Chapter One: The Burden of Legacy

As they trudged along, weary from days of travel, Emanresu and Resua each adjusted their burdens. Emanresu shifted the bulky leaden pack from one shoulder to the other, then watched as Resua readjusted his higher on his back, redistributing the weight a bit. The heft of his grandfather’s legacy weighed heavily on Emanresu as they continued on the impromptu journey to his ancestral homeland, Rinewood Gulf, a small village near where Emanresu had been told his family was originated.

As they walked, Emanresu reminisced about his long and storied history with Resua. They had been inseparable friends since they were small children, “Well, when I, myself, was a small child,” Emanresu grinned at the thought of anyone calling Resua small. Ever.

When time allowed, the two could always be found together. “I wonder if we would still be friends had it not been that we were the only two our age in the village,” Emanresu mused to himself. He dared not say it out loud, as Resua was a sensitive sort, belying his towering stature and stout girth.

Though Resua literally stood head and shoulders above Emanresu and Emanresu was half a head taller than most, the large man was timid and preferred not to get into altercations. Back in Rintha, the village they grew up in, when they were children of no more than 10 or 11 mains, Emanresu had seen Resua hit a man in the chest. The man flew across the dusty, wind-blown street and lay on the other side in the weed-filled ditch. Distraught with his impulsive deed, Emanresu watched as Resua, furious at the man, his anger tempered by the realization of what he had done. Alternately cringing in guilt and fuming in anger, he could only say, “He shouldn’t have said that about Mother; she was a good woman! May the Dance keep her!”.

The impertinent man lived but took two full moons to recover from the devastating blow from the ten-main old Resua.

They entered the dense growth of Rosewood Forest and were steadily advancing into the deepening shadows, following the dirt road on the way to Erzt and then on to the Gulf. The sunlight was streaming purposefully through the foliage, attempting to illuminate the ground in patches of random luminance.

As they continued deeper into the forest, Emanresu could hear the scratching of Resua’s quill on his journal, map, or whatever he wanted to call the homemade, leather-bound pages he was constantly scribbling on. The natural quietness of the woods, a calm to soothe the soul, was only disturbed by the occasional animal that peeped or squeaked as it hurriedly scurried away.

After a time, having fallen behind, Resua hurried to Emanresu’s side. He reached out and took hold of Emanresu’s shoulder, bringing them to a halt. The two stood along the side of the dirt path.

“Listen to this,” Resua grinned. He held his journal before him as he read the words he had scribbled there. “The sky, a bright blue that faded into purples, reds, and yellows, peeked through only in patches amidst the foliage while sunlight struggled to stream through the leaves of the canopy created by the forest. The unending glowing patchwork of sunlight fell to the ground and lay there illuminating…” Wait, he scribbled quickly in his journal, then continued, “…lay there silently illuminating the road, sparsely it lay, here and there, the bulk of the road hidden in a ragged cloak of blackest shade. The forlorn trees murmured quietly in the whispering wind as they stretched their boughs eagerly across the furrowed road. The dirt rutted and gouged unevenly, filled with gashes from the wheels of many a cart and wagon. The stark and stoic road, soft as freshly kneaded dough from the recent soft sprinkling of rain, had the musty smells of life that permeated the stillness of the wild wooded area. The wisps of wind, struggling to pass, were held at bay by the staunch blockade of trees guarding the passage of man.”

“What do you think, Eman? Pretty awesome, right?” he questioned.

“Well,” Emanresu replied, “I suppose if that is how you see it, then you should write what you feel. I admire your ability to put things in a flowery manner but try as I might, I can’t. I enjoy your way of describing things; it’s just not the way I see things.”

As the two continued, Emanresu noticed Resua veering closer to the middle of the road. He reached out and grabbed the flowing side of Resua’s tunic and pulled on him lightly, steering him back to the side of the road. “The ruts could easily catch a boot and twist an ankle,” Emanresu told him. “Best to stick to the side of the road.”

“Ah,” said Resua, and he paused slightly and scribbled something in his papers. “Hmm… wheel-plowed ruts scraped from the road and deposited…”

Resua stopped walking and jotted down a couple more thoughts before his feet moved his large bulk again. Looking over at Emanresu, Resua smiled and focused on the road, and the way seemed lighter and faster because of his renewed focus on the journey rather than his journal.

Emanresu smiled at Resua. “I cannot recall when you were not speaking in long, grandiose terms or staring at this or that, coming up with some decidedly descriptive story. Even as a child, when we played fox and hound. I had to be the fox, for when I played the hound, I would just walk up behind you and tag you as you stood or sat engrossed in some insect or plant.”

“You remember when I knocked you on the head while you were engrossed with the berry plant? You fell headlong into the briars,” Emanresu smiled and chuckled slightly. “I must have apologized for a score of times before you stopped being mad at me,” said Emanresu.

“The berry patch silently laid in wait, whispering to the wind and swaying gently back and forth in anticipation. Eagerly, they scratched and clawed at the boy as he fell headlong into their naked talons, pulling him further in the more he struggled,” Resua grinned, “Yes, I recall it vividly!”

“That was a few days before I plowed that insolent ruffian mid of his chest, drove the wind out of him, and broke four of his ribs,” Resua frowned as he recalled. “I still have chills when I think about that! I thought I had killed him! I was so mad, but he had no right to say that about my mother; she was a kind and compassionate soul. May the Dance keep her safe and entertained.”

“That was, what, nine mains ago?” inquired Resua.

“Ten mains, almost eleven,” came the reply, “I recall it well, as that was the year the Festival of the Dance was held up the road in Tothis.”

Emanresu mulled over the plans for his life, “Or rather, the lack of them,” he mumbled to himself.

