A clash of iron forced a flood across the lands. Smiling soldiers drowned with delight. Men did gleeful battle at every corner. A shanty sang out, its lyrics randy and bold. The battlefield was an old oaken table; the warriors, old broken men.
A young man bore his own iron with a pearly grin. He clashed with the iron of his oldest friend and cackled as he drowned beneath the glad torrents.
“The hero of the hour!” A grizzled old veteran of these well-worn fields called out.
She stumbled in her daze. It was hard to keep a grip of the slickened ground beneath her leather boots. The first assault suffered was the smell of corpses, though none before her were so lifeless as to be forgiven for the stench. It was an older, and less healthily proportioned, man who bore the blatant signature. Death hung on his breath in the same way she imagined it would on a demon. Though she also imagined that no demon could look so heinous as he.
He was in good company here, amongst the elder patrons of battle. All seemed to bare his same onerous corpus and lecherous gaze.
One man, bearded and built, handed her an iron of her own. Icy cold to the touch and almost as pungent as the men around her; though for this, at least, she was glad. She drowned herself within the iron bounds. If the finest of drinks were the nectar of gods, then this was the piss of the devils. It was no wonder the men around her were of such poor display, the drink had drained them of any virtues and offered them as sacrifice to Taitu – the goddess of revelry.
It was not the first iron tankard she had downed this night, but it was most certainly the worst. As it was with drinks like these; once it was finished, the next would taste impossibly better.
“Hail,” the drunken master cried. “To the Kovayeshi Commander!”
The tavern erupted. The drinks flowed and the men were in hedonistic glee. The boys at the corner had stopped playing with their cards to raise a toast in his honour, “The man who beat a god!”
The killer of the hour barely managed to mask his smile. He looked around the room with a false stoicism. It was clear he wanted to bask in the revelry but also sought to forge something of a laconic visage for himself.
“Sparrow-Knight,” a younger voice called out from behind her. “Join us.”
It was a table of men and women, though they could only be called so with an ounce of generosity. In truth, not one of the men had yet to shave their first stubble and not one of the women looked as though they had ever faced a pale of ale before in their lives.
Had she been sober, she’d have never had the inclination to join them. But at this late hour, that of the witch, and this deep into her cups; she laughed and sat at the head of their table.
“I watched your fights! You were holding out, but then that last one! Damn! Is it true what they say?” A pretty, young man enthused.
“And what is it ‘they’ say?” Ash slurred.
“That you’re a grand Champion!” A freckled girl finished.
“Yup,” Ash hiccupped. “Big scary Champion! Beware my wrath.”
The young men and women seemed in awe at the admission. One, a young redheaded woman with darkly tanned skin, scrambled to her feet with a bottle in hand. The girl closest to Ash slid a fresh wooden wine mug towards her and the redhead poured some out.
“That’s amazing,” the redhead beamed. She came behind Ash and leant over her to pour her a drink. Her perfume filled Ash’s nose as she stretched over her. Caramel and sweetness mixed a little with the wine on her lips.
Once the cup was poured, she pushed the lad to Ash’s left away and stole his seat. “What are you the Champion of?” She asked as she took up his seat.
“D- dreams,” Ash hiccupped again.
“Wow, do you know what I dream about?”
“Sure,” Ash chuckled. “You dream about a gorgeous white-hair sw- sweeping you off your feet.”
“Heh, when I said I was looking for the woman of my dreams, I didn’t mean it so literally,” the redhead winked.
“So, Champion,” an eastern looking lad interrupted. “What brings you to the Forgelands? Here to study?”
“Nope, I'm here to... here to meet the king. He’s gonna give me a big ol’ castle. What about you lot?”
“Ah, we’re from Raven keep,” the redhead smiled. “But it’s Poli’s twenty-third, so we thought we’d make the trek here, celebrate.”
“Twenty-third?” Ash repeated, half shocked. They all looked so young, yet they must have all been older than she. The redhead, with her hazel eyes that seemed to burn through Ash’s cotton shirt, looked as though she had not long since turned eighteen. It seemed folk aged much more gracefully here, be it due to some miracle skin routines, or the relatively stress-free life of a city dwelling student.
It was no wonder folk had asked if Ash was Evara’s mother. In their eyes, Ash was probably in her thirties or forties.
“I’ll say, you made it a most excellent celebration!” The eastern lad, who must have been this Poli, laughed. “I’ve never seen anything so... raw, as that last bout!”
“Aye,” Ash sighed. “But in the end, the best man won.”
“Nonsense!” Amell cried over his crowd of worshipers. He waded through with a drunkard’s grace and came upon her table. “Never have I faced a battle so brilliant!” He boomed in a voice much louder than the little tavern could contain. “Did you see the sheer speed of her strikes? The raw power of her hits?”
“And yet I lost,” Ash said from within her mug.
“You shattered my great sword with a punch! Who does that? Who else could possibly do that? Thats not just impressive, it's insane!” He clasped both hands around her shoulders and squoze her in something of a distant hug.
