Rage

In Blain's camp, all the men cast a wary eye over Ashlard, it seemed his secret was out, but Ashlard wasn't sure why they hadn't attacked him, he was under the impression that his kind were hunted. Blain dragged the unconscious man into the camp, binding his arms and tying him to a nearby signpost before offering Ashlard a bucket of water in order to wash himself and his wounds.

"Those cuts look deep lad," Blain said, "what happened to you?"

"His boss," Ashlard gestured to the unconscious man, "underestimated me, I need to ask him some questions."

"You're not going to get very far bleeding like this boy," Blain replied, opening a small pouch, he revealed to Ashlard a bobbin of thread and a curved needle.

Ashlard eyed him warily, but it was for the best, he didn't know how deep the wound was, or when he would have opportunity for another meal...

Ashlard sat on a fallen log, staring into a fire, lost in thought, sorting through the memories of Abe and her unborn son, realised the profoundness of his abilities. He was able to bring comfort to those who needed information, or even possibly anguish, if he searched hard enough. But his pondering was interrupted by Blain approaching him carrying two bowls.

"Here boy," he said gruffly, handing Ashlard the bowl, "The lad's weren't to happy, but I made sure they didn't add meat until after you ate, you could use a hot meal."

Ashlard took the bowl without comment, raising it to his lips, he inhaled the aroma, there was something strange about how it smelled, he lowered it with a frown and spotted Blain watching him.

"Oh for the love of..." Blain said, sticking his finger in Ashlard's bowl scooping a small amount into his mouth, "it's fennel, thought you of all bloody people would know your damn vegetables."

"Sorry," said Ashlard, stifling a small chuckle, "if we didn't grow it, we didn't eat it," Ashlard paused for a moment, not sure how he remembered that.

"Give it time boy, they'll come back eventually," said Blain.

Ashlard took a gulp of the soup, it was hot, salty and good, "so what brought you out here then?"

"Orders," Blain replied quickly.

Ashlard looked sideways at him.

"Our meeting in the Golden forest was a chance encounter, our true purpose is the Prince, he's been captured and held for ransom, we're paying that ransom, but as we reached the meeting place, we found someone had burnt it down," Blain was staring blankly at him, "seems you have an awful knack for stuffing me about boy..."

"So that's why you need him?" Ashlard said, gesturing to the unconscious man.

"Aye, that's why we need him, what's your business with him anyway?"

Ashlard fell silent for a moment, he didn't know if it were a good idea to tell Blain, but if they were already dead, what would it matter?

"I met some people," Ashlard said, "like me, but different."

"Demi-humans you mean?" Blain asked.

"Yes..." Ashlard said, eyeing Blain suspiciously.

"Don't kid yourself boy, if I were planning on turning you in, I wouldn't need you alive."

Ashlard thought for a moment, confident that Blain would struggle to harm him if necessary, he pressed on. "My friends apparently owed money to his lot," nodding towards the man, "his lot... collected... and now he is the only chance I have to find out where his boss went."

"Well," Blain said standing up, "seems you and I are looking for the same people, better show the lads your new trick though, don't want them doing anything foolish, else you burn them too."

After a quick explanation to the other soldiers a few complaints were voiced, but Blain with the help of Raph, his second in command, reminded everyone the penalty of disobedience. The men, silenced at last, turned their attention to Ashlard, he felt so very small standing amongst such imposing figures. Feeling the surge of energy, Ashlard directed it outward, immediately feeling his stitches tearing, he found himself a few moments later standing well overhead of even the largest men before him. He stretched out his wings and let out a satisfied grunt before pulling them back in tight against his body and dropping onto all fours. Ashlard then made the slow transformation back into his human form.

"Well shit," said Con, a look of awe across his face. "It's good to have you back."

By morning the unconscious man had awoken and was being rather uncooperative, regardless of the offers for food and water. He wouldn't even tell them his name. Ashlard was growing impatient with the man and Blain had asked him to move away, giving him the opportunity to interrogate him without Ashlard's interference. Ashlard for his efforts to remain civil had removed himself from the group and was wondering aimlessly through the trees. He'd been out at least an hour, he could no longer hear the men laughing, or their prisoners cries of pain. The man was incredibly loyal to Rothkin, and if Blain couldn't make him talk... Ashlard wasn't sure he could pull the information from the mans soul before his death, Blain was going to half kill him at this rate.

