Ashtik: The Champion of Black [Progression][Slow decay]

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.