“Not to mention your breastplate, ser,” the redhead smirked.
“EXACTLY!” He bellowed.
“What happened to your breastplate?” Ash asked.
“Well... before you collapsed, you let loose one remarkable strike. I had to shield myself with my discarded armour. Let’s say... it’s seen better days,” Amell smirked. He hefted his massive pack from beneath his cloak and dropped it atop the table. He loosened the tie and let it fall away where his armour plate was revealed.
Purple, glowing fissures webbed out across what little surface remained around the massive hole at its centre. The jagged metal caved inwards far enough that, had Amell being wearing it, she would have punched clean through his ribcage.
“I’ve seen cannons do less damage!” Amell laughed. She didn’t know what a cannon was but she assumed that it was a complement.
“How did you do it?” Poli asked, his eyes as wide as his skull would allow.
“I... Don’t know,” Ash awkwardly chuckled. She took a moment to finish her mug, where the redhead dutifully topped her up soon after. “I just... wanted to win, I guess.”
“Was it a power of your own, or your god gear?” The redhead asked.
“My... God gear, I think.”
“I don’t see what a big punch has to do with being the Champion of dreams,” one of the boys pointed out.
“Maybe it’s just to knock them out. A punch so powerful it could put gods to sleep!” The redhead giggled.
“Yeah...” Ash snorted much too harshly.
“Do you actually have any ‘dream’ powers?” the brunette woman asked.
“I erm,” Ash stuttered. “I made my sister fall asleep once.” She paused to consider. “And I have visions while I sleep. Oh, and I saw someone’s memory once! Though, that was also my sister, come to think of it.”
“Whatever your ‘powers’ may be, you’ve a bloody strong hook even without the gauntlet!” Amell laughed. He raised his cup high and all of the students instinctively joined along.
“Sparrow-Knight! Champion of Dreams! Ashtik. Let us toast to you child. Let us tell the world of your greatness, of your might. A grand Champion for less than a month, yet the grandest of women from the first breath! Mark this as the last day you shall ever taste defeat!”
“Atariim!” The students all called out as one before sinking their drinks.
“Atariim,” Amell softly said as he clinked his cup with Ash’s own.
“Atariim,” Ash offered back with a reluctant grin.
“Ashtik, hey?” The redhead whispered. “That’s a name I could get used to saying, or... screaming.”
“Screaming?” Ash repeated dumbly. “Are you in danger?”
The redhead just smiled broadly as she ran a finger along Ash’s gauntlet. “I’m Cara, by the way. Not that you asked,” she smirked while feigning offence.
“Right,” Ash coughed, “Cara. Hi.”
“Hi,” Cara snickered.
“Come now, Commander, this is the girl who you claim all but defeated you? She looks like a stiff breeze would have her at an end!” Another obnoxiously loud voice bellowed.
“The gods themselves could send all the winds in the worlds at her, and she’d not so much as flinch, ser! I swear it!” Amell blustered.
“Bah,” the other man scoffed. “It sounds to me like you kicked a little girl’s ass and now you have to make it sound as some noble feat, rather than an ungentlemanly act.”
“I swear it, ser. Offer her any challenge, and she shall prove greater than it!”
“Very well,” the man scoffed. He brandished a knife and for a brief instant, it seemed like he intended to use it. “Here,” he finally offered. He spun the blade so its hilt came to Amell’s hand. He took it and seemed to measure its balance.
“A throwing knife?” Amell realised.
“Indeed. Both of you shall throw the blade at the board. We shall score your capacities against each other.”
“What do you say, Spinny?” Amell asked.
Ash downed her drink yet again and rose to unsteady feet. “You said it yourself; I’ll never lose again!”
----------------------------------------
Three blades each, and three times a perfect score. It was a common game, even in Maester Veil. A square board, maybe a metre wide, with depictions of different creatures across it. The aim of the game was to simply call your shot and hit it. The more specific the call, and the more accurate the shot, the greater the score.
It seemed the drinks had done nothing to lessen her aim, though the same couldn’t be said of her capacity to stand. More than once, she had nearly fallen atop of poor Cara; though she clearly didn’t seem to mind.
“Ashtik,” Cara whispered. “If you can hit an eagle eye, I'll give you a kiss.”
“All too easy!” Ash cackled. Amell finished his round and, yet again, scored a boringly perfect score. He plucked the blades from the square board and offered them to Ash.
“You might as well give up, Spinny. Back home, they call me the angel of love, for I only strike hearts.”
“Well over here, we call you the Kovayeshi Clown, mostly cos’ your big ass nose, to be honest.” She toed the throwing line and readied to throw.
“Boo!” Amell shouted in an attempt to startle her. Frankly, she was much too drunk to move so quick as a flinch. All she afforded him was a venomous dose of side-eye until she returned to her strike.
“Eagle eye,” she called. The blade floated through the air, and found nothing but wooden eye. “Eagle eye,” she repeated. Again, the blade floated ever so elegantly towards its target before nestling itself deeply within the same eagle’s eye. Not a centimetre parted the two knives.
