Rage

Ashlard decided to investigate, he couldn't sleep anyway, and following his nose, he slowly made his way into the darkness. Soon he became aware of more scents, brine, fish, leather, Ashlard didn't think the soldiers had any fish, but he definitely knew they'd not been around salt. Thinking it could be another patrol, or some travellers, he continued to follow the scents. Then he spotted it, there was a slight hollow on the slope, in it was a small fire, the angle of the surrounding landscape meant the soldiers wouldn't have spotted this group unless they got this close. It was perfectly hidden, and sitting around the fire was three large men, dressed in furs and eating dried fish strips, Knurligs...

They were talking amongst themselves, but Ashlard knew nothing of their language, but by there tones, they sounded worried. He had to get back, he had to warn the others, and it became painfully obvious he had broken a cardinal rule, as his sword was back at camp. Creeping in the dark, without the scent of base camp to follow, Ashlard wasn't even sure he was going in the right direction, it was too dark to follow his own tracks. A miss-placed step caused a pile of shale to slip down the hill, making a clatter as it went. Ashlard froze, terrified that he'd given himself away. He looked back towards the camp and a Knurlig was standing on the edge of the hollow. Ashlard could see his silhouette, including the great axe he had sitting on his shoulder. Ashlard couldn't move, he held his breath, begging the stars he wouldn't be seen, the man seemingly satisfied belched loudly, turned and disappeared from view.

Ashlard, thanking his lucky stars, began to slowly descend in the direction he thought his camp was. He'd not made it more than a few meters before an explosion of shale permeated the hillside, a Knurlig was already upon him, Ashlard must have crept past him in the dark without realising. The Knurlig swung a club at head height, towards him, causing Ashlard to throw himself backwards, but he fell against the slope only narrowly missing being brained. The Knurlig, snarling like an animal, grabbed Ashlard by the hair, picking him up off the ground, kicking and struggling, the Knurlig turned and threw him down the hill.

Ashlard felt a surge of energy build within him, pushing out the fear, and with this new found power, it seemed time itself began to slow. Directing power around his body, he became acutely aware of his extremities changing themselves to beast like claws and talons. Ashlard reached out towards the ground, and as his claws began digging into the shale, he flipped himself around and landed on all fours, sliding several meters to a stop. Feeling the fire burning within his eyes, he felt control, he was rage, and rage wanted to be sated. In an explosion of energy and the metallic screeching of a demon, Ashlard tore back up the hill towards the Knurlig, who to his credit, did not try to run, he stood his ground and even swung his club. But it seemed like the Knurlig was moving in slow motion, Ashlard slipped under the blow, slashing the Knurlig across the thigh in the process, and skidding to a stop, he turned around and leapt upon the falling Knurlig, who in turn thrust his club with both hands, into the now gaping, fanged maw of Ashlard's beastly frame.

Now his head throbbed again.

FLASH

A wolf, bearing down on a child... no... A wolf bearing down on him, his staff ripped from his hands

FLASH

The Knurlig is yelling something, before reaching back and punching Ashlard, he just wouldn't give in to the inevitable. Ashlard became acutely aware of a mild pressure within his jaw, and with a small tense, he felt as a drop of hot liquid fell from the back of his throat and dripped onto the club. On contact with the surrounding air, it ignited and the burning droplet dripped onto the Knurligs furs, starting a small fire. Now the man panicked, releasing his grip on the club while he tried to beat out the fire. Ashlard tore the club from the Knurligs hands with his teeth, hurling it aside, the same way the wolf did. The Knurlig, now smouldering but extinguished, showed fear, he held his arms in front of his face, and Ashlard tensed his throat again, pouring more liquid fire over the upper body of the Knurlig, revelling in the mans screams and made the mental note, that he couldn't even feel the heat.

With an almighty crash, searing pain and having the wind knocked out of him, he realised the other Knurligs had arrived, and the one with the axe had just cleaved in his ribs. Rolling several times, across the shale, Ashlard regained control, rising into a crouched position, he squeezed his jaw with all his might, spraying a long jet of flames, completely engulfing two of the men, who screamed and writhed on the ground for several moments. The final Knurlig looked nervous, Ashlard tensed his throat again, this time, only managing a small flaming dribble to run out his mouth, he had limits, it seemed. This gave the man a burst of confidence, drawing a jagged sword he lunged towards Ashlard.

