Master's Journey: Tales to Astound! #6
Added 2019-03-10 19:04:23 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: Tuturuuuuuuuuuuu~
[story]
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“It must be worth attempting, yes? Maybe she has something interesting. Not that a bow wouldn’t also be suitable, of course,” you nod to Kinna, who nods back to you.
“Good luck with her then, aye?” the light-haired beauty smiles, gently squeezing both your forearms before releasing. “We’ll finish gathering our things and readying Abamu.”
“Abamu?”
“The pack beast,” Kinna gestures to the massive creature you’d been examining earlier. “His name is Abamu. Or Abbu, if he likes you,” her grin widens, and she waves to you, making her way over to her brother and the shaggy, tusked beast carrying their equipment. Left alone, your eyes dart to were Shie’s tent had been, now just a patch of pale grass that had grown improperly while it had been shielded from the light. The tattooed woman still sat there, beside the fire, surrounded now by sacks and small chests rather than the strange array of talismans and fetishes that had filled her temporary home.
Taking a deep breath and hoping she doesn’t find your presence too objectionable, you make your way towards her with, perhaps, more caution than necessary. Something about Shie, despite her wickedly dark beauty, still unsettles you. Perhaps her icy, unfocused eyes, or the bizarre babble that escapes her black lips. “Shie? That is your name, yes?” you attempt, approaching slowly before sitting down cross-legged in front of her.
“That was my name when I was wrenched, screaming, from the water of my womb,” she whispers, her voice growing in pitch as she speaks, as if she’s unused to doing so. “The gods gave me different names, many names, names I can neither speak nor hear. But yes. Call me Shie, if I must be spoken at.”
You blink, trying to steady yourself. You’d forgotten, if only for a moment, how... odd, Shie was, but you’ve come this far. Too late to turn back without making the situation even more twisted than it’s already become. “Everyone’s leaving soon. I wanted to ask if you had a decent weapon I could use, that I might be rid of this heavy, rusted thing,” you gesture down to the cutlass you’d scavenged from the shipwreck, then draw it from its makeshift loop in your loincloth.
“You wish to keep your weak, soft flesh from being dragged home to all that which crawls in the darkness. And why should I prevent you from making such a journey, should the darkness desire you?” Shie looks up at you, fully, for the first time, eyes locking inescapably with your own. Like gazing into the eyes of a great cat or wolf, you are plagued by the sudden sensation that to look away would mean to invite the blood-haired woman to your throat.
“I am to accompany you and your fellows to the city, to help you gain entrance. Is that not plenty to wish me to stay alive?”
“Something you would do anyway,” Shie purrs. “If you are to barter for what I might give, it must be for me, and me alone. Something you want. Something you need.”
Your brow tenses, and you look down to your own body. From what she’s said, it seems she does have something you could use... but you don’t precisely have anything to give back. “What about this?” you say, holding up the sailor’s sword you now carry.
“A blunt, decaying wedge of iron you yourself admit is of no further use,” Shie dismisses the offer.
“It’s all I have, beyond the clothes on my back -- what little of them I managed to gather, anyway.”
Shie licks her lips, smearing the dark paint that covers them and giving the strange phyragian an even more unstable visage. “Then you have something yet to give.”
“This?” you drop the cutlass, gesturing to the scrap of sail-cloth covering your chest. “Is this what you want?”
“I want sacrifice. I have no desire for your cloth -- it is your modesty that feeds me.” The woman stands, opening the drawstring on one of her large, canvas sacks and rummaging through until she withdraws a long, narrow box of reddish wood. Clicking it open, Shie withdraws a strange weapon, the like of which you’ve seen only once in the past, though you cannot recall where or how. About the length of a short longsword or long shortsword, it bears an exaggerated outward curve with a blunt, heavy edge at the end of its bizarre blade. The entire thing, handle included, seems built of a single piece of sleek golden-brown metal. “A khopesh; the blade of a Dhuvian Gatekeeper, forged from the dark peoples’ bronze. Yours... if you are willing to trade for it.”
You inhale through your nose and let your eyes slide down the length of the blade. Its workmanship is incredible, even if its structure is exotic, starkly contrasting with your cheaply-made sailor’s sword. The price is your dignity, for the moment... but dignity will do you little good if you’re dead by some beast of the jungle. You bring your gaze back to Shie’s and hold it as you unwind the scrap of cloth from around your chest, freeing your bare breasts once again, now cleaned by your dip in the river. “I accept your trade,” you say, reaching out for the khopesh. Shie doesn’t stop you, and you draw it from its case, testing its surprisingly light, balanced weight. Hopefully it’s a trade that keeps you alive, as you can already hear a pleased whistle from Ozrik at the other end of camp.
“Kinna, did ye not warn the girl?” you hear the man call out.
“Ehh, still her own choice, in the end,” his sister calls back, then approaches you. “A fine blade, though, I see. Figured Shie’d have something in hiding. We’re ready to be off, then -- you prefer to ride on Abamu, or keep to the trees? Better chance to get an ambush if we’re attacked on the road, but perhaps not as safe if somethin’ creeps out from the jungle....”
“Aye, and should you choose to ride, I can get a better look at you!” Ozrik jeers.
1) Ride on Abamu with Ozrik, keeping you safer from attacks from the jungle, but more vulnerable to attacks from the road.
2) Stick to the trees, giving you advantage against road attackers but leaving you open to creatures in the jungle.
3) Walk behind Abamu, leaving you a sitting duck for anything coming from behind... and at risk of stepping in what the beast leaves behind.
4) Other (comment)
