Remember Me

[Ashla]

Closed to Lye.


A chilly wind briefly overtook the edge of village, causing most people there to cover themselves with any coats, blankets, or cloaks they had. A young women pulled a black cloak, internally coated with woal, around her thin body. The hood covering her head, hiding her beautiful blue eyes, covered all of her weapons. She seemed to carry no emotions, frozen to the core. In fact, however, she was currently overcome with grief so thick... she had recently lost her beloved.

She had left her child alone with her most trusted servant and friend. That elder butler suggested highly against her doing this, but now a single parent, Ashla Icebreaker was finally going for it... revenge. She looked around, a still figure turning her head to find one man. Destroy my country, take the lives of all those people, humiliate me in a set up battle in the Leagues, and now you take Julius from me... you'll pay. These poisonous thoughts finally made a quiet whisper, departing from her lips, "You will pay, Lichensith Ulroké."

The young woman looked across the scenery of this area. More and more, the fragmented pieces of her heart was becoming crushed under the white world around it. This place was not as mountainous, but just as cold. The simple wood huts reminded her more and more of Eiskalt. She'd thought she finally found home until the Crimson Hand invaded it, And who's to pay for that?

Suddenly, against the white snow, the now black hearted woman finally found him. She could clearly see him now, meshed into a massive crowd of people, How do they not know who he is, Ashla thought, frosted in bitterness and sorrow, A cold blooded murderer?

She leaned against a beam, waiting for this place to deprive of its crowds. Given this was the edge of a village, it only took several moments for a majority of that crowd to leave. There were still some people here and there, but that was enough. Ashla pushed herself up and walked towards the man who earned all her resentment, all her tears... but no longer. As snow was crushed beneath her feet, she seemed surprisingly calm. Numbed over in the heart, despite her overwhelming pain, she was maintaining every ounce of sanity and dignity... but for how long?

She was finally a yard or so away from him. His back was turned, but she'd seen his crooked face from the pole and had eyes locked on him since. His white hair, she imagined, would be drenched in his own blood soon. Even that thought though couldn't make her grin; she was vastly weighed down by her grief over Julius.

This was it. After all that time of excruciating pain, training, tears, and murders. She was finally going to take out the leader of the Order of the Crimson Hand, and she was going to love it... yet, still she could not smile. The pale, young lady spoke up. Venom and depression gift wrapped in a calm, somewhat blood chilling voice. "Hey."

[Lye]

"You expect me to believe you don't harbor any resentment for what they did to you? What we let happen?" asked Carver, a middle aged fellow with a face full of scruff, scars, and secrets. Within the folds of his cloak, a small glint of honed steel glimmered from the shadows in his hesitant grip.

"I don't," replied the smooth, hoarse, yet sinister voice of Lye Ulroke. He outstretched a gloved hand from his own cloak of wolf skins and lifted an oaken mug to his lips. As he drank the pub's signature draft, his emerald eyes fell on Carver's blade then rose to meet his firm expression.

Carver tucked his weapon back into its hidden sheathe, but remained rigid.

"I find that hard to believe."

Lye placed his mug back upon the table just as a bar maid approached. With a smile that quickly faded, she poured more ale into his glass. Lye nodded his head toward his colleague's drink which had remained untouched since they arrived.

"Not thirsty?" he inquired.

"We came to discuss business, not be merry in the ways of old. Men like us do not get to enjoy such luxuries freely." The bar maid looked up at his words, but met Carver's steel gaze. His hand waved her off and left the two in the limited privacy of their table.

Lye crossed his arms. "As you wish."

The sparse crowd of patrons at this time of day offered adequate ambient noise. Luckily, in the Rubble Town District of Knife's Edge, unsavory subjects of discussion were commonplace. Lye appreciated Carver's caution, agreeing to meet with him in a public place, but one that could still condone their type of... business.

"Since I've been... detained for the last year or so, much of the group's activity has gone dark. While my previous leadership was deemed too aggressive, hers was too lenient," Lye spoke calmly. He lifted his mug for another swig.