“Twenty harvestmains and still unwed, no real direction for my life, and with each passing main, I fear more and more I will grow old without adventure or excitement like my father,” Emanresu thought as he kicked at the leaves and dust on the edge of the road. “One thing is certain: I don’t want to be a baker; they lead such dull and unimportant lives. I am eager for more, something, anything more… even a traveling delivery man would be better than the monotonous life my father led.”

His father had always told stories of the shield and sword which Emanresu now carried. They were passed down from generation to generation, father to son. The stories were also handed down, told repeatedly, each generation adding more life and history to the storied pair. Until his father passed on, and all of the possessions that had belonged to him were tossed out into the street. The entirety of one man’s life and history, tossed outside of the mud and brick hovel his father had rented. Until then, he had never seen these storied items up close.

Emanresu’s thoughts drifted as they walked, and he recalled seeing them for the first time up close as he gathered the tattered remains of his father’s life from the muck and mire. He came across the time-encrusted shield and sword, and both appeared to be in deplorable condition, which, he imagined, was due to his father’s disregard for his past and ancestry. His father shunned his ancestry for the sweet smell and warm comfort of baked goods. His father was a fair baker, not great, mind you, but he had delved into the anxiety-less baking profession mostly to spite his father and the carnage of his lineage. Thus, as his father passed, the belongings became Emanresu’s burden.

Resua immediately gave them legendary status, coming up with dozens of reasons for their poor state and half a dozen reasons that my father had acquired them. All the stories were fantastical and bigger than life, of which my father was neither.

His introspection was broken by Resua, stomping his feet heavily as he played at being the giant. He had done so for mains and had gotten quite good at mimicking the aggressive behavior attributed to most huge men. “So, son, if you have never met them, why would you want to make the long, tedious trek across Alaeon to the Gulf? Just to introduce yourself?” Resua bellowed the question in the rumbling voice he reserved for his heroic alter-ego. “We could have sold the shield and sword and lived grand lives for a few moons, maybe even a main, well… maybe not a main.”

Emanresu did not answer; he just stopped and looked at Resua until they both cracked a smile and returned to the road.

“Curiosity, I guess,” Emanresu finally replied. “The shield and sword, it seems, MUST have some history. Not the history or stories YOU come up with, but father was always telling tales and, I guess, it would be nice to know if grandfather was as great and crazy as he said.”

Continuing to walk, their discussion wound deftly around the places and people they might meet.

As the eve slowly descended upon them, Emanresu reached out to the sun, aligning his fist with the horizon, placing one hand atop the other to judge the time. “Barely a hand and a half until dusk,” he told Resua.

Resua did the same, reached out his arm to the sun, aligned his fist with the horizon, and staunchly declared, “Well, sire, I see barely a hand until the dawn is upon us,” he remarked, a smile sneaking onto his serious and otherwise immobile face.

“And if I had melons for fists, we would judge the time with either of ours; however, one of us is a little bigger than most, and your time skills have never aligned with the general village. So, with that in mind, SIRE, you may now cease your jest and start looking for a good place to bed for the night,” he winked at his towering friend.

They began searching for an appropriate resting place. Emanresu’s feet throbbed, and the fire in his legs was a testament to their long journey. This thought made Emanresu realize how lengthy this journey would be. Though his shoulders drooped and his back knotted in the pain of unaccustomed work, they sought a likely spot a fair distance away from the road. Resua seemed unaffected by the travels, seeming as spry as ever. “Well,” Emanresu thought, “as spry as a man his size could be.” He smiled to himself.

Resua spied a small clearing and pointed it out; it was flat and open, with a large rock outcropping off to one side. The top of the rock was barely a head shorter than he was but twice his height from one side to the other. The wildlife was sparse, and they had seen naught a living soul as they journeyed. Searching, they found a suitable spot near the rock and began making camp for the night.

Wearily, Emanresu let the pack slide from his back to the ground with an audible thump. The searing pain in his back as he did so forced a grunt from him as he stifled the need to cry out. Slowly, he knelt down, enduring the fiery pain in his legs. He surveyed the area and noticed that Resua was not within view. “Ho!” Emanresu called out. “Where did you go, my tiny little giant?”

“I be here, on the other side of the rock, engaged in the creation of a magnificent bed. Rearranging the castle and the not-insubstantial and varied items I had carted in. The accommodations are well suited to a knight such as I,” Resua let the words flow from his mouth. “He should take up a musical instrument,” Emanresu thought, grinning, “a way with words as good as any bard or minstrel I have ever seen. Though he is practically the only one I have ever seen.”

“Sire, we shall need a fire hot and ready. In all your knighthood, do you think you can deem it not beneath you to start one?” came the backhanded query. “If you don’t, then thrice I shall slap you on the belly while you rest!”

“You, sire, are in resplendently little shape to be making such threats, and if you would like to follow me to yon bushes and assist me in relieving my bladder and bowels to water and fertilize the lands, then up and make haste,” Resua remarked in a humorous tone that reverberated throughout the little clearing.

“Well, go then; I shall attempt to unpack my own little cart to match the great and fanciful abode that you have made,” Emanresu retorted.

Resua’s somber tone came quickly, “You’re getting better, Eman! We shall make a magnificent wordsmith of you, yet. And soon, you will be veritably pounding out remarkably solid and usable sentences. But… alas… that day is not today!” he jokingly responded.

The sound of crumpling leaves and rocks tinkling across the stones came to Emanresu as Resua was indeed off to the bush.

“My brain hurts from trying to think up words to satisfy the big man’s desire to mold me in his verbal image,” thought Emanresu. The memory of the many times Resua had accosted him with verbal sparring ran through his mind. From a young age, the mountain of a man had spun words like… like… well, like a weaver on a weaver’s loom.