SNAP

Ashlard looked up, there was a soldier standing before him, strange, he hadn't heard him approach.

"A- Ashlard, wasn't it?" said the man, wringing his hands.

Something was wrong, this man was nervous, Ashlard flexed his scales under his skin, momentarily giving the impression of ripples passing over his body.

"Blain called for you, you have to return immediately," the man said, before offering his hand.

Ashlard paused for a moment, realising everything this man may have seen since the previous evening, he probably has the right to be nervous about being sent to deal with him directly. He put the thoughts about the man behind him and turned to walk back to camp. As he approached the soldiers outstretched hand the man suddenly cried.

"Die beast!"

Ashlard only had a moment to react, the man had concealed a knife behind his back, while distracting him with his outstretched arm. The man lunged at him, aiming to stab Ashlard in the heart. With only a moment to spare, Ashlard twisted, away only for the knife to sink firmly into his shoulder. With a gasp, Ashlard felt the white hot piercing sensation of cold steel, he felt a pulse, and everything started going red. Extending his scales, they pinned the blade, so that the man was unable to pull it free. Ashlard took to flight, grabbing the man by the arm with his talons, hoisting him effortlessly into the air.

The man was shrieking with pain and fear as Ashlard turned towards camp, flying low and steady. He bounced the helpless man through the treetops, listening to satisfying thumps as he went. As the camp came into view, all eyes were on him and the limp figure dangling from his talons. Ashlard circled once, spotting Blain he swooped down dropping the man at his feet before landing on all fours and folding in his great black wings. Ashlard became aware that all the soldiers except Blain had drew their weapons and were waiting for a signal. Ashlard awkwardly stood himself up on two legs, towering above all the men and began to change form back to human. Pulling the knife free from his shoulder, he threw it on the ground beside the man who momentarily flinched, before staggering to his feet.

"Sir, he attacked me," Said the man.

"Really?" replied Blain, looking at Ashlard, "That's rather interesting."

The surrounding soldiers began murmuring amongst themselves. Ashlard caught fragments of what they were saying. Some weren't convinced, some were trying to decide if they could overpower him.

"Lies," spat Ashlard, the rage burning within him, his wounded shoulder throbbing madly.

"Well..." Blain said, "I'm not convinced either way... So... Ignoring the fact that someone able to hoist a man into the air like a rag doll, decided to return his... Prey... Instead of fleeing, while he had a dagger in his shoulder."

The men must have realised where this was going as they all sheathed their swords.

"Trial by combat," said Blain.

The solder cried out, "no, please, you have to believe me!" he said, grabbing the front of Blain's tunic.

"You want me to believe you managed to stab him, AFTER, he attacked you?" Blain growled, "die with honour."

Ashlard strangely felt nervous, he had killed in anger, he had killed in battle, but now he was supposed to kill by trial? He wasn't worried about himself, but now he'd calmed down, he felt bad for the man, he didn't even know why he was attacked. The pair were led to a small flat clearing, the man was stripped of his armour and left wearing brown leggings and boots. Ashlard only then became aware, he was completely naked, his tunic must have been torn off when he opened his wings.

Blain approached him, "no scales boy," before beckoning over two of the men.

They carried a rack of weapons. There was only a small selection, a sword, axe, small throwing knives and some strange chained weapon with what appeared a ball on one end, and a spike at the other.

"Pick your weapons and we'll begin," called Blain.

Ashlard made his way towards the rack, only for the man to run ahead and begin frantically grabbing weapons, as Ashlard was only a step behind him, the man suddenly lunged backwards with one of the throwing knives, plunging it deep into Ashlard's side. Ashlard hissing with pain stumbled backwards, before having to duck as the knife, thrown at head height sailed past.

Feeling the rage build, Ashlard's only thought was to make this man suffer, striding towards the man, Ashlard sidestepped an overhead sword swing, only for the man to change direction and attempt to cleave him in half. Ashlard was expecting this however and caught the man by the wrist, and with a feral grin, crushed the bones into splinters.

