V. Shadow of the Peacock
When you think about it, what really matters here? Well, yourself. Yourself and your material possessions. Yourself, your material possessions, Sei (you sigh), and then probably Amigere. In that order. You're not normally the sort to be sentimental, but it really would be a waste to leave a man with that kind of body to the hands of hyena-women.
They just wouldn't appreciate him like you do. A man like that is wasted on… whatever they want him for. Eating over a campfire, maybe.
"Do you think he tastes more like pork or chicken?" Sei asks slyly. You ignore him. Some day you'll find a way to stop him answering things you only thought, but that day will not be today. You're busy.
You want away from these slave-taking savages. And one of your favourite little tricks might be just what you need.
"Sei," you say, refusing to show any fear.
He turns around, his neck swiveling around without his body moving. The moonlight catches on his horns and his white fur, but leaves his face shaded. "Yes, my lady?" he asks, tone mocking. "They are getting awfully close, aren't they?"
"Give me a taste of your gift."
"Oh, a taste?" He smiles. Not like a cat. Like a man. "And what will you give me?"
"I am your master! I don't have to do that!"
He yawns. "You don't?" he asked. "Goodness me. And there I thought you were scared of those raiders."
"What, me?" you try, with an idle flap that doesn't really cover up the tremble in your hands; the fact you're hurriedly pulling on your clothes.
"Well, if you're not, you don't need a taste of power." His eyes reflect unseen rainbows. "Isn't that right? My lady? And you haven't been feeding me. I'm just so tired. If you were giving me people to sup from, it would be different, but I'm huuuuuungry…"
You hate him. You really hate him. The bastard is using the tone he uses to mock you when you make perfectly justified complaints about things not being up to your standards. "One night's dreams," you say.
"I want five."
"Not a chance! Three at the most."
He licks his lips. "Very well, my lady." His neck rotates back to something that a cat could actually do, and he turns around.
You know what to do, and close your eyes. His tongue - as smooth as silk, not at all cat-like - licks your eyelids. You know if you had a mirror, you'd see the iridescent markings that to the unobservant looks like fancy eyeshadow. Your eyes feel dry. He's granted you a measure of his power, and you learned long ago how to shape the nature of dreams. When you had more servants, when you could keep Sei fat on mortal dreams… ah, but not now.
You turn from Sei, and prepare to make yourself up for the day, removing the marks of the night's activities as best you can. You don't have very long - ah yes, there's the first warning shout from up above - and you want to look your best for what is about to come.
Amigere stirs. "What's going on…" he mumbles.
You pause where you're applying a fresh layer of black paint to your nails. "Just stay in bed," you reassure him, sitting down next to him. "You're going to be leaving here with me. Just… trust me."
Screams echo from above deck. The laughing barks of the monstrous hyenas you can see through the windows are making your skin crawl, and the battle-cries of their riders have an all-too similar cadence.
Then with a thump that can be felt through the hull, the sandship hits something. Wood splinters, and the whole vessel lurches, leaning over precipitously and sending you sprawling over Amigere's handsome chest. The window is now pointing up towards the night sky, and the floor and the walls tilt at a similar angle.
"Mmmgh," you say, forcing down the flare of pain from the impact. You place a kiss on Amigere's beak, then pull yourself upright. Thank goodness the ropes holding down your luggage held, or otherwise you might have been crushed. The beached sandship creaks and groans.
"We hit a rock?" Amigere says, sitting up with a wince. "That's what it sounded like. What's the captain playing at?"
"We're being attacked by hyena-riders," you say. "Maybe those deyha from your stories."
He pales under his feathers and he scrabbles for his clothing. "That idiot must've crashed into a rock when trying to avoid them. Maybe they'll be distracted by..."
The sound of ropes slithering across the outside of the hull remind you that this gambit isn't exactly certain - or at least wouldn't have been if it wasn't you doing it, of course.
Amigere rushes to the window, scrambling up the sloping floor, and pokes his head out. "Oh
miggan," he curses. "Deyha. And this isn't just a raider band. This is a company."
"Excuse me?"
"The deyha - not the men - they're not just raiders. They've raised their banner."
