From Fire to Ashes

[Red Charge]

Hawthorne's stay with the Triad has not been the most pleasant, to say the least. Apparently at the very least they were able to verify he wasn't a spy, even though they did threaten his life multiple time and even tortured him to try and get it out of him. But apparently they had nothing on all fronts, as they let him stay and work for them.

As a lowly recruit he had the pleasure of spending the next two weeks doing the lowliest job there was to do in the organization. He stood alone in a giant furnace room, hauling dead bodies stolen from cemeteries into furnaces and burning them, then hauling the ash carts (which were quite heavier than one might think) to a large freight elevator for them to be lowered.

Though the bodies were far lighter than any live griffon, they were still pretty heavy and the carts were even heavier, so while the exercise was unappreciated, Hawthorne could feel himself growing physically as he labored. His muscles certainly grew and things that once seemed hard to do suddenly became much easier. His hide hardened against the heat of the furnaces and scabs of hard work. Spending so much time with the dead, however, did no good to his already confused psyche and occasionally he found himself talking the corpses, even coming up with names for them as they came in. But they all met the same fate in his hands - cremation, the complete disintegration of their remains lest they get revived by the Necrolord and his minions.

On the odd occasion he'd get some minor griffon celebrity or other, a general, admiral even an ancient hero to burn. Sometimes they of all would be well preserved, as though they were just sleeping rather than dead. Sometimes it seemed dishonorable, ripping them of all their possessions, stripping them and throwing them in a fire. But Hawthorne had no choice and did as he was told day in and day out.

At long last he had gotten a reprieve, a new griffon had taken his place as corpse hauler and he had been moved to the esteemed and sought after position of cart pusher. Once the freight elevator was fully loaded with ash carts, he would be the one waiting beneath to push them over to the disposal shafts. He would have to evenly spread the ashes in each shaft and once they were full disperse them all in the winds of whatever location they were in. He didn't get to see the outside, so it could have been anywhere from the desert to the mountains and maybe even some far off island in the ocean. Heck, they could be on another continent for all he knew.

After a grueling first couple of days on the job he was, surprisingly enough given a day off to lounge in his quarters, which, other than the rooms he was working in was the only place he was allowed to go. He even had no idea if there was a mess hall in the complex. If there was, he wasn't allowed to go there.

He saw occasional glimpses of his roommate coming in and out of the room, never for long, never saying a word to each other. He seemed like an odd griffon, but radiated charisma despite having not said a word to Hawthorne. Possibly why he was a pony liaison, ponies were easily intimidated by the bold.

And so Hawthorne was in his room, trying to figure out what to do with this sudden day off...

[Ambrosios]

Two weeks of corpse burning and ash hauling, the most mind-numbing labor Hawthorne had ever done. What was a griffon with a degree in Natural History doing here of all places? If Admiral Gregoros had just believed him... or perhaps the admiral had believed him all along. He wasn't sure which was the case.

When he had been cremating the corpses, sometimes Hawthorne had pretended they were Gregoros, though more in name than size and appearance. It was somewhat sickening that such ideas would trace his mind. Other times they were Aeolus, or he gave them completely new names and personalities, and talked to them. He wasn't sure why he was doing it, but it was probably stress. Maybe a way to dull out the reality of what he was doing. Who knew, but Hawthorne couldn't have been any more relieved when he was assigned a new position. Hauling ash wasn't more exciting, but at least you couldn't give ash a personality.

Finally, after several more days of moving ash carts and dispersing it to the winds, he was given a day off. As much as he was glad to not spend a day working for once, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do. It wasn't like he was allowed anywhere but his room and where he worked.

Sitting on his bed with his shoulders slouched, Hawthorne looked around the room for anything he could do. Soon he spotted his ragged furnace clothing, what he wore to protect himself from the heat of his working conditions. Slowly he stood up, walking over to grab the apparel and a needle and thread out of a nearby desk drawer. He needed to sew the thing back together eventually, and now seemed as good a time as ever. Bringing the items back to his bed, the former professor sat down and began the task.

[Red Charge]

Some hours later food and water were brought to his room as always, not a bad dish, pretty balanced. As well as a pill, which he always assumed was proteins and vitamins due to the fact that he got absolutely no sunlight or fruit.

