Anyee
07-07-2004, 22:45
Right, here is the first chapter that isn't in TDL. It begins one of the more improbable crossovers ever.
Chapter 20
When the Viz-jaq'tar were assembled from the shattered remnant of the Vizerji mage clans, they took the whole of the mage's knowledge, of magic, of alchemy, of history, of prophecy. When the greatest of those clans' leaders journeyed to Tristram, with the Rogues, with the nameless warriors and quiet monks, the assassins followed a shadow's breath behind, waiting to slay any who were too weak to resist Diablo's corruption. During the time of peace before this new, dark disaster, we roamed Sanctuary, assuring that no magician thought himself above the laws of man. With our duties, we brought legend, myth, confusion, contradiction, all as effective as refracting armor for cloaking ourselves in secrecy. We learned, we absorbed, we calculated and prepared. There was no secret library, no sanctum sanctorum, no family crypt that one of us had not entered, searched, recorded, and abandoned to its dusty sleep.
These hundreds of years of training and wisdom, had been filtered, refined, purified, and then forced, beaten, and pushed into our heads. But in all my time as an Assassin, in the decades I had spent in their service, I had not once heard of the mythos Akara conveyed to me. Perhaps it was that the wandering Rogues that the Vizerji of old encountered lacked the more formal and ritual education of their monastery-clinging Sisters. I ventured that the story Akara told me had been told to her but once by the Sister who pressed her into service and that I was the first outsider to hear its reiteration. A dubious honor.
I racked my brain as I sat, wrapped in the motley of the Priestess' linens, and attempted to process the story further. The tale of the Rogues was a simple one until now. A group of women warriors came together, found religion, and built a large pile of rocks to prove that they were as ridiculous, single-minded, and powerful as any other group of warriors. That their pile of rocks sat on top of the homes of a few thousand people wasn't their problem; the Eye guided them here, the Eye can't be wrong. It was a pattern we'd seen many times, with the Zan Easu, with the Zakarum, even with the Vizerji; influential people would band together and, in the name of righteousness, do something. The Rogues just happened to be some of the earliest to succumb to this particular brand of self-importance. In their literature, though, as in the stories and fractured campfire musings of a few other tribes, there was mention of the other races. Of peoples tall, fair, and unending, like the Master of Shadows, of animals that walked as humans, as the Cat peoples of the desert do now. What happened to these people is unknown; we lack even the shards of a skeleton. But as any good assassin knows, even the cleanest execution leaves some trace...
Paige entered with an apologetic grin, bearing a small bowl of soup. My arms and wrists, punctured and brutalized both from the warring and from the subsequent treatment, were still of little use and would remain so for a few more hours. I flipped a flaccid limb at her, "I seem to be as a nervous husband on his nuptial bed." She snickered and knelt down next to me, bringing the thin liquid to my lips. I greedily sucked it down, dispelling the aching thirst that comes after a bleed. She took it away for a moment, allowing me to catch my breath, and then allowed me to finish the food. "Thank you," I said, using my shoulder to wipe off my face. She plopped down cross-legged and stared at me.
"I don't know what to make of you, Assassin. One moment, you are cool and professional, the next jovial and relaxed, the next irrational and deadly. Is this normal?"
I sighed and idly tried to flex my right hand. "No, it isn't." My fingers wouldn't bend more than a few degrees. "Paige, while we were out there yesterday, I saw something. A vision. Its elements I have seen now two other times." I scanned my palm for scar tissue and found none. "Not even Kashya knows that I've been...seeing things." I tried clenching a fist.
"The sphere..." she volunteered. I dropped my hand and looked at her in wonder.
"You..."
"Oh, yes, in the fog. I could have sworn I saw a little black ball, like a rotted egg, rolling around at my toes. But I called on the great Eye to see the truth and it vanished." She inflected her head a little and then, embarrassed, stared at the floor. She was shy about her religion and I could see, now, that the roots of the Sisterhood ran thick and strong into her heart. A small flash of worry touched my mind as she looked away. "I know it must sound..."
I cut her off. "It sounds correct. I too saw the sphere, but was led astray. When it had brought me far enough, it turned into a horrific vision, the Monastery, oozing with corruption, having taken hold of you as well."
She kept her eyes on the ground and fidgeted slightly. "I believe there is great danger for you there, my young companion, and I wonder of the wisdom of keeping you with me."
She almost fell into my lap, petrified, pleading "Please, don't leave me behind. If I stay here, they'll make me go out on patrol, and no one comes back from those. At least with you," she stammered for a moment, "At least...I have a chance."
