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Prologue VII: Departure

The first night of your return remains a blur in your memory. The taste of liquor and many flavours of wine linger upon your lips and tongue, and you remember lots of cackling and gnoll-piling before the main course was brought out: delicious naga, likely from a desert or rainforest raid. You don't know how much of it you ate, but the reptilian meat digests very easily compared to the many humans you've left half-devoured recently. You make a mental note to try more monsters as you find them, before someone you can scarcely recognize slaps your back.

"Grephr," the warrior greets you with a grin, "Didn't want to interrupt your walk yesterday, but you brought in a good haul! We'll be fattened up for months! Good stories too, like that bit about the lupin."

"Ah," you respond with your mind clearly elsewhere, "Don't remember the story."

The warrior chuckles, her tail expressing much amusement. "Well if you drank more often, you wouldn't be so forgetful!" She starts walking with you, having decided to try sparking your memory. "You might remember the thunder-happy wizard that almost killed everyone." You nod. "And the sellswords." Another nod. "And then making a lupin yell at the wizard and his friends while you snuck up and caved their heads in." You nod once more, and are promptly smacked on the back again. "Then there's no more to tell! You make a good warrior, make us all proud."

"Not the priests," you retort while scratching the top of your head, "They're still angry about Fire-Eye."

That memory still lies fresh in your mind, yet it isn't quite the source of your unease. Your acquaintance would inform you that all dreadpriests are like that, as they care less about truth and more about bringing terror, destruction and chaos to those who reject their supremacy. And since you feel that no prince could ever make your mother kneel, the priests treat your presence as an insult, using any excuse they can to sling slurs your way. Most of them are at least smart enough to heed Thrrae's earlier warning about attacking any of her young, but one of them wasn't.

"And now they are angry about Narra," the female tells you. "You could have been less thorough with her, or maybe not kill her in front of everyone."

Your grin tells the fellow warrior all she needs to know about your feelings on that subject: if Narra wanted to face death with dignity and not screaming in terror, she should have refrained from insulting you, not that you didn't relish the chance to toy with the priest in her own game. First came the insults about your family, detailing how cozy you must be under your doting mother's watch. So, you told Aramil to stand off to the side somewhere. Then came your supposed lack of faith and respect for those with power, so you countered by telling the priest that she knelt in deference to a prince: a male, going on to imply that she likely knelt to other males as well.

Narra did not take that well. Her two accomplices didn't either, but you had no quarrel with them. When they all charged toward you, your axe ripped straight into Narra's thigh while her axe narrowly missed your shoulder. You focused your attention on the priest, or rather, her limbs, always finding some way to scoot out of the way whenever one of the accomplices moved to flank you, though her axe did catch you in the side once when your shield-arm was too slow.

Thankfully, her injured shoulder and thigh left her defenses wide open, and you needed no help ripping a hefty chunk from her chest. You followed it up by smashing Narra in the face with your round shield, then kicking her two cronies until they fled as well, though this resulted in a few cuts along your shins. Still, you returned to face Narra, still lying where you left her, and something about her inspired you to do her job. Terror. Dread. Agony. After you took a finger with your axe, the priest begged you to end her suffering more quickly, so you skipped the other fingers and lopped off her wrist instead. And then her ankle. Then you told her that maybe she would have better luck begging someone she hadn't tried to kill, before walking away with Aramil and a very pleased Fyrri.

1) There was some knowledge to be gained from this fight. What could we apply this knowledge to?

a. smarter dodging (Combat Expertise)

b. weaponless combat (Improved Unarmed Strike)

c. stronger swings (Power Attack)

d. something else (specify)

Your stray thoughts soon bring you back to the present, as well as the present female you've been conversing with. She hasn't said much during the period you went quiet, but when she catches you looking in her direction, she grins. "Good walk. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." You realize you never caught her name.

"Packing's almost done," you tell her as you reach your tent, "I'll be leaving tomorrow, likely won't be back." At this, the warrior stops a few paces ahead of you before turning to face you again. You notice that the glaive she carries is significantly longer than she is tall, before also spotting her quizzical expression. Still, the gnoll leaves without another word, and you slide into your tent afterward.