"Savages like that have a sense of honour?" You're surprised at this.
"They'd say so," he says darkly. "At this distance I can't see the details, and I don't know all of their bannerdams, but that means if they get their hands on us, they'll drag us up into the mountains. No one will see us again. We gotta run!"
"Run?" you say, with false confidence. "Darling boy, you underestimate me. We're going to get out of this just fine. Now, where would their leader be?"
Amigere turns to face you, eyes wide in the gloom. "By the banner, of course, but…"
"Thank you, my dear." More shakily, you join him at the window, and follow his gesture. He's pointing towards a number of raiders who are holding back - and yes, you can see the banner. Their torches allow you to see that it's red - and you think it's a good red, too. Not a cheap dye. You bite your lower lip, then come to a decision. Reaching into your baggage, you pull out your very expensive black silk rope.
It's not really meant for climbing with, but it works for that too.
"Knot this onto something. I'm going to… talk to their leader," you say sweetly.
"I can't let you…"
"Darling, you can't 'not let' me do anything," you say. "Now, tie that knot and help me out the window, or very bad things will happen to you." You pause. "Because I won't be able to save you from those awful hyena-women," you add, not at all hastily or unconvincingly.
Nailed it.
Well, the darling boy is much more compliant now you've made clear his neck is on the line.
You slither down the raised side of the ship, feeling each bump. Fortunately, the tilt means you have much more control than you would if it was upright. The sand underfoot is coarse and large-grained, and cold underfoot. It has lost the day's heat already. The air is chill; your breath steams in the moonlight.
Sei jumps down beside you, slinking around your ankles.
"What are you doing?" you whisper, keeping low.
"Well, if it goes wrong, I want to see you die," he says, looking up at you. "And if it doesn't, you might treat me to one of them."
"Aren't my dreams enough?" you hiss.
"Never," he says easily. "Now, shouldn't you be more quiet? They might hear you."
Oh, some day you'll make him pay for this. You will. Those thoughts keep you warm in the chill night air as you pick your way across the sands and the scrubby expanses that break it up.
In your black desert clothes and with the raiders night-blind from their torches, you're nearly invisible. It's maybe the first good thing these clothes have done for you. You still don't like them, though. There's one alarming moment when one of the massive brutish hyenas starts sniffing at the air, but its rider spurs it on and it heads towards the ship.
The leader and her banner are set up on the ridge, and your legs are aching as you slowly move between rocks on the slope. Loose scree is a constant danger here, and there's far too many prickly bushes here for anyone's comfort. Fortunately, you haven't shed too much blood by the time you're edging around the ridge from behind.
From the shadows, you watch them and breath in their stink. Well, everyone stinks in the desert - it's not like Cherak where even the peasants wash. But their smell like burning soap is strong and ugly.
Just like them, really. Honestly, they'd be better looking if they had actual beast heads. What they have instead is jaws that aren't quite muzzles, eyes that are far too close together to be attractive, and ears that rise into points. It's like someone took a human face and sculpted hyena traits onto it like clay. Between their pronounced jaws and their dialect, you struggle to understand them when they talk between each other.
You pick up what you need, though. Their leader is
naquib Mahmuna - the brute of a woman on the biggest, nastiest-looking of the hyenas. Her bronze helmet is crested with dyed red hair the same colour as the banner and the cloak wrapped around her shoulders for warmth; under the cloak, you can see layers upon layers of chainmail swathing. She's taller than you - you doubt you'd even reach her shoulders if she dismounted - and that's with the fact that her legs are shorter than they should be for someone her side. She's waiting up here, with her personal followers, all on their own hyenas. The next biggest has taken off her helmet, and has one of the men holding it as she peers through a brass telescope. There's only five of the hyena women and a few more of the slim smaller men on ponies, but looking between the brutes in their brass helmets and red cloaks, and the beasts they ride, you're sure they'd be decisive if committed against any pockets of resistance.
Those idiots on the ship never stood a chance. And even if you were in perfect shape, you'd be… unsure about fighting them. At least if you couldn't call on your magics. Still, it reassures you that you're on the only viable course. Trying to run on foot wouldn't work - not with fresh riders back here.