Sense told her to aim elsewhere, but as she looked to her right and saw the beaming grin of the redheaded Cara, sense took a backseat.
“Eagle eye,” she called again.
Amell cackled at the boldness of the move, but he knew that pride had beaten sense within his opponent. “Best of luck, Champion,” he wickedly grinned.
“Don’t worry about me, old man. Once I win here, we’ll put you down for your nap.”
She angled the blade to fly straight, unlike the rotating throws she had done previously. If she was to make it work, she would need to slide the knife into the hair of space that separated the two blades.
“You’ve got this, Ashtik!” Cara cheered.
She nestled the blade between the steel fingers of her gauntlet and, with a flick of her wrist, she saw the blade off.
The crowd fell silent. Not a breath was taken, but for Amell who blew jokingly at the careening blade. Then, with the chink of metal, was the round decided.
The knife had landed between the two blades, but it had not been so well placed as to hit the board and, after a brief and pathetic fall, Amell was hailed as the victor!
“Even in my old age, I prove too great a foe for the grand Champion!” Amell boasted over the cheering tavern.
Ash, at the least, was graceful in this defeat. She reached out a hand and Amell gladly clasped it.
“Just you wait till I’m sober,” she grinned. “You’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Well, I best keep you drunk then. Barman, another!”
It seemed that the events of the night had finally convinced the bar owner to pull out some of the good stuff. That, or she had simply grown too drunk to taste the horror in her cups.
“Hang on!” Ash shouted to Amell. “I have one final challenge. Something fair, to determine the grand victor!”
“Is that right?”
“Aye, what do you say? A final challenge, all or nothing?”
“And what would this challenge consist of?”
“A... test of physical ability.”
“Ha! You’re on!”
“Brilliant,” Ash said with a vile grin.
“When it comes to physical ability, do you truly believe you can compete with such a fine specimen as I?” Amell boasted. He rolled back his sleeve to expose his admittedly impressive arms while he stood flexing for a moment, clearly for the benefit of the captive crowd.
“I’m sure such a mighty man as you will have no problem defeating little old me,” Ash smirked. “Stand like this.” She straightened her back and lifted her arms high over her head. He had to move from under a rafter to do the same motion, but he did follow along.
“Then, keeping your legs straight, touch your toes,” Ash explained. She made sure to catch Cara’s eye before she folded over and touched her hands against the tips of her toes with a beaming smile.
Ash slowly unbent, tracking her legs with the palms of her hands while keeping her gaze locked to Cara. Then, with a sly smirk, she looked over to Amell. He huffed and he puffed, then he fell all the way down. It took six men to catch him, and six more to help him back up.
“I believe that makes me the victor of the night,” she said with a smug pride filling her smile.
“Oh, I'd agree,” Cara whispered closely into Ash’s ear.
“Nonsense, I won two out of three competitions!” Amell jokingly protested.
“And yet the final bout was quote, ‘all or nothing,’” Cara giggled as she stood behind Ash and wrapped her slender arms around Ash’s shoulders.
“Well... let's call it a tie,” he chuckled.
“If it’s a tie, why do you win the prize?” Cara whispered into Ash’s ear. It sent a strange shiver down Ash’s neck. The feeling of her soft lips stroking against her ear as she so intimately whispered the most brilliant words. The heat of her breath against her bare neck, and the soft warmth of her chest against Ash’s back. It was enough to make a blushing maiden of the warrior Champion.
----------------------------------------
The night carried on, and the drinks kept flowing. A band played in the corner but the music no longer offended her ears. It was an energetic dance tune. Fast and joyous. She and this Cara danced till they sullied their clothes with sweat and spilled drinks, then they danced some more.
Ash was truly awful at it. Stiff and mechanical, while her snug paramour seemed as free and flowing as her bounding red locs. It didn’t matter. She was happy following Cara’s lead, and for the first time in her life, she was happy amongst the crowd. Elated to be in someone's arms. To feel the heat of another’s body, to be in the eyes of so many. A matter of weeks ago, she’d have had a nightmare about a situation like this. Now, she couldn’t think of anywhere in the world she’d rather be.
Hopefully that was because of the greatness of current company, and not a result of the general degradation of the world beyond these mouldy brown walls.
Cara’s short red skirt caught against Ash’s sheath as the two moved closer. The flame haired beauty giggled as she unhooked herself, then she brought herself closer and placed a gentle hand against Ash’s heaving chest as she gently swayed side to side.
A couple of times, Ash tried to talk to the woman who’s hips she so gladly held, but all sense had been robbed by the many, many drinks and the words came as a jumble of insubstantial nothingness.
Cara smiled and took her hand, leading her back towards the table. She stumbled across the dancefloor and collapsed down into her seat, before Cara decided her lap seemed a more comfortable surface than the old oak bench.
“Hey,” Ash slurred.