Ashlard tried to dodge this blow, but without realising the extent of his injuries, his whole side wouldn't respond properly, and only managed to catch the sword in his shoulder, instead of a fatal strike to his heart. The Knurlig thrust forward again, and Ashlard fell onto his back, taking another swipe at the Knurlig, the man chuckled, placed a boot onto Ashlard's chest and pulled the blade free. Ashlard was calm, watching the man line up the blade with his throat, reaching out with his good hand, he finally remembered to extend his scales and he grasped the tip of the sword, the Knurlig with a grunt, jumped and tried to force the blade down upon his neck. The blade slipped, Ashlard was strong, but he couldn't support this mans weight on one hand and while the blade could not cut him, it was certainly crushing his wind pipe.

Again, tensing his jaw, he barely managed a small dribble of burning liquid to seep from the corners of his mouth. The Knurlig smiled at him, a dark grin, one that meant death and he began to lift his weight again to make another thrust, a large black arrow suddenly appeared in his neck, with a gasp, the man clutched it and staggered backwards. Ashlard gasping in a lung full of air, rolled over, to see Blain standing on the edge of his vision holding a large bow. Ashlard new this wasn't good, Blain would kill him out of fear, if nothing else. Then it hit, a smell, metallic and sweet, and a dark craving came over him, turning back towards the struggling Knurlig, Ashlard crawled towards him, coming within reach of the man's leg, he began dragging the struggling Knurlig back towards him, as he came face to face with the man, he saw fear in those bloodshot eyes, and with a snarl, he ripped the arrow from the Knurligs neck and sunk his fangs in to replace it.

FLASH

Drinking with his friends, the barmaid bringing him an extra beer "on the house"

FLASH

The barmaids silhouette in the moonlight, overwhelming desire and a small ring carved of opal

FLASH

The woman I love in a white dress, she's crying with joy as we spin around arm in arm.

FLASH

Kissing my wife, then my child, before heading outside to meet with the others, one throws me a jagged sword...

FLASH

Ashlard opened his eyes as he lifted off the lifeless man. He wasn't in pain any more, and it seemed like the worst of his injuries were healed, though a bit stiff. He spun around and Blain was standing behind him, pointing a fully drawn bow at him.

"Ashlard?" he asked, "Ashlard is that you?"

Ashlard thought for a moment, realising if Blain intended to kill him, he'd have tried already. Focusing his power and relaxing his mind, Ashlard found himself returning to more human features.

"I don't know what you are lad," said Blain, "but if that's what your capable of now, I'd hate to cross you in the years to come."

Blain then simply relaxed his grip on the bow, placed the arrow back in the quiver, and beckoned Ashlard to follow. They walked in silence, only the sound of shale cracking beneath their feet disturbed the atmosphere.

"My grandfather used to tell me stories," said Blain, "stories about beasts that became men, about how they sometimes lost their minds."

Ashlard was staring at his feet, realising he was naked, his clothes had burnt away.

"I need to know," Blain continued, "are you a threat to us?"

"No," said Ashlard, being unsure of his voice, "I don't even know what I am any more."

"Well if you're able to do something like that, and you can control yourself, I'll have you on my personal guard if you're able."

Ashlard just shrugged and continued walking, he didn't know what was going to happen, and resigned to the fact that his life would be far from straightforward. The other soldiers were still sleeping when the pair returned. Blain led him to the cart and with the help of some wine and scraps of cloth, Blain helped him get most of the gore off himself.

"I suppose it can't be helped," Blain sighed, before tossing Ashlard a green tunic emblazoned with a white lion. "You won't be able to wear those scraps if you want to keep your secret."

"Why are you helping me?" asked Ashlard, removing what was left of his shirt.

"I'm not... I'm helping the kingdom," was the reply.

Ashlard didn't get any more sleep that night. He was too twitchy in the silence, but as the sun began to rise, Ashlard begun to hear flies buzzing as they flew past him and up the hill. He had a sick feeling in his stomach thinking about the previous evenings events. More, he was worried about the possibility of more Knurligs coming, these men clearly knew the area, maybe there were more?