You perch on a rock, forcing yourself to smile. Reaching into a pocket, you pull out a cheroot and light it; a sudden flare in the night. The sound of your igniter is clear in the night, and a few look in your direction.
They see a figure in black, her face lit from below by her cheroot, her red lips smiling. They can smell pines, cherry blossom and alpine flowers; northern plants savages like them have never probably even ever seen before. Your dragon's blood is right at the fore, your leaf-green eyes are slitted, and they can tell you're not quite human.
"Oh,
naquib Mahmuna," you say, raising your voice. "I see everything is going well for you and your people. I've come about my payment."
She twists in her saddle, gripping her long spear so tightly her knuckles whiten. "Who are-"
You meet her gaze, and mouth Sei's true name. Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to shout something - but no words come out. Her jaw goes slack, which gives you a disgustingly good view of her monstrous teeth. She could probably crush bones with those things, and
ew ew ew she has some of her last meal stuck in them.
She is not seeing you. She has fallen into your eyes, staring through them into… well, you're not entirely sure what. From what others have said, there are patterns in there, patterns a bit like peacock feathers and a bit like what you see when you close your eyes and press your fingers against the lids.
This deyha is asleep. Asleep, but still standing. Your eyeballs feel like they're fizzing, and you can feel your own dreams leak out through your tear ducts. You mustn't blink. Not until you want to end this.
"Don't you remember?" you ask, speaking quickly so her brutish underlings cannot wonder what's going on with her or notice what has become of your eyes. "You hired me to make sure this ship couldn't escape your grasp; to bless this endeavour, to release the winds they had tied up in knots so they couldn't outrun you. And," you add, "a powerful sorceress like myself never breaks her deals. Now, all you have to do is hold up your end of the agreement. You said I'd get to pick a single slave and a payment of the pearls from the merchant, and then you'd provide an escort to Cahzor."
There's a huff from the black-haired one who'd been reading the map. Honestly, she kind of looks like Ferem Izumi Mina would if she didn't shave her eyebrows for a few weeks. You immediately flag her as a nasty bitch who's probably going to stab you in the back, based on resemblance alone. "Oh, bullshit."
"Of course," you add quickly, "you had no reason to tell your underlings this. Why would you let it slip that you have such a powerful ally?"
You blink, and your dreams no longer escape through the holes in your eyes. The spell is ended. You tap off embers from your cheroot, which fall down to the sand.
Mahmuna tilts her head, looking you up and down as her mind works at reconciling what you slipped into her thoughts. She makes a gruff noise. "Took you long enough to show," she says. "I thought you'd run off."
"I'm not a traitor. Or a cheap conjurer of tricks," you say, gesturing - entirely coincidentally - at her subordinate. "I was working at making sure they didn't get the winds they'd bought from a weather witch down in Maas. If you hadn't hired me for this job, they'd have made it to Cahzor already."
"She's worked a spell on you!" snaps the black-haired one who's not wearing her helmet.
"Shut up, Layan," Mahmuna says. It would have been worse if she shouted.
"Can't you see, she's bespelled you?" She gestures to the others. "Look how weak she is! She's fallen for this sorceress's tricks!"
"Looks like you have a jealous rival," you observe. You're right, there. Of course, so is she, but them realising that would be bad for your long-term health.
Layan nudges her hyena with her heels, and the big beast wheels on you. You can see the drool oozing from its mouth. You don't have the time to draw on your true powers, but there's a few tricks any sorceress knows. You whip your hand out, forcing raw power through your veins until it seeps out of your pores into a ball of green light shot through with many colours. Your whole arm goes numb, shaking, as you hold it there.
This isn't a well-formed spell, and if you release it you have half a chance of blowing a finger off. But it looks really intimidating. It certainly scares the hyenas, which back away with chattering barks and Layan's steed bucks under her.
Then Mahmuna is there, and her hyena slams into her underling's. Layan goes sprawling, and the leader dismounts, dropping her spear and delivering a brutal kick into her as she tries to rise.
