Ash always wanted to do the right thing. It was a driving force for him, almost to a fault. The problem was that things never really worked out the way they should. He was forever getting into trouble with his elders because trying to do the right thing and succeeding are very different concepts.
A large part of Ash's problem lay in his temper. When he saw something wrong, an injustice or an insult, he reacted with righteous indignation. This lead to more conflict and brawls than his village would put up with. He was continually censored, counseled and rebuked. Father Bromworth, a priest of Kord, praised Ash for his intention, but lectured him on his methods. No one really knew what to do with him, until Father Bromworth suggested sending him to the Army. Ash was young for this at twelve, but it seemed the best option.
In the Army, Ash wasn't given the time or the energy to let his temper get him into trouble. He was worked hard and long, given all the scutwork and menial tasks the men could find for him. He gained his nickname as an ironic combination of his name and the work he was given. He didn't like being treated this way, but he didn't have the strength to rebel. Instead, his temper changed. Instead of a quick, hot rage he learned a slower, burning fire that stoked with each insult and every dirty pot.
Eventually, his temper overcame his weariness. Scolded by a particularly loud Corporal for failing to scrub a pot correctly, Ash turned on him and began beating the soldier to the floor. The Corporal was not a small man and was famed for his bar brawls, but Ash left him bloodied and bruised, still shouting threats as four men dragged him to the Lieutenant.
When Ash was marched in front of the Lieutenant, he had just seen his thirteenth summer. He stood as tall and proud as he could, for he knew that no matter right or wrong, he was at fault for striking the Corporal. The Lieutenant ignored him for a while and Ash began to sweat. Just when Ash thought he could bear it no longer, the Lieutenant fixed him with an angry scowl and folded his hands on the desk.
"So, you're the brat who put Corporal Timmand in the Infirmary?"
Ash couldn't find his voice, so nodded briskly.
"I couldn't hear you, soldier," the Lieutenant snapped.
"Sir! I did, Sir!"
"What's your name, soldier?"
"Zeke Asherton, Sir!"
"You go by Ash among the men, yes?"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
"Do you know the penalty for striking a superior, Ash?"
"Sir! The penalty for striking an officer is death, Sir!"
"Corporal Timmand isn't an officer, Ash."
"Sir! No, Sir!"
"The penalty for actions such as yours are ten lashes with the 'cat and three days confinement."
Ash's back twitched with the thought of being lashed. He had watched other men suffer that punishment, and wanted none of it for himself. In his mind, he heard their screams of agony as Sergeant Mann executed the punishment. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't find his voice again. The Lieutenant let it pass.
"It says here that your involvement in the Army isn't exactly your choice. Your family sent you here, for us to get you straightened out. This says you have a history of brawling, so we've been running you hard enough so you don't have time for it. But you managed to find the time anyway, didn't you Ash?"
"Sir. I...yes, Sir!"
The Lieutenant nodded, scanned a parchment in front of him, then leaned back and stared at Ash. "Here's my problem, Ash. You have no discipline. No checks. Nothing to restrain you, and no reason for any. What do you want to do, Ash? What do you want to be when you grow up?"
This caught Ash off-guard. "Sir! I...I never thought about it."
"That's what I thought," the Lieutenant paused to stretch, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "So here's my problem. You're a young man. You're filled with piss and fire, and you don't know what to do about it. You get pushed, you push back. Sooner or later, you're going to find that whatever's pushing you is going to hurt you a lot worse than you could imagine. And your parents have asked me to make sure that doesn't happen. You're a goddamned pain in the ass, Ash."
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
"I see here that Sergeant Wills has you on indefinite PT. No reason for it, I assume he thinks that's the best thing for you. You've been digging latrines, polishing boots and doing all the ugly jobs, right? And you've been doing it for four months, now. Then Corporal Timmand comes along and unleashes his sharp tongue on you, lays a little more abuse on you, and you finally snap. You beat him so badly the surgeon takes him off active duty. That's not an easy task, Ash. Timmand is one of the worst brawlers around, banned from half the inns in town. How do you feel about beating one of the nastiest men in my command?"
"Sir, I...really? Sir!"
"Don't feel proud about that, Ash. Timmand has friends, and when he gets back on his feet I'm sure they're going to be looking for you."
"I didn't think about that, Sir."
"That's for damned sure!" The Lieutenant pulled out a different parchment and scanned it. "The problem is that Sergeant Wills obviously has no idea what to do about you. You're supposed to be too young to start proper military training, but in light of recent events, I see no choice but to get you started." He picked up a second parchment and handed it to Ash.
