it for the
first time. What if he were to take it off? Might he then lie down
once and for all, on this cool rock, beside Ashana under her oak tree,
and at last know rest?

The thought is tempting.

And yet just as soon as it arrives his Oath rises up in response,
closing around his mind like the jaws of a vise and crushing any
notion of rest or dereliction of duty. He straps the extensions back
on with a sigh and once more he is but an instrument of the Empire.

Was he ever anything else, truly? Could he have been?

He pauses at the edge of the road and glances back one last time at the
mound that is just visible at the foot of the old oak tree, then he
returns the silver mask to its place and slips silently into the shadows.

Role

Chapter 5

Jaragh stands at the entrance of the orphanage keeping watch in the
night. He stifles a yawn. A figure comes into view before him on the
road heading north, shrouded in a hooded cloak. Uttering a quick
prayer, he looks again and gasps in astonishment at the florid aura that
now circumscribes the figure like a bloody halo.

The figure stops, somehow aware of his appraisal, and swivels its head
to look directly at him. There is no face within that dark cowl, only a
shining silver mask. It glares at him with empty eyes.

He grips his sword and prepares to defend the children in his care, but
the figure doesn't move. It stands there in the road for half a moment
more, regarding him silently, then turns north again and pads silently
into the night.

Role

Chapter 4

"What in the nine hells are you doing?"

She approached him slowly. Warily.

"I see you now, Ahinu. I should have seen it long ago, but now my eyes
are opened. Turn away from what is in your heart, brother. Let it go,
and perhaps we may find some way forward."

What was this gibberish? Still struggling to grasp what was happening
to him, he drew his blade in response.

"I don't know what you're talking about. My way lies there, in the
Fortress. Step aside and I will try again."

She stopped and stared at him, then, tears appearing in her eyes. It
seemed to him she was searching for something, until finally, having not
found it, she heaved a shuddering sigh and resumed her advance.

They fought for a time, there in the mountains, back and forth as the
snow flakes fell silently around them. She was still his better, and
the end game of their contest arrived quickly. Blades locked together,
she bore down against him and her sword inched ever closer to his neck.
He snarled in rage and frustration at the sheer madness of what was
happening, but in her eyes he saw only sadness. Deep, profound sadness.
If anything this made him angrier still.

Unfortunately for him, anger was no substitute for superior ability, and
he knew it. Ahinu understood that even if he managed to escape their
current deadlock he would be defeated in a protracted fight. The
thought of it galled. Not the thought of his death, but that Ashana
would "win" yet again. Like she always did. Like she always had. No,
he had to end this quickly. And with that he had a desperate idea.

All at once he let his sword arm go slack while at the same time ducking
down to reposition the blow that would now surely connect. A blow to
the face might be survived, but not one to the neck, and his sudden lack
of defense might catch her off guard. It did. Her katana connected
with his face, slicing through fur and skin and grinding against the
bone of his skull. While it was a grievous wound, it nevertheless
created a split second of confusion in which he was able to snatch the
dagger strapped at his leg and plunge it upward directly into her heart.

She died quickly, kneeling in the snow, the mirror image of how she had
looked only moments before at the fortress gates. At last he had his
victory. But oh, the cost!

Role

Chapter 3

Ahinu remembers every detail about that day. The smell of the air as
they hiked north into the Redhorn mountains. How the sunlight looked as
it glinted off Tara'bal's plate armor. He remembers the pain, most of
all, and the curious, coppery smell of blood in his nostrils. His own
blood, and hers. It is a memory only a felar could have, or one with a
similarly developed sense of smell. He hates everything about it.

It was him who approached the Tara'bal first. He bowed as he did to his
sensei and voiced his desire to claim a place in the Holy Brigade.
Visions swam in his mind's eye of the great things he would accomplish.
Perhaps he would be Captain some day? The thought pleased him more than
he cared to admit.

