Maximum Nightmares, Icy Awakening

Out of Character:

Closed to Max Dirks.

Keep your cool, Ashla...

In a quick burst of speed, Ashla Icebreaker swerved past a blow delivered by an axe user. The giant man, a teifling, chuckled as Ashla entered a defensive posture with her blade. In a small town, Cazt, just several miles from Corone, a group of mercenaries had caught the attention of P.A.L.E. P.A.L.E. was a group dedicated to bringing justice against the evil doers of Althanas. Their leader was Ashla Icebreaker, the duchess of Eiskalt.

The thief growled, "Pretty girl, you'll never beat us!"

Ashla scoffed, "You guys always say that... and I always have to say this: just wait and see!"

She ran up to the man, ducking from his axe blows and nimbly thrust her broadsword into his knee.

At the direct hit, the man jumped back with a gasp. He looked up at the skinny fighter with a twitching eye. "What do you want?"

Another thing these people commonly say, Ashla rolled her eyes. "Just stay out of here."

The man growled, the darkness of the ally hiding both people. "We'll see if the boss agrees with that demand..."

Same old, same old. Ashla smirked, "We'll see..." The Icebreaker pointed her blade at him.

So, given his misfortune of a sword in the knee, the man limped off. Ashla sheathed her sword and walked on out, excited for the next round. The town was very simple, but still spoke of Corone's beauty. The dirt streets and wood cabins were modest but lovely. It was noon, and some torches were being lit for light in the night.

Ashla was staying in a stone inn at the corner of the street, as marvelous but plain as the rest. As she entered the inn, she was welcomed by the smells of expertly cooked foods. The warn fire sizzling across the room cracked happily. Several round, oak tables were set across the grey room with matching, masterfully carved chairs. The bar counter, also oak, was at the side of the room. Few people were here, one of them being the obviously over tired bartender wiping the counter clean.

Icebreaker walked over to the counter and took out some coin, tossing it on brightly, "Do you guys serve apple cider?"

The small man pushed up his crooked glasses before silently turning to fetch her drink. Ashla leaned against the counter, surprisingly cheerful. There was nothing like a good pint of apple cider to celebrate a victory on round one! Her eyes were still grim though, knowing round two would be a lot rougher... wherever it took place.

---Three Weeks Ago---

Max Dirks woke up panicked, with his hands shaking and sweat pouring from his brow. He sat up and quickly glanced around the room, noting it was still dark outside. “A nightmare…” he said. But this was no ordinary nightmare. It was the exact same vision that had haunted him since he helped Madison Freebird and Lye Ulroke poison Eiskalt. In it, Dirks paraded over hundreds of people, including small children, who looked haplessly up at him. Except theirs were not looks of fear or admiration. They were looks of disappointment. In all his adventures, including having his dreams warped by Dirk Xalstad, his mind manipulated by Sei Orlouge, and suffering the loss of his love, Starlynn Solar, he never experienced anything so powerful. He was not shaking from fear. He was shaking from…

“Guilt…” Dirks mumbled out loud. While guilt might common for those with greater moral inclining than the criminal, it was agonizing for someone who until Eiskalt had felt none. However, these feelings weren’t exactly born in a vacuum. On Althanas, Dirks played the villain – the evil mastermind with advanced knowledge of technology who used it to advance his own agenda – but on Ayenee he was trained as an assassin. Assassins on Ayenee were not like assassins on Althanas. They were not contract killers, but rather they killed only when necessary to maintain order. Dirks had no doubt that his old teachings of morality and necessity were rearing their heads in the form of some twisted midlife crisis, but what was he to do? He had to sleep.