“Hey,” Cara smirked. She wrapped her hand around Ash’s face and stroked away a single stray hair. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Mhmm,” was all Ash could manage through her stupor. The redheaded woman took her hand and started to lead her onwards to the natural next thing.
“Nope,” a man’s voice ordered. It was Amell. He came through the crowd with a strangely severe look. “You two are going nowhere,” he declared.
“What do you mean?” Cara confusedly asked.
“She’s drunk, child. In no condition for any... merrymaking.”
“She’s okay,” Cara meekly protested. “Right?”
“Ye,” Ash quietly grunted. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. If the two of you want to make off, then do so another day.”
“She was still into me when she was sober,” Cara protested, though it seemed like she was soon to agree with Amell.
“Then she will still be ‘into’ you come the morrow. Tonight, she will sleep alone. Understand?” “Shit, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Would you give her this when she sobers?” Cara asked with something of a blush.
“Of course,” he nodded, “but for now, I think it is time we made away.”
“Of course. Thank you, ser... For looking after her, I mean. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
----------------------------------------
“So, I looked up and there she was; hair on fire and the gerbil in a cage!” Ash drunkenly recalled.
“And what did she say?” Amell cackled.
“She said, ‘I’m glad you're here Ash, I think I smell a fire.’”
The two burst out laughing in the silence of the nighttime streets. Their breath clouded in the late autumnal air. The freshness, and brisk cold, helped sober the both of them up to some degree; but Ash was still barely able to stand on her own.
They pottered along the old cobbled paths, passing hazy lamplights and grimy alleys on their way.
Eventually, around twenty minutes into their walk, they had to rest on a curb beneath a beaming orange light.
Amell wrapped his lapis cloak around her as she started to shiver. The efforts of the day mixed with the drinks of the night stole away her strength and left her to lean her head against his shoulders as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Amell,” she whispered after a while.
“Aye?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Joining us. I know its riskier than you let on, being here. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thank you, Spinny. I’m glad you let me tag along.”
“Can I ask...?”
“Of course.”
“You said I reminded you of your son. Can you tell me about him?”
“Ah,” he sighed.
“You don’t have to,” she weakly said.
“No, I’m glad to,” he smiled. “My son... well he’d be just a little younger than you. Seventeen now. Not a particularly studious lad, but witty and clever. Must have got that from his mother,” he chuckled. “I think he’d have liked you. He tended to enjoy people who pushed themselves a little too far.”
“Who knows, I might have been your daughter-in-law,” Ash chuckled.
“I... did not think that was your... route? Not after tonight,” he awkwardly said. Ash gave no response but a snort. “But,” Amell quietly continued, “I’d be proud... If you had been my daughter.”
A far from little snore echoed through the cold night streets, and marked him as alone in his thoughts.
“I don’t know if your Goden watches over you. I don’t know if he can hear me, but... Choose someone else. Someone worse, or someone better... Just let her go. Please, this life isn’t for her.”
It is a noble thing, to protect and to shelter. It was his deepest wish, and there was nothing he wouldn’t have given up, as he sat beneath those frigid stars with her, to give her a chance at freedom. If only he had known what she knew, that Ash hadn’t been chosen. That the life wasn’t meant for her, but someone... better.
The winds unsettled, and the time had come to make the long and lonely trek home.
----------------------------------------
There is pain... There is shame... and then there is the pain of not remembering what caused such shame. A blanket of rough cotton had been lovingly draped over what she quickly realised was her undressed body in the middle of the common room. She might have moved to hide herself more thoroughly, had her head not bore the weight of a star.
She could have lay there, utterly inanimate, for seconds – or hours – before the most terrible of noises clashed out. It was singing, and laughing, and everything accursed and evil. It was the most dire of insults, spoken in a voice so loud the gods above and the deviled souls below must have had to cover their own ears for fear of the volume.
Then the actual clanging started. Iron on iron, like a terrible drum. It could have sounded like combat; had it not so blatantly been done with the purpose to annoy.
Sheer spite granted her the strength to roll over just enough to catch a glimpse of her beloved little sister, Evara, and her moderately tolerated colleague, Sujin, clashing together woks and pans. The genuine and beaming smile might have been endearing, had it not been so vile and cruel.
“Good morrow!” They both sang in the highest pitches their screeching voices could manage.
Ash was aware enough now to properly cover herself, but the effort of sitting up soon after proved too much for her delicate constitution. Bile mounted up in her throat and made ready to storm the breach.
She did not waste a word, before running off to the nearest toilet and releasing the nights mistakes deep within. The sound must have bounded through the halls, as Evara quickly came in behind Ash.
It must have been a sight to behold. Ashtik, the Black Heretic, covered in naught but a blanket and black steel gauntlet, violently vomiting in a borrowed toilet.
She felt Ev stroke a gentle hand over her bare back as her other hand moved away the stray hairs that clung to her face.
“Here,” Ev said. She placed her hand more firmly against Ash’s back as her eyes took on their golden hue.
