Bound By Blood: Treason

Bound By Blood: Treason is the first in a trilogy of stories charting the struggles of the Tyraxus Tribe and their young leader, Tyraxus The Younger. In Treason, Tyraxus, in command of the Tribe for only a few years, is conflicted between his duty to his Tribe, and his duty to his comrades, when a former pack mate, now an influential Chieftain, is accused of treason. Eager to get to the bottom of this, he sends his close ally, Caeus, to investigate the accusations. Caeus is quickly drawn into a web of deceit and treachery that may destroy the very Tribe itself.
==Chapter 1==
The boy held the armour gently in his paws, its polished surface reflecting his face, his imperfectly grown teeth, his light brow. He was still growing, being into his early teens, his fur groomed and styled, likely by a younger sibling, given the haphazard style to it. His continued to look into the reflective metal, beginning to pull faces, contort his face, smiling at his reflection. Behind him, the door hissed open, the intricate components of the bulkhead separating and seamlessly collapsing into the wall. The sudden opening of the door scared the boy, dropping the helmet with a clatter, then turning to the door, his hands behind his back, attempting to seem respectful to the silhouette stood there.
"Son, what are you doing in my armoury?" the figure called
"Ah, father... I just... I was looking at your armour. I've never seen you wear it." He said nervously. 
The figure strode forward, into the half-light of the room. He was tall, shaven, with intricate tattoo markings on his body. He was dressed in military fatigues, with a leather belt and other non-standard ornaments. He bent down on one knee, coming to his son's height, and picked up his helmet. 
"I only wear it when I must. We should not be defined as warriors, but as people." he said, brushing a small scuff mark from it. 
"Sorry father... I... I'm curious though, of the imagery on it." he said, pointing to the helmet. 
His father cracked a grin, and placed the helmet on his lap, and pointed to the decorations. It was finely engrained with images, motifs and writing, most of which the boy didn't comprehend. 
"These are a story, charting my life. Here." he said, pointing to a particular one of several warriors lined against images of several warriors "This is an image of my first battle, when I was only a few years older than you. Marauders attacked my family, and I was forced to defend myself while your grandfather kept most of them at bay."
He pointed to several inscriptions, drawing his claw along the line "These are battle honours, of great conflicts I fought in." He then turned his finger to another inscription "And these are battle lines, sacred texts that give good luck and protection to the warrior.
The boy looked on, mesmerized by the armour coming to life as a story before him, before his eyes moved up to the hammer hung over the armour. His father smiled at this, and reached up to the hammer. With a single hand, he hefted it up from its resting place and down to the ground, so the boy could see it. He timidly reached out his hand, to touch it, before recoiling and looking to his father. His father smiled at this reaction and brought it closer to them. 
"This is the Hammer of Tirex. Long ago, this was created by the forbearer of our clan, the great warrior Tirex, and has been passed from father to son for generations. One day, this will be yours." he said, patting his son's head. 
"Tell me more about Tirex" the boy smiled, looking up to him, his eyes beaming.
"Long ago, before we became part of the Covenant..." the father began, before an alarm indicating the activation of the intercom chimed up. He moved to the intercom and pressed the receiver "Brother, Taranus has returned, and he has a whole clan at his back. We need you on the bridge." 
The father looked back to his son and motioned his head out of the door "I must deal with this, go to your room with your siblings."
"Will you tell me the rest of the story when you return?" The boy asked
"Of course, now run along." he said, pushing on his back
The boy stayed awake for hours, waiting quietly in the darkened bedroom, while his siblings tried their best to sleep. The ship rocked several times, but given the size and sophistication of it, they felt like gently rolling motions. The boy stayed up as long as he could, and was almost ready to sleep, when the door opened, and a large figure, obscured by the light shining behind him. He could make out the silhouette of the hammer, and leapt from his bed with glee. 
"Father, I waited all-" the boy said happily before he stopped in his tracks. He recognised the pheromone scent. It wasn't his father. His uncle stepped forward, holding the family hammer, and holding the battered helmet of his father in his paw. He held the helmet out to the boy, the child wrapping his small paws around it. The helmet was dull and scratched, with dried blood stains and fresh damage. He looked up to his uncle, who held a great sadness in his eyes. 