All in all the stay in the headquarters of a crime organization wasn't bad, but it was obvious they weren't trusting him yet and even if they did, they didn't think he was able to hold his own on a real mission. The only question was, did he really even want to go on a real mission?

Seeing the sunlight again was awfully tempting but his imagination worked overtime imagining how hard it must be to get those corpses and what dangers they may face doing so. His mind switched back to that earth elemental, the one who killed Tempest's soldiers back when they first met. He wondered if they had encountered any more of those, it definitely wasn't much of a motivator to want to go out.

But maybe just retrieving corpses from catacombs wasn't as bad. Although the idea of finding a famous tomb was quite charming...

[Ambrosios]

Hawthorne actually found the idea of finding a famous tomb not very charming at all, at least not if it was guarded by creatures like the earth elemental he had encountered in Stone Valley. And surely such tombs had some sort of security system to guard against grave robbers.

All in all, Hawthorne wasn't quite sure what he wanted in his current situation. Some fresh air would be wonderful, but not if it entailed dealing with some powerful creation that could easily kill him. Surely they had more simple tasks, like procuring bodies from an abandoned cemetery.

Not that they would let him out of his room, though. It was still obvious that Tempest's men didn't trust him. They'd made that clear when they'd tortured him. Hawthorne wasn't sure how he was going to gain their trust, but he didn't think he was going to be let out of his room until he got it.

The griffon sighed, taking his pill and chasing it down with a sip of water. He felt safer here against the Undead and Griffon government, but he sure didn't feel any less helpless.

[Red Charge]

More time had passed, how long he had no idea anymore. All he knew was that he worked until he was told to stop, then he would sleep and start over again when they woke him up. He found himself losing all sense of time as he pushed ash cart after ash cart. He wondered by now how much of other griffons he has breathed in or ingested by mistake while doing so. Even the thought of their spirits possessing it crossed his mind at some point. He felt as though he was losing it, losing himself. At the very least the exercise was good, no longer a chore. The once frail griffon found suddenly that he enjoyed the effort and the challenge. He even began to try and surpass himself, even getting to the point where he would try to push two carts at once.

He was not yet strong, but he was definitely much stronger than he was ever before. He could feel it and see it. The protective clothes he wore became tighter against his larger form and he found himself much less tired at the end of the day. But his mental faculties were suffering. He was given several books to exercise his mind, but without social interaction it was still suffering.

Finally, they decided it was time for him to be a real part of the organization and he was summoned to his superior's office.

[Ambrosios]

Day after day of pushing ash carts came and went for Hawthorne. By now he had no idea how long he had been at the exercise. He found it troubling that more than once he had meshed together bits from different days to make a whole, like when he realized his memories from earlier that one morning had happened two days earlier. A troubling sign perhaps.

It had to be the monotony. Waking up, pushing ash carts, sleeping. Eating somewhere in there. The griffon had thought he'd be glad to be away from the corpse burning, but oh how he missed the corpses. The corpses had variety, while a cart of ash was always the same. You pushed a full cart to the disposal shafts, you emptied it, and by the time you got back it was full again. Conceptually it felt like purgatory. Physically it felt like pushing an ash cart. Squeak squeak. There go the wheels again.

The corpses weren't here, but they were here. When you burned a corpse, it turned into ash. And surely you breathed in some of that ash when you spent all day pushing it around in a cart. So really the corpses were more a part of him now than ever. Aeolus and Gregoros and all the others were all now floating inside him, as ash. Maybe that was why he felt a little bit stronger now. No no, that was the pushing. Squeak squeak.

He read whenever he could, whatever they gave him. He'd read a few chapters, reread them. One time he tried reading backwards, but he didn't like that very much. Whenever he wasn't pushing ash carts he was reading. Or sleeping. Or eating. But the reading seemed to be doing very little for him. Books and ash carts made for very poor company, and such minimal interaction with other griffons was probably having an affect on him. That and pushing ash carts. And ash carts made very poor company.

Squeak.

Hawthorne was surprised when he was summoned to his superior's office. If he had been introduced to the griffon he couldn't remember it. But still, the prospect of interaction with another griffon was... exciting? Perhaps that was the right word. Maybe Hawthorne was in due for a promotion. He had been putting forth his best effort with those ash carts. He had even tried pushing two the other day, though he couldn't remember how it went.