“No,” Ash spluttered. She gently pushed Ev away, but the effort caused a new bout of sickness. “Don’t waste your energy... on a hangover,” Ash managed to get out between sicknesses.
“Don’t be silly,” Ev protested. “I need you better so I can hear about this Cara.” A bright beaming smile caught her rosy little cheeks. The name rang in a familiar way, but was not so clear in her mind as to warrant the due embarrassment. “Besides,” Ev continued. “I need to practice if I ever want to get stronger.”
Ash might have argued or resisted, had the healing not been so powerfully soothing. In moments, what had been agonising became easy. What had been the verge of death, became a mild headache and what had been her happy little sister, now became a sack of beans collapsed against her back.
The power that had somehow allowed her to heal a mortal wound in Sujin was truly gone. Now, the minute of exertion had left her utterly inert. Ash was still proud, however. A minute was much longer than she had previously been capable of.
Ash took her baby sister into her arms and carried her off, into the common room. She set her down delicately in a mound of cushions and stroked back some of her hair.
“Sis,” Ev meekly whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You stink.”
“Love you, too.”
“Have no fear! Eggs are here!” The booming voice of the old warrior bellowed. He marched in from the kitchen, four plates spread along his arms.
Ev jolted up in an instant, sniffing deeply. “I smell bacon,” she declared, seemingly without a trace of her signature fatigue.
She bounced up and hopped across the room like a little rabbit until she set herself down at the table, patiently awaiting her meal. Ash wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself and sat at her sister’s side. The boys sat across from them, though there seemed a clear tension between the two. Ash chose to ignore the suspicion and instead turned to Amell’s bright face. “Did Evara lessen your hangover too?”
“Nope, I cured my hangover the old-fashioned way... By not getting one,” he smugly said. “Now eat. The grease will help whatever is left.”
Grease, at least, was plentiful on her dish. The six rashers of bacon seemed to float in it, let alone the fat sausages that lay within the sauced beans. A layer of oil sat atop of the tomato paste where the sausage had rolled as the plate had been placed.
She took up the strange Forgeland version of a fork, and prodded at the first sausage.
“Are you gonna eat that?” Ev quickly asked.
Her entire plate was empty, not a spec left to clean. She must have licked the sauce away, rather than waste even an ounce of food. Ash couldn’t help but laugh before she agreed, “probably not. I’m still a little timid. Here.” She handed the plate over, and again, it was gone within a blink. Ash thought she had been quick during the tourney against Amell, but she had nothing on Evara versus a strip of fatty bacon.
“My compliments to the chef,” Ev giggled in an inappropriately lady-like way after her rabid display.
“I shall pass that along,” Amell chuckled. The laugh seemed forced, painful even. Everything about him seemed a little sluggish, in fact. He toyed with his food more-so than devoured it, like Ev did. His eyes seemed heavy and bagged as they slowly and randomly moved around the room.
“I’ll fetch some water for you, Spinny.” He rose in a way that would be fitting for a man of his age, had that man not also been a titan of physicality. He all but waddled towards the kitchen, never looking back.
“Spinny?” Ev scoffed.
“Excuse me a sec,” Ash whispered. She stalked out of her chair and into the kitchen behind the old man. He keeled over the counter and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
Ash swiped a pair of pans and snuck just behind his back.
BANG, BANG, BANG rang out in a steel chorus. If he was so energised as to jump, he’d have left his skin behind as he landed on the roof above them. It was as agonising for Ashtik as it was for the old man, but it confirmed what she already knew.
“Not hungover, my ass!” She cackled.
He had no words, but for a gasping breath as he tried to steady his pulse.
His hand scampered over the countertop behind him, where he found a single potato and launched it, with murderous intent, towards her head. She managed to duck away, and slid back into the common room.
“Ash, did you do this?” Ev gasped. Ash walked over, checking her shoulder for the old man’s potato assault. Evara and Sujin were hunkered over some strange workbench that Sujin had mounted on one of the smaller tables. Within, rested Amell’s burst breastplate.
“Oh, yeah,” Ash said.
“H- Fucking... how?” Ev demanded.
“Well, I... punched it.”
“You punched through an inch of hardened, enchanted steel?”
“Mhmm.”
“Neat.”
“The damage is severe,” Sujin stated as though it wasn’t obvious, “But I can fix it.”
“Really?” Ev doubted.
“Indeed, observe if you wish.” He pulled out a pouch of jade green powder and set it atop the workbench. He then drew a set of strange tools in a leather binder. He pulled free a single scalpel like instrument and set it against the broken steel. It sliced through the metal like it was butter.
He cut around the hole, removing each jagged and bent edge. Once the broken parts were in hand, he placed them into a small cup and sealed it shut with a runed lid.
He drew out another tool. This one was like a flute, only the jade powder was placed in the top and a small stick strummed along its length. With each stroke, a little dust filtered through the bottom of the device. He traced along each crack and shatter, sprinkling the dust precisely over each part.