Blain soon stirred, sitting up from his slumber, he cast weary eyes towards Ashlard for a moment, before clambering to his feet and waking the others. To the annoyance of the soldiers, Blain forbade lighting a fire to cook some meat, they seemed suspicious, but said nothing, even casting weary glances at Ashlard when they realised he was wearing colours.

The morning however was uneventful, and soon they were on their way. Ashlard quickly realised he was still sore from the axe blow to his ribs, and once again found himself sitting on the cart. He couldn't help but notice quick glances cast back towards him from the soldiers while they muttered amongst themselves. These men weren't stupid, but they knew better than to question Blain, and after a few hours marching, the air seemed to clear about the issue, and once again they joked and told stories like before. By late afternoon, the group emerged from between cliffs, to a beautiful sight. They had made it to the top of the mountains and were now looking down towards the capitol. They were still days away, but the light falling along a distant ocean illuminated the side of the mountain, and in the distance the dark shape of a castle was visible. Ashlard could make out the wall and some towers, but not much else, he just marvelled in the view.

"Tel Atun," said Blain, catching Ashlard's gaze.

Looking down towards the base of the mountain Ashlard could see a forest, this one looked different from where they had come from, but it still held a level of familiarity for Ashlard, and he took comfort knowing he would be among trees again. As the sun began to drip over the horizon Blain ordered a halt. Bedrolls were unpacked, a meal of stale bread was the meal and to the light protest of the men, there was no fire to keep everyone warm, so the men huddled closer together than usual. Ashlard noticed that Blain had seemingly wound up sleeping directly beside him, but was already fast asleep. Ashlard lay himself down, and after a brief pang of regret for the previous night, he fell asleep listening to the wing beats of night flying creatures.

A strange feeling woke him Ashlard, it was still dark, crickets were chirping in the distance. Ashlard's stomach felt strange however. He was hungry, plain and simple, Ashlard wasn't surprised, he'd eaten nothing but apples for days now. With a groan Ashlard crawled to his feet and walked quietly towards the cart, patting the donkey as he walked past. The interior of the cart was dark, but Ashlard patted around until he found the bag of apples, there was only a couple left, with a sigh, he picked up one and took a bite. Ashlard continued to eat his apple as he made his way back to his bedroll and seemingly satisfied, crawled back in and went back to sleep.

Around dawn, as the men began to stir, Ashlard was awoken to the sound of hooves, jolting awake he saw it was a Royal Soldier. The man skidded to a halt in front of the camp, flicking his head wildly from side to side, Ashlard took notice of his right arm, his green tunic, stained red with gore, and hung limply. Blain approached the man.

"Soldier," he called. The soldier did not acknowledge him immediately, staring off into the distance.

"SOLDIER!" Yelled Blain.

This time he took notice, staring at the group, before muttering, "Knurligs," and falling from his horse.

"Water," barked Blain, he ran towards the soldier, grabbing him and sitting him up slightly.

"Where did you come from," he said to the man.

"Dead..." the man whispered, "They're all dead, I saw them."

"Saw who?" asked Blain, at that moment, Raph arrived with a water skin. Blain took it and offering it to the Soldier the man took several long slow sips.

Ashlard by now could smell something in the air, something metallic, with smoke and sweat, turning and looking at the tops of the trees, he spotted it, great plumes of grey smoke rising above the forest.

"Thrarv," said the man, "Knurligs attacked Thrarv, I was a guardsman, I'm the only one left."

Blain tried to sit him up more, but the soldier screamed. Ashlard noticed his arm wasn't just limp, it had been completely severed and the only thing keeping it in place, was the sleeve of the tunic.

"My daughters... my girls..." he said. Blain gently placed the man on the ground, taking him by his good hand.

"She's waiting for me..." said the man, suddenly the man looked at Blain, he said, "Where is the boy?"

"What boy?" asked Blain quietly, but the Soldier cast his eyes around the group, settling them on Ashlard.

"You!" he called.

Ashlard took a step back, not wanting to move towards the man.

"She... she says... it's always going to be your choice," said the soldier, "you're the key!" and with a final shudder, the soldier went limp.

The men buried him on the side of the road, a simple word was said above the grave, and a sword placed upon the mound. There was no ceremony, there was no great speech, Blain and the others merely nodded towards the grave, before turning away.