Soon enough he was standing outside the griffon's office. The former professor opened the door a crack, then slowly wide enough for him to step through. "You... wanted to see me?"

[Red Charge]

He entered into a small office, immediately in front of him was a large desk with reports neatly sorted on it, a small statuette of a griffon rested on the front of the desk facing the door, a type writer was on the table's left side, indicating that the superior was right taloned.

To the left of the desk was a filing cabinet, he could not see the labels on it, as it was facing the inside of the office. Behind it, a bookcase was standing in the back corner of the room, books of various titles and some without were lined on the shelves along with several devices, trinkets and other ornaments including a medal case from the Griffon Royal Navy, 4th Fleet.

A massive map of the griffon kingdom covered the rest of the wall, he noticed that many locations were circled on it and within the circles he noticed pins stuck in them. It took him only a moment to realize those were all graveyards and the pins were stuck in grave plots, probably marking the ones the Tempest Triad had cleaned out. He had no idea the corpse burning was such a large operation, although the amount of corpses might have given him a clue. Aside from the graveyards he also saw pins stuck in areas outside the circle, lone graves or tombs, he did recognize one of them to be on an old battlefield... the sheer seriousness they were taking this project with frightened Hawthorne. Were they really this paranoid, or was the Necropolis that dangerous?

All of these details were taken in by Hawthorne's griffon eyes in a heartbeat, then he saw his superior and realized they had in fact never met. His superior was a beautiful griffoness, she was standing as he entered so he could see she was white tiger and harpy eagle, an exotic combination. Both her feathers and her fur were a cream shade of white, her lower body adorned with tiger stripes. She had piercing electric blue eyes and obviously carried herself in a very strict demeanor. Her feathers were very obviously groomed and her talons were sharp. Her figure seemed both athletic and combat oriented much like Tempest's herself, she must have had a regular exercise regiment and it was showing.

On her neck she bore a crimson scarf bearing the Tempest Triad's logo of three lightnings fusing together at their ends, in an operation she would draw it over her beak to hide her face in case the law showed up. She also bore an officer's badge on it, so that other operatives could discern her ranks. One storm cloud, no lightnings. Far as he knew in officer ranks the lower ones started with a lightning, then two, then three, then medium ranks bore a storm cloud and then a storm cloud with lightning, the higher officers had a storm cloud with two and three lightnings and Tempest herself had a storm cloud with three lightnings fused together. That would make her then a junior medium rank officer. Only when he thought of that it hit him that the triad was much more than a crime operation, it was an organized army.

Again, due to Hawthorne's natural affinity to details, he was able to take this all in, in a manner of seconds. His superior officer turned to him without smiling, she was not unpleasant, but her serious demeanor was not too encouraging.

"Please, sit down Hawthorne." She said, sitting down herself and indicating one of the chairs in front of her desk.

[Ambrosios]

Hawthorne noticed several things as he took a quick look around the room. Medal. Former member of the 4th fleet. Typewriter on left side of desk. Right-taloned, or ambidextrous. Massive map on the wall. Likes geography. No, wait. That was for marking graveyards and tombs. Probably ones where the corpses had been dug up. Corpses he had burned. Then pushed their ash away in a cart.

It was only after he had deciphered the purpose of the officer's map that he looked over at the griffon herself. She was very gorgeous, and very in-shape. But probably not from pushing ash carts. Seeing how kempt she was reminded him of how dirty he must've looked. Was. Showering only did so much, and it never got rid of the ash floating around inside you.

Hawthorne also noticed the scarf she was wearing. A very nice scarf actually. He liked the color. He also noticed the badge on it. He took a guess that she was somewhere on the low-medium end of the rankings. Rankings... Why did a criminal organization need a system so elaborate? The griffon glanced back at the pins sticking out of the map on the wall.

He had been burning a lot of corpses. And doing a lot less... criminal things than he had expected. The whole triad was a bit different than he had originally thought. Off all the activity he'd suspected they were behind, Hawthorne was surprised that stealing corpses was their biggest venture. He hadn't even known the kingdom was undergoing a corpse-theft crisis.

Hawthorne turned back to his superior when his name was spoken, quickly taking his seat after the command had processed. He almost wasn't sure what to say next. The griffon was still somewhat traumatized from his last encounter with Tempest. Well, maybe not traumatized, but his mental state had likely multiplied his memories of the experience. So many rules he had broken.