Ash's eyes lit up as he accepted the new orders. "I'm to start training, Sir?"
"First, you are to report to Sergeant Mann for punishment. Twelve lashes and three days' confinement."
Ash flinched, and the Lieutenant ignored it.
"Then you are to report to Bravo Company and bunk there. You are now Private Third Class Ezekiel Asherton. You will be trained in all manner of weapons and combat. You'll be taught discipline like you've never imagined. You'll be run until you drop, picked up and run some more. The next time I see you, I expect to see an Army soldier. Gods help you if you fail, Private. Get out of my sight."
"Sir!" Ash saluted, turned and marched out of the tent to find Sergeant Mann. If he had stopped to think about it, he was eager to receive his punishment. It was all that stood between him and his new life.
Over the next five years Ash was drilled hard, and true to the Lieutenant's promise, he never imagined what could happen to him. He was run endlessly, carrying heavy loads that staggered him, made to lift and swing heavy logs thicker than his leg. The men of Bravo Company suffered with him, but Ash was singled out and driven harder than the rest. Over and over again his temper flared, but eventually he learned how to control it, to bank it and focus it on the task before him. He never forgot an injury, but neither did he let it overwhelm him.
The day the Lieutenant awarded him his Corporal's stripes, Ash stood proud and felt as though he'd accomplished something right for the first time in his life. He was assigned to Alpha Company under Sergeant Mann, and began a new phase of his training. Sergeant Mann took one look at the Ash's thick arms and nodded. They marched to the armory where Mann picked up a greatsword with one hand and tossed it to Ash.
"That there is one of the most difficult weapons to master," Mann announced in his deep voice. "It's really just a big sword, nothing fancy like you see some of those hotshots with. You don't have to worry about a second blade or a spinning joint or anything like that. It's a sword. You swing it and you thrust it and you use it to kill the other guy. It's so heavy that your average soldier has to dodge instead of block, because that monster can cleave through most wooden shields, and some metal. The reason it's so difficult to master is because of its weight. You're not going to win any duels with it. You're not going to carve your initials in a tree, let alone another man fighting for his life. You're going to have to be strong enough to wield it, and you're going to have to be smart enough to use it. Think you're up for it, Ash?"
Ash nodded, his eyes bright as he admired the weapon.
"There's something else. You're going to have to learn to take care of it yourself. Your average weaponsmith, he might make one to boast about it, but he won't enjoy it. It takes a lot of time and metal to forge one of those, and that's time and metal he could use for a smaller, lighter blade that could sell for almost as much. Also, because there's so much metal it in there's more to go wrong. So you're going to learn how to forge one yourself, and then you're going to learn how to repair it when you need it."
This surprised Ash, but he didn't argue. He never argued anymore. He simply obeyed and found a way to follow his orders. So Mann showed him how to wield the sword, how to adjust his stance and his tactics to handle the greatsword's mass and weight. Then he taught him the art of blacksmithing, followed by weaponsmithing. Ash discovered he enjoyed working in the forge and creating things with his hand.
By the time Ash saw his eighteenth summer he was happy and content, focusing his energies on his duties and hobbies, rarely having to worry about his temper. The Army had been used mostly for maneuvers and brigand hunting for almost a decade without a hint of war. But that year, King Voloun declared war on neighbouring Belondale.
Ash's battalion were given their orders and marched to the edge of Hemro lands near the mountains. Ash had never seen mountains before and stood in awe of them. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to stare. The Belonese arrived shortly.
Ash had been in minor skirmishes, mostly with brigands and small raiding parties. He'd never been in a war before, and it horrified him. Only his training and faith in Sergeant Mann (and the Lieutenant) kept him going when his bowels turned to water and his feet wanted nothing more than to run from the carnage. The two armies clashed for the better part of the day, gaining and losing ground repeatedly. At dusk, both armies agreed to a halt, and they retreated to their own sides of the border to tend to their wounded and watch the other suspiciously.
Ash felt ashamed of himself. He felt his fear dishonored him, and betrayed the hard work of all those who had worked to make him into a man. He sat apart from Alpha Company, eating alone and wallowing in his misery. Eventually, Sergeant Mann found him.
"Your men want to know where you are. You're in charge of them, you have a duty."
"Sarge, I...I'm sorry. I thought I was a soldier. I thought I was worthy of everything you've done for me, but I'm not."
"What horseshit are you talking about, Ash?"
"Today, in the battle. Gods, Sarge! I was so afraid! I've never felt like that before! I was sure I was going to die, and I wanted nothing more than to turn and run and keep running until I fell off the edge of the world!"
