Ember Souls

Emberburgh was a fairly unremarkable small town on the surface. Not poor, it was still a college town after all but it was somewhat exclusive. A lot of affluent old money names kept homes here. But if anything else could be openly said about Emberburgh, it was home to an exclusive university. Ashfield Academy. The campus itself predates the civil war. Established in 1852 it was Emberburgh’s first and only public school for some time. In 1910, the old campus was torn down and rebuilt in a gothic revival style.

Round perpendicular stone towers flanked large double doors atop a formidable staircase to the entrance. The top floor of the towers still housed the old school bells that were no longer used, long since replaced with an electric one over the loudspeaker. It was four stories tall and spread to the east and the west in ‘wings’. It would’ve formed a U shape of sorts if one were to have a bird's eye view of the main building. To the east, there was a much newer gymnasium including an indoor pool and to the west was a small two-story building that served as a dorm of sorts. The students that lived there were generally regarded as the “poor and undesirable” since they didn’t happen to live in one of the area’s many mansions, or nicer suburban homes.

The campus grounds themselves were well maintained with paved paths connecting the buildings. The paths were typically flanked with park benches and neatly trimmed shrubbery, whilst at the junction of the three buildings was a fountain. The outer wall of it was about a foot-and-a-half tall with a large central column that water flowed out from in all directions. Atop the center stood a statue of a tall, proud woman. She wore a pair of riding boots that came up just above her knees, trousers, a cape fastened across her chest that came down to her waist with a double button tall collared jacket underneath. Upon her hands, she wore thick leather riding gloves with flared cuffs that came up over her sleeves.

She held out her left hand in front of her, elbow bent as to keep her forearm level with her chest as a large crow sat upon her hand staring down judgingly at any who would stop in front of the statue. In her right hand, she held a cup hilt rapier pointed down and at her side. Her eyes were covered with a blindfold while she wore a tricorn hat atop her hair which had been secured in a single braid behind her.

Her expression was warm and serene, promising mercy. Yet her lips curled in just such a way as to promise a sure and violent reprisal if challenged. Her name was Velka, something of a local legend. Said to be the descendant of a Prussian mercenary that survived the Revolutionary war and stayed. She was the town’s first judge, highly respected for overseeing many difficult decisions of the townsfolk and rumored to have been associated with the occult. To some she was a folk hero, others a historical figure and a select few would even call her a goddess.

You see, beneath the thin veneer of quintessential small-town America, a secret war was being fought. Powerful organizations had gathered, some were there out of a sense of duty or righteousness, others for their own ends, some would struggle simply to maintain the status quo. If Emberburgh were to fall, humanity may soon follow. The nature of this conflict demanded the utmost secrecy and so a pact was drawn called the Keepers’ Accord. Those who broke it were seldom left alive to do so again and no expense was spared to manage the cleanup afterward. Bribes, mind alterations, exterminations, these were all methods these organizations would use in their attempts to cover up the truth, to protect both themselves and our world no price was too high to pay. To them, the ends would always justify the means. There was an exception to this of course. If someone was directly, or indirectly considered valuable to one or more sides many a sin might be overlooked so long as it did not affect the delicate balance of the Keepers’ Accord.

However, none of that had any relevance to Jayne Bronwen’s current predicament.