Emanresu unpacked his bedroll, within which the sword had been wrapped securely, scabbard and all. Emanresu was anxious to know more about this mysterious sword and the shield his father had hidden away. Seeing as he only brought it out in the still of the night, there must be something interesting about it! Emanresu took hold of the hilt and drew the sword from the scabbard; the excitement as he did was fresh and seemed to renew him with the thoughts of family and legacy. The pains and aches subsided as the joy of what might be filled his thoughts.

As he held the sword, Emanresu had a flash of distinctly uneasiness, as if an impending doom was upon them. He looked around intently as he stood holding the sword, but nothing seemed out of sorts, and the air was still and quiet. He swung the sword a couple of times to get the feel of it. “It always seems to take its own direction, and someday I shall learn to use one, saving the weak and righteous,” Emanresu grinned to himself.

He reached down and untied the shield from the pack where it had been attached. He slipped his hand through the straps and felt the heft of it. Holding the shield, he swung the sword, attacking the imaginary foe before him. His skills belied his imagination, and as he flourished the blade, he fought for a control he did not yet possess. He swung the sword wildly about, and it got away from him, seemingly with a mind of its own. He nearly lost an ear to his antics as he jerked his head to the side. Luckily, his ear remained intact as the blade flew by so close the rush of the air caused his heart to race. “This poor tarnished weapon seems awkward and useless in my inexperienced hands,” Emanresu mused.

A cold and icy feeling crept up his spine, slowly like the climb to the top of a treacherous mountain. It climbed steadily until, finally, the chill sat at the base of his neck. He shuddered briefly as if a chill wind had swept up his spine, though the still air was warm.

Emanresu felt renewed and energized, almost excited, holding the sword and shield, ready to take on the world. He felt as if he could be the magnificent, towering legend his father had always described his grandfather to be. “The Bleak,” Father had called him. “Hmmm… doesn’t seem like much of a name to strike terror into the hearts of one’s enemies.” He grinned at the absurd thought. “It is not the words that you use, but the deads behind them that make a name a legend,” Emanresu said softly in almost a whisper.

As he stood, the excitement streaming through his veins, he felt the weariness and pain melt into the background of nature surrounding him. He hefted the shield, placed it in what he imagined was a defensive position, and took a couple more swipes with the sword. Effortless and fluid, he felt as if his entire body was renewed.

He stopped and looked at the sorry mess these implements of war were in, though as he stood there examining them, in his renewed and invigorated condition, they seemed a bit brighter, a bit cleaner than when he had packed them up to make the trip.

He heard Resua crunching through the twigs and rocks as he returned from the bush, but there was something else. His ears strained to detect what he imagined he heard, and as Resua came into view, Emanresu saw the surprise on Resua’s face; simultaneously, there was a distinct snap of a small twig behind him. He quickly swung around, his arm extended, just in time to divert the man’s axe from its course. The axe barely missed his skull as it traveled narrowly past.

The direness of his situation instantly became apparent as he turned another swipe of the axe’s blade. The axe shaved a layer of skin from his arm, causing blood to seep to the surface of the wound. The knife blade in the man’s other had insisted he ignore the wound and focus on more pressing matters as it followed the axe, hiding until the last possible moment. His luck held, and he slammed the shield’s edge into the man’s forearm; the blade flew from the man’s hand and clattered across the rocks.

Emanresu turned quickly to run, but his body, encumbered with the sword and shield, felt cumbersome, and he twisted a bit too far. He dropped to a knee as the backswing of the axe, once again, whistled past. He could feel the air tug at the bits of hair as it traveled, but that was insignificant because he had twisted too far and was still turning as his knee hit the rocky ground. His hand, still holding tightly to the sword, was flung wide as he spiraled out of control.   He only kept from falling by steadying himself with the shield; he had slammed the edge of it into the earth, but the long arc of the sword cutting a wide swath kept traveling as he twisted.

To his chagrin, the sword’s arc had continued past the attacker, “well, no,” came his realization as his chagrin turned to an odd mixture of horror and relief, “not past… through…”

As the visage in front of him unfolded, Emanresu was intensely aware of his surroundings, the fading of the sun’s rays as it dipped steadily below the horizon, marching quickly to the inviting dark of night. He detected nature’s heavy, musty aroma, the reeking of mosses and peats, and a hooting owl’s deep, echoing tones in the distance. There was a crunch of leaves and twigs under Resua’s feet, and the rocks skittered away from the large man as he quickly neared.

All of this he caught in a split-second as he watched the confidence on the man’s face melt into one of disbelief. The axe-wielding attacker looked down at the large furrow traversing his midsection. The man dropped to his knees, his hands struggling to preserve what life he had in defiance against his forgone fate. Emanresu watched the man as all of his strength flowed out with his vitals, and finally, he slumped into a pile of what could have been.

Emanresu, acutely aware now and with renewed vigor, scanned their meager little camp, fully expecting others to be lying in wait. None but Resua were forthcoming, and as he started to relax just a tad, he realized what had just happened. From the wolf on the man’s hand and the bear on his neck, he knew this man was a robber of sorts and part of a band known to be vicious and unrepentant in their desire to acquire that which was not theirs.

Resua slowly approached, his jaw slightly ajar, and Emanresu was looking down at the tools of the bandit’s demise; he finally laid down the sword and shield, the energy he had felt in the heat of the moment drained, suddenly he was shaking and almost devoid of strength. However, Emanresu knew that if he left this man where he was, he would invite creatures to come and investigate this free meal.

“Resua, I…” he began unsteadily, “there may be more, but we must at the least remove this man from our camp so as not to attract all manner of beasts looking for a free meal.”