Mann squatted down to Ash. He didn't smile, but his eyes were bright. "Ash, this is your first battle. You've just discovered something that every veteran already knows. Being a soldier, being a man doesn't mean you're not afraid. Everyone is afraid of something. Me, I hate snakes. Can't stand the things. Kill 'em whenever I see 'em. You wanna see me jump ten feet, you drop a snake at my feet. Does that make me less of a man?"
"That's not true, Sarge! You're not afraid of anything!"
"Horseshit. Listen to me, Corporal. You think you were a coward today? You didn't run. You didn't break ranks. You followed orders and stood at the front line with your men fighting and dying around you, and you held. You've never seen anything like this before, and today was your test. You passed, Ash. You saw the horror we protect your family and friends from, and you held. That isn't the act of a coward. A brave man is nothing more than a man who faces his fear and doesn't turn away. Hell, I saw more than one of those bastards turn away from you. You're a soldier to the core, Ash, and I'm proud to stand beside you in any battle."
"You mean that, Sarge?"
"Gods truth, Ash. Now get off your fat ass and tend to your men. That's an order."
"Yes Sir!"
The war with the Belonese lasted through the summer and fall, both armies stalemated. Diplomatic relations remained poor so the war continued, merely delayed with the onset of winter. Alpha Company received new orders and horses to go with them. The cavalry of the Hemro army had suffered heavy losses, and Ash's company was to fill in the gap. Ash had ridden on a horse unlike most of his men, but had never fought from horseback before. Mann drilled the company mercilessly, and Ash likewise pushed his men hard as he dared. As spring approached, he and Mann agreed that there just might be a chance they would survive.
Although assigned to heavy cavalry duties, Alpha Company retained their original Army duties. Thus, they were expected to carry their regular weapons and equipment along with the horses and heavy lances. They were slower than most other heavy cavalry companies, but the weight of their extra equipment gave them extra punch when they impacted on the Belonese. Alpha Company began to receive commendations and acclamation within the Hemro army. Ash felt even more proud than ever before.
Spring turned to summer, and the Hemro army tried an ambush on the Belonese army. Alpha Company was selected to spearhead the charge.
Mann gave Ash and his squad point. As the Belonese walked into the trap, Ash raised his lance in salute and began the charge. The earth thundered under their hooves, and the Belonese milled about in panic. Then they were upon them, and chaos reigned.
Ash lost his lance early, and the greatsword was too heavy for horseback. He had his shortsword out, but achieved little because of the height of his horse. He tried to get his men back out, but the Belonese mass had prevented them from breaking completely through; they were too deep in enemy bodies to crush through. His horse was cut out from underneath him, and Ash fell to the ground. He didn't know how he regained his feet, but his greatsword was in his hand hewing at every body in Belonese colours he saw. He took a heavy blow to the head, and fell unconscious.
When he awoke, Ash lay in darkness. He felt a bandage on his head, and his arms and legs were tied. All was still, except for the sound of his own breathing. Gradually, he became aware of muffled sounds in the distance. He heard a door open, and a gruff voice said something unintelligible. The door closed again, and time passed again before it opened. A new voice spoke to him.
"How do you feel, Corporal?"
"I feel terrible," Ash said truthfully. "My head aches, and my stomach feels like we're at sea."
"We're not at sea, Corporal. You're in the surgeon's tent. You're a prisoner of the Belondale Army."
Ash felt his heart sink, although he had already guessed. He said nothing. Rough hands poked and prodded at his bandage, and shifted the linen under his head.
"You're actually quite lucky, Corporal. We thought you were going to die, but we tended you anyway. Most men would have died from the blow you took. We don't know how well you'll recover as it is, but we'll try."
"Why is it so dark?"
"The surgeon feels you need isolation while your head heals. No distractions, nothing to tax your brain. You'll be put with the rest of your fellows when the surgeon gives the okay. We don't have a lot to spare for prisoners, but we'll do our best for you anyway."
"Thank you," Ash said gratefully, and fell asleep again.
Ash's recovery went well, and within a few months he was pacing his cell restlessly. He kept a firm grip on his temper, but he had no news of the Army or his company, and the small confines of his cell were driving him insane. His guards were not terribly sympathetic, and advised him to remain calm.
"The war is almost over," they told him. "Sit down and wait, and you'll be returned home shortly."
But the war didn't end. More months passed, and the fighting continued. Ash begged for something to do, something to take his mind away from the monotony. He exercised as much as he could, but it wasn't enough.
