Light filtered through the heavy canopy creating a map of light and darkness across the moist forest floor. Ashe was restless as he crouched between two leather-barked trees. His breath soft and quiet as he watched the buck graze peacefully across the small meadow; with slow movements, Ashe drew back his father’s bow, its string pulling taught, ready to be released. The smooth feathers of the fletching brushed against his cheek as he whispered a prayer to the ancient gods where upon he released the arrow sending it whisking away from him; The buck jumped as the arrow grazed its shoulder; with a snort, it bounded off through the trees. Cursing himself for a fool, Ashe stood and walked to where his arrow lie buried to the fletching’s in the soft loam. He withdrew his arrow and shook the dirt from the stone tip, placing it back in the quiver next to the half dozen others that hung on his right hip.

With a sigh, he turned back down the path and started for home; the slow jog had him sweating as he made the final descent into Arriad. A smile broke across his face as he stood looking down at the patch work of fields that surrounded the town, making the small hamlet of thrown together cabins look insignificant amongst the great towering giants which stood as sentinels for the Dri’stian forest which stretched away as far to the south as an eye could see. His smile soon faded at the memory of the lost Buck, dreading the inevitable confrontation with his father about the lost meat Ashe started meandering down the gentle hill; letting his hand graze the high yellow grasses which stood to the North of town acting as a buffer from the stone and trees of the mountainous slope which he had just came from. As he drew nearer to the outskirts he could hear Horace working his anvil; the loud screeching of André, the bakers wife, as she berated her husband for some unknown offence; children ran and shrieked as they played in the mud puddles left by the recent rains. He walked a little faster as soon as he heard the groan of a wagon coming down the dirt road that led the way into town.

The smell of unwashed bodies assaulted his senses as the wagon drew closer; stepping lightly out of the way as the wagon passed leading a group of twelve prisoners, tied hand-to-hand, in a long procession. The string of coughing and the down trodden look of the prisoners had marked them as new slaves being sent to the Drivden mines to work ‘til sickness or disease took them. The slave drivers were not much better; their faces, a mutiny of scars and pock marks. The loud crack of a whip split the air and with it came the curses and shouted orders that always surrounded the slave trains. Most of the slaves were covered only in the barest of cloths tied around their waists; some others were wearing the tattered remains of what once had been the fine garters and vibrant pantaloons of nobility. The slave processions were new to this area of Lantra; there had been a steady stream ever since the King’s army had defeated the Libens in the North East. Ashe sneered in disgust at the procession, The whole idea of slavery was a new and Barbaric undertaking for the kingdom; it had, however, served to increase the King’s coffers, but was offset by the mountains of dead that they had to burn. Sometimes, on the clearest of nights, He could see the orange glow over the hills that signaled the need for more slaves. The slave drivers were like a slow poison that had seeped into the kingdom. Their kind had come, one or two at a time, selling their “wares” to the highest bidder.

“Disgusting filth”, He mumbled under his breath as he watched the wagon, and parade of slaves, disappear from view beyond the gruff wood buildings. Chickens and children clotted the road into Arriad. In the wake of the slave wagon, the children’s eyes were left wide and the whispered fears left a palpable heaviness to the air. Grimacing, He stepped around the group, skirting The Lamb and King’s Tavern front steps, walking with an eagerness to be home and away from the lingering tension.

A deep voice echoed across the small lawn, “Brodie! Let go of Shayla’s hair this instant! So help me, if you make me leave my shop to make you….”

Ashe smiled as he turned the handle of the pine door, a cool silence greeted him as he quickly stepping inside to avoid the back side of his brother in-laws vehement tongue lashings, sighing with gratitude as the world slipped away beyond the thick wooden door. He slipped off his father’s bow, leaning it against the wall, slowly he tugged off his boots and the simple, leather quiver that held his arrows he placed it on a peg near the door. Quietly, he ghosted through the house, making sure that no creaks or groans came from the roughhewn pine floor boards.

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Cautious as always he opened the door to his father’s room, looked inside making sure that no articles of clothing draped over the furniture. The room was sparsely furnished and tidy despite his father’s love of local whores. Ever since his mother’s passing his father had found that rough spirits and hardy whores eased the pain; he had taken to having a new one each fort night. When sure that his little brother and niece would find no evidence of his father’s indiscretions, he closed the door and headed for his room at the rear of the house, silence greeted him as he entered. Ashe was grateful for that, he had chosen this room three years ago when his family had moved here from the capital for that very reason, for as long as he could remember he had found the company of silence to be preferred to that of raucous people. Ashe glanced around making sure everything was in order and nothing had been moved, he had come into the habit of surveying his room for differences upon finding one of his fathers “romances” living out of his room while he was in the mountains. Satisfied that all was as he had let him he headed to his small wooden framed cot and laid down, after a week in the woods he was cold, wet and exhausted after he had shucked the tight doe skin boots that were ever so slowly wearing away sue to the passage of time and the wear of the forest, with a sigh he fell forward onto on the small cot that he called a bed with heavy eyes and a cloudy mind he drifted off into a deep sleep. Ashe’s heart was heavy as he lay in his small, quiet room. The images of the slave procession and the misery etched on the faces of the prisoners haunted him. The reality of the world outside his window was a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the forest where he had spent most of his days. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, the knowledge that he had to do something to help those who suffered under the tyranny of the slave drivers. The thought of his father’s disregard for the pain of others made him feel even more alone and helpless. But he knew he couldn’t give up. He had to find a way to make a difference, to bring justice to those who had been wronged. Ashe’s thoughts churned with a mixture of determination and despair, as he drifted off to sleep, hoping for a better tomorrow. However instead of peaceful sleep Ashe’s dreams were filled with the faces of the slaves, their eyes imploring him for help. He woke up with a start, sweat drenching his clothes, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he couldn’t just sit idly by and watch as the world around him crumbled under the weight of oppression and greed. He had to take action, to do something to make a difference. Ashe got up from his cot, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew he couldn’t do it alone, but he didn’t know who he could trust. The fear of betrayal gnawed at his gut. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to try. Ashe quickly got dressed and headed out of his room, his steps quiet as he made his way through the house. He paused by the door, listening for any sounds of his family stirring, but all was quiet. Ashe slipped out of the house and into the early morning light, the forest stretching out before him. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool, fresh air fill his lungs, and set out towards the town. Ashe didn’t know where to start, but he knew he had to keep moving forward. He had to find someone who shared his ideals, who was willing to fight for what was right. Ashe’s heart was heavy with the weight of the task ahead of him, but he knew he couldn’t turn back now.

Ashe’s dreams were haunted by the images of the slaves he had seen earlier. He saw their faces, twisted in agony and despair, their bodies battered and broken from the harsh conditions of the mines. He saw the slave drivers, their whips cracking against the flesh of the helpless prisoners, their cruel laughter echoing through the caverns. He felt the weight of their chains on his own wrists, the suffocating darkness of the mines surrounding him.