"And you say this," I asked softly, "though you have seen me fail many times, though you have incurred serious wounds at my side, though you have touched the world beyond because of my carelessness."
"I am not afraid," she cried and then rocked back, crying. "I'm not..." Then, she ran out of the tent
I sighed and nearly fell back again. Sitting was rapidly becoming a burden without some sort of support. Paige's outburst, like a hurricane during a midsummer swim, was troubling. I opened my mind and searched the encampment. She was sitting with a small group, being comforted; they would probably do a better job of that than I would. Instead, I called Kashya to me. <Kashya, a word with you> I felt her leave the side of Akara and a massive...blue force. That must be the barbarian. I didn't have time to probe him further as Kashya entered the tent.
"You. Sit." I ordered. She looked down on me with a strange look, one of confusion, defiance, amusement, all in a single raised eyebrow. I sighed again. I gathered as much command and venom as I could in a practically helpless, unarmored and unweaponed state. "I said SIT." She complied, in spite of herself. Learning the word of command from our Mistress of Traps was a great help in these situations.
"Blood Raven," I said to her, and she almost got up and left. I forced up a small mental barrier around her. <I know you can walk through this, ignore me, ignore my questions, but do you really want that?> She reseated herself and I finally lay back, exhausted from that effort. "She was your beloved, correct? Why didn't you tell me this?" To my surprise, she stretched out next to me, so she could stare at me, through me. She took my hand and clenched it in a crushing grip.
"The woman I loved," she hissed, "died long before you came to this encampment. What you did was a formality." Her eyes were cold and dry, her voice filled with a loathing only love could accomplish. She kissed me hard, biting down on my lip enough to draw sudden blood. I let out a muffled yelp and tried to draw back, but her hand held me fast. She finally pulled away and unfurled to standing, wiping my blood from her mouth. "Never mention that name in my presence again. This is the last we speak of it." She glanced down at my tousled form. "Prepare yourself, little Assassin. The barbarian wishes to speak to you."
She flipped open the tent and stormed out, leaving me there to wonder what in the name of the dragon was going on. Crying assistants, vicious commanders, strange and distant priestesses. It seemed I couldn't do anything right today.
I lamely tried to roll myself into the blankets, to no avail. Either I would meet my new ally in a state of partial undress, or I would need some help. <Paige> I sent. <I need your assistance.> I felt a surge of defiance, but then a wave of complacency as she came to me.
"Yes?" she asked, glancing outside to her friends, still shaken by...whatever it was that was eating at her.
"Can you, well," She went wide-eyed when she realized I wasn't clothed and blushed, turning away again. "Come on, Paige, stop with this strange modesty. I'm sure you've seen plenty of women naked." I watched as the tips of her ears turned even redder. She knelt, still not meeting my gaze, and worked one arm under my back, easing me to sitting. She took one of the blankets and wrapped it around me, making sure that the folds draped to cover most of my skin. Confident that the garment wouldn't fall off, she sat back on her heels, preparing to leave. "No, wait, stay." I said. "As my assistant, you need to hear whatever he and I discuss and," I smiled slightly, "I have no way of knowing whether I can stay upright or not. I don't fall flat on my back for every stranger I meet." She snickered and relaxed considerably.
A massive shadow darkened the tent as Paige positioned herself next to me, supporting my back with her shoulder. The tent flaps opened and a huge braid, followed by a tree-trunk body, bent itself into the tiny tent. The Barbarian's thick and mighty form all but filled the little space in the tent and he knelt in order to avoid upsetting the whole setup with his head. His skin glowed with outdoor hardiness coupled with the Highlander's cultivated resistances, an impressive sight even when he was at rest. He kept his head down, the warrior-lock glimmering down his back with silver flecks and faint ebony sheen, winding its way past literally thousands of scars and markings. Out of armor, I could see the intricate woven-work of his tribal dress, and tried to reference the pattern back to the many noble families of the North, attempting to remember whether that thin blue band indicated a mother who died at birth or a brother lost in battle. This was no mere recruit that the children of Bul Kathos had sent to the Rogues. This was a veteran.
"Lady," he said from his crouch, in what I guessed was the softest voice he could create. It still felt like thunder rolling across an empty plain, shaking the trees with invisible force, and I found myself shivering slightly. The address was a formal one, a term not used towards me in many years. I puzzled for a moment, trying to determine which ceremony he was invoking, or whether it was used in deference to my clan, and lightly skimmed his mind with the faintest glimmer of search. He perhaps took my silence as a dismissal, for he nodded grimly and went to back out of the tent. I finally figured out what I was doing and what he expected. I gingerly extended an arm.
