Ashes of an Empire

Following the confrontation with Sephiran and his Syndicate, Artorias knew it would only be a matter of time before things came to a head with an inevitable conflict between the two factions. The Saxe clan had made their intentions known—first through the hostile takeover of Norad and then from the threats issued at their standoff—they would not be leaving peacefully or of their own volition. Artorias knew not what Sephiran's master plan was, but he doubted the deranged brute's desires ended at claiming a pack. The rest of Ardent needed to be aware of the looming threat and he had to put the rest of the Empire on alert. Although... there was no more empire anymore. News had arrived of Ashen's disbanding voluntarily by Chimera, and though Artorias was loathe to believe it, the word had come directly from Aliana's messenger birds. Ashen was no more, its members scattered to the winds. The head of the once-great Empire was gone and the future of the alliance looked tenuous at best. The world needed stability now more than ever and it looked like it was going to be up to him to take those first necessary steps.

Artorias had sent his ravens out with summons to all corners of the continents, bidding the alphas of the Armada, Elysium, Valta, Heiðinn, Raiders Hollow, Tojo-Kai and Ethne come to the Hallows for an urgent meeting. Their friends needed to be warned of the danger lurking somewhere in the lands. The Syndicate might have left Auster, but wherever they ended up they were still a threat and needed to be treated as such. Artorias had ordered all the guards at the borders to be on the lookout for the arrival of their guests and to direct them into Hearthstone's council chamber while he went about making his preparations. He had discussed his plans on assembling the alliances with Briar ahead of time and his Lady was likely preparing the rooms to host their guests as she usually did. Artorias had also requested Bramble join them; as the Envoy and representative of the Hallows for all inter-pack affairs, this fell right within her realm of responsibility. It was a grim subject, but politics was often a dark and bloody theatre.

While he waited for the alphas to arrive, Artorias was busy down in his armory, working tirelessly at the forge. The coals smoldered and flames rose, licking at the edges of the crucible as he smelted the steel down from the Norad effigy that had sat for far too little time on his Carved Table. The symbol of the fallen pack melted into liquid metal, superheated to maximum malleability while Artorias set up the newly created diecast with a scowl on his face. He carefully removed the molten metal and poured it into the mold, hitting the two ends of the die into place with a hammer to push out the excess steel before quenching the metalwork in a barrel of cool water. Steam immediately hissed up from the barrel as the blacksmith worked his craft, jaws gripping the tongs that handled the die carefully as he let it soak to temper the metal. After a few minutes, he removed the die and knocked it open with the hammer, revealing the completed metal piece within—a hooded cobra with fangs bared, poised to strike; the most fitting representation for Sephiran he could think of.

After final assembly of the new pack effigy and taking a moment to clean up, Artorias marched with purposeful strides down the long corridors of Hearthstone straight into the council chamber. The expression on his face was austere and focused, fiery amber eyes ablaze with impassive emotion. In his jaws, he carried the marker for their enemy. Approaching the Carved Table while Argent finished lighting the candles beneath it to illuminate the map, Artorias took the Syndicate effigy and slammed it down onto the stone surface of the table, placed over the Aspen Falls where Norad had once been, and where he had last seen the pack. His lips twitched in a subtle snarl as he eyed the Syndicate effigy he'd just made, hating that he'd had to make it at all. Making his way to his seat at the head of the table, Artorias removed Embershard from his back and rested the sword against the edge of the table, taking a seat as his ravens flew in to land on the back of his chair while he waited for his family and guests to arrive so they could begin.

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian"