Book 3: Chapter 30: Cats & Dogs |
To the simple and common man, it must seem that the most puissant and powerful all wear the most monstrous of masks.
- Attributed to the playwright Vlan di Panoli.
“Your daughter is free. I do not keep chattel. I find it unseemly and unworthy,” I exclaimed with a smug smile.
“And you would state such before a magistrate?”
“Of course. Your daughter’s freedom was never mine to possess. That being said, I would still much appreciate it if Zariyah showed me some of the basic sights of the city. I have some alchemical samples that may be of some monetary value that I will need to sell, and the gear of my companions and I are in sore need of maintenance.”
“Might I suggest that you leave such matters with me? A foreigner unversed in the ways of the city may not command the most competitive price. I will send one of the boys to have these small matters seen to. It is the least I can do,” Naira offered, her voice almost breaking with emotion as she drew an unprotesting Zariyah to her.
Wiping away a loose strand of her hair from her daughter's face, she looked at Zariyah with eyes full of a mother’s love. “Take Master Gilgamesh to the Grand Bazaar and the Artificer’s Quarter. Show him the wonders of our home,” Naira paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. “You are a man of your letters, I presume?”
“I can certainly read, much better than I can write. In my land I would be considered somewhat of a scholar,” I replied casually.
“Then Scholar’s Row may be of some interest to you. Zari, take him there, but be sure to stay away from the Dust Dens.”
“With your permission, I will send the gear of you and your companions to a trusted armorer that comes recommended from the Guild. Also, when you return, there is something I must speak to you about. Another service that I can perhaps do for you, is to make the most of the predicament that you find yourself in.”
While I appreciated the offer of a small tour and being relieved from the drudgery of a minor chore, I could not help but feel that I was getting the worse end of the deal.
“Well then, since this matter is sorted, I would like to see the city now,” I said perhaps a little brusquely.
“As you wish, Samasa,” was in turn her curt reply.
Zariyah rose and inclined her head towards me, gesturing that it was finally time to see the rest of the city.
“Oh, and Zari, you had best wear the veil when you are outside. We have had far more foreigners come in this year and there is no need to provoke them. Along with other… less desirable sorts and riff raff,” Naira added almost offhandedly.
Zariyah stiffened slightly in protest, her fingers about to sign her displeasure, but she stopped herself. It must be a tough thing to learn that the prejudices of yesterday followed us to the present.
I could contain myself no longer. “It must be boorish of me, no doubt of that, but why is it that your people are hated so?” I asked with a frown.
Both women bristled at the inquiry, but it was the mother that decided to answer. “Master Gilgamesh, you must be from lands further away than most to not know of our people and the feud that others have against us. There are those that blame our people for the Cataclysm, the event that once broke the world,” she answered, looking away with a long sigh. “I will not go into the history or theological debate that those not of the Hazagadam justify their cruelty. Just let it be simply said that they believe, because we worship only the One God, our so-called sins brought about that dark event.”
“I am no stranger to cruelty and prejudice. It can be found in places high and low. A common affliction of the human condition, we don’t need many reasons to learn to hate,” I responded, perhaps a little too vehemently.
“But there is more to it than that, isn’t there? There is a reason that the children of the Hazagadam must bear the price of their parent’s sins, no?” added Cordelia cooly, in almost a half-whisper.
They both looked taken aback, the daughter oddly looking more confused than the mother.
“Perhaps you are right. I only know I was not born in the time of the Cataclysm, and neither were my parents nor my daughter. We had no responsibility for the breaking of the world,” Naira responded, her eyes flashing with fire.
“Cordelia…” I said through gritted teeth
The lady knight nodded at this, giving out a radiant smile but holding her tongue. Truly, the woman did not learn and needed to be kept on a shorter leash. Why did she always deem it proper to obnoxiously add fuel to the flames? Perhaps it was time for a different approach.
“We really must be on our way. Cordelia will, of course, see to my equipment and Larynda’s care. And keep the north man in check. I trust you above all to see to things in my absence,” I said placatingly, finally standing up. “Naira,” I added, in a brief goodbye.
Cordelia stood up and gave me a deep bow as if she were receiving the command of a king or lord. “By your will,” she accepted most meekly, presenting an attitude at odds with her earlier displays and snide comments.
Without looking back, I finally exited the inn, drawing in deep the questionable city air. There was a hint of salt to it, under the scents of a pressed humanity. Still, it was relatively clean when compared to the barbaric squalor of Ansan.
I barely walked three paces out into the street when I felt a small tap on my shoulder. Turning around I saw a somewhat bemused Zariyah with an expression between a frown and a thoughtful smile. She had me wait while she adjusted a veil around her face, covering her eyes.
Her fingers flashed at me, their meaning only vaguely understandable until I remembered to use my Identify spell.
Again, will you be playing the part of the guide or shall I? her delicate fingers slowing to a more understandable pace.
“Ahh, of course, lead on. I just wanted an escape from well… all of that,” I answered, growing a little hot under my collar. “The Grand Bazaar, right?” I added with a weak smile, wanting to change the subject.
Her expression turned to one of bemusement. Yes, it is not too far from here.You had best follow and be sure to keep up, her hands messaged me. As she turned away to take the lead, there was a ghost of sad smile on her lips. With a sigh, I eagerly followed her, and together we navigated our way through the afternoon throng.
She walked with a casual grace that would put most dancers to shame. Sure and confident, she adroitly avoided the various obstacles in her path. In comparison, I could only bumble along, my eyes overly distracted by the slight sway of her hips.
As we continued, the streets began to change. The buildings were of a finer cut of stone, marble in places, and seemed to press closer together and reached several stories higher. By my reckoning, some of the domed buildings were about seven floors high. Incongruous to this, lines of rope burdened with laundry reached over the streets between them. When a light salt wind blew, an errant drop from above splashed on my face as I looked up.
Slowly, I could feel that there was a more feverish buzz in the air. I could hear shouts as, somewhere up in the distance, hawkers cried out the price of their wares. In reaction, I couldn’t help but clasp Zariyah’s shoulder to stop her progress as she almost disappeared into the crowd.
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“Where are we now? Where is this?” I asked.
She looked at me, opening her mouth as if to laugh before quickly covering it with a hand. Uncovering her mouth, her lips began to move but no sound came forth. Looking embarrassed for some odd reason, she answered me instead with her hands.
We are now in the Merchant’s Quarter, and we will soon be at the Grand Bazaar, her fingers told, a polite and deferential smile on her face.
Her eyes darkened as she saw something frightful behind me.
“Move your behind, or I will move it for you, you fool!” came a deep and throaty growl that could not belong to any man. Disturbed, I turned around to confirm.
Before me, a figure loomed, bearing a rough resemblance to a man. Clad only in loosely fitting trousers of local design, his presence was undeniably imposing. Despite being unclothed from the waist up, he was far from naked. Light brown fur covered a broad torso that rippled with slabs of lean muscle. Atop wide shoulders sat a large, maned leonine head with a maw parted to reveal formidable fangs that seemed on the brink of a roar. His hands and feet had claws that looked wickedly sharp. A tail swished behind him, signaling his animosity. Behind this daunting figure, three somewhat similar creatures stood, a mix of man and beast, though less formidable in stature. They were clawed and furred, but they possessed a leaner build and their faces were of distinctly lupine aspect. They snickered, yapping like feral dogs.
These were the beastmen of your typical fantasy.
A line of sweat ran down my back, and I saw the man-lion smirk, his feline eyes sparkling in delight with my discomfort. Thankfully my combat reflexes came to the fore, as I automatically cast an Identify on the leonine figure.
Hashmal the Fang of the Storm - Claw Savage (Beastkin lvl.9) Health: 177/177 Stamina: 49/50 Mana: 7/7
As the spell returned to me with the information it had gathered, the leonine Beastkin pushed past me along with his wolfman posse. It was then that I burst out laughing, releasing all of the tension that had been building up within me. Like a burst dam, the laughter left me in a flood. I vented great peals of laughter that could not be ignored. The situation was truly absurd.
These Beastmen, their leader at least, were nothing more than low-level trash and not worthy of regard. The fact that he came with a grand sobriquet just added to the hilarity. Fang of the Storm, indeed!
Hasmal stopped in his tracks, quivering with a new rage. “You dare to mock me, feeble human!” Hashmal screamed in a primal challenge, his golden feline eyes glaring at me.
“No, not at all. It’s just that… not every day one can witness a domesticated house cat walk about on two legs,” I answered, uncaring of the consequences. Zariyah shot me a worried look as she unconsciously grasped my sleeve.
Truly enraged, the lion like Beastkin let loose a deafening roar. I let the sound flow over me and through me. For that was all it was, just sound. The crowd scattered and shied away from us. Zariyah looked at me shocked as if I had sprouted horns.
“Wait, Hashmal. The naked ones are usually all weak, but this one… He might be one of them. There is no fear scent on him,” one of his pack warned.
“Yes, we don’t need human trouble. We are just here for the tournament, ‘member?” another one of them whined.
Yet, their warnings fell on deaf ears, For I continued to laugh, and the sound tinged with madness drew their leader Hashmal into a reckless charge. His claws, sharp as razors, lashed out with lethal intent.
As it did with Sevas, the arm in which my mimic resided blocked an oncoming flurry of blows with almost consummate ease. Hashmal was not fighting one, but two entities.
The Beastkin was, no doubt, objectively fast, but I had fought things that were faster and far stronger. Still, I was not invincible, and neither was my resident. The Mimics Health was slowly being chipped away with each successfully deflected blow. My vision narrowed to focus only on the leonine Beastkin and the world around us seemed to slow, every motion exaggerated, every detail crystal clear. Out of my heavy armor, I found that I could move with even greater speed. Hashmal had bitten off far more than he could chew.
It was time to get some experience points.
Through the continuing flurry of blows, I launched an attack of my own, a Power Strike aimed at his center of mass. My closed fist flew like a rocket, smashing into flesh with a satisfying thunk.
I needed to end this quickly. Though there was still lingering indecision in their posture, his friends looked like they soon would join in the fray.
With a grunt of pain, he tried to create some distance between us. It was, however, too late, as my other hand was now grasping him with an iron grip. My fingers had sunk deep through to the rough skin beneath, denying the lionman his escape. I saw his expression change from surprise to worry, all in the blink of an eye.
In response, Hashmal lashed out with his foot, desperately striking me for a measly ten points of damage. I grimaced more out of surprise than anything else. Again he kicked out at me, his claws inflicting this time only eight points of damage.
This would simply not do. With a measured strike, I delivered a blow to Hashmal's stomach. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen and collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
The pack, seeing their leader falter, surged toward me. Vaulting over the wheezing Hashmal, one lunged for my throat. My Mimic arm acted swiftly, shielding me, and the creature's jaws clamped down on it, unable to pierce my skin, due to my passenger’s protection.
I was quickly learning how to fight with the Mimic and found it best to leave my defense to it. It was a simple matter of releasing conscious thought of the arm, the Mimic would do the rest. If I had any sense of fair play left in me I might have considered it cheating.
Meanwhile, another pack member seized my leg, its teeth sinking into the flesh of my calf. But before it could rip away muscle and flesh, I dropped my stance and neutralized it with another Power Strike. My hand, swift as a blade, struck a precise hammer blow to the nape of its neck. With the threat neutralized, I thrust my foot forward, sending the stunned beast tumbling.
When you fight someone, truly fight, there is a strange part of you that hesitates. It’s the part of you that hesitates to strike at the groin, the throat, the eyes, or other vulnerability. This is the part of us that feels sympathy. We do not do it not out of a sense of misplaced honor, but because we feel the pain that we inflict. A truly selfish, and very human, thing. I felt none of that here.
It is odd how we can lose focus at the strangest of times.
Sudden movements at my periphery demanded my attention. The last of the pack I saw out of the corner of my eye. He looked worried as he cautiously circled us. His eyes darted and flickered about, looking for an opening. Although he snarled in my direction, a subsequent soft whine betrayed him. The wolf Beastkin gnawing at my arm slashed at me with his free claws, causing minor damage to my Health and, more irritatingly, to my clothing. I strained against him, trying to throw him off, but with his longer limbs, greater height, and weight, he had the leverage. His jaws clamped on tighter with desperation and I could see my Mimic’s Health being eroded.
We struggled like this, in a poor and pathetic display, my Health being whittled down by the second as he scratched and clawed at me, refusing to let me go. Stumbling and trying to trip each other, we tried to throw each other down to the floor as we grappled. Desperate, I started instead to strike at him, but again, this close, I lacked the distance to give my blows any real force or power. However, after a good amount of struggle, I was able to deliver a blow to his ribs, causing him to yelp in pain. His sudden cry caused him to release me, and I followed up with another punch to his nose, stunning him cold.
Enough of this mindless brawl, and damned be the consequences of it, it was time to use my magic. The dark spells within me screamed in agreement, but these thoughts would soon be shattered like brittle glass.
“Stop!” came a halting voice, weak with defeat but strong enough to cut through to me. “Stop, or she dies!” the last Beastkin threatened, drawing a claw near Zariyah’s neck. The damn beast had got around me while I had been busy with his mates. Zariyah, caught in his grasp, could only offer a silent plea through her wide, frightened eyes.
I looked at the wolf-man, saw the fear in his dog-eyes and his tail drooping between his legs. His eyes met mine, and what he saw reflected in my gaze must have frightened him further, for he looked as if he wanted to break out into a run as I took a step towards him.
As I was looking around for something to use to distract the wolf-man or to play for time, I saw tall bronze halberds above the heads of a panicking crowd. Rapidly, they pushed and parted the gaggle of people. With a scramble of metal and leather, they coalesced into a formation of armored men, just under a score strong. At their front, their leader, no doubt, was a man clad and armored in bronze and misty-blue steel. Elegant runic inscriptions adorned his armor and weapons, while a helm topped with a white plume sat upon his head.
“Stop! Stop! Stop in the name of the City Guard!” the plumed soldier demanded, in a clear voice that was just a touch away from a shout or scream. He looked at me, then at the kneeling, and still spluttering, Hashmal, his fallen Beastkin friends, and finally at Zariyah being held hostage. His eyes sucked in all the details as they narrowed in focus.
“By the tits of the great Goddess, what in the heavens is going on here!?” he barked, his gray eyes alighting upon me. His stern gaze demanded nothing less than a truthful and concise answer.
It seemed that trouble had once again found me at the most difficult of times. I could almost hear the dice of fate rolling as I prepared a suitable response.