Placing it back down, he continued. "I understand that you currently lead a subgroup of my men on these streets, correct?"

"Indeed," Carver replied, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"I don't plan to correct this or bring you back to base, but I do have something to ask. The baronies, how familiar are you with them?"

"Not much, we tend to stick to the alleys. High town is where we do most of our work. The baronies are too heavily guarded, and we stick out like blood on the snow amongst the nobles."

"Namely to do with hygiene and attire, I imagine?" Lye asked with a smirk and a nod to Carver's tattered cloths, rough complexion, and greasy hair.

Carver frowned, took a deep breath, and sighed.

"It's to be expected from the rats in the sewers, is it not?" Carver's voice hinted at irritation.

"I suppose, but it isn't a requirement. My point being, should you happen to come into possession of, say, several crates of fine garbs, would you be able to make a few nobles out of your men?" Lye leaned back in his worn chair with a creak and a smile.

Carver paused for a moment to let the words relieve him of his scrunched brow. As it changed his expression from confused to interested, he leaned forward with elbows perched upon the tabletop.

"I can think of a few that would clean up nicely," he muttered with a twisted grin.

"Good," Lye responded. He fetched up his glass, titled it back, and drained it dry. He then slammed it to the table upside down and reached inside his fur cloak.

"The crates have already been delivered to the southeast hatch. Get them dressed, get them cleaned, and get them inside the baronies. Instructions to do so will have been written with names of contacts for the transitions. What I want you to find and accomplish will also be addressed. Can I count on your cooperation?" Lye finally produced a handful of gold coin and slammed it beside his glass.

"Aye," Carver replied as the bar maid from earlier approached their table in response to the ruckus.

"Excellent."

"Will you be wantin' somethin' else, dear?" asked the waitress. Lye stood and adjusted his cloak.

"I believe we're done. The payment on the table will buy this man another drink should he so choose. If not, the remainder is yours to keep." The assassin gave a nod to Carver who lifted his previously undisturbed mug in acceptance. "Pleasure doing business, Carver."

"You're a changed man, Cutter!"

"I'll take it as a compliment. Now, enjoy. I'll be on my way." Lye turned from the two and left his associate to enjoy the lifestyle he previously chastised.

As he made for the door, the assassin tightened the furs around his neck in preparation for Salvar's perpetually cold bite. He broke out into the frozen streets and joined the nameless others who trudged along. Compared to the tattered rags and soiled robes of the commoners of this district, Lye's bright white furs contrasted heavily against them. As he made way to a second meeting, a clear, commanding voice directed itself at his back.

"Hey."

Just a simple word, but dark - brooding. It was enough to halt his boots in the filth-blackened snow and turn to the source. Before him stood a small, lithe frame of a woman. From the shadow of her hood pierced two crystalline blue eyes and a scowl somewhere between hatred and disgust. She was familiar to him, but his memory failed to recall.

Lye pinched his chin in thought and replied, "Do I know you?"

[Ashla]

Ashla's eyes glazed over in their icy state. She was hit.

Hard.

The breeze blew against her, causing her cloak and long shawl to blow in all directions. Her gloved hand slipped under the protective layers, grabbing something on her belt.

"You don't remember me?" The young woman asked, "Really?"

Her grip on the weapon tightened, but she remained still. She was here to kill him, but not without letting him know why. The venom in her voice was now crystal clear, her hatred shining through like light from the sun. "How dare you not remember me?"

She pulled out a gun like weapon. A cross pistol loaded with bolts of steel. She locked and loaded it, aiming it at him. "You defeated me in the Althanas Leagues, then you decided to pay a visit to my country armed with a war."

The air stiffened, the temperature starting to drop. True, it was approaching sunset, but somehow, was this related to this stranger girl's plight?

"You didn't expect you wouldn't pay for Eiskalt, would you?"