"Old Man, wait." He stopped and looked up at the honorific. (Warrior races are not known for their longevity, as constant battle requires constant blood. An old man with many battle scars shows a fierce and skilled warrior, able to withstand many fights without being foolish enough to get himself killed. Hence, Old Man.) The appellation Lady...is a story for another time. I gazed into the tanned, lined face, dark brown eyes likely as keen as those of the rogue who supported my weight, and watched the slight trace of apprehension slip away. He reached out a shield-sized hand and took my own. I expected to have the bones of my fingers shattered in his grip, but he controlled his strength with practiced ease.
"Look," was all he said, giving me leave to probe his mind and body if I so chose. A smart man indeed, to know that I might have searched his soul even if he refused.
"Unnecessary." I responded, though I did drop a slight layer of mental protection to look at him. As I guessed, a higher born warrior, well trained, but...something was off, was wrong. There was a taint to the aura that I couldn't place well in my exhausted state.
He smiled, a mouth of shattered and half-broken teeth filed to points . "We leave tomorrow." He dropped my hand and gingerly crept out of the tent in an unusually graceful movement for a body that large.
"All right, Paige. That's enough." She looked at me oddly.
"That's it? You don't trust anyone in the camp, and you've been here over two weeks, but an eight word conversation and he's our ally. Did I miss something?" I had her ease me back to a supine position before answering.
"How many Amazons have you met?"
"What does that-."
"Answer me." She rolled her eyes and wiggled her fingers as she thought.
"Well, there was that small army that came through about..." she shrugged, "six months ago, maybe?"
"Mmhmm. How about necromancers...do you know what those are?"
She made a face like a child seeing a squished bug and I nearly laughed aloud, "Necromancers are those guys that take dead people and-"
I cut her off, preferring not to hear the local tales of Rathma's preference for rot-moist corpses over the warm flesh of potential consorts.
She pursed her lips and glared expectantly at me. "Okay, Paige, how many Assassins have you met in your little, sheltered life?" I teased her.
She ducked her head away and said, "You're the only one."
"And what did you know about the Viz-jaq'taar before I showed up here." She mumbled something that sounded like shadows and killers. "Yep, that's what I thought. Now, the Barbarians are even more isolated than the Rogues. Whatever information gets to their snow-covered hovel has been filtered through so many unlearned and superstitious tongues that the average Assassin is probably somewhere on the level of a myth or a brutal demigod. I'm surprised that he agreed to meet with me at all." I let my words sink in, but when understanding failed to come to Paige's eyes, I spoke to her again. "He's terrified of me. He'll fight alongside us because he's less afraid of the demons out there than he is of my rank."
Paige wrinkled her forehead in disbelief. "You're not that scary."
I smiled at her, "You'd be surprised. Now, I can't sleep in here. I need to get outside to one of the tents. Can you help me up?" Taking my jumble of blankets with her, we slowly began to ease me out of the tent opening into the night air.
After about three steps, the vertigo was too much. I felt like I was gazing through a tiny arrow-slit at the world, like my ears had been stuffed with wool. I thought I heard someone call my name, but a cacophony of buzzing and bell ringing overwhelmed all other sounds. I felt like I was tumbling end over end in a dark place, my sense of self...
I was slapped back to reality with a burst of foul smelling herbs. I lay in the middle of the camp, Paige on one side of me, Akara on the other, holding a vial. I groaned and nearly vomited from the stench. "Once more," the crone whispered and waved the liquid under my face. My alertness returned, though not my strength.
"I need sleep, now, if I want to be on my feet again tomorrow." The women nodded and went to call one of the larger Sisters to my side. Instead, the Barbarian came from his position at the campfire and indicated that he would move me to a sleeping place. I was lifted like unknotted twine and swept gently into Kashya's tent, much to both of our surprises. He seemed clearly pleased with himself; after all, he'd just seen a demon-goddess faint like a breeding sow villager in front of him. Well, so much for the plan of fear as motivation. "Good night, old man," I told him, bidding him leave me to sleep.
"Good night, young Lady," he said, with an air both grave and teasing. I gave him a look that otherwise would have carried a full mental blast, but that only poked him in the forehead. He let out a burst of laughter and went outside. I looked at Kashya, who rolled her eyes in annoyance and set about making herself a bed on the floor so that I could use the flimsy cot as a resting place for the night. Her grumbling and unconcealed hostility were the last things I remembered before I passed out.