Sujin then drew a large leather chest piece. He placed it beneath the metal and allowed it to fill in the gap Ash had punched. Then he took up the cup of steel shards, and released a small tap. Molten steel poured over the leather mould and made the shape of a breastplate. As the molten steel came into contact with the jade dust around the hole, the green powder erupted in a quick flash of flame. Once it settled, a green seam filled each crack and held the breastplate together perfectly. Sujin removed the leather template and presented the finished piece.
“There we are, stronger than new!” He proudly said.
“Just like that?” Ev doubted.
“I make it look easy,” he grinned, “In truth, this took a decade of careful study to do.”
“We are lucky to have you then,” Ash said.
“Thank you, Ashtik.”
“So, what are you two up to today?” Ash asked.
“Well, I thought I’d visit an old friend. The Ducissa. I might say she would want to meet you, Ashtik. She would be a great ally when you go to meet the king,” Sujin said.
“I, erm,” Ash stammered. Some part of her knew that she should go, but the rest of her wanted nothing less. The idea of meeting some noblewoman would turn her stomach at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. Her plans of spending the day asleep in the great baths seemed much more desirable than some stuffy meeting.
“Go, Ash. You need all the help you can get, and the most powerful woman in the largest city in the world seems like a pretty helpful friend to have,” Ev said.
“It’s something you’d be better at,” Ash insisted.
“She’ll want to meet the Champion, not the Champion’s little sister. If I go, it’ll be something of an insult. Seriously, I know you’ll hate it but you have to do it.”
“Fine,” Ash acquiesced. “And what will you be up to today?”
“Rosie told me about the arch healer down at the courts. Apparently, she’ll do free lessons for anyone with a talent for healing magic! I was thinking that I’d go down and ask for a lesson, if that’s okay?”
“Fine,” Ash said with a forced smile. “But promise me you’ll tell her about what happened in the forest before she teaches you any spells.”
“I swear it.”
Sujin placed his jade powder away and turned to Evara with a warm smile, “We journey in the same directions, then. We should walk on together.”
“Absolutely,” Ev agreed. “But if you’re meeting the ducissa, Ash, go get a bath.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Ash sighed.
“Just don’t take all day again.”
Ash grunted in annoyed response, but she managed to rise and make away for the baths.
“Amell!” Evara called out.
“Aye?” He replied from within the kitchen.
“What are you up to today? Want to join me at the chapel?”
“As... entertaining as a day of silent prayer sounds,” Amell chuckled as he entered into the common room, “I was planning on gathering some materials for our journey to Raven keep.”
“Very well, but make sure you are all back by the twentieth hour. I want to have a group meal before we’re forced to move on from here.”
“A group meal?” Ash snickered. “Tell me you aren’t cooking.”
“I can cook,” Ev said, abashed. “But Rosie said she’d help.”
“Who?”
“Sister Rose, the maid they assigned to me,” Ev explained. “Did they not assign one to you?”
“Oh,” Ash grunted. “Yeah, Mei. I forgot about her.”
“You two get maids?” Amell asked with a bite of humour. “Where’s my maid?”
“They must have assumed that you were Ash’s man-at-arms. You’re just too common for service, I'm afraid,” Ev said in her haughtiest tone, sticking her nose up to the two men.
“Common?” Amell repeated in feigned shock. “I’m the only actual nobleman here.”
“I don’t think nobility counts when your queen declares you a traitor,” Ev smirked. “Or when you look like... that.”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Don’t get me started, I’ve got a full day planned and much too little time to tear your ego apart.”
Amell tried for a smile, though Ash couldn’t help but notice him stroking a hand through his overgrown stubble and shaggy hair.
“Do I look that bad?” He asked of Ash.
“I’m wearing nothing but a blanket and vomit, its best I keep quiet. Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm dying for a bath.”
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Some Champions were so renown that they garnered their own cults. Folk who believed the Champion had so thoroughly embodied their patrons, or acted so inhumanly kind, that they must have been demi-gods in and of themselves. If such a fate would befall Ash, she hoped that her temple would be here; a simple bathhouse.
The only place in the world where she could be at peace. Weightless and warm in waters that cleansed even the deepest of shames. She could have spent a lifetime there, she should have, but duty called and her paradise had to be short lived.
“My lady,” an all too soft voice whispered from the far end of the halls. It startled Ash, but she hid it well. Unlike the last time, she did not flounder and splash. Instead, she simply turned to see Mei, her supposed attendant, stood with a set of cloths in hand.
“Mei,” Ash choked. “How are you?”
“I am well, thank you. Master Sujin has informed me that you plan to meet with the Ducissa.”
“I- Yes,” Ash replied. She sank deep enough into the water that her jaw suffered occasional splashes from rogue ripples.
“I have taken the liberty to prepare you some appropriate garments,” Mei whispered. She lay the towels down and removed the top one to reveal a set of neatly folded clothes beneath. “If they do not please, I will gather some others for you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mei, I hope it was no bother.”