Resua looked at his friend, his jaw agape, this time not in unexpected concern but excitement and awe. “Don’t get me wrong, Eman, I am not a supporter of violence, but you still live and… well, that was intensely amazing to watch, and since he attacked you, you only defended yourself,” Resua seemed to be talking more to convince himself than to reassure Emanresu.

They both took in deep breaths and let the excitement drain from them.

Emanresu grabbed a length of cloth and, with Resua’s help, trussed the man together to carry the body to another location away from the camp.

Resua stepped away briefly twice, his body shaking with the attempt to expel anything left in his stomach, of which there was almost none. Twice, he heaved, and once his constitution settled down, he returned and did as Emanresu bade him.

Resua grabbed the man’s upper body under the arms, and with Emanresu at the man’s feet, they lifted and carried him several hundred strides away. A quick prayer to the Dragon and the Phoenix, at which point Emanresu noticed the small leather pouch on the man’s belt and the knife in his boot. He took both, used his foot to push the man to the edge, and, with a shove of his boot, let him fall into the ragged ravine. The two companions, numb with the day’s activities, returned to the welcoming camp. Weary from the excitement and day’s travels, yet unable to relax, they paid close attention to the sounds of the wildlife, and, hearing only the expected activity unbroken by any pauses or silence, they relaxed only a little.

As they strode back to camp, they kept an eye out for any companions of the self-assured bandit. “A self-assurance that was his undoing,” thought Emanresu.

Wrapped up in the search for others and his own thoughts, Emanresu never noticed that Resua was quiet, mumbling to himself, “…a swift swing of the blade… slid down…”

Emanresu surveyed the camp’s perimeter slowly, expecting to hear more men. His imagination placed bandits behind every tree and rock as they crept upon him and his friend, but he was relieved not to.

Returning to his bedroll, Emanresu sat for some time, his mind as numb as his weary body, and thought of nothing except “the blind luck bestowed on him this night.” Resua had moved his little “castle” to the same side Emanresu was on and now sat there, scribbling in his book, making notes of this and that. As the final usable light extinguished itself, the two reposed for the night, and Emanresu reached out to reassure himself that the shield and the sword were well at hand as he finally drifted off.

The misty dream of cosmic powers flowed round and round in him as he slept, in a dance of unimaginable proportions, encompassing the beginning and the end of all, engulfing him in the eternity of life. As he woke, his hand still on the shield, he felt invigorated to live another day, especially after the excitement of the previous eve.

Prelude: Loss and Regrets

The chill of the morning, still crisp and biting, echoed the aftermath of the battle in the defiled courtyard. Emanresu paused to draw a breath. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air, with wisping tendrils of smoke rising from a bandit that had breathed his last, falling into the fire pit in the center of the courtyard. Emanresu motioned to one of the townsfolk, and together, they lifted the brigand from the pit and tossed his body to the side.

Emanresu smiled weakly, his ragged breath still struggling to return to normal as the anxiety waned from the battle’s end. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and nodded in thanks. The young man from Bren grinned slightly and wiped away the quickly drying blood that had spattered his face during the fight.

“That was much harder than we anticipated,” he cursed softly as the man from Bren hurried away to assist elsewhere, setting down the Heater briefly to adjust his black bracers.

Looking around, the people of Bren who had volunteered to protect their little community seemed to have made it through the battle without any significant losses, if any at all. It was hard to tell at this point, and only a final headcount would tell for sure. Considering they trained for barely weeks, the townsfolk had made a good accounting of themselves. The task of clearing out the bandits had come all too soon, but the assistance they provided was immeasurable.

Having the large bulk of Resua towering beside him had been comforting, though the pain of losing him was still fresh. The battle had progressed as planned, but a miscalculation in the bandit’s numbers had skewed things sideways. “Never an indication of the second garrison being housed in the manor,” Emanresu picked up the Heater and sheathed the Hack. He looked around, trying to gauge the number of his Whites still standing. To his knowledge, the White were the only ones who suffered any losses, but it was a risk they all took each time they stepped out onto the field. The numbers with the townsfolk had been in our favor, but protecting the townsfolk while attempting to engage the most experienced bandits was no simple task and had cost at least three of the White, including Resua.

He had watched as the massive bulk of Resua fell, his chest pierced with a bolt from a brigand’s crossbow, dropping the towering battle scribe in his tracks. The bolt buried in his tunic like a sapling reaching skyward for light. Emanresu had felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of his fallen friend and had redoubled his efforts to conclude this fray before any more of his friends fell. Alas, Aleric fell to a mighty sweep of a brigand’s blade. Emanresu’s shoulders drooped as he realized the losses. First Darth, then Resua, and then Aleric; the battle had raged on with renewed vigor in honor of the fallen comrades.

Before the last blow was dealt and before the last of the brigands had felt the steel rip through their flesh, Emanresu had already been looking, scanning the survivors for her.

“Where are you, Serrah!” his mind cried out.

The fallen lay strewn across the courtyard, brigand and White alike. Emanresu strode with purpose, searching.

“Has anyone seen Serrah?” he shouted, his heart pounding in his chest with the thought that he was unwilling to entertain. The answer that stilled his heart echoed back at him; no one had seen her. His breathing became shallow as he searched. The bond they had formed during the arduous trek boiled to the surface of his thoughts.

“The foul stink of the disguise she had to bear when they first met, the skills that she presented without fanfare or need for acknowledgment, the fighting skills she so adeptly displayed,” thoughts careened through Emanresu like a charging boar.

His only lasting thought was, “I should have told her.”

His shoulders drooped, and the frown on his face deepened as he spied her body under a brigand, identifiable only by the autumn brown locks she so beautifully bore.

