Jacques, in hindsight, had been the perfect partner to learn how to wrestle a man in armor. By the time Ashlynn had begun training with Sybyll and Thane, thereâd been no need for either of her vampiric mentors to teach her the basics of grappling; she already knew. Instead, theyâd been able to focus on the methods of defeating the armor itself; how to wedge a blade between plates, twisting the point of a blade between links of mail, and other, more advanced techniques.
But she didnât need to peel Owain out of his armor just yet, nor was she ready to attempt to deliver a killing blow. Instead, she needed to knock him on the ground so she could see things up close, and for that, the Sandbox Witchâs lessons were the greatest of all.
Jacques was more than a foot taller than Owain, and his frame was every bit as broad and bulky as an armored knightâs, with a thick, scaly hide that might be even more durable than even Owainâs armor. The Ancient Clan hadnât survived through every catastrophe to wrack the Eldritch world by being easy to kill, after all.
"You shorter dan me, yeah?" Jacques made a point of telling her then, and it was as true of Owain as it was of the larger, reptilian witch. "So you get low. Get close inside, use dem hips, den de whole of your body. You get your shoulder up under my arm, den you just point witâ your hand, right dere, cher, right where you want me to fall, anâ you touch dat spot witâ your finger. Let de earth do de rest."
When Owainâs next attack arrived, Aslynn beat hard against Fallen Claw, forcing him to give her the opening she needed to step inside his reach.
-TIING!-
The point of Waterâs Edge skipped off the rounded dome of Owainâs breastplate, but Ashlynn didnât care; the thrustâs purpose had always been to drive past him, not to stagger him, and once she was inside his reach, her left hand shot out to capture his right wrist as she drove her armored right shoulder up under his armpit.
"Aaarrggg!" Owain cried out as sudden pain flared in his right arm. The injury heâd sustained just days ago from the antlers of the Imperial Bull Elk, the one heâd been certain wouldnât trouble him, and that had faded to a dull background ache that could be easily ignored, sent a sharp, hot wave of pain through his arm as Ashlynn wrenched him off balance.
The combination of Ashlnnâs sudden change in tactics and the unexpected pain in his arm caught Owain off guard enough that she was able to press her body close against his, pivoting on the heels of her feet, just like Jacques had taught her and popping her hips against Owainâs to lever the larger, heavier man completely off the ground.
It wasnât the cleanest throw Ashlynn had ever managed. She had hoped to slam him flat on his back so the impact with the stone floor would knock the wind out of his body and give her time to study the sword while she grappled with him. But holding on to her own blade while throwing someone else added enough complications that she was grateful the move worked at all.
-CLACK- - CLACK- -CLATTER!-
Owain landed on the ground in a heap at her feet, just where sheâd pointed him to, and the sounds of dozens of finely articulated armor plates crashing into the floor of the Great Hall filled the air. Ashlynn kept her grip on Owainâs arm, twisting sharply and dropping a knee on his shoulder to prevent him from standing as her eyes were finally able to sweep over the entire length of the blade and the hilt, to see where the energy flowed and a piece of what it was doing.
"Why are you helping him?" Ashlynn whispered, pleading that the piece of Ancient Oak in the weaponâs hilt would answer her. Her hand shifted on his wrist, bringing the back of her gauntlet close enough to the wooden hilt of Fallen Claw to touch it, and in that moment, Ashlynnâs eyes went wide in amazement as she received her answer...
For a moment, time seemed to slow as though the entire Great Hall were encased in thick tree sap. Sounds were muffled and distant, and the fabric of Owainâs tabard was still fluttering mid-air before Ashlynnâs vision swam, and she felt like she was suddenly in several places all at once.
An ache filled her body, as if sheâd been hacked into hundreds of pieces before being scraped, carved, and shaped into a hundred times a hundred different things, but in her mind, two different scenes drew her attention the way a flame captivated a moth.
The first was a polished wooden bed with a canopy that had been carved to resemble the branches and leaves of the mighty Ancient Oak it had been carved from. On that bed lay a woman with soft chestnut hair, slick with sweat and plastered to her brow. Her features were refined and delicate, and even without a trace of makeup or jewelry, Ashlynn could tell she must have been an exceptional beauty.
It wasnât the woman in the bed, however, who drew most of Ashlynnâs attention. Rather, it was the small infant cradled in her arms that took her breath away because she knew, knew to the depths of her bones, that she was looking at Owain the day heâd been born.
As she watched the tender scene of Owainâs late mother nursing her newborn son, she watched in horror as a soft, greenish-gold energy enveloped the infantâs body, drifting down from the canopy above him like tiny leaves piling up on him one by one...
"Itâs not the sword thatâs giving him power," Ashlynn whispered as she stared at the scene of the Ancient Oakâs remains nurturing the infant who had been born underneath itâs mutilated boughs... "The power has been part of him since the day he was born, or, or even longer than that," she realized as she looked at a tangle of energy that burrowed into the body of Owainâs mother the way roots burrowed into the earth.
"But this isnât witchcraft," Ashlynn said as she watched the shape the energy took as it flowed into Owainâs body. Witchcraft would have nurtured him in ways that left him free to grow into a thousand different things. If the Ancient Oak had been coaxed into nurturing an infant with witchcraft, that child could have become extraordinary as an artist, a scholar, or a tradesman as easily as they became a warrior.
Yet when Ashlynn looked at the energy nurturing baby Owain, she saw a singular, predestined purpose and the strict, rigid structures of an Oracleâs magic.
"The Church," Ashlynn whispered. "What have you done to him? And what did you make him into?"