“It is my job, my lady. Would you consider it a bother to go on a hunt?”
“Oh, I suppose not. I’m surprised you know I'm a huntress though,” Ash said.
“It is also my job to know about you, my lady. I am very good at my job.”
“Then,” Ash hesitated. “You know what I am?”
“A Champion, my lady.”
“Do you know of what?”
Mei hesitated for a moment. It seemed two or three answers battled to leap from her tongue and she had to decide which one was permitted to part her lips. “One has been granted many answers, many of which cannot be true.”
“They’re true.”
“Then you mean to tell me that you are the Champion of Black?” Mei doubted.
“No, I told you I’m Ashtik... but, yeah,” she awkwardly chuckled.
“Such seems... unlikely,” Mei slowly said.
“Believe me, I agree.”
“Then that is why Veytor’s inquisition chases you?”
“Yeah,” Ash chuckled. “The Black Heretic, they’ve dubbed me.”
“This is... a remarkable claim. Do you have any proof?”
“Aside from the gauntlet and mark?” Ash offered. She flexed the invisible muscle that allowed her to retract her steel skin. The flesh beneath had grown much paler than the rest of her skin, but the little sparrow seemed elated to have free reign of her arm. It fluttered along and danced around. It circled her bicep and landed at her wrist before regarding Mei with a little flutter.
The sight captivated the artificially severe woman. She seemed to forget her lifetime of propriety training as she drew close to Ash and stroked a hand against the fluttering little bird.
“She’s beautiful,” Mei whispered. She regained herself at the words, and noticed that she had stepped into the bath and soaked the rim of her dress. “My apologies, my lady.”
“Don’t worry,” Ash said with a forced smiled. It ceased to be forced as she finally released the gauntlet back to its preferred state. It writhed across her like a corruptive fungus before settling back around her bicep. Ash noticed that the gauntlet only spread so far as the sparrow had flown.
“It seems too beautiful for the Black Champion,” Mei whispered.
“Dreams can be beautiful,” Ash meekly protested.
“But the Black Champion... In Tave we call you the Champion of War. It is said you shall wage a war against the very night. That all will be consumed, and only if you win shall we be permitted to rebuild. Where is beauty’s place in this?”
“I cannot wage war against the night, Mei. That’s just prophesies trying to sound poetic. For all we know, the war I’m destined to fight won’t start for a thousand years, and my only role in it is to create some doo-hickey that kills one specific guy.”
“That would be the beauty of the beast, I suppose. One can never truly know, until it is too late,” Mei said. She seemed to regain her formal air as she bowed away. “Your clothes are here, my lady. Please let me know if there is anything I can help you with.”
“O- Of course. Thank you, Mei. Will- Will you join us this evening? Evara wants to have a big meal together, and you’re more than welcome to come,” she timidly offered.
“I am your maid, my lady. It would be improper of me to eat with you.”
“Sharing a meal is never improper. Besides, you’ve seen me all wet and naked now, I might as well buy you dinner afterwards,” Ash chuckled. A gentle snort found Mei who was so gracious as to even crack the first genuine smile Ash had seen from her.
“It is a... kind offer, my lady. If my duties to not keep me away, I would be honoured.” With that, she made away yet again. The bottom of her dress dragged along the floor and left a soggy trail as she went.
Ash dried herself off and wrapped her hair in a red towel with a small ignis symbol stitched into it. It quickly dried her hair, but left it in a horribly tangled mess. She bound it all in a single lazy bun and decided to deal with it at a later date.
The clothes left out were much greater than any she would have picked for herself. Not so lady like as to be restrictive and stuffy, yet still elegant and – dare she to think – even pretty.
Purple satin and silk, loose around the belly and tight around the chest. On its own, it may have been a little too exposed. But a black felt undershirt covered the chest window. It acted as both a right sleeve with a fingerless glove, and a turtleneck, for the purple overlayer lacked either. It was clear that Mei had made adjustments to the undershirt to remove the left sleeve and allow room for her gauntlet.
A pair of tight black cavalry pants, trimmed with purple seams covers, fit as though perfectly tailored. She elected not to wear the given leather boots, as the four-inch wedges made her feel off balance, so she simply slid her own armoured greaves on over the pants.
She spent a moment attaching her spear sheath to her back, and her dirk sheath inside her boot, before making away.
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Sujin stood at the threshold. Shaved and kempt in an all-white suit of the Forgeland fashion. His dark hair had been cut shorter than she had ever seen of a man outside of a monetary of military. She had seen bald men with more along the sides than he, but it was a look he wore well. It seemed a shave and a bath had done wonders for him. His skin had regained its golden hue, and his eyes had lost their weight bags. A pattern rode up his left sleeve, a flag bearing sparrow of flaming red and orange. It looked closer to a phoenix in its depiction, but it was clearly designed with Ash in mind. She did not recognise the flag it bore, but it wasn’t that of the Forgelands nor Maester Veil.
“You look dashing, Ashtik,” he smiled.