Chapter 20
When the Viz-jaq'tar were assembled from the shattered remnant of the Vizerji mage clans, they took the whole of the mage's knowledge, of magic, of alchemy, of history, of prophecy. When the greatest of those clans' leaders journeyed to Tristram, with the Rogues, with the nameless warriors and quiet monks, the assassins followed a shadow's breath behind, waiting to slay any who were too weak to resist Diablo's corruption. During the time of peace before this new, dark disaster, we roamed Sanctuary, assuring that no magician thought himself above the laws of man. With our duties, we brought legend, myth, confusion, contradiction, all as effective as refracting armor for cloaking ourselves in secrecy. We learned, we absorbed, we calculated and prepared. There was no secret library, no sanctum sanctorum, no family crypt that one of us had not entered, searched, recorded, and abandoned to its dusty sleep.
These hundreds of years of training and wisdom, had been filtered, refined, purified, and then forced, beaten, and pushed into our heads. But in all my time as an Assassin, in the decades I had spent in their service, I had not once heard of the mythos Akara conveyed to me. Perhaps it was that the wandering Rogues that the Vizerji of old encountered lacked the more formal and ritual education of their monastery-clinging Sisters. I ventured that the story Akara told me had been told to her but once by the Sister who pressed her into service and that I was the first outsider to hear its reiteration. A dubious honor.
I racked my brain as I sat, wrapped in the motley of the Priestess' linens, and attempted to process the story further. The tale of the Rogues was a simple one until now. A group of women warriors came together, found religion, and built a large pile of rocks to prove that they were as ridiculous, single-minded, and powerful as any other group of warriors. That their pile of rocks sat on top of the homes of a few thousand people wasn't their problem; the Eye guided them here, the Eye can't be wrong. It was a pattern we'd seen many times, with the Zan Easu, with the Zakarum, even with the Vizerji; influential people would band together and, in the name of righteousness, do something. The Rogues just happened to be some of the earliest to succumb to this particular brand of self-importance. In their literature, though, as in the stories and fractured campfire musings of a few other tribes, there was mention of the other races. Of peoples tall, fair, and unending, like the Master of Shadows, of animals that walked as humans, as the Cat peoples of the desert do now. What happened to these people is unknown; we lack even the shards of a skeleton. But as any good assassin knows, even the cleanest execution leaves some trace...
Paige entered with an apologetic grin, bearing a small bowl of soup. My arms and wrists, punctured and brutalized both from the warring and from the subsequent treatment, were still of little use and would remain so for a few more hours. I flipped a flaccid limb at her, "I seem to be as a nervous husband on his nuptial bed." She snickered and knelt down next to me, bringing the thin liquid to my lips. I greedily sucked it down, dispelling the aching thirst that comes after a bleed. She took it away for a moment, allowing me to catch my breath, and then allowed me to finish the food. "Thank you," I said, using my shoulder to wipe off my face. She plopped down cross-legged and stared at me.
"I don't know what to make of you, Assassin. One moment, you are cool and professional, the next jovial and relaxed, the next irrational and deadly. Is this normal?"
I sighed and idly tried to flex my right hand. "No, it isn't." My fingers wouldn't bend more than a few degrees. "Paige, while we were out there yesterday, I saw something. A vision. Its elements I have seen now two other times." I scanned my palm for scar tissue and found none. "Not even Kashya knows that I've been...seeing things." I tried clenching a fist.
"The sphere..." she volunteered. I dropped my hand and looked at her in wonder.
"You..."
"Oh, yes, in the fog. I could have sworn I saw a little black ball, like a rotted egg, rolling around at my toes. But I called on the great Eye to see the truth and it vanished." She inflected her head a little and then, embarrassed, stared at the floor. She was shy about her religion and I could see, now, that the roots of the Sisterhood ran thick and strong into her heart. A small flash of worry touched my mind as she looked away. "I know it must sound..."
I cut her off. "It sounds correct. I too saw the sphere, but was led astray. When it had brought me far enough, it turned into a horrific vision, the Monastery, oozing with corruption, having taken hold of you as well."
She kept her eyes on the ground and fidgeted slightly. "I believe there is great danger for you there, my young companion, and I wonder of the wisdom of keeping you with me."
She almost fell into my lap, petrified, pleading "Please, don't leave me behind. If I stay here, they'll make me go out on patrol, and no one comes back from those. At least with you," she stammered for a moment, "At least...I have a chance."