"Your father has fallen in battle."
Tyraxus shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He'd dreamt of the night his father died again. It was happening a lot lately. He writhed in his bed, curling into a ball then stretching his limbs, producing a low purring to growling noise as he did, then finally sat up. The animal skin covers were perhaps unnecessary aboard a climate controlled warship, but he preferred those to the clinging cloth regularly used by his fellow Jiralhanae. He pulled it back, and sat up, rubbing his leathery forehead. He gave himself a moment to catch a few breaths, before the intercom buzzed, and a sweet human voice, speaking perfect Jiralhanae, broadcast over the room.
"Master, are you awake?" 
"I... I am. Danika, what is it?" He said, sitting up
"Iramus has asked to see you in the council chambers. Should I tell him another time?" she asked
"No, I will see him now." 
"Oh, that's good then, master I've had all your clothing prepared for you in the next room." she replied, before cutting the intercom. 
Tyraxus rubbed his face once more, before standing up. He took a few steps from his bed before stretching his arms, his shoulders rolling and cracking as he did, then approached the door. The bulkhead slipped open seamlessly, almost blinding him with light, before his eyes adjusted, and he took a few steps in. Stood by his desk in his office was Danika Pederson, his servant and aide. Danika had joined their tribe at the tender age of eight, when her father, a former slave, bought his poverty stricken family to the Tribe for shelter and food. Now she was nineteen, and had grown into a young woman, with an excellent set of linguistic and organizational skills, being fluent in human languages and Jiralhanae, earning her a place as Tyraxus' aide, organizing his life and day to day schedule. She was tall for a human female, though still dwarfed by Tyraxus, with styled, long blonde hair, reaching her waist, and sea-blue eyes, showing her northern European heritage. She was lithe, and from Tyraxus understood of human desires, curved in all the right places. At his arrival, she broke into a smile, her glossy lips covered in the make up he'd bought her. Some claimed he'd spoiled her, a simple slave rotten. They were right, but Danika had earned it with her services. 
"Master Tyraxus, I had your best uniform washed and pressed, and I've already called up Arkanenus, he's getting his armour on." Dannika said, handing him his clothes with a bow, the tag on her collar clinking. 
Tyraxus smiled and took them, and straightened them out.
"Danika, get your things for the meeting." he said, beginning to pull on his uniform. She gave a nod, hopping away, her bare feet padding on the carpeted floor. 
Tyraxus looked at her for a moment, before returning to his clothes. Danika, like hundreds of thousands of others, were slaves of the Tribe. The Tribe had adjusted to many laws, bending them to what suited them, and their aims best, but there were few laws, ancient laws that the Tribe dare not break, lest they incur the wrath of the other Tribes. One of those was the handling and ownership of slaves. Tyraxus recounted the words from the Tagran Scrolls "The Slave must own nothing, no property, no freedom, no home, not even the clothes upon their back. They must bear a symbol of their servitude around their neck, and travel as bare as the day they were made. Only those who have proven themselves may be rewarded.". He remembered this as Danika strolled away, her milky-white skin exposed, like every other slave in the Tribe. He returned to his uniform, tightening the leather clasps holding it together. Danika retrieved a satchel bag and came towards her master, stretching onto her tip toes to reach a clasp just out of his reach. As she finished, the bulkhead opened, and a warrior Arkanenus stepped in, ducking his head under the door. 
"My lord, are you prepared to leave?" He asked, his low voice reverberating through the empty room. 
"Yes, Arkanenus, lead the way." he said, motioning for his body guard to moved forward. 
Arkanenus head out of the room, hand resting on his holster carrying his Mauler pistol, a usual habit he held. Arkanenus has big, even amongst Jiralhanae, and was coated in silver armour, with a red uniform underneath. They headed down the quiet halls of the Honour Bound, the ship quiet, given it was the time between the 'night' and 'morning' shift. A few weary looking crewmen were working on the ship, patrolling, operating their stations, and a few slaves, of many races, followed in tow. Tyraxus followed behind Arkanenus, his hands tucked behind his back, while Danika walked alongside him, head held high, taking long strides, as was dictated to her during her etiquette lessons prior to her joining Tyraxus' service, several years ago.