“Thanks, you scrub up better than I expected.”
“I’ll take that as a complement, then,” he chuckled. “Once your sister arrives, we can be off.”
“Where is she?”
“Dressing, I believe.”
“Gods, you should probably take a seat,” Ash groaned.
“It has already been some time, she won’t dally, I am sure.”
Ash didn’t reply. She scoffed and found a table to sit on while they waited. It wasn’t such a long wait as she expected. Mayhaps an hour before the child made herself visible.
“Sorry!” Ev shouted as she rushed out. “I lost track of time!”
She burst through the doors without an ounce of grace, but such could not be said for her appearance. Ash had seen paintings of princesses renowned for their elegance and beauty who would pale in comparison.
Silver and gold flowed like a waterfall down her little form. It pooled around her calves as the golden trim of her gorgeous dress. White sleeves carried golden flames down to her hands and linked around her middle finger. Her long flowing hair had been bound around a single halo braid and allowed to flow down to her shoulders.
Her maid, Rosie, must have showed her how to apply makeup because Ash had never seen her sister so expertly painted. Black wing tips rode over the steely and sparkling shadow over her eyes. Her natural blush had been brought to a faded pink against her dark skin. A single strip of matching pink gloss had been added to the middle of her lips and a single freckle had been marked just beneath her eye.
“Ev,” Ash gasped. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” Ev blushed. “And you look badass.” She made note of Sujin’s own outfit and smiled as she noticed the sparrow at his arm. “Is that the flag of house Macau?” She asked.
“It is,” he confirmed. “I hoped it would be a sign of friendship. The sparrow of Ashtik, with the phoenix of Lady Macau.”
“I like it,” Ev beamed. “Did you have the staff make it?”
“No. I went in to town yesterday when I realised we would be visiting.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’ve held us up much too long. Shall we adieu?”
“Of course, after you, my lady,” Ash bowed with a teasing smile.
“Thank you, my good knight,” Ev curtsied in as regal a voice as she could manage before taking her royal leave.
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The royal chapel was a sight beyond sights. The nation was not one of zealots, and yet this monument to the gods must have the grandest creation since the gods themselves tried their hands at the craft. It was not so tall as the ice spire, nor so vast as the crater from which they had left Meomi, but it was a sheer marvel of architecture. A crystal dome capped the marble and jade construction. Pillars of twisting glass coiled out and met in the middle, where a single diamond strut rested. Though it reached from the tip of each spire all the way to the ground, it looked as though it was utterly loose; resting against the small ring at the centre of the glass coils.
It must have been constructed atop of an ancient hill. A thousand marble steps stretched high, but seemed utterly unworn by footsteps.
A thousand soldiers of steel and stone stood their solemn vigils for untold centuries of silent safeguarding of this spiritual shelter. Those nearer the top had been so weathered by the countless ages that barely a trace of warrior remained beneath the formless mounds of stone. As the soldiers came lower, they seemed to be made of newer materials. She saw a bronze knight near the peak, then an iron warrior towards the middle, and a steel-clad knight much later on. Each silent warrior was bespoke. Carved by different hands in different times, but all in the same pose.
“They add a new knight for every king,” Sujin whispered. “It has become custom to grant the warrior the best technology of the era. Look, there’s king Donaleaf’s.” He pointed out to the statue clad in runed silver armour with a great hammer resting where most others equipped blades. It was nowhere near the bottom of the chapel, but it was the last knight added as yet. Maybe three-hundred preceded it, while nearly a thousand spots awaited a thousand future monarchs.
“This is my stop,” Ev smirked. For as elegant and lady-like as she looked, she was still a child. She bounced up and down in place, giddy for the chance to learn of some magical ways. She was like a dog awaiting permission to tear into a meal.
“Remember your promise?” Ash said.
“Yes,” Ev quickly answered.
“Say it.”
“I’ll tell her about the forest before she teaches me anything.”
“Good,” Ash whispered. She stepped up to her sister and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Be safe, be good, and have fun. I’ll walk by later and check in on you.”
With that, Ev was sprinting away. “Good luck with the Ducissa!” She breathlessly called back as she clambered up the thousand ancient steps up to the chapel.
“Thanks,” Ash sighed. “I’m gonna need it.”
The child scrambled upwards. She skipped over some steps, and nearly slipped down others. Ash couldn’t pull herself away until she was safely atop them and entering the now distant chapel.
“Are you well, Ashtik?” Sujin asked.
“Not at all,” She snorted. “She’s gonna blow that whole building up, isn’t she?”
“I doubt it,” he lied. “She’s surrounded by some of the greatest magical minds of the nation. There can be nowhere safer in the world for her to explore her powers.”
The fact didn’t settle Ash’s mind. “Did... you find out why she... exploded?”
“I... did not,” he hesitantly admitted. “That level of magic would be difficult for a powerful magician to sustain. For an utter novice? It makes no sense. If not for everything else happening, she’d be the single most significant discovery in the magical community that I’ve ever seen."