The leader of these savages backhands the black-haired one, drawing two red streaks down her face as her rings gash open her face. The black-haired one snarls, but the leader makes a deep rumbling growl at the back of her throat.
"You want more of this, Layan?" she snarls.
Hand pressed to her bleeding cheek, Layan bobs out a bow, showing the back of her neck. "No,
naquib," she says. None of the other deyha react to this violence. You suspect this kind of scrapping is near constant among them.
"Yeah. That's what I thought." She glares at you. "Put that magic away. You can curse my idiot cousin later!"
You let the ball of unformed wood-power disperse, and around you, the dry plants spring to sudden length. "Of course. If you want me to curse her, I could do all kinds of nasty things for the right rate." You give Layan your nicest smile.
The leader grins at you, showing those nasty bone-breaking teeth, and slaps you on the shoulder so hard your knees buckle and you hiss out a pained breath. "You did good." Up this close, you can smell the same burning-soap musk from her as from her beasts.
"Well," you say, "it's what I do." You gesture over towards the sandship. "I've already picked out my payment."
She scowls. "You have? Sorceress, you take what I give you!"
It's a reminder that you're not controlling her - you just left thoughts that were never hers in her mind.
"Of course, of course. But I have my eye on the birdman," you say, without blinking. "I know a buyer in Gem who collects exotic specimens. He's light boned, too; weak," you add, without sounding like you're trying to placate the sudden flare in her eyes. "That's good. He won't be able to escape me until I get him to a seller. And I'm sure you'll be happier without a wyld-tainted degenerate in your haul."
Your perfumed words dampen down her suspicions. "Hah! Too true. You know, they're always the troublesome ones. But if you fuck up and he sprouts wings and flies away, don't come crying to me."
"That's something I can deal with," you say. You smile, exhaling smoke. "And if he gets to be too troublesome, there's power in the sacrifice of such creatures. I have a familiar who would love to devour his soul."
The deyha back away, some of them making hand-gestures that probably are meant to protect them from evil spirits. It won't help. You can see Sei behind them all, sitting right on the edge of the torchlight.
"But of course," you say, "my work here is nearly done. All I need is the escort to Cahzor, and our contract will be complete."
Mahmuna pauses, resting her hand protectively on her huge beast. "Yes. You'll leave before sunrise. I'll be sending some men to pick up supplies from Cahzor-upon-Dam, so you can ride with them."
"That suits me nicely," you say.
The sun is a pinkish glow below the eastern horizon as you set off from the sandship. It looks like washed up whales you saw on the coast; pinned down by ropes, stranded and helpless. You would essay a little cheery wave back at it and those boring people who are headed for a fate that's probably not very nice, but you're just tired from a night without sleep.
Still, you're riding away from almost all the ill-tempered, violent and honestly psychotic hyena-women on one of their men's ponies. You have Amigere behind you, serving as a quite adequate backrest. The dear boy is jumpy, but you made it clear that as long as he pretended to be your captive, the deyha wouldn't touch him. You have your luggage carried on another pony - and of course, you have a good number of pearls in "payment".
You've definitely had worse nights. Like the night before last! You were up for most of the night because of the pain in your leg, and you didn't get laid once! Awful!
There are twenty or so of the deyha men on their ponies in the column. This is the first time you've really got a good look at them, so you're taking the chance to evaluate them. They're nothing like the women; slender, beardless men swaddled in figure-shrouding layers. None are taller than you, and more than that, they have hardly anything of the inhuman hyena-like traits of their female relatives.
The difference between them and their sisters is obvious, when you compare them to the two female deyha who are escorting the column. One of them is the Layan woman who Mahmuna had so casually beaten down, but is apparently now trusted to lead a supply mission. Their giant hyena mounts are larger than the ponies the men ride, and you notice now that they don't use spurs. Well, that probably makes sense. If you were a giant hyena, you'd maul the fuck out of someone who spurred you.
As you watch, she says something to one of the men, and one of his responses must have displeased him, because she thumps him with one meaty hand and leaves him gasping. She wheels her hyena away, a satisfied expression on her wide, flat face.