"You have blacksmiths here, yes? I know how to work a forge. Let me do something, please!"
His jailors were not amused. "You think we'd trust you with a hammer? You think you can match a Belonese smith in craft? Your jest is in bad taste."
"Let me tend the fire and fetch the ore. I promise, I'll behave. Just let me step outside of this cell!"
He was forced to wait several days longer as the Belonese conferred, but he was granted his request. He was allowed to work as a junior apprentice to the lowest-ranked blacksmith. It didn't bother him. He was near a forge again, and he had no thoughts of escape, merely joy at being given something, anything to do. He fetched the coal and stoked the flames. He carried the ore and cleaned the tools. He changed the brine water. He polished the anvil until it shone. He never went near the hammer, tongues or any of the tools without supervision. Most of all, he learned from the Belonese blacksmith. It was true, the simple arts he'd learned weren't as good as the least among these men, but he paid attention and he improved. In time, he won grudging respect from the smith, and was allowed to serve other smiths. He was never allowed to work with or go near the weapon and armorsmiths, but he didn't care. His skills improved.
Two years after his capture, catastrophe struck. The mines struck an underground river, and the tunnels were flooding. Ash had been working in the lower levels to fetch ore that day, and he heard the sound of water washing toward him. At first, he didn't understand what he heard, for he'd never experienced it before. He saw the wall of water crashing toward him an instant before it swept him up, and terror filled his heart. He panicked, dropped everything and struggled to swim in the raging current. He'd learned to swim in the Army, enough to keep from drowning in the river along the border, but never anything like this. He was swept through the mines, growing more and more desperate for air with each passing second. When he thought his life was over, he was thrown through a side tunnel where a pair of miners had found a pocket of air. They snatched him and kept him from floating away again. There they stayed for two days before the tunnels were cleared again.
The disaster ended the war. The Belonese negotiated peace, accepting the terms of the new Hemro king, Archydor. All prisoners were returned to their homes, including Ash.
Ash was received with celebration. The Army had reported him missing, presumed dead. Someone had seen him fall under a blow to the head, and nobody thought he could have survived it. His family was overjoyed to have him returned, and the village threw a feast in his honor. He was a hero returning home.
The Lieutenant attended the feast, along with Sergeant Mann. They had nothing but praise for Ash, and the village cheered every tale told about him. The Lieutenant and Mann both urged Ash to re-enlist, and Ash thought about it seriously. He thought about settling down into a trade, becoming a blacksmith. He decided he would give peace a try, and explained his decision to the men he respected so much. There was some grumbling, but they left him in peace.
Ash joined the village blacksmith, an older man called Janns. Janns had worked his trade almost as long as Ash had been alive, and he didn't approve of Ash's suggestions, Belonese teachers or no. Ash found his temper slipping again, and while they never came to blows, the two shouted long and loud over the roar of the forge's heat. Two months after Ash returned home, he gathered his belongings and left the village. He has not been back since.
Ash returned to the Army. Sergeant Mann welcomed him like a brother, and Ash was promoted to Sergeant of his own company: a group of heavy lancers. Ash disliked being assigned away from Mann, but accepted the orders. He kept in close touch with Mann whenever possible. Their last assignment kept them in Palace, although Ash frequently requested permission to drill out in the country. One day upon return from drills, Ash discovered the city on fire. He gave orders to charge the Orcs and Ogres, and they fought valiantly for hours. Ash has little recollection of the battle as they fought to reach King Archydor, he only knows that they failed. Ash was separated from most of his men and led the remnants of his company to protect fleeing refugees. He was wounded in the process and his men were forced to drape him over his horse until they met up with the Chelon Rose.
If a tree stump could walk, it might look like this. At 5'4" with close-cropped short hair, beard and dark brown eyes, this man seems almost as wide as he is tall. The breastplate he wears bears the Queen's emblem, and the scars visible on his arms and head suggest that the plate has probably saved his life more than once. The expression on his face says that he's deadly serious, but the dark birthmark on his left cheek seems to pull at his lip, giving one the impression of a perpetual smirk. The long, angry scar that runs from jaw to temple on his right face gives him a far more sinister look. His forearms are littered with old burns as if sparks were continually raining down on them, and he stands easily under the weight of armor, mace, shortsword and greatsword all at once. The greatsword is strapped across his back for a left-handed draw. The pips on his collar name him a Lieutenant in the Hemro Army, and a patch declares him a member of the 12th Division Heavy Lancers, Second Platoon, Alpha Company.