But...nothing happened. The Tara'bal remained motionless. It did not
speak or acknowledge him in any way, though he imagined that the flames
in its visor flare a little brighter. He repeated his pledge, louder
and more forcefully, in case the creature had not heard him the first
time. Still nothing.

He backed away, confused, and let Ashana approach. The two of them had
been excited during their trek through the mountains, but now she looked
preternaturally calm. Serene, almost. It was as if she understood
something about the significance of what they were doing that had eluded
him. Kneeling before the massive figure with her head bowed, she
professed in a quiet voice her willingness to serve.

The reaction was immediate. Though it made no sound, the Tara'bal bowed
its head and it was abundantly clear to both of them that Ashana's
pledge had been accepted while his had not. He was still trying to work
out why this should be when Ashana stood up from her kneeling position,
bowed her head, and was suddently bathed in sunlight that seemed to come
from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Turning around, she gasped at the sight of him and made a strange
choking noise. Then, to his utter amazement, she drew her blade.

Role

Chapter 2

It did not. The two of them continued to be close as they grew older,
but while his aura remained unchanged hers grew even more radiant.
Strangely, though, both of them seemed to idolize the Fortress of Light
and its Holy Brigade of the Phoenix. Maybe it was the Imperial threat
that always loomed to the north? Maybe he was just following her lead?

In any case, the two of them would soon be too old to remain at the
orphanage and he had to figure out what to do with them. Since they had
both expressed an interest in enlisting, he wrote to an old friend of
his in Voralian City. Kavan had been in the Brigade his two young
wards sought. He seemed uniquely suited to training them, and,
hopefully, to putting the boy on a better path.

They were both naturals and took to the martial arts with great gusto.
As the only two felar in the orphanage Ahinu and Ashana had always been
very close, but even as children they often found themselves in
competition. Training in the same dojo dialed this up to a whole other
level. Whereas in the orphanage it was just children's games, under
Kavan they would spar with each other directly.

To Ahinu's great shame Ashana almost always got the best of him. From
her perspective their competition was entirely good natured, but to him
every defeat stung like lashes across his back. As they grew into young
adults and advanced in their training, Ahinu found himself regarding his
oldest friend with an odd mixture of affection and resentment.

She was his only link to his past and one person he had known longer
than any other, but she was also the one opponent he could never beat.
This ate at him. He never let it show, though. If there was one area
where he excelled far beyond Ashana it was in masking his emotions and
hiding his thoughts. In this, at least, he was without equal.

Their rivalry would not continue much longer, though, as the day had
finally arrived for them to pledge themselves to the Fortress.

Role

Chapter 1

Ahinu does not know where he was born. Only dim memories remain of his
mother and father, and those are disconnected. He remembers the smell
of horses, for instance, but not what his parents looked like, or their
names. He can remembrer the sound of his father's growl, but nothing
more about the man. There is a vague sense that his family traveled
around a lot, but he has no idea why or where they called home.

None of this is surprising, of course, as he was separated from them at
a very young age. Like most everything else the details are a mystery
to him, but he remembers shouting, and being afraid, and running away.
He remembers how hungry he was, when he became lost, and how it tastes
to eat rats. Never again.

And he remembers Ashana. She is never far from his mind, even now, but
of that time he mainly remembers her keeping the two of them alive. At
least, she kept them them alive long enough to stagger into Balator and
find their way to the orphanage half-dead from starvation and exposure.
It would have been better had she not.

They didn't see it, of course. The nurse maids simply thought him a
quiet child. Shy, perhaps. He never cried in the dead of night as
some of the other orphans often did, but every child is different. He
did as he was told and, while he didn't interact much with the other
children, there was no conflict between them.

Jaragh, however, did see it. The faint red aura that surrounded Ahinu
when he looked at the boy with divine sight. He had to believe,
though, that his path was not set in stone, so he said nothing and let
him stay at the orphanage. Besides, the fela that arrived with him
radiated goodness like few others he had seen, and the two of them were
thick as thieves. Surely some of it would rub off on the boy.

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