It's awfully fascinating. Why would only the women of this beastmen breed have such animalistic features? Was it some random happenstance of wyld-mutation, the rutting of some moon-maddened anathema, or something else that made them so dimorphic? And are the men hiding anything interesting under their desert garb?
Questions for later.
And since there will be a later, you choose instead to take a nap with Amihere's broad chest as an agreeable headrest.
The sun is halfway up the sky and starting to peek over the canyon walls when Layan cuffs the prettiest of the boys, and growls something at him in their native language. He responds quickly in the same tongue, performing that same neck-bearing bobbing bow you've seen a few times.
She nods in satisfaction. "Push on!" she hollers. "At Sammet's Gate, there'll be water."
That's something you can appreciate. You're the only one still riding, because there's no way you could walk this distance, but your pony is suffering. The land has got less sandy and more scrubby, with coarse rough yellowing plants growing over the walls and around the old road. You're starting to see ancient roofless ruins around the edges of the road, their stones fallen and worn by the winds. Others structures are dug into the cliff-face. As you watch, a pair of wild dogs watch the horses and the hyenas pass, pointed ears erect.
Still, in a sense, it's reassuring. At least this is somewhere where people used to live. It's not like the deadly expanses of the Burning Sands, or the wider canyons that run up into the mountains. The sandship couldn't have taken this route, and you reckon by the position of the sun that it's a more direct one than the canyons that have sand for the ship's hull. At some point they would have had to switch over to wheels - probably at night - but now, well, that's not happening.
It's an hour until you can see what they must have been talking about. The ancient gate is built into the walls of the canyon - no, not built. Shaped from. You can recognise the signs that some long-ago sorcerer teased out towers and walls and gatehouses from the rock. But it was so long ago that the towers are topless and twisted, the walls sand-smoothed by the countless years, and no men man the gatehouse. The empty windows glower down at you like the sockets of a skull.
The gates still stand. In fact, you suspect they'll never open again. Rust has bled down the frontage and spilled around the road that's overgrown with scrubby, coarse grass. The entire surface looks scabrous and sickly. But the walls around them have been breached in several places. Melted through.
As your column passes through, you rest your hand on the smoothed, glassy surface. This kind of intense heat - this was the work of a sorcerer, or perhaps one of Hesiesh's chosen. Someone broke these walls and not in antiquity, though not recently either.
Layan barks orders, and though you don't pick up every word, her intent is clear. She's ordering people into the ancient structure, and… yes, she wants the beasts watered too. You slip off your pony, stretching and feeling your body protest from spending so long mounted. Amigere looks around nervously.
"What now?" he asks.
"Just get the pony watered - do what they do," you say. You want to look around this place.
Sammet's Gate is old, and it's been abandoned long enough that some of the corridors within it are choked with sand or fallen debris. You don't think it dates back to the Shogunate, though - the interior is made of local stones, not any of the wondrous materials you've seen in their ancient ruins. Some long-forgotten power of the Second Age erected this to block off this canyon, but someone broke it. You can see the scars of war within it - the marks of other dragon-blooded fighting. Their burning souls scarred the corridors. You brush one long scar down a wall, which could only have been a jade blade dragged against sandstone.
And there are still bodies down here. Yellowing skeletons down in the gloom, lit in sharp light and shade from the narrow slit windows.
You smell water up ahead. Water and vegetation. Without meaning to, you accelerate your place. The smell is something you've missed in this parched place.
Half-lit by a hole in the ceiling, you find a room that's flooded. There's a crack in one wall and water dribbles through from the solid rock. The water sparkles, reflecting light all over the walls. In this tiny place of life out of the heat, there is greeness everywhere.
"Oh," you say softly, picking your way to the water's edge. The water seeping from the cracks in the wall is clean-tasting when you try it. This is wonderful. This is beautiful. To think that you'd find somewhere like this in this hot dry land. There are strange plants here, ones that must only bloom when they have water, and lush green mosses that cover the ancient chairs. Perhaps this was some ancient canteen, but the floor has given way in the centre under the weight of the water and formed a natural… oh, what's the word? Cenote? Something like that.
