---High above the village of Hrynn, an iron melody rang out.---
The bell atop the guild's tower echoed across the slated roofs as it swung from left to right; its banging call reached far and wide, reaching to the edge of man's carved-out domain. The bell's toll slowly came to an end as it greeted the forest, only for the dense overgrown brush and lush treetops that filled the deep depths of nature's endless greenery to absorb it.
Thick tree's of all sizes that stood the test of time rocked in the gentle breeze, there branches rustling with a mixture of leaves and thick needles packed tightly together, intertwining. For each tree was vying for more space than the other, not allowing the bell's cry to reach the mountains surrounding the village on all sides.
The bell's tolling paused for a short moment, preparing for another volley as it swung again.
*CREAKING OF GEARS AND THE FLAPPING ON LITTLE WINGS.*
The tower's goal was not aimed towards nature itself as the gradual swinging momentum picked up and the bell continued on with its song—Ringing in sets of three. Moving of ancient gears shifted as the small, frightened fluttering of birds were drowned out at the coming slams of the clapper.
*GRINDING OF A METAL TEETH, THEN A DEAFENING RING, RING, RING...*
Once nestled on the cracked and worn tiles that curved upwards to the sharp point, small birds were now fleeing from the unbearable clanging, only giving brief times of respite in the pauses in-between before swinging again to start anew.
Disturbed from their summer nests of snapped twigs and matted fur packed into the small gaps, blue and white mountain birds soared over the main square, leaving their homes that were constructed on the edges of the towers spire.
Little winged blobs of white became lost in the depths of the blue sea above, their upper bodies being absorbed into it. As a multitude of black beady eyes glanced down as they soared high above, all of them peering down at the village below and its inhabitants meandering around.
The clapper smacked again, swinging back and forth from the pull of a hidden mechanism far below, hidden in the tower that slowed.
*RING, RING... RING.*
The bell would eventually cease its call, weakening on the eighth set of chimes, letting its dying momentum take its course.
A thick rusted iron chain that connected to the large gears stopped moving—the only thing that made it all possible for the movement of this hand-forged marvel.
*RING, RING, RING OF A BELL... THEN A GRADUAL SILENCE.*
The fading birds out of reach of man's grasp vanished into the blinding embrace of the sun, instinctively flocking together and soaring to the east, only reappearing as they moved over the forest, now moving into the lush trees and the mountains far ahead, vanishing back into the wild.
For those that didn't flee from the calling of the bell were still waiting for the eventual time of peace to come, waiting on the fringes of the village, watching the village from afar.
---Down below, in the morning streets of the village of Hyrnn.---
As the village's denizens looked to themselves and the people around, replacing the now extinct call of the bell with pondering muted gazes, pausing and veering away from the mundane actions of their lives.
Puzzled eyes and confused faces gazed upwards at the blue and empty embrace. They were looking to the sharp point, aiming to the empty sky above, all of them hearing the dying wail of the bell, curious by its end, some understanding its song, others left perplexed.
A discussion amongst the growing crowd broke out of what it all could have been.
*RUSTLE OF A BASKET.*
Elderly villager holding a basket: Oh my, it can't be another one, can it? 'Confused.'
A middle-aged man dressed in worn clothes spoke softly to the worried woman that gripped onto her basket with a frail hand.
Fruit and Veg seller: Sadly, it looks like one of those weeks... (Wiping his hands on a cloth.) We best get this over with; you can leave your basket behind my stall, young lady. 'Comforting.' It will be safe there.
A warm smile appeared on the man's face, as did the older woman's, fading as the commotion from afar pulled their attention away from their brief conversation. The elderly woman released the firm grip on her wares, placing it down behind the stall of the fruits and vegetables, now hidden out of view.
*OPENING OF DOORS FROM SMALL SHACKS.*
A rumbling grew to life from the right side of the wide street that ran down from the tower. Rows of small, hurriedly made buildings rustled to life as uneven doors and windows opened, giving birth to the people who resided inside the small shacks.
The bell's final simplistic symphony roused the nearby nomadic adventurers, striking both the living and the dead who were no longer imprisoned in the sleep of alcoholic dreams and bodily pleasures of the night before.
*GRUNTINGS AND MOANS OF MEN, WOMEN AND BEASTS RUSTLED TO LIFE.*
Bodies of all proportions and heights joined the already awoken villagers on the street. A mixture of common and unknown armours, ranging from leather to steel, as well as some rarities, melded together, signalling to all that looked on that these people were part of the guild; these were the adventurers of Armellia and beyond, as bare skin, scales, feathers, and fur rustled in the cold breeze.
The sound of a gruff man rumbled to life, overpowering the people all around.
*LOUD GROAN.*
Someone stood out from the large crowd on either side, bearing a resemblance to a forgotten arc of mankind thawed and living in an age not of his own choosing.
A muscular-toned figure with pulsating veins stood, much taller than anyone around him.