"And you say this," I asked softly, "though you have seen me fail many times, though you have incurred serious wounds at my side, though you have touched the world beyond because of my carelessness."
"I am not afraid," she cried and then rocked back, crying. "I'm not..." Then, she ran out of the tent
I sighed and nearly fell back again. Sitting was rapidly becoming a burden without some sort of support. Paige's outburst, like a hurricane during a midsummer swim, was troubling. I opened my mind and searched the encampment. She was sitting with a small group, being comforted; they would probably do a better job of that than I would. Instead, I called Kashya to me. <Kashya, a word with you> I felt her leave the side of Akara and a massive...blue force. That must be the barbarian. I didn't have time to probe him further as Kashya entered the tent.
"You. Sit." I ordered. She looked down on me with a strange look, one of confusion, defiance, amusement, all in a single raised eyebrow. I sighed again. I gathered as much command and venom as I could in a practically helpless, unarmored and unweaponed state. "I said SIT." She complied, in spite of herself. Learning the word of command from our Mistress of Traps was a great help in these situations.
"Blood Raven," I said to her, and she almost got up and left. I forced up a small mental barrier around her. <I know you can walk through this, ignore me, ignore my questions, but do you really want that?> She reseated herself and I finally lay back, exhausted from that effort. "She was your beloved, correct? Why didn't you tell me this?" To my surprise, she stretched out next to me, so she could stare at me, through me. She took my hand and clenched it in a crushing grip.
"The woman I loved," she hissed, "died long before you came to this encampment. What you did was a formality." Her eyes were cold and dry, her voice filled with a loathing only love could accomplish. She kissed me hard, biting down on my lip enough to draw sudden blood. I let out a muffled yelp and tried to draw back, but her hand held me fast. She finally pulled away and unfurled to standing, wiping my blood from her mouth. "Never mention that name in my presence again. This is the last we speak of it." She glanced down at my tousled form. "Prepare yourself, little Assassin. The barbarian wishes to speak to you."
She flipped open the tent and stormed out, leaving me there to wonder what in the name of the dragon was going on. Crying assistants, vicious commanders, strange and distant priestesses. It seemed I couldn't do anything right today.
I lamely tried to roll myself into the blankets, to no avail. Either I would meet my new ally in a state of partial undress, or I would need some help. <Paige> I sent. <I need your assistance.> I felt a surge of defiance, but then a wave of complacency as she came to me.
"Yes?" she asked, glancing outside to her friends, still shaken by...whatever it was that was eating at her.
"Can you, well," She went wide-eyed when she realized I wasn't clothed and blushed, turning away again. "Come on, Paige, stop with this strange modesty. I'm sure you've seen plenty of women naked." I watched as the tips of her ears turned even redder. She knelt, still not meeting my gaze, and worked one arm under my back, easing me to sitting. She took one of the blankets and wrapped it around me, making sure that the folds draped to cover most of my skin. Confident that the garment wouldn't fall off, she sat back on her heels, preparing to leave. "No, wait, stay." I said. "As my assistant, you need to hear whatever he and I discuss and," I smiled slightly, "I have no way of knowing whether I can stay upright or not. I don't fall flat on my back for every stranger I meet." She snickered and relaxed considerably.
A massive shadow darkened the tent as Paige positioned herself next to me, supporting my back with her shoulder. The tent flaps opened and a huge braid, followed by a tree-trunk body, bent itself into the tiny tent. The Barbarian's thick and mighty form all but filled the little space in the tent and he knelt in order to avoid upsetting the whole setup with his head. His skin glowed with outdoor hardiness coupled with the Highlander's cultivated resistances, an impressive sight even when he was at rest. He kept his head down, the warrior-lock glimmering down his back with silver flecks and faint ebony sheen, winding its way past literally thousands of scars and markings. Out of armor, I could see the intricate woven-work of his tribal dress, and tried to reference the pattern back to the many noble families of the North, attempting to remember whether that thin blue band indicated a mother who died at birth or a brother lost in battle. This was no mere recruit that the children of Bul Kathos had sent to the Rogues. This was a veteran.
"Lady," he said from his crouch, in what I guessed was the softest voice he could create. It still felt like thunder rolling across an empty plain, shaking the trees with invisible force, and I found myself shivering slightly. The address was a formal one, a term not used towards me in many years. I puzzled for a moment, trying to determine which ceremony he was invoking, or whether it was used in deference to my clan, and lightly skimmed his mind with the faintest glimmer of search. He perhaps took my silence as a dismissal, for he nodded grimly and went to back out of the tent. I finally figured out what I was doing and what he expected. I gingerly extended an arm.