Finally, a small grin came across her face. Memories of their first encounter, memories of her pathetic loss, flashed in her mind. They only strengthened her now.
"I'm not the same, weak kid you chased off in the Leagues. This time, this fight will end much differently."

She did not care. She did not care about the people who gasped when she pulled her weapon out. She did not care for the chilly breeze that swept by. She did not care what these strangers around her would think. One thing was on her mind, causing the world around her to blur out. "Prepare to pay for the lives you've stolen."

The Icebreaker pulled the trigger.

[Lye]

He remembered now. It was hazy, but the foggy afternoon on a road to Radasanth came into mind. He recalled a dead elf messenger and trap laid for a fellow contestant - a frail girl.

A naive girl.

This recollection didn't illicit the response she likely desired, for Lye's expression grew flat and lifeless. As she seethed her anger, he focused on the bolt lodged against the string of her hand bow. Just as ignorant as before, she continued to vent as the creeping black of his dark magics will enveloped the bolt. He remained silent as she spoke, and then she loosed her arrow.

"Unph!"

Lye staggered backward with his hand clasped firmly around the shaft of the bolt over his heart. Onlookers both gasped and shrieked, some running for the nearest guard. Hunched over, Lye fell to a knee in the snow and his silver locks cascaded over his shoulders to hide his face.

"Ashla... Icebreaker..." Lye muttered with a groan. "I-I remember now."

A cold gale swept through the streets, weaving through tattered buildings and rubble still scarred from a catastrophe long, long ago. The wolf skins which hugged his body lifted and danced in the arctic breeze while his hand discretely moved to his back. The bolt gripped in his hand slipped free from his clutches and clattered to the icy cobblestones beneath him. The noise helped to mask the whispered word while he drew his hidden blade and tucked it within the folds of his cloth.

"I remember a little girl from a broken family of cowards," he spoke clearly and firmly as he stood. "I remember that icy tundra my men were called to, and I see you still fail to understand the facts of that engagement."

The wind died down and his robes came to rest. Silver locks of his hair cast an ominous shadow where two sinister, green eyes locked on their target. Not a single drop of blood stained the pristine white fur where the bolt seemed to impact. The assassin's quick reflexes and dark magics helped spare what would have been a seeping wound. It became clear to him that the girl had only grown in anger, not in size nor in strength.

"You are no more wiser than when we first met, and I no longer have the patience or time to deal with your heart-felt dribble," Lye continued, his drawn weapon concealed in his sleeve. "Grow up child, and face me when you've abandoned those fruitless emotions."

Before she could reply, the assassin quietly turned away from her and began toward his original destination. By now, the streets were largely barren. Only a few foolish thrill seekers remained behind as they tried to watch what would unfold behind boxes, crates, and barrels.

Show them your magic, Icebreaker. Give them reason to call the Witch Hunters...

[Ashla]

Ashla growled as he turned to leave, You haven't seen me yet...

He was far enough she couldn't block off his escape, but she could target him from here. Icebreaker's eyes still were crisp with ice, still glowing in anger. "Stop!" she extended her hand towards him, causing a spear of ice, about five pounds, to appear. She bit her lip and she extended her energy, gearing the long pole of the icy weapon to explode. In a moment, the spear raced towards the assassin, causing snow behind it to be thrown up like flower thrown on the ground. Once it hit the ground, or him, it would explode.

Oh, she was not done yet, however. She dismantled the hilt of her crossbow and attached it to her leather gauntlet. The half elf then locked and loaded it, ready to shoot when triggered. Icebreaker pulled out two iron butterfly blades from their sheaths on her back. In a burst of speed, about her top notch forty five miles per hour, she would race up to Ulroké immediately after impact, whatever the results, and use her signature duel-bladed onslaught. It had taken care of opponent before, she could do it again. However, the difference was that across the blade was a thin sheet of ice, the strength of plynt, that could cause mild frostbite several minutes upon impact. Thing was, in her improved abilities, all her conjured ice was like that; including the spear racing towards Ulroké...

You will see, Ashla thought as the events unfolded, I'm not some kid anymore!