Dressed in barbaric armour, a thick hide that barely concealed the broad and wide physique, the fur frills running along the top of the man's boots, waist, and wrists marked the man as a warrior of men and beasts, for the beast he adorned was that of a large bear.
The gargantuan form spoke out as he wiped away the sleepy crusty complexion from his eyes with his plump fingers, stumbling ahead and out of the door, pushing past the group that parted, not wanting to be crushed by his stature.
*TIRED GROWING GROANS.*
Kyrilla the Barbaric Adventurer: 'Gruff.' What... in the hell... is with that RINGING? (Rubbing his bald head.) Someone should smash that godforsaken bell once and for all. 'Annoyed.' Over and over!
The many people who had already populated the street ignored Kyrilla's griping, as did some of the fellow adventurers that knew the man, rolling their eyes at the antics in trying to become a spectacle for all to glare at, knowing full well he wanted admiration for his form more than his coming words.
A large fist raised up, shaking it to the tower.
Barbaric Adventurer: If it rings one more time! (Balling a fist into the air.) I will smash it myself! 'Angry.'
A quip came from someone in the back of the crowd, not amused at Kyrilla.
Lone voice at the back of the crowd: I think your head would ring louder how empty and hard it is... Should put you up there than the bell. 'Mocking.'
The brute of a man turned, trying to find the source of the remark as he swivelled, recognising the words and the tone in how it was spoken; his bulging eyes stared through the packed bodies until a new sound made its way down the street, forcing the man to leave his search.
Kyrilla: Huh... (Turning from his search.) What is it now? 'Annoyed.'
*STAMPING OF STEEL IN A RYTHMIC BEAT.*
A march crept from the lone tower.
Small glints sparked as they moved in sync in the distance, slowly materialising into view as the sounds of feet were getting louder. Little blurs just like the birds high above were not moving away; instead, they were getting closer to the crowd, looking on with interest, as was the brute of a man.
Concerned faces and wandering looks took over the packed rows of people as a wave of silence washed over them all as the stamping of steel feet coming down the opening street grew louder.
The uneasy adventurers of new and old who imitated the people around them following the villagers actions as they left the street, pushing themselves back to the walls of the buildings on either side, making way for the coming commotion.
The broad man looked down the street, lowering his hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the sun no longer accosting the bell.
Kyrilla: It looks like... 'Squinting.'
An eyebrow shot up at the coming group, the wrinkles growing on his forehead.
Kyrilla: (Looking harder, hand covering his eyes from the glare.) A bit early for a morning parade...
The slab of muscles moved back seeing all the people around his disappear, not wanting to be the only person in the now empty centre of the street.
As he reversed, his shadow swallowed the people behind him as it moved, almost squashing the little form to his rear with his huge back.
They all watched on at the glistening steel and pointed up spears move into view and down the street, all but the little form behind the grand physique peaked around, only being able to see through the small cracks.
*MARCHING OF FEET IN UNISON AND ADVENTURERS TALKING BETWEEN THEMSELVES.*
Before the large form could speak, trying to air his wonder on what was going on, a woman in a red and white silk robe whispered something into his ear, reaching up to speak to the tall man on the tips of her toes, now calming the large figure that was no longer looking on in confusion, attentively listening to her words.
The unforgiving sun beating off the thick silvery armour blinded the people closest on the street, people from all around they to realised now who these people were, they were no mere guards of the guild.
Kyrilla: (Hand shifted to his chin.) Shit... so those are the royal Armellian guards, 'Pausing.'
One of the passing guards glanced at the muscular adventurer as they marched on by, shooting an annoyed look that was mirrored the Kyrilla's.
Kyrilla: 'Interested.' I wonder how strong they are? (Flexing his muscles.) I wonder if they can beat the might of raw power gifted from the "high one" himself! 'Playful.'
In a voiceless disagreement the head of the person wearing the red and white robe shook, left to right hearing the declaration, as the lump of muscle with sentience arched arching his arms to his sides in a show of strength.
The large man felt a bump on his elbow, as he turned, he could see the small form looking up at him.
Kyrilla: Sorry about that little one... 'Worried.'
No answer came to the man's apology as the small form slinked away, heading to the open door of the shack.
*STAMPING OF SABATONS AND THE SHIFTING OF CHAIN MAIL CONTINUED ON.*
The guards, now moving away, took no real interest in the eyes watching them and marched on for another goal in mind, their metal helms locked ahead and to the front, looking to something in the distance as they were heading to the market street.
Two rows of five royal guards, dressed in shimmering silver armour from head to toe, marched on by; the copper trim along the edges of the four in front shimmering in the light separated them from the rest.
All but the four at the front wielded spears.
For the four spearless men leading the march, donning the copper markings, all they carried were a set of short iron chains and a lone sword on their hips, the unlocked cuffs swinging like a pendulum, the chains rattling.
The determined stride continued on.