Emanresu felt his heart stop, and the blood rushed from his head. Feeling faint, he quickly approached, grabbed hold of the brigand’s tunic, and threw the man’s body to the side with a strength that belied his lanky build.

He knelt beside Serrah, her ragged breathing foaming red upon her lips as the air rasped shallowly in and out.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading for him to help, praying for another outcome. An outcome that was not within his power to grant. He quickly exposed the wound, tearing at it like a rabid dog. Deep into her chest, the blade had cut, the gash gently pulsing a stream of crimson bearing the life she had lived. Emanresu quickly bound it, “If only to delay her last,” Emanresu thought as he lifted her to work the wrap around her.

A spray of blood splattered him like a warm summer rain as she coughed, even as she struggled to breathe. Little droplets of crimson ran down his face, intermingling with the tears that preceded them.

His heart pounded, crushed with the weight of her impending death. The blood pounding in his ears and the scent of her blood mixed with the sensation of his own blood pulsing through the vessels in his nostrils.

His head drooped as he held his cheek gently against her forehead. He wiped the blood from her cheek and face as he gently held her.

“I am so sorry, Serrah,” he whispered.

A tear ran down Serrah’s face, and Emanresu reached up and caressed it away with his thumb. He sat heavily on the ground as the Whites slowly shuffled closer. Emanresu looked around, the tears streaming down his cheeks, telling them all they needed to know about his true heart.

Tarlis placed a hand on Emanresu’s shoulder and knelt beside him. He reached out and gently adjusted the wisp of hair from her face. Her gaze turned to Tarlis, and she managed a weak smile that disappeared into a bloody cough.

“You did well, girl,” Tarlis said, his stoic figure belied by the quiver in his voice. Tarlis, too, had grown to love this young woman, filling his heart with the daughter he once lost; she had become family.

Serrah raised her arm weakly and laid a gentle hand on Emanresu’s cheek, gently coaxing him closer into a hug he had so desperately wanted before all of this. He held her close, her shallow breathing getting weaker by the moment. He could only say the one thing he had struggled not to say. “I love you,” came the whispered admission. “I don’t know why, but from the moment we met in the inn. Me, a wandering idiot with a silly quest, and you, working beneath your skills as a maid, since that very day, you have always been in my heart.”

Serrah looked at him, her eyes streaming tears steadily down her face, “I know,” she mouthed. Her body relaxed, and her eyes ceased to focus as the last breath seeped from her.

Slowly, one at a time, the Whites touched Emanresu and drifted away to tend to their own fallen. Tarlis stayed. The bond the group had made over the last many moons, the effort and training, and the surprises that had sprouted into enjoyment and spread through them were fresh in Emanresu’s mind as he turned to look at Tarlis. The pain evident on his face, Tarlis put an arm around the young man.

“We shall honor her as we do all of the fallen Whites. This I swear!” The guttural, heartfelt statement crawled from him and fell to the floor, unheard or uncared for; the outcome was the same.

Tarlis urged Emanresu to let her go with a tug on his spaulder, and heeding this, Emanresu hugged the love of his life close, holding her now limp head in his hand. He kissed her on the forehead and gently laid her back down onto the dirt that so eagerly lapped up her life’s blood.

He slowly stood, and Tarlis stood with him, a hand gently clasped on the young man’s back.

“Let’s look to your wounds,” Tarlis began, examining the various wounds on Emanresu, bandaging the wounds that needed care and letting the others seep blood until they scabbed on their own.

Emanresu reached down and snatched up the Heater and the Hack, sheathing one and slipping his arm through the other.

His thoughts drift back to when he and Resua had started this journey moons prior when he slipped his hand into the shield and buckled on the sword for the first time. The lost and fallen since then tugged at his heart, and his shoulders sagged. “But that was a lifetime ago, and we still have the rest of this mess to deal with,” Emanresu heaved a sigh of resignation.

With the sword and shield firmly returned to their rightful places, Emanresu turned to look at Serrah’s body. The steam from her body slowly drifted upwards in the chill air of the morning.

Emanresu laid a hand on Tarlis’s arm, “Is that not odd?”

Tarlis followed his gaze to where Serrah lay, the wisps of steam that Emanresu had noticed increasing to the level of a boiling pot.

“No, that is not normal,” the old man furrowed his brow. “The blade must have been tainted with something, but I have never seen this before, so I know not what.”

Emanresu hurried back to her side, reaching down to touch her cheek. The heat from her face was palpable and grew steadily hotter even as he examined her. As the heat became too hot to bear, he removed his hand and stood, backing slowly away.

The steam rose and enveloped her body like a newly carved slab of venison, roasted and set out in the winter freeze.

When he finally noticed, the smoldering had grown to encompass all her garments, each piece browning from the heat, and then, as if on cue, Serrah burst into flames; heat radiated out, pulsing and burning, forcing the two men to shield their faces and stepped back.

Prologue

“Through time immemorial, reality, the cosmos, the eternal existence we call life, has struggled for balance. The struggle between opposites ensues, creating a battlefield upon which our meager existences are caught in a web of decay and renewal, with no knowledge of the need for balance; these are the domains in which the Cadre of the Dance inhabit. The knowledge of the true need of equality, in form and action, are their struggles.” – RtCotD

“Eclipsed by Time, Yet Everlasting; In Battles Endless Worn Unbroken. In Struggles Forged and Renewal Refined; From Dust to Destiny; In Balance, Brilliance.” – the Hack

Final Official Registration of a Waggoner Family Coat of Arms

The final changes have been confirmed for my coat of arms, they acknowledged the error in the description, where in the dragon had been blazoned in Or and not Argent, and the Oak Tree had no tincture.

