“It had all been so empty. A haven that was untouched for miles beyond what the eye could see, to the ends of the earth where the waters turned from blue to black. In order to keep this sanctuary safe, the Cayuga knew they would need to watch over the land for many generations to come. And so you see, that’s where it all began…”

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Before there were sheriffs, or provinces, or names of landmarks and grasslands, there were the Primals. A congregation of sixteen Sukas who would go on to not only create the rules and traditions of the land that generations after would abide by, but the ones who started those many bloodlines of offspring themselves. With them, they brought their friends, families, the lost and the tired who sought sanctuary from the ruins of a world not a few miles behind them. Traveling down from the further north, the Primals and their followers encountered hardships far beyond what many could comprehend. Hostile humans, hungry infecteds that strolled down dirt paths in broad daylight, tainted waters in every direction, and a hope so bleak it is of awe and wonder as to why this pack of dogs continued to push onwards. Many people in passing spoke of ‘Eden’, a paradise where all the herds had migrated to, and where the skies seemed bright rather than ashy and grey with the tarnished lives of civilizations long ago. However, as the decades began to tick, tick, tick away, tales of eden became nonsensical, hopeless, stories to tell the unfortunate young ones born into a grim world. Most pushed forwards for survival, for many the world as they knew it, was all they had ever seen; the imagination of a place where the leaves still clung gleefully to trees, the fish swam upstream with vigor, and the birds chirped was simply a tall tale, a myth. To even fathom a place of such existence seemed to take an individual whose mind was already long gone. 

 

The pack of sukas had grown and would continue to grow the more lost souls seem to stumble into the hands of a man named Obis. Once a man who valued his isolation, but fell victim to the gleam in the eyes of those who called for help along his travels. Giving but gruff in the ways in which he would teach them to avoid ill waters, and ground herbs into medicine; a man of knowledge and leadership that aligned steadily with the wisdom he gained in his age. It was him that undoubtedly gave all the others who tracked his footsteps, the hope they sought. Before he could count them all, the accumulation of others had grown to not just a family, but a family of families. Three, four, five generations all sitting next to one another. All of them crying out in silence for a place in which they could lay their heads at night. Never again to awaken to the sounds of screams, fear, and shrill yells ringing through the air of another body who had fallen to the vicious cryptids of the night. Perhaps it was these cries which plagued his mind that kept him moving them all forward, encouraging, hopeful but stern. 

 

“Always practical, but never dismal, that was Father Obis.“

 

This pack, lead by Obis, would come to be known as the Cayuga, roughly translating to the ‘starting place’ in Iroquoian, of all the sukas in the Edge. There are many stories and legends about how the Cayuga stumbled upon the Edge, and no one can quite be sure which story is true. Some say they shed blood over the lands to take ownership from the natives. Painting the reeds red with victory and sticking their flags in the highest tops of the mountains. Others swear by the light that the Cayuga came peacefully, upon untouched lands that were overgrown with a lack of civilization. Where prey dominated and all other living things coexisted without war. The rest claim the Cayuga themselves never existed outside of the Edge at all, that all separated families had met one another simultaneously and taken root. What is true, is that the Cayuga did settle in the land of what they called The Edge, and almost immediately following their settlement, a government of some sort became incredibly inevitable. 

 

In gathering at what would come to be known as Peach Blossom, Obis called upon the strongest of hearts, the leaders who he saw in futures ahead, the ones who would come to be trusted and known as the originals, the Primals. They would not only begin a legacy of protectors, but come to define all that the Edge stood to protect. Of the group, there were sixteen chosen ones:

 

Obis, Kolheo, Asad, Chubee, Ese, Abkelo, Gion, Yanni, Evo, Iris, Keisi, Ada, Reva, Razna, Vahra, and Vanasqi

 

Each of these dogs were sent out to scout the rest of the lands, as far as they could go before reaching the ends of the earth where the water lapped at the ground. In every direction they went, and while some only took a few days to return, others took weeks upon weeks to finally come home to the marshland. Together the sixteen sat down, mapping out what they could of the lands, blocking off the areas that seemed uncertain and dividing up the areas into much smaller provinces. They were then assigned to provinces, some volunteering, others at random were given their share of land. Obis ordered them to take their families, their friends, and the others and settle into these new lands. Within a month’s time, he asked them to come back to the marshlands to see how they were getting along, what information they had learned, and what would be needed in order to move forwards. 

 

These monthly meetings worked well for a while, until expansion of territory began and the original sixteen spread thinner and thinner with their responsibilities and their people. Until fights broke out amongst neighboring provinces, everything had seemingly been lacking of order and rules. It had become increasingly clear that all the sukas could not simply live in these lands without a sense of leadership, and Obis had simply become much too old to carry them all on his back any longer. Within two years time, the Primals had met once again to discuss their grievances for leadership in the wake of Obis growing older and sicker. For they feared without his presence, there would be no one voice to follow any longer, and all life in the Edge would succumb to chaos beyond the Primals control. Obis heeded their concerns, and agreed they must find a solution to their quickly approaching demise. 

 

 

A place in the Edge was chosen as the sanctuary for where the rules of the world, the law of the land, would be forever marked. At the top of a summit where mountains and tall slabs of rock and forest shielded out everyone else, lay a large cave. It spanned for miles deep, taking days to reach the ‘end’ of it, and stood at least three-hundred feet tall at the mouth. The seclusion of this place, one primed and scouted, would become the perfect location for the training and rearing of what would be known as the Sheriffs, their safe haven, where they would live. This place would be deemed, Primal Summit. 

