Solo [Flashback] Questionable Morals

[Ayatah]

|| 14th Fall, 510AV || The entrance to Zinrah || 9th Bell. ||

”Intruders.”

The word stirred a reaction from the Myrians on patrol, Ayatah included. They looked towards the leader of their fang, a tall woman by the name of Makita. Her skin was dark, but fletched heavily with bright red tattoos, signifying her clan name: The Red Blades. They were known for taking the weapons of their fallen victims and then dedicating their latest accomplishments with a new tattoo. Apparently, the matriarch of their clan was more red ink than dark skin.

”North from here. Twelve of them, at least. Probably more.”

These words came from a male, one that stood next to Makita. His stern face, that frown and his cold voice made Ayatah smirk. How far you have come from beating up mean boys for me, cousin she thought, and shared a look with Bennik, also of the Scattered Bones. He cleared his throat before continuing, ”we need thirty of you,” His hand sliced vertically, separating the Myrians in two groups; those remaining on guard at Zinrah and those that would accompany their superiors on the man-hunt.

She was about to step forward - when it was her cousin that helped lead the fang, he always let Ayatah accompany them on their ventures away from Zinrah. But Bennik shook his head fractionally, and she froze on the spot.

Um.. what?

”You lot will come with us,” Her cousin was saying, avoiding Ayatah’s questioning gaze. He waved his hand towards the other group - the crowd that Ayatah was amongst, ”you lot; stay here. We have called for more patrols to come from Taloba to patrol with you, but they will not come for a good few bells.”

The Myrians leapt into action, those that were going on the expedition stepping out of line to collect supplies. Ayatah’s group - miserable as they were at being left behind - shuffled along the edge of the snake pit to fill the gaps that those lucky bastards had left.

But Ayatah was having none of it. Bennik was part of the reason that she joined the army on some of their patrols; if numbers were low, he would call on her to join. And his part of that deal - or so Ayatah had thought - was to let her join in on their hunts and missions. So she marched up to her cousin, pulling at his arm to catch his attention:

”Bennik -- what…?”

”Don’t start, Ayatah.” His voice was firm, authoritative. He was no longer in the role of her cousin; but her military superior. Any pride for him disintegrated into annoyance - and concern. He never called her Ayatah (not with all the various nicknames he had for her), unless something was wrong.

She frowned, and opened her mouth to interrogate him further, but Bennik held up a hand. His face was softer now, almost desperate and fearful, ”please, Ayatah. Respect my decision.”

”What’s wrong? Is it the Dhani?” Although Ayatah knew that those damned scaled-shits were not the sort to simply explore the jungle. The Dhani knew exactly where the Myrians would be; outside their own snake-stinking underground city. If they had left Zinrah from another exit, they would be attacking, not admiring Caiyha’s handy work.

”Eypharian.” Ayatah turned around instinctively. There were no other individuals that related to the multi-armed people - and after being called Eypharian throughout her own army service, the name was one that Ayatah responded to automatically. Hey, it wasn’t as bad as deyhan. ”You should come with us. Shouldn’t she, Bennik? It’ll be a nice family reunion.” The grin on Makita’s face… It was far from friendly. And the way she glared at Bennik aroused Ayatah’s suspicions straight away. What does she mean ‘family reunion’? Bennik and I have patrolled together with her before?

Her cousin swallowed, stuck between family loyalty and his duty. Eventually, he decided that the latter was more important in this situation. ”Ye-s. She… should…” He said slowly, as if it pained him to say the words.

Makita nodded, that unnerving smile still on her lips. After she had turned on her heel and walked away, Bennik gripped Ayatah’s elbow, eyes wide with… fear. It alarmed her.

”Aya, you shouldn’t come. I mean it.”

”Bennik, I’m not a child anymore. Stop fathering me.” Despite the annoyed connotations to her words, Ayatah’s voice was quiet with worry. ”Tell me.”

He sighed, eyes darting left and right to ensure none of his fellows - or superiors, Myri forbid - overheard what he was saying. ”According to the scouts that found these intruders, there was -- an Eypharian with them.”

She let the words wash over her, trying hard to replace the word ‘Eypharian’ with ‘Dhani’, ‘Charode’ or even ‘Zith’.

They are no different to any enemy that needs to be killed… But as the words were formed in her mind, Ayatah knew that there was no true meaning behind them. She had never seen an Eypharian before, so why should she feel any emotional attachment to them?

Because this man or woman might be some distant relative of yours. A tiny and angry voice told her.

She forced her shoulders in a casual shrug, and she waved her hand dismissively, ”so? They are not different to... the Dhani.”

Bennik was not convinced, and he raised an eyebrow sceptically. ”Well that’s a load of shyke and I know it.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

There was no time for the two cousins to argue; Makita called out for the accompanying patrols to move out. They had a lot of distance between them and the intruders, and although scouts would follow the human (and apparently Eypharian) encampment through the Jungle, each passing chime increased the likelihood that they would not be able to exterminate them.

Ayatah readied herself for the expedition, practically on autopilot. Before she even realised it, she was marching alongside her comrades and heading northeast. The Myrians were armed with a huge variety of weapons; axes, spears, longswords, simitars, rapiers, crossbows and shortbows. For Ayatah, there were only two weapons: the longbow and the double-bladed dagger. She wore the former on her shoulder and the latter at her hipbones.

They trudged through the jungle in near silence. Every now and then, the leaders of their small fang would discuss tactics, or which direction to attack their enemies from. But other than that, the Myrians were quiet. It was not wise to wander through the jungle and chatter noisily; it attracted the attention of tigers, Tskanna and Myri knew what else.

The jungle was so damn sweltering, that after just chimes of walking, Ayatah and her comrades had worked up a sweat. But they continued on, hardly stopping.

But then a birdcall sounded, and the row of Myrians finally stopped. Makita raised a hand, demanding silence and stillness from the rest of the patrols. She cupped a hand to her mouth, and released a parrot-like squawk.

Almost instantly, the other bird responded; one, two, three jolted notes followed a sound almost exactly like Makita’s. The woman nodded, and turned to Bennik who was standing just behind her.

”They have travelled downwards as we have upwards. Ready the rest, and we’ll wait for Tuama and the other scouts to come.”

It did not take long. Three women and a man erupted from the jungle undergrowth just after Bennik had updated Ayatah and her fellows.

”Makita.” One of the women said. Ayatah recognised her as Tuama; the head scout of the party and a truly fearless woman; she had terrified the young recruits when the half-Eypharian had joined the military. Her broad forehead and equally wide shoulders did not make her a pretty woman, but she was certainly intimidating. How can someone that broad[/I] hide themselves in the jungle?[/i] Ayatah mused.

”How many is there?”

Tuama pulled a face before she answered, ”More than we originally thought. Over twenty, but they move slowly and fearful.” A sick grin accompanied her words, but Ayatah found a similar one on her own lips. She enjoyed how the jungle seemed to turn against outsiders, swallowing them whole and making them easy victims for the Myrian people.

Her superiors discussed their tactics quietly, muttering and shaking their head at possible plans that were suggested. They might know the jungle better than any outsiders, but it was still possible for the fang to lose a few of the intruders should they escape and disappear into the undergrowth. Of course, tigers, hunger or thirst would probably kill them - but the Myrians did not tend to leave any survivors. If someone (or something) was to kill a jungle intruder, they preferred it to be their own arrow or blade.

”We surround them, follow them for a while - to see what they want. For a party of such a number to invade our home is not just a farce, but it’s suspicious too.” Makita spoke in a hushed voice, but her face was stern, and ready for killing. ”Upon my command - you’ll know it when you hear it - we strike.”

The idea was initially a simple one, and Ayatah there would be more to it.

She was not disappointed. ”You ten,” Makita’s hand waved out to indicate who she was speaking to, ”stay in the bush. Keep an eye on those petching bastards. If anyone runs into the jungle, bring him or her down with arrows or you blade. The rest of us will strike when I give command.”

With ten members of the fang holding back, the numbers of intruders would equal that of the Myrians come to kill them. But this did not concern any of the recruits, let alone Ayatah. She knew the deadly skill that her people had, and they were made to run and climb within the jungle. These outsiders were exactly that; outsiders that stood no chance if caught in face-to-face combat with a Myrian.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

Tuama lead the fang away; more than thirty Myrians made up the group, yet their footsteps silent. Ayatah kept her head low, placing her feet carefully onto moist leaves and dirt as opposed to twigs and sticks. The thick foliage and heady humidity of the jungle meant that the Myrians could blend in amongst the dank greenness fairly easily. But sound was another matter: it travelled within the jungle as easy as it did in the desert, and a snapping twig would certainly alert their victims.

Voices. In a foreign tongue.

The fang froze, and suddenly the Myrians dispersed. Now their prey had been located, they needed to surround the outsiders in a wide circle to ensure none would escape when they attacked.

Myri, she loved the hunt! Ayatah prowled through the jungle like a cat, long legs stepping silently. She barely breathed for fear of attracting the attention of the intruders, yet her heart thudded in her chest with thrill and excitement. The searching and tracking of prey was

Most were men; armed with swords and shields, though only little armour. Perhaps they had started their quest more heavily dressed, but only a moron would wear full metal armour in the stickiness of the jungle. They were moving slowly, stopping often to investigate some tree bark or flower. Ayatah’s obsidian eyes darted backwards and forwards, looking, looking…

There…. A lump caught in Ayatah’s throat, and it almost pained her to keep her muscles moving, to continue picking her way through the jungle.

The woman had four arms - Myri, how strange it was to look at a person with four arms! - and dark hair tied into a stupidly elegant bun. She was tall, yes, like Ayatah. And had similar copper skin that glinted ever so slightly as she passed through a slice of warm sunlight.

As Ayatah came to a slow stop, her eyes did not leave the multi-armed woman. Even the rest of her fang seemed to longer exist; the jungle melted away and Ayatah focused solely on this complete and utter stranger. The woman stooped low to pluck a handful of pink flowers, holding them in her bottom left hand whilst her top left and right jotted notes down into a small leather-bound book. She was wearing brightly coloured cotton clothes (why exactly, Ayatah could not fathom) and in her free hand she held a small glass bottle.

Poison? Medicine? A potion?

No -- perfume. The Eypharian dabbed it onto her neck, before doing the same onto a silken handkerchief she had retracted from her pocket. She held the pink material up to her nose, inhaling deeply before pulling a disgusted expression

”This jungle. It stinks of shit.” Her voice was high and whiny, and she pouted like a child. Ayatah saw some of her comrades roll their eyes, but not all of them spoke the Common tongue well enough to understand what the Eypharian had said. Most just sneered at the sound of her voice and accent.

”Sorry princess.” This time, a man spoke. He was sweating like a boar and hacking his sword away at a low-hanging tree branch, ”you didn’t have to come with us,”

The female said nothing directly after that comment, but signalled for another woman to come towards her. This female - a servant, perhaps - carried a skin of water. The Eypharian snatched it out of her hand took a long, greedy gulp.

”And trust you men with this job? I think not.” She pursed her lips and frowned, ”and don’t call me Princess.”

The men laughed at that, and one even slapped the Eypharian’s back as he chortled. She fell forwards at the heavy impact, all four hands and her knees covered in dirt. Her male accomplices howled even louder. As she glanced to her left, Ayatah saw even her Myrian comrades smile, even if not all of them understood the conversation before the woman’s fall. Everyone laughs at a Princess in the mud, she thought dryly.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

There was no further conversation as the multi-armed woman brushed her knees down and wiped her dirtied hands on the dress of one of her servants. She pouted and shot a glare to any of the men who happened to meet her eyes.

A bird call. One, two, three jolted notes the same as before. The intruders paid the sound no heed….

…Until the Myrians descended upon them out of the jungle.

The female servants screamed; two crumbled to the floor like helpless children knocked down by a strong wind. Six of the men jumped to the Eypharian’s side, drawing swords and shields and surrounding her. The woman, however, looked barely surprised. She knew this was likely to happen…

Makita had already killed one man before the other Myrians had even truly revealed themselves. Ayatah stepped out, eyeing the scene first, before she leapt into combat. The Eypharian was heavily surrounded by her -- what, guards? Sellswords, more likely. But either way, the half-breed knew that it would be fruitless to try and break through steel and man.

The female servants, however, had been practically abandoned. Two were already dead, with only one remaining. She was on the floor, sobbing for some God to free her from this hell. It was difficult to kill such a pitiful creature, but Ayatah yanked the girl’s head up by her hair and drew her blade across that delicate throat all the same.

For Myri!

As blood gushed out of the young woman, a boot kicked Ayatah in the stomach. She managed to twist her body at the last moment and turn her fall into a forwards roll. It was far from graceful, but it meant that Ayatah landed in a crouching position, as opposed to simply flailing about on the ground.

She jumped up quickly, spinning around to face her new foe. He was an ugly man, with a flat nose and eyes that were too far apart. But he held a longsword, and from how he held it so confidently, Ayatah guessed he was well trained.

Bring it on, beast.

All around them was blood and battlecries. The human sellswords were putting up a damned good fight, and with their swords and shields, the Myrian arrows and spears were nearly useless. But her people would win. They always did.

The human swung his sword, a great horizontal motion and bought his shield up at the same time. Ayatah could only doge the metal blade, dipping low so it swiped above her head. As she saw the human retract his sword to swing it once again, she jumped up, holding her dagger in a reverse-hold so the lower-facing blade was aiming for his armpit.

But he bought his elbow up and out, smacking Ayatah straight in the face. The jolt knocked her to the right, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. The human gave a revolting smirk, his teeth yellow and mostly broken. He underestimates me! The thought infuriated Ayatah, and snarled to show as much.

If there was one thing that intrigued Ayatah about combat, it was how so much happened in so little time. Against this ugly human male, she felt as if their movements were slowed down to an impossible speed. Yet she knew that the battle itself lasted barely chimes.

He drove the sword towards her, arm out straight as he tried to reach Ayatah with his sword. It was a beautifully simply tactic, and for once she was pleased with being so harshly misjudged. She stepped to the left and forward, slashing her dagger in a forward-facing grip, before repeating the same motion in a reverse hold.

The dagger caught her foe in the stomach, slicing right across where his ribs were. It was not a deep cut - not by a long shot. But it seemed to cut through skin and fat, revealing pink flesh and blood. He looked surprised, then incredibly annoyed - most likely at Ayatah herself for slicing him open like a pig… But just before he came towards her once more, she could have sworn that the man shot his comrade a dirty look.

You decided to drop your armour, fool. Do not blame your fellows

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

He gave a beat-like shout, rushing forwards in more anger than tactic. Rage was not a warrior’s friend, and Ayatah had long ago learnt how to turn her rival’s annoyance in her favour.

”Stupid man.” She taunted in Common, a grin on her face. Her smirk widened when looked confused, then surprised. ”Yes, I speak your language, idiot.” The fury on his face almost made Ayatah laugh.

But fortunately, she loved the killing far too much to be distracted by such petty humour.

He pushed his shield-arm forward, making Ayatah back away to avoid being hit by the metal panel. Even with a four-inch long slice to the top of his belly, the man was not slowing down. But combat did such things to a person; Ayatah had heard of Myrians fight with impossibly critical wounds and blood pouring out of them. Only until their enemies were dead did they finally fall victim to their wounds.

”You petching savage bitch!” The sword swung downwards, but now Ayatah was in control of the situation. She avoided the blade easily, her eyes not leaving his, challenging and cold. She would let him swing and shout and swear: then, when he had exhausted himself, she would finish the job.

And it would take long. The brute was sweating profusely, his breathing was becoming laboured, and blood was dripping down his front. Those damn swings of his were getting cumbersome, too. Their fight was now balanced heavily in the Myrian’s favour, and whereas this bought Ayatah great joy, it seemed to have destroyed the human’s morale.

”They’re getting away!” The shout was in the Myrian, though Ayatah could not fit a name with the voice. But it signalled the end of her current game, so when her beastly foe - or rather, her victim - swung his sword desperately towards her, she stepped aside it coolly and embedded her dagger into his neck. Withdrawing her weapon, she watching with cold eyes as dark blood sprouted from his throat.

One down…

And now her attention was the rest of the scene, which seemed to have changed dramatically since Ayatah had last taken note. So far as she could tell, none of her fellow Myrians were dead or harmed, but all around her feet men lay dying.

There was no other sound like that of men dying. They cried, they swore, they begged for mercy. It somehow amused the half-Eypharian how the swansongs of men varied hugely, some crying like babies and other screaming like scared girls.

”Aya! Get moving!”

Bennik shoved her forward as he sped past her, and Ayatah ran after him blindly, though not entirely sure why. Then the pieces of the puzzle fitted together.

The Eypharian.

She had disappeared, and the bodies on the ground were not enough to include all six men that had jumped to her side. If they had bolted, then the Myrians on standby for runaways would have not been able to shoot them all down.

We are chasing them down like dogs.

Thirty pairs of Myrian feet pounded the earth, jumping and ducking to avoid well-known fallen trees or overhanging branches. Her long legs made Ayatah a fine runner, speedier than the thick-thighed Myrians around her. Her eyes were set dead ahead, staring into the jungle for any traces of foreign movement. Her lungs felt like they were about to burst, but she did not stop running. She was a hunter, and the people she was chasing were her prey.

And she would bring them down.

The fang had flanked outwards. Ayatah could barely see her comrades, except for then she caught a flash of dark skin and glittering weapons flying through the darkness of the jungle.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

Where are they, where are they, where are they? Her thoughts were as quick as she, eyes searching desperately for the foes that had escaped the Myrian attack. Something moved to the right of Ayatah’s field of vision, a body of paler skin than her company, and she instinctively slammed her body into it.

The two women fell to the floor, each of them scrabbling for their weapons.

The Eypharian had… somewhat of an advantage.

Shyke.

Four daggers, held in four hands. She was no longer a princess; that was for sure. Her face was hardened, her eyes stony. She was ready to kill.

But it was the similarities they shared that truly startled the two women. The gilded skin, the high cheekbones, long legs and arms, full lips, raven hair, cold eyes.. Ayatah saw the other woman’s many arms drop - just a fraction. She was confused.

”You… are not… Myrian.”

She did not respond straight away. Ayatah had been told to never socialise with enemies - it humanised them, and increased the chances of letting them go.

But this was different. This woman was no Dhani or mere human. This was an Eypharian - someone who was part of Ayatah’s paternal heritage. And they were so similar…

”Why are you here?”

”Why are you here? What are you?”

Again, no answer came from the stubborn half-Eypharian. Instead, her head snapped sideways. Her comrades were approaching, and pretty damned fast. There was no time to conversation.

”Get back!” She pushed the multi-armed woman backwards, stepping alongside her to shelter them both within a half-rotten old tree. The action surprised both woman - especially Ayatah.

”Why-“

”Why were you here? Ayatah demanded, holding her hand up. She could not fight this woman alone - not with four-against-one in terms of weaponry. But there was not going to be a fight; they both knew that now. They had humanised each other. I have let my people down.

”I…” the woman frowned, scoffed, then finally answered, ”I am here to collect flowers and insects. I am a perfumist of Ahnatep…. You have Eypharian blood in you.“The woman’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of the strange looking Myrian in front of her.

”Yes,” Ayatah answered dismissively. Why was she wasting time with this woman? Where were the other Myrians? [/i]”My father…”[/b]

It was all she had to say. The pure-blooded Eypharian’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened slightly. ”You are half Myrian, half Eyph-“

She was silenced by an arrow thudding into her chest, only to be followed by a second landing in her throat. Ayatah turned in the direction they had come from, a cold dread running down her spine. Staring blankly at her, with little more emotion than disappointment on his face, was Bennik.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Ayatah]

||2 Bells Later.||

The walk back to Zinrah was tiring both physically and mentally. Bennik interrogated her for over half the journey, demanding why she was conversing with a foe, what the petch she was thinking, and more importantly - what had been said.

”Were you even thinking about the consequences of your actions? What if it had been anyone other than me that saw you two whispering together like girls?” Her cousin had dragged Ayatah to the back of the trailing Myrians, keeping enough distance between the two of them and the people in front.

After Bennik had killed the Eypharian woman, he had lied to his superiors and stated that Ayatah had been ambushed. Against a four-armed woman, she had stood no chance of victory. That bit was true, at least. But he had said nothing about how Ayatah had hidden with the woman, concealed them both for…. Whatever reason he still could not fathom.

”I told you that you should not have come.”

Ayatah sighed despairingly. Why had she not simply killed the Eypharian woman, or hollered for back-up? Instead she had pushed the woman into a hollowed out tree, kept her secret from her comrades who would have slain her on sight. And-- why? They had barely discussed anything of import, let alone anything meaningful.

She shrugged the arrow quiver off her shoulders, dipping an arm into it until her fingers brushed the leather bottom. Or rather, they would have if a small glass bottle had not been stuffed into it alongside her arrows. The woman’s perfume had rolled out of her satchel whens she fell to the floor, her eyes dim and staring blank ahead. Ayatah had snatched and pocketed it before Bennik had made his way over - though once again, she was not entirely sure why.

”I just… I don’t understand why you wouldn’t--

”I don’t know, Bennik.” She snapped, putting the quiver back on her shoulder and opening her hands open to the sky, ”I don’t know. But I saw her, and she looked like me, Benn. Didn’t you notice?” That frustrated silence from him gave Ayatah the answer she had expected. ”Exactly. I looked at her, and saw someone who looked like me. That’d make a mess of anyone’s mind. It messed with hers, as well. So I panicked, and we spoke.”

And then you killed her.” The final part was kept private for Ayatah’s resentful thoughts. She had seen many people die before now, and could hardly remember most. But that Eypharian woman would remain with her forever. The way her eyes had grown wide with fear and surprise when the first arrow landed in her stomach. Then the second; it punctured her windpipe so the breath escaped her just as fast as the blood did. She did quickly, but fearfully, reaching up to Ayatah as she fell.

And Ayatah had just watched, as someone uncannily like herself died in front of her.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Limey]

Skill and Lore Rewards Skills Lore Observation 2 Lore: The Red Blades Clan Dagger 3 Shedding Your Own Blood Acrobatics 1 Falyndar: Hungry Jungle Tactics 1 Makings Of An Ambush Princess In The Mud Chaos And Slaughter The Frustration Of An Armored Opponent Wear The Bastard Down Harder To Kill When It's A Person, Not An Enemy The Horrible Fascination Of Point-Blank Death +1 Small Vial of Eypharian perfume Additional Notes : Pretty good overall, love. Didn't really blow me away until the last two posts, when Bennik appears and killed the Eypharian so bluntly. Didn't see that coming, oddly enough. You painted Ayatah really well in this one, gave her a lot of conflict and depth. Can't wait to see where that goes... oh, just be careful about little spelling and grammatical errors. Any questions or queries, please PM me.