The following is the Officially registered coat of arms.

Arms: Per fess azure and vert, issuing from a sun in dexter chief gold a phoenix descending in an arc toward the sinister gules enflamed gold, and issuant from an oak tree uprooted in sinister base gold a dragon ascending in an arc toward the dexter silver, the heads respectant in fess point.

Crest: A phoenix gold and a dragon silver wings endorsed respectant and rising from flames proper.

New England Historic Genealogical Society – Committee on Heraldry

I am not prone to emotional excitement, but this is one item/event that I am truly proud to say has me excited. My search has been 40 years plus in the making, and 30 years plus since I first developed the general concept of the core imagery. It has only been within the last year that I realized that this core imagery really defines my life and decided to attempt to get it registered.

The original idea was much more indicative of the yin-yang, and though the final registered blazon is not as descriptive as I initially intended, I believe that it adheres to the overall structure and intent of my original submission.

Emblazoning MY Registered Coat of Arms.

After months of struggling with the task of crafting an emblazon for my registered coat of arms, I began to understand how difficult the task at hand was. As I was researching techniques for drawing phoenix wings, a small but not insignificant part of my heraldic design, I discovered Monika Zagrobelna, an artist whose skill in both realistic and fantasy art is nothing short of remarkable.

Guided by her tutorials, I was pleased with my own results but found myself in awe of her portfolio. Monika has a unique educational approach; she hones her craft by sharing her knowledge through her blog. Her expertise spans from animal anatomy to the nuances of digital art, and she even explores the relationship between art and technology.

What sets Monika apart is her commitment to anatomical precision. Whether she’s drawing a dragon or a phoenix, her attention to detail adds a layer of authenticity to her creations, making them compelling and believable. And though I never tweet, I found myself compelled to share her amazing talents in a tweet, or do we call them Xs now?

When I approached Monika about doing a commission piece, she took the time to consider the project’s complexities. She suggested a multi-stage process, each with its own set of revisions, to ensure the final piece would align with my vision. From initial sketches to the final colored piece, her approach was both meticulous and thoughtful.

Monika was keen on the project, seeing it as a unique challenge. Her willingness to delve into the complexities of heraldic art speaks volumes about her dedication and versatility. As someone with a background in IT and ultimately in project management, I found her methodical approach not just reasonable, but essential for ensuring that each element of the coat of arms would be historically and symbolically accurate.

This collaboration promises to be a rewarding experience for both of us. For Monika, it’s a chance to broaden her artistic scope. For me, it’s an opportunity to bring a deeply personal and historically significant design to life, transforming it into a cherished heirloom I can pass down to my daughter and display in many ways.

The task, or journey if you will, of bringing something as personal as this to life, is an artistic endeavor that culminates a search that I have been on for many decades. Knowing that the final leg of the journey is in Monika’s vastly more than capable hands sparks a joy in my life rivaled only by the accomplishments of my own daughter, which I suppose all fathers should spark joy by their offspring. As we enter this collaboration, Monika and I, I feel like a child on Christmas morning, filled with anticipation and hope. I truly believe that this year, Monika will be Santa Claus.

I hope you find the final article to be a cohesive and engaging narrative!

Concept Badges for the Blazon

Badges:

Primary Leader: The Primary Leader badge features a lozenge shape divided horizontally, with the upper half colored Azure (blue) and the lower half colored Vert (green). In the left-side corner, a circular shape colored Azure holds a radiant Sun Or (gold) symbolizing leadership and brilliance. On the right-side corner, a circular shape colored Vert contains a fully grown and eradicated Tree Or (gold), representing stability and growth. Extending beyond the lozenge, but not beyond the top or bottom points, are two charges positioned back to back. A Dragon Argent (silver), membered and winged Vert (green), and a Phoenix Gules (red), membered and winged Or (gold), with their wings entwined. The badge is bordered by a twisted border alternating between gold (Or) and silver (Argent), symbolizing prestige and nobility.

Pledge: The Pledge badge is a plain uncolored lozenge, or it can be colored in white, grey, and black. It is divided per fess, with the upper half colored grey and the lower half colored black. In the left point of the lozenge, a circle centered with grey is featured, and in the right point, a circle centered with grey is also displayed. There are no additional charges on the Pledge badge.

Untrained Member: The Untrained Member badge follows the same design as the Primary Leader badge, with a colored lozenge divided horizontally, upper half Azure and lower half Vert. The circles on the left and right points of the lozenge are colored as per the Primary Leader badge. There are no additional charges on the Untrained Member badge.

Trained Members: The Trained Members badge maintains the same design as the Primary Leader badge, with the colored lozenge and circles. However, the badge includes the specific charge associated with the trained member. The charge is centered in the lozenge and colored as described in the Primary Leader badge.

Man-at-Arms: The Man-at-Arms badge features the charge of a Dragon centered in the lozenge, colored as described in the Primary Leader badge. There are no additional charges on the Man-at-Arms badge.

Strategic: The Strategic badge includes the charge of a Phoenix, centered in the lozenge and colored as described in the Primary Leader badge. There are no additional charges on the Strategic badge.

Leadership: The Leadership badge showcases the charge of the Sun, centered in the lozenge and colored as described in the Primary Leader badge. There are no additional charges on the Leadership badge.

Support: The Support badge features the charge of the Tree, centered in the lozenge and colored as described in the Primary Leader badge. There are no additional charges on the Support badge.

From Blossoming Bedlam to Crystalline Calm

Welcome to my digital domain, a garden where the vibrant disorder of Information Technology unfurls in all its chaotic beauty. Amid the dense thicket of data and systems, each individual code, each enigmatic glitch emerges like a seedling amid the wilderness, seemingly chaotic yet harboring the potential for exquisite order under the watchful eye of a skilled gardener.