Blain took the group deeper into the forest without another word, settling them down in a grove, not visible to the road.

"Stay here," he said, before mounting the dead soldiers horse and riding back the way they had just come. A few of the soldiers looked suspiciously at Ashlard, Con approached him.

"You okay lad?" he murmured softly.

Ashlard shrugged and turned away, Con grabbed his arm and turned him back around. "It's okay Lad," he said, before walking away.

The soldiers were quiet now, but alert and on edge, they were very aware that their situation was not ideal. The town the soldier came from was only a few hours march away, and now they were facing unknown numbers of enemy Knurligs that may or may not still be in the area and to top it all off, the cryptic message directed towards Ashlard had everyone on edge.

It's always your going to be your choice, you're the key

What did that even mean?

The sun was at it's zenith before the sound of hooves was heard. The soldiers quietly drew their swords and Raph moved closer towards Ashlard. Three short whistles sounded in descending order and the men immediately relaxed and put their swords back in their sheaths. A few moments later, Blain emerged from the trees.

"We need to move, the main force has left, there's still some stragglers, there may be survivors."

Ashlard took a deep breath, before climbing back onto the cart. The men surrounded it before marching in silence towards the town of Thrarv. Blain lead the group in silence, occasionally slipping his sword from it's sheath a fraction, keeping the blade free and preventing any possibility of it sticking if the need arises. The sun was low in the sky before they saw the town, Ashlard kept losing sight of it as he passed trees. The town was a collection of small shabby huts made from logs with straw roofs, that surrounded several larger multi-story buildings. These buildings made up the town square and markets. As the group entered into the town, they could see signs of battle, or, a slaughter. There were arrow shafts buried in the walls of huts, bloodied tools used by the villagers were strewn about the ground, and boot prints of a large force that had moved through the area, the only thing missing, were bodies. This town would have had a population of several hundred, but there was nobody left alive or dead.

"Fan out, search for survivors," said Blain, and the soldiers broke ranks and disappeared in different directions.

"Ashlard, you're with me," Blain continued, "don't forget your sword."

Ashlard grasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it partway free, before sliding it back home and stepping down from the cart. He hurried after Blain who was already moving down the main street. As they walked in silence, the signs of carnage only grew worse, where there were arrows and blood stains at the entrance to the town, there were rivers of blood slowly running through the streets themselves. The smell of the blood had attracted flies and as the blood got thicker, so did the buzzing overhead. Ashlard realised that Blain was leading him towards the source of the smoke and as they passed a small tavern it finally came into view. The ruins were still smouldering and small fires were still burning in places, but for the most part, it was a burnt out husk. Ashlard could make out several armoured bodies laying amongst the rubble and what was left of a chain still attached to the remains of the doors.

FLASH

A woodland hovel, burning in the night, the fire light reflected through the small valley by sheets of fresh white snow

FLASH

A tattoo covered face, a man dressed in furs, a large sword

FLASH

A woman, she's beautiful, and she's screaming, there's blood pouring from her eyes

FLASH

Ashlard woke, Blain was holding his head up off the ground. "Are you okay?" Blain asked, clearly worried.

"Another memory," Ashlard replied.

"We'll speak of it later, can you get up?"

Ashlard climbed back onto his feet, his head was splitting and as he looked back towards the ruins, he took notice of the altar at the rear, it was a temple, the guards had been locked inside a burning temple, unable to defend themselves, it was cowardice. Blain led Ashlard further into the village but other than blood and flies, there was no further sign of what had happened. Blain was wearing a constant scowl as he removed a small horn from his hip. He made a short quick blast and within minutes, the others began to arrive. Each had the same story, blood, flies, boot prints and weapons, but no bodies, except the guards in the temple. Nobody knew what to make of it.

Blain decided it was time to move out, there was always the possibility that this was a trap and it was better to be moving along before the Knurligs had time to spring it. As they marched out of the town, Ashlard noticed a kneeling figure down an alleyway, without thinking he ran down the alley to confront the person. As he got closer, he could see it was a woman, kneeling, with her head raised and arms clasped in prayer. She was young, twenty at most, with dark brown hair and streaks of blood across her dark green dress.