You look around. No one is here. Not even Sei, but he shows up when he wants to. Well, you're not going to let this chance to go waste. It's been so
long since you had a proper bath. Quickly you strip down, and lower yourself into the refreshingly cool water. It makes your scars ache, but it's a good ache.
Lying on your back in the cool water, your dark hair fans out around you. If you're going to be living here in the Far South, you need a place like this. Some magical place of wonders. Oh, hmm, you should also probably wash your clothes while you're at it. Eh, you can do that later. For now, you're just going to relax.
The sound of footsteps breaks you from your reverie, and you look up just as one of the deyha men enter. He's carrying a pair of waterskins, so his purpose here seems obvious. You watch as he sags down on the soft moss, letting out a relieved sigh.
He's stripped to the waist, so you can see much more of him. He's pretty, with a flat face, tan-coloured hair that stands up slightly, and freckles over his face and his upper body. Or maybe they're not freckles; maybe they're spots like the hyenas and the women had. He's not overtly muscled in the same way as Amigere, but he's got a core wiry strength to him, from his shoulders down to his torso. He's got a hint of hair on his chest, and a trail that rises up from his loose trousers.
You frown when you see the scars and the bruises scattered across his torso. Oh, that the deyha treat such pretty boys in such an ugly way! Such a shame.
"You know," you say, paddling over to the edge of the deep parts, "the water's lovely."
He jolts, and nearly falls off his moss-covered seat. Eyes wide, he looks for the voice and settles on you.
"Lady! Sorry!" He looks away when he sees your state of undress. "I d-didn't know…"
Oh! How adorable! Most men would stare at you like this! But he's worried about your modesty. He's sweet!
And you know what you do to sweets.
"It's quite alright," you purr. "What is your name?"
"Awwal," he says, raising his eyes to look at the ceiling. "Lady. I w-was just filling these skins and..."
"Well, Awwal, really, it's been a hard ride this far. I'm telling you that I don't mind a companion in the water."
"I would not wish to offend one of my sister's…"
"Your sister?" You pull yourself out of the deep parts of the water and perch on the broken floor, turning to look back at him over your shoulder.
His head bobs, as he tries to nod without looking at you. "My sister leads this company. She is the naquib."
"You're Mahmuna's brother?" You look him up and down. "I don't see the resemblance."
"Well, she is deyha, and I am not," he says simply.
You sweep your long black hair back. "I'm sorry. I thought 'deyha' was the name of your people. But… are you adopted, or…"
"No, no." He bites his lip, and you want to kiss the dimpled flesh. "There are the deyha, and then there are the men. The least of the deyha are more worthy than the best man. Only slave-races have women."
"Do you think I'm a slave?" you ask a hint of viciousness in your voice.
"No, no! But... well, I am the first my dam bore; she is the second. I was given to my sister when she rode out seven years ago."
"Younger?" you ask, eyes wide. You look him up and down. Oh, you can read him there. There's resentment there, resentment he forces down so deep he probably doesn't recognise it himself. An elder brother given to his sister as barely more than a slave. "I find that surprising." You pause. "Wait, how old is she?"
"Twenty-three, lady. I am thirteen seasons her elder."
Huh. You would have pinned her as older. Maybe it was the scars. But if she's been campaigning like she was fifteen or so, that would make sense.
"So, Awwal," you say. "Perhaps you could help clear something up for me - how long are we going to be staying in these ruins?"
"Until the worst heat of the day has passed," he says, clearly happy to be moving back to safer territory. "Then we will head out. If things go well, we should be at Cahzor-Motero by this time tomorrow. It is a small place but we will be able to rest there and find fodder for the horses."
"Already at Cahzor?" you ask, surprised. "I thought it was further."
"No, this would be Cahzor-Motero. From there, it is two days to Cahzor-upon-Dam, which overlooks the old city."
"Three days to Cahzor," you say to yourself. So it is… hmm, the deyha will be expecting their supplies back in around a week after you left. Maybe a couple of days after that, when you account for time to obtain them. You swing your legs out of the water, and rise, feeling delightfully clean. Water cascades off your skin as you pace up to Awwal. The moss is soft underfoot.