Our journey through this enthralling maze commences with the many riddles that IT offers. Every challenge is akin to a mysterious plant within this digital garden, seemingly disorderly and untamed yet begging to be understood and nurtured into a symbol of harmony and understanding. As we unravel these enigmas, we traverse the thorny thickets, pruning the wild growth and cultivating paths of logic and clarity amid the thriving wilds.

This cultivation, however, is not a solitary endeavor. The invaluable contribution of our peers — the IT teams — is as essential as sunlight to a garden. Each team member brings their unique talents and wisdom to the collective, helping us navigate through the thicket and transform the wild growth into a beautiful, well-tended garden brimming with harmonious solutions.

As our voyage advances deeper into the dense growth, the chaotic undergrowth reveals an intriguing mystery. The intertwined layers of complexity in IT transform from a wild, unruly forest into a meticulously manicured garden waiting to be admired and understood. There’s always a new path to tread, a new flower to discover. The true charm of IT lies in this journey — the transformation from a blossoming bedlam to a garden of crystalline calm, from bewilderment to comprehension. Welcome to my journey, where the thrill of navigating the digital chaos merges with the joy of nurturing its countless mysteries into pristine understanding.

An Achievement

Symbolism has been an integral part of my life for as long as I can remember. The allure of uncovering my family’s coat of arms, if one existed, has always intrigued me. My father took it upon himself to “send off” for a copy of our supposed coat of arms, but deep down, I have always harbored doubts about our lineage and whether we are truly entitled to such a rich heritage. The image of the coat of arms he received is displayed here. Still, without concrete proof, I find myself hesitant to fully embrace it as a genuine representation of our family’s legacy.

As time passed, my own ideals and beliefs began to take shape within me, and I felt compelled to capture these ideas on paper, translating them into a drawing that held profound meaning for me. Eventually, I immortalized this symbol on my right shoulder through a tattoo. It became a personal emblem, a visual manifestation of my inner convictions. Inspired by this concept, I am now embarking on the creation of a blazon—an official description of the symbol—to ensure its lasting presence for future generations. This endeavor allows me to document the essence and significance of the symbol, preserving its legacy.

The crux of my symbol revolves around the principles of balance, acceptance, and commitment. These ideals resonate deeply within me, guiding my actions and shaping my worldview. However, it is essential to acknowledge the uncertainty surrounding our family’s coat of arms. Without conclusive evidence, I approach this exploration with an open mind, embracing the possibility of uncovering new truths and forging my own interpretation of our ancestral heritage. Through this journey, I strive to honor the quest for authenticity and preserve the essence of my personal symbolism.

“Quarterly Party, first and second Azure, third and fourth Vert, in the first quarter a Sun radiant raised Or, from which to the dexter naissant a Phoenix volant en arrière Gules, descending embowed in an arc to the dexter and extending into the second and briefly into the fourth, the phoenix head fully contained within the fourth quarter and respecting the center point of the quarters, its wings, head, and tail enflamed Or; in the fourth quarter an Oak Tree eradicated Or feuillé, from which to the sinister naissant a Dragon volant en arrière Argent, ascending embowed in an arc to the sinister and extending into the third and briefly into the first, the Dragon’s head fully contained within the first quarter and respecting the center point of the quarters, wings elevated and addorsed Argent, its forelimbs and hindlimbs extended and taloned.”

“Above the shield, a Helm affronté, grilled Argent, mantled Azure and Vert, doubled Or, wreathed of the colours.“

“For a Crest, upon a Torse Or and Vert, a Phoenix Or and a Dragon Argent respectant, addorsed and rising, each from Flames proper.”

“A scroll above the crest bearing the War Cry, ‘With Phoenix Blaze and Dragon Roar!’, in letters Sable, and a scroll below the shield inscribed with the Motto, ‘In Balance, Brilliance’, also in letters Sable.”

“Quarterly Party, first and second Azure, third and fourth Vert“ establishes the foundational structure of the coat of arms. The quarterly division of the shield into four sections represents the division of the depicted domain or attributes. The first and second quarters in Azure, or blue, evoke a feeling of tranquility, stability, and trust. The third and fourth quarters in Vert, or green, symbolize life, renewal, and a deep connection to the natural world.

“in the first quarter, a Sun radiant raised Or, from which to the dexter naissant a Phoenix volant en arrière Gules, descending embowed in an arc to the dexter and extending into the second and briefly into the fourth, the phoenix head fully contained within the fourth quarter and respecting the center point of the quarters, its wings, head, and tail enflamed Or” introduces the prominent element of The sun is often associated with concepts such as life, vitality, enlightenment, and divine power. It represents light, warmth, and the energy source that sustains life. It can symbolize wisdom, clarity, guidance, leadership, transformation, renewal, and immortality. From the Sun, a Phoenix emerges in Gules, or red, the phoenix represents resilience, overcoming challenges, and the triumph of life over death, signifying the cyclical nature of life and the potential for personal growth and transformation, as well as the pursuit of truth and knowledge. The Phoenix extends into the second quarter and briefly into the fourth, with its head facing the center point of the quarters, emphasizing its transformative and guiding influence. The body of the Phoenix lies mostly in the second quarter, alone and without accompaniment, and implies the journeys in life are primarily individual travels. The positioning of the Phoenix indicates openness and acceptance. The flames surrounding the phoenix symbolize its fiery nature and association with regeneration. Fire is often associated with passion, creativity, purification, and purification. The flames represent the transformative and purifying aspects of the phoenix’s nature and signify the beginning of the cycle.