In the past, Dirks justified his evil acts by reminding himself that this wasn’t his world. He was just fucking with Althanas until he could return to his home on Ayenee. But it had now been 15 years. Xalstad, the person responsible for transferring him to Althanas in the first place, was dead. He had exhausted every means of interdimensional travel known to this world. If he was stuck here forever, did he really want his legacy on this world to be as the Destroyer of Lornius, the Bane of the Grey Braves, the Plight of Scara Brae and the Poisoner of Eiskalt? To be honest, he didn’t know. Regrets don’t automatically turn someone into a good person. At this point, Dirks just wanted to stop the nightmares. They started after Eiskalt, so to Dirks, there was only one person who could help: Ashla Icebreaker.

Following the destruction of her home in Eiskalt, Ashla Icebreaker left to form a group of peacekeepers called PALE, committed to punishing the wicked and defending the weak, no matter the cost. It was no secret that in their quest for justice, PALE was specifically after those responsible for poisoning Eiskalt, including Dirks. To some, seeking out the angry vengeful leader of a clan dedicated to one’s annihilation would be madness, but to Dirks it was the only way to cure his. The Ixians were out of the question. With Sei retired and Kyla dead, they were a shadow of their former selves. Moreover, Dirks had little interest the petty politics of the group. No. Since he was technically responsible for the creation of PALE, it had to be them. It had to be her.

Finding Ashla would be easy enough. Underworld knowledge was hard to forget, even when one was facing a potentially life altering change of heart. PALE was dedicated to peace. Dirks would simply need to hire mercenaries to terrorize a small innocent village, wait, and eventually they would show up. Dirks stood and walked over to his desk. He lit a lamp and then looked down. Previously sprawled out on the surface was scroll containing a map of Corone. In order to make this work, he would need some place rather small and remote. It would need to be unimportant to commerce otherwise his commotion might garner the interest of the Rangers, or even worse, the Ixians. Then he saw it. South of Gisela was the village of Cazt. Isolated and small, Cazt’s only resource was a lumber mill that was used to produce the more elaborate structures for the Gisela Open. Off peak, as it was now, the town was insignificant. It would be perfect. With a single huff, Dirks blew out the candle and got dressed. There was no time for sleep, preparations must be made.

---Present---

Dirks watched from a safe distance as Ashla dispatched the leader of the mercenaries he hired. Though she did not kill the tiefling, there was a marked change in her attitude and behavior when confronting him. The former princess, trained in all things proper, was now rather formidable. When Ashla retreated into the inn, Dirks waited a few moments before following her. There were other PALE members around and the criminal did not want to prematurely initiate a conflict. Once the coast was decidedly clear, Dirks sunk into the establishment.

Ashla had just sat at the bar and was ordering a drink when Dirks approached. “Better make that two,” he called out while sitting in the stool next to the young princess, “but put some alcohol on mine, won’t you?” As Dirks spoke, Ashla turned her gaze to the criminal. The two locked eyes for a moment and then Ashla’s face flushed with anger. In that moment, she swung her arm around and open hand slapped Dirks across the face. He saw the attack coming and could have easily caught her wrist to prevent contact, but he didn’t. Instead, Dirks relished as needles radiated down his cheek. It was important to feel this pain, because it was the first step in his redemption.

"Jerk!" Ashla rushed in as her hand collided with his face, "I can see a Crimson Bland anywhere!" Her eyes were icy, clouded with her family's blood. She saw images flashing before her eyes. Her home, her people... the ruins. The banner of the Order of the Crimson Hand. It replaced the toasty, warm inn. It replaced her cozy feelings. She was freezing to death again. Going under. Covered in red snow. Red with blood. The death, the terror, the sickness... the snowy white canvas of Eiskalt had been spray painted in brutal war. A war brought by the Order of the Crimson Hand.

"I'm not ignorant!" Ashla pointed her finger at him, "My scouts told me about you- you..." her anger hushed her, she was bathed in rage. "You low down- filthy-"

People stared, she didn't care. Her hand raced up to one of her iron butterfly swords. Her hand clutched it, "You murderers! Thieves!" She accused the entire Crimson Hand, throwing it all on the man in front of her, Max Dirks. "You..."