His eyes flicker to you, and sees everything. He blushes bright red, which is exactly what you wanted. "Lady!" he squeaks. You're taller than him, so he can't exactly look up in the same way.
"Thank you very much, Awwal," you tell him, taking him by the shoulders. He stiffens up, in more than one way. "I'll get out of your way so you can get up to your important duties. Thank you for being so patient with me. I really do owe you a
favour." Then you walk over to your clothes. You don't look at him, but you do see his reflection in the water and he's staring.
You glance back, and he jerks away. "Of course, if you want to swim with me, I might feel like another bath soon," you add teasingly, as you pull on your clothes.
"Um." He stammers and hems and haws, but hasn't managed anything coherent by the time you're nominally decent.
"Goodbye, dear boy," you say, leaving him behind.
Well, you have probably at least six hours to kill. You're feeling rested from your nap and very clean from your wash, so that's good. But seeing such a sweet pretty boy like that - well, you have something to think about when you relax.
It's pure magnanimity on your behalf, obviously. It's not that you're considering whether twenty pretty boys as your personal guard might be worth betraying the trust of those deyha savages.
Wait, no, that's exactly what you're considering.
Rena is picking two ways that she relaxes and clears her mind while thinking about this decision. These decide her two "Defensive" styles, so called because while they are not strictly pure combat styles, they do have some kind of combat applicability.
Relax While Thinking
Pick Two Defensive Styles. The top-ranked option will receive 200XP - if they draw, this reward will be split.
[ ] Practice katas - Bending Willow Style (Wood Aspected) is a purely defensive martial art taught to young women in Cherak. It focuses more on general physical fitness, flexibility, and escaping holds and other confines than direct violence. Masters twist out of the way of blows, have spirits that bend rather than break, and can contort in ways that don't seem possible. Rena's injuries have left her out of condition and inflexible; her darling former sifu would be disgusted.
[ ] Get to know your steed better - Burning Beastmaster Style (Fire Aspected) is the formalised school used by those riders and falconeers who patrol the treacherous northern borders of Cherak. Masters can draw reserves from their steeds no one expected, their horses never disobey them, and tame and handle many different breeds of hunting beast. Even beyond the injuries that make riding uncomfortable, Rena has not seriously hunted for several decades. She's really let her skills degrade ever since that bear of a man retired from his position as head huntsman.
[ ] Admire the shirtless men at work - Unnoticed Breeze Style (Air Aspected) teaches the art of passing unseen and lightfooted movement, and is practiced by the ashimi families of spies and assassins who serve House Ferem and watch their enemies. Masters can pass unseen and unheard, balancing on leaves and climbing walls with ease. Between her bad leg and her hedonism over the past few decades, Rena has most of her former skill at it. She still thinks fondly of her first teacher, though.
[ ] Meditate and try to centre yourself - Unblinking Jade Eyes Style (Earth Aspected) teaches one to have clear minds and clear eyes. It is taught by very boring Immaculate monks who do nonsense like sitting under freezing cold mountain streams. Masters can work through any pain and hear the fall of a hair behind them. Rena once studied it, but got distracted by the very handsome monk who taught her and so never really advanced.
[ ] Go for another swim in the pool - Torrential Footfall Style (Water Aspected) is born from the Cheraki northern sport of river racing, where young men and women chase a prize floated down river on a log or a barrel. Masters of it are equally at home on land or on the water, speedy on foot, and can even run on surfaces such as quicksand or water as easily as if it were solid earth. Rena's injuries and her long bed rest have ruined her conditioning, but back in her youth she was an excellent chaser. It certainly won her success with the young men.
To Betray or not to Betray; That is the Question
[ ] It's not like you're actually betraying her. After all, you only bespelled her to think you were on her side in the first place. So you're going to steal those darling boys away as your own little honour guard. And dispose of the hyena women, because you're saving those boys from their rough ways.
[ ] You don't care enough about the boys to want to risk angering the deyha. Right now she thinks you're her ally, and even once the spell wears off, she won't question it unless you give her reason to. A brutal raider band that think you're their sorceress-ally… might be useful in future. And you can't do with making more enemies.