“In the fourth quarter, an Oak Tree eradicated Or, from which to the sinister naissant a Dragon volant en arrière Argent ascending embowed in an arc to the sinister and extending into the third and briefly into the first, the Dragon’s head fully contained within the first quarter and facing the center point of the quarters, its wings elevated and addorsed Argent, its forelimbs and hindlimbs extended and taloned” presents an Oak Tree in the fourth quarter. The oak tree is often associated with strength, endurance, and wisdom. Representing stability, resilience, and grounding. The oak symbolizes longevity and the life cycle, as it can live for many years and produce acorns that grow into new trees. It can also symbolize protection and shelter, as its strong branches provide shade and support. Cladding in Or indicates how precious this symbol is in the cycle of life. From the Oak Tree, a powerful mythical dragon emerges in Argent, or silver, symbolizing protection, wisdom, and guardianship. The Dragon extends into the third quarter and briefly into the first, with its head facing the center point of the quarters, highlighting its role as a powerful guardian figure and representing strength, courage, and guardianship. It can symbolize both destructive and protective forces. In this blazon, the dragon is depicted as volant en arrière (flying backward) with its wings elevated and addorsed (folded back). This may suggest a sense of watchfulness and readiness to defend or protect. The extended forelimbs and hindlimbs with talons indicate the dragon’s ability to grasp and hold onto what it values. The body of the Dragon lies mainly in the third quarter, alone and without accompaniment, and again as the Phoenix implies, the journeys in life are primarily individual travels. The positioning of the Dragon implies openness and acceptance.

“Above the shield, a Helm affronté, grilled Argent, mantled Azure and Vert, doubled Or, wreathed of the colours” introduces the Helm positioned above the shield. The Helm is depicted facing forward (affronté) and features a silver (Argent) grill. The mantling, represented in Azure and Vert, symbolizes drapery and is doubled in Or, emphasizing prestige and nobility. The wreath, made of the colors Azure and Vert, holds symbolic significance, connecting the Helm to the overall symbolism of the coat of arms.

“For a Crest, upon a Torse Or and Vert, a Phoenix Or and a Dragon Argent respectant, addorsed and rising, each from Flames proper” describes the Crest, positioned upon a Torse. The Torse consists of twisted bands in Or and Vert. The Crest features a Phoenix in Or and a Dragon in Argent, depicted facing each other (respectant) and back-to-back (addorsed), both rising. The creatures emerge from proper-colored Flames, symbolizing their transformative nature and power.

“above the crest, a scroll inscribed with the War Cry. ‘With Sun’s Blaze and Dragon’s Roar!’, in letters Sable” refers to a scroll positioned above the Crest. The scroll carries the War Cry, written in Sable (black) letters. The War Cry, ‘With Sun’s Blaze and Dragon’s Roar!’, represents the rallying cry and expression of strength associated with the depicted domain.

“below the shield, a scroll inscribed with the Motto, ‘In Balance, Brilliance’, also in letters Sable” describes a scroll positioned below the shield. This scroll carries the Motto, written in Sable letters, which reads ‘In Balance, Brilliance’. The Motto conveys the principles of harmony, equilibrium, and brilliance that guide the depicted realm.

Each element of the coat of arms holds symbolic significance, representing different qualities, values, and aspirations. The color choices, creatures, and textual elements come together to convey a narrative of strength, transformation, wisdom, and balance. They reflect the essence and ideals of the depicted domain, inspiring a sense of power, resilience, and brilliance.

Registered Blazon

On 18 July, 2023 I was granted a recorded blazon with the Committee on Heraldry of the New England Historic Genealogical Society which was established 3 February, 1864. They are the oldest registrar in the United States.

The submission to the committee was considered too complex and the committee reworked the blazon to simplify it while still keeping with the overall theme I intended. The arms are blazoned in Committee records as follows:

Arms: Per fess azure and vert, issuing from a sun in dexter chief gold a phoenix descending in an arc toward the sinister gules enflamed gold, and issuant from an oak tree uprooted in sinister base a dragon ascending in an arc toward the dexter gold, the heads respectant in fess point.

Crest: A phoenix gold and a dragon silver wings endorsed respectant and rising from flames proper.

There is a mistake in the coloring that I have requested be changed or explained, as the dragon in the original submission should be Argent (silver) and not Or (gold).

The original submission was as the description at the beginning of this post and I will provide it again here. Only the arms and crest were listed in the application, and I will bold them here appropriately.

“Quarterly Party, first and second Azure, third and fourth Vert, in the first quarter a Sun radiant raised Or, from which to the dexter naissant a Phoenix volant en arrière Gules, descending embowed in an arc to the dexter and extending into the second and briefly into the fourth, the phoenix head fully contained within the fourth quarter and respecting the center point of the quarters, its wings, head, and tail enflamed Or; in the fourth quarter an Oak Tree eradicated Or feuillé, from which to the sinister naissant a Dragon volant en arrière Argent, ascending embowed in an arc to the sinister and extending into the third and briefly into the first, the Dragon’s head fully contained within the first quarter and respecting the center point of the quarters, wings elevated and addorsed Argent, its forelimbs and hindlimbs extended and taloned.”

“Above the shield, a Helm affronté, grilled Argent, mantled Azure and Vert, doubled Or, wreathed of the colours.”

“For a Crest, upon a Torse Or and Vert, a Phoenix Or and a Dragon Argent respectant, addorsed and rising, each from Flames proper.”

“A scroll above the crest bearing the War Cry, ‘With Phoenix Blaze and Dragon Roar!’, in letters Sable, and a scroll below the shield inscribed with the Motto, ‘In Balance, Brilliance’, also in letters Sable.”