Inside, Aramil is just as you left him a few hours ago: feverish and sweating, but still asleep. He failed to awaken this morning, even though you gave him your blanket of furs for the night, and made sure to keep a wet cloth on his forehead, to say nothing of slipping trace amounts of water into his mouth. You grumble under your breath, watching the elf occasionally shudder and turn, before you turn your attention back outside. The slaves were supposed to finish packing today, but you wouldn't let anyone bother Aramil: he worked yesterday, and now he's sick. Really sick. So you're taking care of him, because he belongs to you.

Without a word, you take a draught from an untouched waterskin before re-drenching the cloth in water. After wringing it to a cool, dampened state, you place the cloth back on Aramil's head.

Something seems very familiar about this scene. You're not sure what it is, because having claim of a lesser creature has never required much more maintenance than occasionally feeding said creature, but an uneasy, undefined thought nags at the back of your mind, as though it it trying to tell you something. But, unable to make sense of the obscure feeling, you decide that a nap would help. You didn't sleep last night, after all, so you lie down next to your elf and let out a yawn.

What else happened at the feast?

You roll onto your side, placing a hand upon the scale mail your mother bestowed you for coming of age. You've only worn it once around the tribal grounds, at night. For a set of armour, it fits better than anything you've scavenged in your raids, though it's a little too bulky to sleep in with any sort of comfort. You remember Liaka being upset when you accepted it as your gift, but being promised the sword by Shyrla helped to pacify her tempter.

As soon as you close your eyes, a groan catches your attention, so you sit back upright to tend to Aramil. The elf certainly looks like he's seen better days: he's awake, but he isn't bothering to sit up, and under his flushed, feverish cheeks you detect a hint of confusion regarding the furs, pillow and cloth. He looks to you and speaks. "You didn't eat.. Why am I.. still alive?"

One look under the blankets shows that he's been sweating heavily, so you gently sit him up and lean him against your stomach. It's a silly question, one most slaves wouldn't bother asking since they'd rather just be grateful before someone interprets it as a complaint. "You don't need to worry, elf," you grumble while reaching over for a waterskin. Upon opening it up, you hand it over to the elf, who holds it to his mouth to drink. You pet him when he's done, getting another confused look when you finish your explanation: "I'll take care of you."

It takes him a moment to let that sink in. "Heh.. you would, you sentimental fool." He closes his eyes, setting the waterskin aside as he scoots away from you, still sitting upright. "Who appointed you my protector, anyway? That job entails keeping me away from situations like this."

"Yes, someone must protect you from being cared for while you're weak," you fire right back, "Or maybe you'd prefer to be among your own-"

Aramil's abrupt departure cuts you short: as quickly as he can manage, the elf staggers outside the tent and you hear a loud "Hurk!" from him. You peek outside to find him clutching his stomach, standing over a pile of bile and other filth, thankfully away from anyone's belongings, and simply keep watch, still puzzling together exactly what happened a few nights ago, and why not knowing what it was is bothering you.

You had food and drinks. This much is obvious. Liaka and Shyrla were with you, as was Thrrae. You paid less attention to your fathers, but you think they were around too. That doesn't sound important, though.. You also remember Fyrri and a few others from your raiding party, most of them doing the storytelling. You mostly just watched...

Aramil staggers back toward you, cutting your thoughts short again. You allow the elf back into your tent, offering the fur blankets to him again, as well as another drink to wash the taste of bile from his mouth. He accepts both, dropping the ungrateful act as he turns the pillow over. "Heh.. At this rate I'll outlive you. Are you certain my being here will cause you no trouble?"

"Good masters take care of their pets," you tell the elf with a grin, "but it won't matter. We leave tomorrow, so rest."

"So the tribe's nearly done.. You'll want me at full strength for when we find the next patch of land to invade."

"Would be helpful. Won't have the tribe with us."

Aramil's scowl gets a grin out of you. _ "What?" _

"Leaving the tribe tomorrow," you clarify, "Won't have very many with us." The elf airs out a relieved sigh, shaking his head as he lies down.

"That's... not as bad as I expected," the elf admits, "Got a place in mind?"

"Nah, just a direction. Mountains in the northeast will make summer easier." You lie back down, stretching with a big yawn. "Get some rest. I'll pack my things come dawn."