"I haven't been given your name yet. Ma'am," he spoke, adding in a pathetic little nod. Anything to show respect. Yes, the name. You had to know your commanding officer's name. That wasn't too much to ask. And it was better than commenting on what a nice map she had. Or the scarf. The scarf was nice too.

[Red Charge]

Hawthorne realized his mistake almost as soon as he said it, he has spoken out of line and without permission. The female griffon's piercing gaze narrowed in his direction as she leaned forwards on her desk. "Don't do it again." She said, her tone not reprimending or demanding, but completely neutral.

"Now, Hawthorne, I am Ceana." The griffon introduced herself shortly, returning to sit upright again, "I am the officer in charge of the collection of possible vessels and their destruction." By vessels it was obvious she meant bodies. Something about how she said that word, as though the honor of the dead was meaningless made Hawthorne uncomfortable. He was reminded of how Aeolus' body was intentionally left out for the undead to bring to life. There was no longer sanctity or honor in dying, even in battle, it seemed.

"As you have seen my section in the Triad is a well oiled machine, " The griffoness laced her talons together on her desk, surveying him from on top of them as she talked, unblinking. "Our teams collect possible undead vessels, return them here and destroy them. You have been placed under my command until such time as we could truly discern whether or not you are a spy. Fortunately you check out, which means you are now an official member of the Triad. You will be given the rank of Trainee and now I must decide what to do with you." She paused, but she had not given Hawthorne permission to speak.

"What we need more than anything now are field operatives to expand our activities in the Griffon Kingdom. You will be given basic training and joined up with a field team in order to retrieve vessels you have so far been burning and hauling to the expulsion shafts." Again, she did not give him permission to speak as she paused, "I understand the distaste in such work, but it is a necessary evil. We are not sure what the Necropolis is capable of, but if they attack, every grave yard will become an instant battalion for the enemy. We cannot afford that. Are you interested in becoming a field operative?" It was obvious that he had no choice in the matter and the question was poised out of politeness alone. Hawthorne's knowledge in natural history could be critical in finding unmarked graves and would be invaluable for the mission at hand.

[Ambrosios]

Hawthorne saw almost immediately that he shouldn't have said anything at all. And just to reinforce it, his superior officer made it verbally clear that he needed to keep his beak shut. The griffoness had even kept her voice neutral, but barking at him probably would have had the same effect. He was terrified for his screw up, and almost wished he could bite his tongue off just to keep it from happening again.

Things got easier once she started explaining his situation to him. Vessels. That's what he had been burning. Not corpses, vessels. That's all they were to the Triad, and while he understood the logic, it was still somewhat unsettling that after death you were treated as a burden. All your accomplishments meant nothing unless you were incinerated in a furnace and pushed in an ash cart.

But at least he wouldn't be the one pushing those ash carts anymore. He was going from the last step of the process to the first it seemed. You had to retrieve the corpses- no, vessels before you could burn them. And if his superior... Ceana, wanted him doing that, he didn't really have a say. He'd be a Trainee, get the training, join a team, retrieve the vessels, and watch as someone else pushed them around in a cart.

The former professor froze when his superior asked him how interested he was in the position. It took him a full second to figure out how he could respond without speaking out of turn. Finally he nodded his head enthusiastically, more so because he wanted to get his point across than because he was enthusiastic about the position. Hawthorne wasn't terribly interested in becoming a field operative, but he was even less terribly interested in continuing to push ash carts. And even less so in returning to Royal Rocks so Gregoros could put a straight-jacket on him. Compared to those things, he was very interested in becoming a field operative.

[Red Charge]

The grifoness nodded, "Then we'll start you off tomorrow. Welcome to the Tempest Triad, I know you've had less than pleasant encounters with us in the past... took out some of our contractors... But I assure you, we're your family now. What you need, we'll provide, be it protection, a roof, food, or anything else." Ceana stood up at that and began pacing in front of him.

"You look wildly different from the first time you came in here, you've grown stronger, hardier, more obedient. You've been broken and now it's time for you to be remolded. Remember, Tempest is the one who brought you new life, she made you what you are now, a stronger, better griffon. If it weren't for her you'd be sitting in your own drool in some mental asylum." She stared directly into his eyes as she talked, "You owe her more than your life, you owe her your soul. Love her as you would your mother, because she birthed you anew, gave you a family, provided for you..." Hawthorne found himself agreeing with her. It was strange how the first time he met her she was all too keen on killing him, but now Tempest was his only lifeline.

