A very young Ashan sits at the head of a long dining table in a cavernous stone hall, his massive head propped up on an equally massive arm
His plate clean to a speck, he plays with a young mastiff under the table, engaging in a battle of tug-of-war with the massive dog, one hand on his end of the goat's femur.
"How are your studies at the academy?"
A woman at the other end of the long table, barely visible through the dim candlelight, calls out to him.
"... fine." He shifts as the dog makes a power play, lunging for his hand. He playfully tussles its head.
"Are your instructors teaching you anything? We pay good money for your tuition there."
"We?"
"Your father and I."
"He is not my father."
The woman scowls severely at her end of the table. "You will learn to respect Roderick. He is a good man! He has brought this tiny Lordship a long way since your birth father died! We are no longer country nobility, eating with the peasants and scraping by a living in a cold, dark keep. We-"
Ashan rises abruptly, raising his voice, which is booming and deep for a youth, "He can't even hold a proper blade! And he treats you, a proper Lady like a common whore in public!"
A coldness comes over the room. "... If you ever want to be a Knight in service to Torm - you will learn not to use such language." The woman gets up politely and quietly and glides out of the massive hall into one of the dark antechambers - her meal sits untouched.
"... Mother... I didn't mean..." Ashan sighs, holding his hand in his head - all that can be heard is the dog's constant chewing.
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In a well-lit, pristine training room, Ashan sweats bullets as he sidesteps, covered head-to-toe in heavy plate armor.
"STEP! STEP! STEP! SWING!" An instructor bellows, unseen.
Ashan attacks unconventionally, swinging wide... somewhat unwieldly with the longsword, which is seems to be engulfed by his massive mits.
"WRONG! AGAIN!"
Ashan's breaths are slow and calculated, however, and though the instructor will not tell him so, he shows great potential. They go through the drill a couple dozen more times before Ashan is on the floor, his chest heaving with each breath and his armor rattling. He removes his helmet as the academy's young stableboy (acting as a squire) rushes to help him remove his armor. Ashan sighs, nodding in thanks. He turns his head lazily to look out the solitary window.
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A year or so passes between this scene and the last, but the setting is the same - the academy.
Ashan is training again... his instructor having fitted him with a much larger sword, called by some a bastard blade because of it's appearance as a cross between a greatsword and a longsword. He is beginning to look more like a knight now - not leaving himself open as often, attacking more swiftly... still, the most apparent thing about the man is his determination. He is always the last squire standing. The other rich, young nobles have all retired and it is late... Ashan still persists at the combat dummy, growling with effort as his triceps stretch to the point of failure - he drops his sword and calls over the stableboy, who has patiently been waiting for him to finish.
"...Thanks." He smiles weakly down at the boy who undoes the many straps and takes off the most constricting plates.
The boy is completely silent, just trying to avoid a beating.
Ashan gets up, leaving his armor and sword where they lie, and proceeds to the stables. As he walks, adjusting his riding gloves, he looks around... it is dusk, and hard to see much of anything except the last rays of sunset, but Ashan narrows his eyes. He spots an outline of a hooded figure... watching him? He turns to face it, but the shadow is gone. He shakes his head and rides home, pushing the horse to its limit.
He arrives, the horse nearly buckling under his weight despite the short journey.
"Leave it with the other lame beasts. I will want a fresh one tomorrow." He snaps without even looking who is attending to the stables.
"Ruining all my good horses, boy?" A man chuckles.
Ashan looks over, his brow furrowing with a deep frown. "Roderick, good evening."
The man frowns back. "You ungrateful whelp. You have never worked in your life. For the past ten years, I have provided for you and your mother. You owe me at least your respect!"
"I owe you nothing, old man. What do I care for your money? You merchants are all alike - you care for nothing but gold and the comforts of life. Perhaps if you had some honor, I could resp-"
Ashan pauses, touching his stinging face. Was he just slapped? Roderick is standing (though not a small man, a full foot under Ashan's nose) with his face flushing red, his fists clenched at his sides. "If *I* had honor? Why else do you think I care for you, brat? You are not my flesh and blood! What obligation do I have to you? None! And you call me dishonorable?! I have worked for everything I own, unlike you."
Ashan glowers at the man, his shoulders quaking with restraint.
"You will get NOTHING from me from now on! Do you hear me?!"
Ashan sighs, his shoulders slumping. "It does not matter to me... just leave me be."
"You wil leave the academy! You will work for a living! If it's the end of me, you will OBEY!"
"If my father were here, he would have ran you through by now. There was a great man." Ashan spits at Roderick's feet.
"Alastair Nottiams was a hedge lord and a peasant. It is good he died when you were but a babe, or perhaps this estate would have passed onto your irresponsib-" Roderick stares straight at Ashan, challenging his manhood, but is cut short as Ashan's massive hand darts out... much faster now that it is freed of the heavy blade it has become accustomed to swinging.
"NEVER mention my father's name again, or I will tear your arms off and use them to clean your gullet, old man!" Ashan's eyes are bulging and getting redder by the second as he holds Roderick by the throat. The struggling man attacks Ashan's forearms with his elbows to no avail. "My father was a KNIGHT. He was a GOOD MAN, and you will never be near his equal as a father, as a husband, as a MAN!" Ashan is still shouting as the squirming begins to get slower. Ashan roars, still in a blind rage, and throws Roderick down on the ground triumphantly - feeling good about himself he begins to walk out.
... but he was expecting a speech about how he will be hunted, how he can never return upon penalty of death... at least some kind of vague threat. He shakes his head and keeps walking - perhaps he really cowed the man. Perhaps he was too harsh.... such behaviors are not fitting of a future Knight... perhaps.. his father would not have approved? Ashan turns around to appologize only to find Roderick exactly as he left him. He frowns, walking back towards Roderick. He stoops down and looks at the man's eyes... completely red and open, looking as if they were ready to pop out of his head. He is not breathing.
"Oh shit. Oh shit." Ashan's eyes get panicky as he tries to resuscitate the man, using what meager methods have been taught to him at the academy. "Oh shit. Roderick, wake up. Oh shit."
He looks about hurriedly, but nobody is around. He begins to back away from the body slowly, he looks around... and he sees the outline of the hooded figure again... for a second, his heart stops. But once again, the figure is gone.
Ashan runs out of the stables, and just keeps on running.