And so the two of you settle in for your nap. Aramil looks more stable after vomiting, but he still sleeps easier than you would like a slave who slept all day to. With less effort on your part to keep the elf alive, he looks more comfortable than he did last night. Satisfied that you won't be losing your pet today, you close your eyes and... suddenly remember what it was you were thinking about a few nights ago.

It was a silly thought, brought on by having more drinks than you were accustomed to, and one off-handed compliment from Fyrri. It got you thinking... They say you fight like a female, and for all the mayhem you've caused on your own recently, maybe you do. You can certainly hold your own against your sisters, but the only people who challenge you more openly are other females: the males know better. That said, your body frame isn't as impressive: compared to others here, you are thinner, shorter, and your body fat isn't as thick. In short, you are the runt.

But what if you had a female body? You'd be even stronger, and possibly even respected enough to get into the inner circles of the tribe without challenge. You might not have even needed Thrrae to frighten everyone into leaving you alone before you took part in the raids. Clearly, you had too much to drink. You snuck some back to your tent, but you don't remember very much after that: just that you shared wine with the elf, who cried at the taste of, in his words, "a properly concocted merlot." He told you how much he missed the taste, and...

Your eyes shoot open at the thought of holding the elf close to you while you slept.

2) Is this disturbing? If so, how much? If not, what do you think of this development?

The morning begins with you getting dressed, the darkened red scales of your armour blending into the spotted fur on your hands and legs in a pleasing manner. You squeeze your hips into a fur kilt before you begin packing. It only takes a few hours, after which the majority of your supplies and your tent are tucked neatly into your supply pack, and Aramil stands nearby in his leather armour, with everything he gathered from the raids. He still looks sick, but you think he can keep up.

The rest of the tribe, aside from those still sleeping, have finished packing as well. A few show curiosity when you start walking north, and one actually tries to correct you, saying that the migration is going toward the eastern caverns. So you tell him you won't be joining him, and from there the word spreads. It's not until you make it to the northern edge of the tribe that you realize you forgot to grab slaves and warriors for the excursion, so you turn around and head for the slave pen.

"A builder," you muse within Aramil's earshot, "A builder, to help us stay sheltered. A shepherd, to keep beasts tame, and a tanner.." Getting the idea, Aramil finds a pair of slaves to serve your needs. Even malnourished, they look reluctant to come with you, but after an explanation to the effect of you being generous with food and protective besides, a raven-haired human female and a green-haired wood-elf male step forward.

So you feed them, and tell whichever one of them deals with animals to grab whatever they can keep track of, while you grab a few extra tools and supply packs, under the reasoning that more people can carry more food and other things. Along the way, another gnoll expresses interest in your plans, and offers to follow you. You recognize him as one of the more submissive warriors from the outskirts of the tribal grounds, and he introduces himself as Raolkr.

When everything is said and done, you've learned that most members of the tribe don't respect you enough as a leader to follow you, but a few of the lower-tier types do stick by you, likely eager to trade safety in numbers for less competition for goods: Raolkr wasn't with you during the raid, but you think he looks capable enough, if being bigger than you is enough of a qualifier. Kressin, the glaive-wielder you walked with the day before, joins you with her friend Shiir and her older brother Garr, who skins pelts and tans hides into leather. Also, you have two cattle and two mules. The cattle spook easily when any gnoll draws near, but the human girl is able to calm them with some effort.

Fyrri stops you at the northern outskirts as you prepare to depart for real this time.

"Plans," she states in a rough tone, "let's hear them."

"It's cooler to the north," you start, "better lands, too. We take what we can here, circle through, up, or around the mountains, and see what there is to take. If we travel far, nobody will expect us. Lots of chances to break knights up."

She mulls over this for a moment, and soon flashes you a grin. "Where to go, where to go," she muses as you pass by, before running up to you and walking alongside.

3) While traveling, you notice a few things. Are you going to investigate any of them? If so, how many, and what are we looking for?

a) Riverbeds

b) Underground Burrow

c) Caravan

d) Scouting party (felines)

e) Marauders (orcish)

f) Tribe (humans and elves)

g) Cavern