The man's piercing screams rang for only a few moments before Ashlard grabbed him by the jaw, he had an idea. Dragging the struggling and moaning man towards the post, where the prisoner was tied up. The soldiers moved aside to let him pass without incident, some spitting on the helpless man as he flailed helplessly on the ground. Ashlard dragged him, face to face with the prisoner, who had pressed himself back against the post in some pathetic attempt to get as far away as possible. Ashlard pulled the soldier upright and forced him onto his knees.

"Oh god, please," the man begged, tears running down his face, "don't let him kill me!"

Ashlard surging energy throughout his body, felt his face, twisting and contorting into it's beast like form. He roughly grabbed the sobbing mans head, pulling it sideways and sinking his fangs deeply into the mans neck, Ashlard feeling the immediate pull of memories, longed to drain the man of life. But he had a better idea, and by contracting his throat, he injected his flammable venom deep into the soldiers flesh, before standing up and making the change back to human features.

The soldier sat quietly for several moments before letting out a long groan."IT BUUUURNS!" He cried suddenly, his face twisted in agony.

The man stood up, shaking horribly, frothing from his mouth, all around the bite on his neck was black lines, resembling a spider web, crisscrossing over his skin and slowly growing. He reached up with his good hand, but as he came in contact with the wound, his skin peeled off, a small shower of sparks flew out of the wound before igniting a small flame, no bigger than a candle's.

Now he screamed, a horrible scream, one filled with such agony, and yet with such desperation. The venom was igniting internally, starting at the site of the wound, the patch of flesh slowly began to turn black and as it cracked open sparks and small flames would occasionally shoot out. The man collapsed, writhing in agony, the black veins were half way down his arm and had reached his opposite shoulder. As the flames spread, the man continued to scream, banging his head on the ground in an attempt to end his suffering, he stopped, staring up at Ashlard, his head bleeding from a cut across his right eye.

"Please," he whimpered, "please kill me."

The mans shoulder at that point disintegrated, his arm falling away from his body, and the man falling flat on his face, where he bawled like a child. Ashlard locked eyes with the prisoner, the man was petrified, shaking uncontrollably, but unable to look away. Ashlard gripped the dying soldier by the back of the head, and with two quick tugs, pulled his head, complete with a section of spine, free from the remains of his burning corpse.

"I'm done playing games," he said.

Blain was torn, it was impossible for him to believe that Ashlard started the fight with Burken, and he was sure that Burken had made an attempt on his life. Seeing Ashlard's reactions in the past, he had no reason to not trust that Ashlard, would have simply killed him and left. Who could stop him anyway? The trial by combat was only a cursory attempt at providing a trial the other men would accept. Burken's cowardly attack at the start of the dual only solidified their position that the right man had died, any honourable soldier would have faced his opponent like a man.

But that was the problem, Ashlard wasn't a man, he wasn't sure he was even human and Blain had never seen such utter destruction. By all accounts, Burken made his choices and payed the consequences, but with such a horrible way to die... He didn't know if that was truly justified, even if the prisoner did quite literally shit himself and tell them where Rothkin was hiding. Perhaps he was getting soft in his advancing years. Looking up, he could see Ashlard circling high above, scanning the ground ahead, looking for ambushes or even the entrance to the tunnels.

The air was warm, there was only a little wind, but every now and then, he found what felt like thermals, that could keep him floating effortlessly, in truth, he regretted killing the soldier, he was so angry. Ashlard made sure after the prisoner had told them the location of the tunnels, to make his passing as pain free as possible, while still draining him of his essence. Pushing aside his regrets, he spotted an odd shaped gap in the trees, passing overhead he was able to see a fallen tree, he couldn't be sure until he checked. Landing with a thud, Ashlard made his way to the base where the knotted roots made it almost impossible to discern any real gaps, but the dead mans words rang true, and Ashlard found an obscured entrance leading into darkness. Ashlard stood himself up, looking around, he leapt into the air, catching the tops of a nearby pine. Stripping away the branches from the top, he quickly sprayed it with venom, causing it to ignite like a great candle, sending a rising tower of black smoke into the air. Ashlard didn't have to wait long before Blain arrived.

"You found it then?" Blain asked.

Ashlard nodded without speaking, motioning to follow. The pair made their way to the root system, followed by the soldiers, arriving at the base, Ashlard moved to enter the tunnel, only to be grabbed by Blain.

"Wait boy," he said.