 

The Primals sat down to hash out the rules of the land, never being too strict, too dictator-like, but always remembering that the preservation of the land and those within it, would always come first. Once the rules were made the first Sheriffs were then brought to the summit. The keepers of peace who were created to govern the land, and continuing governing the land long after their mothers and fathers, the Primals, had passed away. They would be given the highest responsibility of keeping peace throughout the land, and enforcing the short list of laws the Primals had created, marked on the walls in their blood inside the cavern walls to be untouched forever. Of the sixteen, eight Primals were allowed to choose only one of their offspring of the new year, to become a Sheriff. Each Sheriff chosen were similar in age when they first began, nervous but willing to be passed the torch of leadership the Primals were soon to bestow upon them. However, first came the training and the education of the laws, the ritual in which they would learn to live and follow in what would begin to be a very isolated lifestyle. Sometimes it is wondered if the Sheriffs were chosen and willing, or forced into their role due to the blood which ran vigorously through their veins without permission. They were trained by the Primals in various ways, aiming to create as versatile offspring as possible. This began with pushing the physical and mental boundaries of the pups, forcing them to stay strong and healthy by learning how to navigate all types of terrain. Being able to be let loose in the north and make it all the way down to the south without ending up lost or dead; learning how to use their skills to survive on their own with no protection, whether it be through hunting, trekking, or the crafting and knowledge of herbs in the land. This was a testament to their skill in the world, as they would need to periodically check and govern the surrounding provinces, they could not simply live in their tower in the clouds forever. No inch or corner of the Edge was unknown territory for the Sheriffs, and even blindfolded, some claim that a Sheriff could still find their way back to the Summit without failure. 

 

With careful rearing, the soon to be Sheriffs would grow into their diplomatic abilities, their adaptability, and their ease when it came to talking to other pack leaders, delegating orders (for preservation of safety in accordance to the law), and being able to use their critical thinking and intelligence to fairly judge issues and wade through conflict without the slightest of hiccups. The first of their kind, truly raised to be leaders who lived for the good of many, rather than the good of the few. Lacking of selfish desires and heartlessly bitter actions that would otherwise be deemed too cruel, and too power hungry. With the help of the budding leaders and the Primals, a place of land-wide meeting was chosen. A place in which all could come to air their disputes, and where all would go to hear the law and order of the Sheriffs in action when the time came for it. Over the largest river in the Edge, a broken bridge which would lead one to an area that was otherworldly. Where shallow pools of water poured over the edge of ruins reclaimed by nature. This place would lend itself home to the meeting of all sukas in the land. This area would become neutral territory, where no man or pack could govern, this place was called The Underground. Packs and loose natives of the land could meet here under the bridge, where the river waters roared, and the vines entrapped the ruins of a once civilization. There was nothing like it in the rest of the Edge, a landmark, a staple that would symbolize where the law of the land would be ratified. This was the birth of their nation, the Cayuga had been the seed, the Primals were the seedlings, and the Sheriffs would become the large sequoias over the land for centuries to come. 

 

Creating the most unbiased persons that the Primals could sculpt, there was only one thing left to create in their ritual that would truly reinforce the idea of Sheriffs being greater than oneself, and more powerful in spirit than the rest.  The following trial in which the first Sheriffs (and their offspring) would endure willingly drinking contaminated waters and coming down with the infection, only to fight it off, and regain immunity over the virus as a whole, would become the most sacred trial. The Awakening became somewhat of a myth, and whether some choose to believe it or not is a preference, but many are not sure what to think. When the Primals still roamed the land, they said it to be all too true. That only the strongest and most immune, could truly be the best to oversee the land which could at any moment crawl with sickness if not properly looked after. It is said that the drinking of the given, contaminated waters is seen as a sacrifice of oneself to the sanctity of the lands in which they were born to govern. Falling ill to the infection and dying would deem a Sheriff, and that Primal’s bloodline, unfit to move forward. Those who survive are said to be immune to the infection, and more powerful for doing so in the first place. The Sheriffs are not truly Sheriffs before this moment, before the oath is spoken over them at the peak of moonlight, at the top of the Summit. 

 

“Under the moon, take your first drink of the tainted blood of these lands. Let it flow through you, but do not let it manifest. Show your strength over the blight and let it be known that you are not meant to die here, not now, or ever. You drink for your fellow brothers, your sisters, your children, the lost, the found. The innocents who may wake to a life where they know little suffering. And if you perish, know that your sacrifice has not been forgotten.”

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Only once the water is consumed, and no infection or death has incurred, may the Sheriff officially be given their official title. Once it is so, the Sheriffs before them, their parent, would leave the Summit and the Underground behind, never to return. Where the ex-Sheriffs go has been and will always continue to be a mystery to the public. From then on, the tradition was never broken, and when Obis passed naturally in his sleep two years later, the sacredness of their law and traditions, had been sealed. Not only out of respect for Father Obis, but also due to the fear and mystery which shrouded the Sheriffs, allowed for their power to be seen as the only authority in the land. Any power hungry challengers were quickly put to rest with exile or shame, and while the natives could rise up against the Sheriffs, their vital role had offered such protection and grace, that no one really ever cared to ‘dethrone’ them. So the Sheriffs lived in peace, while retaining peace, from the top of their summit. Choosing when they are ready to leave their position, a mate of random suka origin, and their firstborn (or suitable offspring)  to train and take their place. Rarely interacting with the natives unless their presence was called upon left the lands feeling free, unburdened with the strain of oppression, and kept the mystery of their existence always prevalent for the generations to come. 

 

For many years the ritual of Sheriffs never wavered, however, not all were able to survive or carry on their ancestor’s bloodlines. Either falling ill during one or more parts of their training, abandoning their cause, or simply falling too mad and too selfish for more than they were allotted. And so, almost a century later, the year is 2192; almost twelve generations of Sheriffs have come and gone, and now only four remain at the Primal Summit. 

 

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