"Old Man, wait." He stopped and looked up at the honorific. (Warrior races are not known for their longevity, as constant battle requires constant blood. An old man with many battle scars shows a fierce and skilled warrior, able to withstand many fights without being foolish enough to get himself killed. Hence, Old Man.) The appellation Lady...is a story for another time. I gazed into the tanned, lined face, dark brown eyes likely as keen as those of the rogue who supported my weight, and watched the slight trace of apprehension slip away. He reached out a shield-sized hand and took my own. I expected to have the bones of my fingers shattered in his grip, but he controlled his strength with practiced ease.
"Look," was all he said, giving me leave to probe his mind and body if I so chose. A smart man indeed, to know that I might have searched his soul even if he refused.
"Unnecessary." I responded, though I did drop a slight layer of mental protection to look at him. As I guessed, a higher born warrior, well trained, but...something was off, was wrong. There was a taint to the aura that I couldn't place well in my exhausted state.
He smiled, a mouth of shattered and half-broken teeth filed to points . "We leave tomorrow." He dropped my hand and gingerly crept out of the tent in an unusually graceful movement for a body that large.
"All right, Paige. That's enough." She looked at me oddly.
"That's it? You don't trust anyone in the camp, and you've been here over two weeks, but an eight word conversation and he's our ally. Did I miss something?" I had her ease me back to a supine position before answering.
"How many Amazons have you met?"
"What does that-."
"Answer me." She rolled her eyes and wiggled her fingers as she thought.
"Well, there was that small army that came through about..." she shrugged, "six months ago, maybe?"
"Mmhmm. How about necromancers...do you know what those are?"
She made a face like a child seeing a squished bug and I nearly laughed aloud, "Necromancers are those guys that take dead people and-"
I cut her off, preferring not to hear the local tales of Rathma's preference for rot-moist corpses over the warm flesh of potential consorts.
She pursed her lips and glared expectantly at me. "Okay, Paige, how many Assassins have you met in your little, sheltered life?" I teased her.
She ducked her head away and said, "You're the only one."
"And what did you know about the Viz-jaq'taar before I showed up here." She mumbled something that sounded like shadows and killers. "Yep, that's what I thought. Now, the Barbarians are even more isolated than the Rogues. Whatever information gets to their snow-covered hovel has been filtered through so many unlearned and superstitious tongues that the average Assassin is probably somewhere on the level of a myth or a brutal demigod. I'm surprised that he agreed to meet with me at all." I let my words sink in, but when understanding failed to come to Paige's eyes, I spoke to her again. "He's terrified of me. He'll fight alongside us because he's less afraid of the demons out there than he is of my rank."
Paige wrinkled her forehead in disbelief. "You're not that scary."
I smiled at her, "You'd be surprised. Now, I can't sleep in here. I need to get outside to one of the tents. Can you help me up?" Taking my jumble of blankets with her, we slowly began to ease me out of the tent opening into the night air.
After about three steps, the vertigo was too much. I felt like I was gazing through a tiny arrow-slit at the world, like my ears had been stuffed with wool. I thought I heard someone call my name, but a cacophony of buzzing and bell ringing overwhelmed all other sounds. I felt like I was tumbling end over end in a dark place, my sense of self...
I was slapped back to reality with a burst of foul smelling herbs. I lay in the middle of the camp, Paige on one side of me, Akara on the other, holding a vial. I groaned and nearly vomited from the stench. "Once more," the crone whispered and waved the liquid under my face. My alertness returned, though not my strength.
"I need sleep, now, if I want to be on my feet again tomorrow." The women nodded and went to call one of the larger Sisters to my side. Instead, the Barbarian came from his position at the campfire and indicated that he would move me to a sleeping place. I was lifted like unknotted twine and swept gently into Kashya's tent, much to both of our surprises. He seemed clearly pleased with himself; after all, he'd just seen a demon-goddess faint like a breeding sow villager in front of him. Well, so much for the plan of fear as motivation. "Good night, old man," I told him, bidding him leave me to sleep.
"Good night, young Lady," he said, with an air both grave and teasing. I gave him a look that otherwise would have carried a full mental blast, but that only poked him in the forehead. He let out a burst of laughter and went outside. I looked at Kashya, who rolled her eyes in annoyance and set about making herself a bed on the floor so that I could use the flimsy cot as a resting place for the night. Her grumbling and unconcealed hostility were the last things I remembered before I passed out.