"You will be made even better if you remember these things, you will be made into a soldier in a war more important than any petty political dispute, a war for our eternal souls. The Necrolord will harvest any dead on his way to taking the world, you included. We must stop him in our lifetime, we cannot hope that someone will after us. Do you understand? For that we need everything we can get, power, soldiers, allies... It doesn't matter who we were before or what choices we made in life. We're all in the same plight now. I expect you to remember that in the future. Welcome to the Tempest Triad soldier, welcome home."

[Ambrosios]

Hawthorne listened intently as Ceana spoke to him, watching as she stood up and paced in front of him, his head following her movements back and forth. Back and forth. His life from a few weeks ago, it seemed so simultaneously close and far away. He could remember it all perfectly but knew he could never return to it, like an ash cart just out of reach.

But she was right. That was behind him. Another life, another griffon. The triad was his family now. They would give him food, shelter, protection. And at the end of it all he was grateful. He had to be. Hawthorne hadn't realized it when he went to her, but Tempest had saved him from far more than a straight jacket. A lobotomy, a mindless existence of being but not thinking. Or maybe just quietly disappearing in a dark alley. Who knew? But to think anything good would of come from him staying in Gregoros' office? Hah. A joke was what it was.

Tempest had taken pity on a useless griffon she had wanted dead a few weeks ago. She had offered him a family and protection and cracked off his shell so a new griffon could take his place. And that's what Hawthorne was, a new griffon. A grateful griffon. A soldier. He never thought for once in his life that he would be a soldier, but he was now. And he would do whatever he was asked. He had given Tempest his word, but more than that, he owed her. Everything, then some.

Hawthorne nodded with every word Ceana spoke, finding himself eagerly agreeing with her. He remained silent the entire time, even after she had finished. She hadn't permitted him to speak; he would stay silent. She hadn't permitted him to leave; he would stay put. His eyes remained fixated on her, still watching and listening for anything she might say.

What a nice scarf.

[Red Charge]

The female griffon smiled warmly at Hawthorne and commanded him to rise, then stepping around the the table and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "As you are reborn," She said, "You must leave your previous life behind you, farewell Hawthorne... welcome... Ambrosios."

At that she released him, "You will now follow me to your training barracks, where you will be going through basic training. Once that is complete, you will be assigned to a team, for sake of teaching, newer members are assigned to teams with veterans, the learning curve is steep, but I am confident you can handle it." She commanded Ambrosios to follow her as she led him through the corridors, to the outside.

For the first time since he got there he could see where he was... but he had no idea where. It was inside a mountain, it appeared, above them a ring of light shined down on this hidden valley inside what must have been a volcano when the planet was just created. Now the ground was grassy and lush as far as he could see. There were no entrances in sight other than the one opening of the mountain itself. Outside there must have been another installation, because he heard noise coming from above. The hollow inside the mountain was big enough to practice a zeppelin, much less a squad of griffons. The Triad knew how to pick their base well, if even a professor of natural history had no idea of this place. Then again, that was another life. He was Ambrosios now...

[Ambrosios]

Hawthorne stood as he was told, but was surprised to soon find Ceana wrapping her arms around him. The griffon kept his own on the floor, but did close his eyes and let out a heavy sigh through his nares. In that embrace he experienced a clarity of mind he hadn't felt since, well, since he had returned home to find his house burned down. For this moment at least, he wasn't scared, nervous, or agitated. He felt safe, relieved, welcomed. It was nice.

He opened his eyes as his commanding officer gave him his new name, repeating it in his head. "Ambrosios." Yes. A new name for a new griffon. Gone was Hawthorne, in his place was a griffon reborn. The Triad was his family now. Yes, family. That was really was the best way to describe the situation, in both the literal and figurative sense.

Ambrosios listened to what Ceana said about the basic training he would be going through, then followed her outside. Finally he had a look at where he was: inside what looked to be an open-mouthed mountain, likely the remnants of a primordial volcano. Sun shined down on the grass they walked through; it was quite pleasant. And hidden. Quiet a nice place to call home, or to at least begin his new life.