Turning slowly back into the warehouse, Master Elbana SLowly worked on organizing the various members of the Cityguard to do all of the necessary duties associated with this kind of tragedy. Trying to convince some of the younger officers of the Cityguard to set up searches of the local neighborhoods in small groups, sending a few guards to retrieve the owner of this warehouse to answer some questions the Crown might have.

The women who were the wives and mothers of the victims were still, understandably, in the throes of their grief. Elbana herself remembered the bottomless feelings of unrestrained grief, fear, and impotent anger that only the losing of loved ones can introduce one to. She had been younger than the youngest wife here crying over what might or might not have been the remains of her husband when Elbana had lost everything she had thought she had had, in those long ago days of her childhood.

A single act of cruelty had stripped her parents, siblings, and several aunts and uncles from her life. A single cousin had been her only family from that moment onward. And that cousin had not offered to take Elbana in after the deaths of the rest of their family. She had spent weeks desolate, and wracked with tears and misery. Three family retainers had stayed by Elbana's side to continue serving her. When she had asked her cousin, who now sat in the ruling chair of their family, for help, her cousin replied to her plea by sending two of her soldiers to arrest Elbana.

Two of her family retainers had died protecting her. A simple armsman whisked her away from her family’s burning manor. Old Corr had been her mentor from that day onward. He had known nothing of raising a “Lady;” Corr had been a simple soldier. He did know the Sword. And the Lore of the Horse.

Master Elbana, herself having been raised by someone not of her blood to fight, had been given the chance to do the same for the Prince. Up to the day that Lord Ashe had approached her where she had been leading a border baron’s regulars in patrolling the lower ranges of the western mountains. She had dreams back then of revenging herself upon her cousin. Dreams that were formless, and filled with many half considered plans, and unfulfilled yearning for justice.

The chance to train the next king had been offered to her. It was actually more of a future than she had ever thought she would be able to achieve. It gave her the direction she lacked. It gave her a sense of accomplishment that busting heads in a small lord's armed retinue ever could.

It made her own pain drop further away into the distance behind her. She was aware of the parallels. But she now had a purpose beyond “Buy a new horse, get a new sword, and go kill cousin Ygga. For JUSTICE! HUZZAH!!” Slash-slash-CUT-CUT-BLEAGH! Oops, there goes yer head, cuz!

She smiled a little at the simplistic, and naive thought, cringing at herself inwardly at how often she had held up that nonsense as her “Plan.”.

A purpose could be the difference between becoming lost to one’s own grief, and growing into the person who would help others overcome such grief. She had learned that a “Plan” was nowhere near as good as a Purpose. A plan could fail, and have to be adjusted constantly if not done exactly right the first time. A Purpose, however… A Purpose was bigger than a single plan. Bigger than even a raft of plans.

Having a purpose had driven Elbana long past the borders of A Plan, into the furthest realms of Living with a Sense of Purpose and leading a life of structure. It enabled her to work toward a set of goals that could all be achieved in a myriad of ways, and gotten to by a thousand-thousand different roads.

The sobbing of the women was a constant now. Twenty years ago, she would have yelled at the women to stop crying. To take charge of themselves, and work at fixing their lives. In short, she would have completely lacked empathy in any real sense. Now, she knew better. She knew they needed their pain. These women, even the children with them, needed to rage at the world until their own healing could begin. Their tears of anguish slowly bled the misery from their wounded souls. And they needed this.

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But, they also would need to find a Purpose that would take them beyond this pain.

She approached one of the women who had been holding herself together the best of those present. The woman looked up at her, and startled at seeing Master Elbana. Or possibly just at seeing a heavily armored woman standing over her.

“Mistress, I am sorry for your loss. May your memories bring you more joy than you now think you could ever know.” She started with the invocation she had grown up with before moving on to other issues. “If you could, please talk to that man over by the door who is writing on that scroll. We need to know who is here, who lived and left or was removed, and…”

Here she paused a moment, thinking of phrasing and tact before plowing ahead. “ …who is missing. We have mixed units of City Guards and soldiers from the palace under my command out looking for those who caused this. And we will need your help. And the help of any others who might have information about what happened here.”

The woman, about Elbana’s age, plainly dressed in faded but well patched blues and browns. She had her light brown braided hair tucked under a cap, and had the hard hands and thick arms of someone who worked hard day in and day out. She dropped her gaze from Elbana’s, and cleared her throat. “Apologies for my unseemly display. I am …” She trailed off.

“Don’t.” Elbana admonished. “You have suffered loss here tonight. It is not slight, and I nor none of my Guards judge you for it.” She was trying to think of more to say, trying to formulate some words or turns of phrase that would …help. Something that would make this woman’s world at least a little better.

The woman just stood slowly, and turned toward the door where the scribe sat writing the testimony of a tall, skinny man who stood crying and shaking as he gave testimony. A City Guard Captain stood by the scribe, acting as witness, and initialing the testimonials of each person heard and recorded. She had to step carefully to avoid the many congealing red pools.

Another hour or so passed before the elderly merchant who owned the warehouse was located and convinced to leave his house to talk to the King’s representatives about what had happened earlier. He had approached the building in a fine grump. But once in the doors, the sight of so many bodies had stilled his anger and irritation at being “bothered at this time of night!” He very quickly changed his song to one of “Let me tell you what I know so I can leave as fast as possible!”

The man was of no help beyond giving Elbana the name of the man who managed his dockside properties, including this warehouse. Yomer Slate. She had then circulated a description of Slate with her soldiers who were out looking for those still missing, as well as any sign of the beasts who had killed so many men.

Master Elbana had checked with the scribe after the merchant left. It turned out that Yomer Slate was one of those who had been missing. He was also said to be the man who had organized the meeting here in the first place. Several of the newly minted widows had mentioned either obliquely or outright that Yomer had been a devout follower of Arluon, and had been raising a stink about the “New king not being Blessed by Arluon.”

None of them, that she had heard about anyway, had said why they thought that, or why the King needed the blessing of the God of the Greater Moon, but not the blessings of any of the other gods or goddesses for some reason.

Some of the women had let the scribe know that Yomer wouldn’t talk to women directly, and often talked about burning down the temples of all the other gods, and the homes of those who didn’t follow Arluon.

…Charming… Elbana thought with a sigh. She hated men who tried to regulate who were and weren’t REAL MEN. They were often worse to the women around them then they were to the men who they tried to convince other men to scorn. She had known too many of them in the military. They always blamed others, usually women, for their own shortcomings.

In recent years, many of these idiots had flocked to the banner of Arluon. The Temple of Arluon hated it. They had no use for such stupidity and hatred. But some vocal followers of Arluon had come up with the weird idea that the Goddess of the Sun had somehow kept their God of the Greater Moon in shadows for her own glory, and that HE was truly the God who should be first in the Temple, and the god that all should worship. They often twisted scripture to justify their idiocy.

In short, they were assholes.