"What?" Ashlard scowled.

"We don't want to show them all our tricks straight away," Blain said. "Remember how to use one of these?"

Blain handed Ashlard his short sword that he trained with, it made sense, besides, in narrow tunnels, it may not be to his advantage to be so large, and fire could be even more troublesome if they can't find another way out. So with a small murmur of thanks, Ashlard took that familiar rope and tied it around his waist, he was dressed only in a ragged pair of pants, his shoes and shirt long since torn up from the events in the previous day. The soldiers began entering the tunnel, one by one, Ashlard moved to get in next, but Blain stopped him.

"Ashlard," he said, "I need you to stay in control."

Ashlard blinked a few times, unsure of how to respond.

"Remember we both have our reasons of being here, if you tear a hole through the guts and burn everything, it will be me sent to hunt you down," Blain said quietly.

"Neither of us want that," Ashlard sighed.

Blain wondered what had truly happened to the boy, it had been little over a fortnight since they had parted ways, but Ashlard seems to have aged several years. Gone was the quiet, scared child from the woods, and in it's place stood at times, a young man, others a soldier, and as he had been witness, sometimes a monster. Blain still wasn't convinced Ashlard had control of his powers, but he was certainly making progress. Soon, everyone was inside the tunnel, they had to crawl a short distance before it opened up into a large cavern lit with oil lanterns. Leading from the the cavern was a large tunnel, wide enough for a carriage, purpose built, and there was other smaller tunnels that lead off in other directions. These smaller tunnels were checked quickly by the soldiers as they passed, with the main troupe keeping a slow and quiet pace through the main.

The tunnel gradually sloped downwards, disappearing into the darkness below. It was a surprise when the floor pitched forwards, a large hole opened beneath them, swallowing the first four men, their cries of shock, cut short by the jarring sound of flesh on metal. Blain approached the hole, seeing the faint outlines of sharpened steel poles, and dozens of corpses, some fresh, some older. Ashlard however, heard movement from the rear. Turning around he could make out shapes in the darkness.

"Weapons down," said a scratchy voice, "We've been waiting."

The men were lead down a hidden passage, deeper underground until the walls turned from earth, to stone. There was the occasional flash of sunlight, accompanied by the sounds of people. Ashlard realised they were probably in a sewer system running under a city. The group were led into a large chamber, there were large men standing guard around the room, armed with everything from swords and clubs, to mighty battle axes. Ahead of them was a thin figure, cloaked in red, perched on an oversized armchair, propped up with an assortment of cushions. There were several women in various stages of disrobe, chained by the neck to the feet of the chair, they sat huddled together, not making eye contact with anyone. Ashlard's blood boiled with the idea of their suffering, Blain grabbed his shoulder, squeezing tightly, making eye contact, Blain silently shook his head.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?" asked the figure, with a slight whistle.

"Blain, Commander of the kings legion, seeking Rothkin, our intentions to pay ransom, for the return of Prince Horuth," Blain replied, "These are my men."

The figure hissed softly, turning it's hooded gaze towards Ashlard, "and you?"

Ashlard, shifted uncomfortably, "I seek Rothkin."

"And why do you seek Rothkin, boy?" hissed the figure.

"Revenge..." Ashlard said softly.

Murmurs surrounded him, everyone was watching with keen interest.

"Honestly is admirable," said the figure, "but revenge is cheap, and I don't like cheap."

The surrounding men chuckled, "ROTHKIN," the figure roared.

A door opened and Rothkin strolled in, freezing like a statue as he spotted Ashlard.

"Did you enjoy my gift?" asked the figure.

"Not yet my lord, she's chained in my bedchamber," he replied, his voice shaking slightly.

"Pity..." Sighed the figure, "so..." Shifting it's gaze back towards Blaise, "do you have it then?"

Blaise threw a small sack at the figures feet, spilling over, golden coins scattered on impact.

"You get the rest after I have proof of life," Blaise said.

The figure drew in breath, a faint whistle escaping the darkness of it's hood, "I'd make a wager then," he said.

"This boy has his chance at revenge, if he is sated, you get your prince, if not, you get the princes eyes, and the ransom doubles," the figure grasped a stray chain, and giving it a hard yank, a young man, no older than Ashlard himself, came tumbling into view, from behind the armchair.