Was he serious? She found herself pondering whether or not it was a cruel joke, one used just to get her all riled up. Indignant even. Quickly she found he wasn't kidding at all. He truly wanted her to pose as the innocent, defenseless, lost woman. A barbaric role reserved for dependent, inferior people. Shameful. All is fair in love and war, so she'd have to suck it up. Just play her part and bring glory to the Goddess. After all, that was her sole purpose for existing wasn't it? No one said she had to like the means of doing so. You get what you wish for, sometimes in ways you didn't expect. This would be a prime example. If Razkar wanted her to play the pawn, the swine for the slaughter, she would do it. Kaie had seen plenty of whores play the part of false innocence in the tavern. It seemed easy enough. Exploit her own weaknesses, even if they're not real. Eventually she realized the true gift her leader had actually bestowed upon her. He didn't really put her up as bait. No, he blessed her like none other than her own could. He gave her opportunity. What other way was there to glorify Myri than being the first to drive a blade into the enemy's heart? She did as she was told, ditching the cloak to leave nothing but her native attire. Simple vest that buttoned once in the middle where it mattered and a loincloth to match. It would do the job. Next came the hardest part. Losing the weapons. She could drop the bow, the arrows, and the knives like worthless pieces of metal and wood. Her father's gladius on the other hand? Not so easy. She treasured that damn thing. It was her rock through her times here, reminding her of home with the designs upon the hilt. The short visual stories that retold the doings of Myri. For a "savage" wearing skimpy clothing in the first place, it was odd to think she actually felt naked when the gladius dropped from her hips. It landed with a thud behind the bushes, falling over the cloak. Bows and arrows followed. All but one thing. The meager food knife she used then to create gashes across her body. Nicks on her arms and slices on her legs. All injuries that would look believable if she claimed she'd been stumbling for miles like some barbaric idiot through the brambles. When she was finished, she tucked it cleverly at her back and out of view. It wasn't long before the carts arrived. The ones full of slavers, mercenaries, and their animals. A dog or two yipped impatiently, turning into growls and whines at her scent. As soon as the caravan rolled into view, Kaie made a dramatic stumble from left stage into their path. Half stumbling down the uneven ground, snapping twigs and low branches on her way down. Goddess, she felt so stupid. Letting herself drop like a drunken slut right there in the dirt. She could feel her warm blood mixing with the moist, cool earth along her knees and elbows. Places only clumsy people find dirt. Her hair fell over her face, a messy style that somehow still was visually appealing. The curls and waves falling into their rightful, messy places. She looked up through the strands, doing her best to mimic what a desperate expression looked like. The one she'd seen by beggar girls only days before. Then came the real idiocy she felt necessary to be played up. She shoved herself to her feet, faking a soft pant as if she had been running for some time. Like their wagons were her last hope and they were her infamous knights in shining armor. On her feet now, she kept her posture a bit slouched with that faked exhaustion. Face flushed with relief as she noticed a few men halting, whispering and grinning at one another. A man stalked up toward her. A grungy looking guy with black stubble and dark eyes. The kind of face that just spells out trouble. The way he walked held authority. She guessed if he wasn't the leader he was at least some sort of mouth to the group. The one who barked orders when they were due. The way he looked at her was revolting really. Not even focusing on her eyes. Oh no, his gaze was quite low. His hands toyed in a sinister manner about the hilt of his sword. What a real bastard. "Please...Help me. I lost my travelling partner a day ago. I can't navigate these woods for my life! Please, wherever you're going, take me with you!" She said in a helpless tone, eyes pleading with his in her act. Surprisingly, her Common sounded great. Guess that sort of comes in the package when you've been forced to speak it for that many petching years in Syliras. The man reached out and took her hand in his calloused one, thumb rubbing the webbing between her thumb and index finger. A reassuring sort of motion that make her want to gut him right there. She wasn't close enough though. She needed to be patient. Right then, Kaie decided patience was a hell in itself. "Easy now, Lass. My buddies and I... We'll take real nice care of ya 'lright?" He said in that pitiful tone like she was some wounded child. And there was that malicious gleam in his eyes again. She swore if she got the chance she'd tear them out as soon as Razkar's arrow landed its target. He came close enough for her to smell the sweat soaked in his clothing. A long travel she'd assume. That or he was the most foul human being she'd ever set her sights upon. Both seemed like good probabilities. The man wrapped his arm around her shoulders, other hand still holding hers. It was like he thought he was some comfort blanket over her shoulder or something. Just before she thought about the idea she might rather puke than spend another minute under his wing, they approached the wagons. That's when she saw the hand snake from the bars of some caged wagon. Slaves. That was all the confirmation she needed. The dogs were at bay. Men had eyes only on her. The stage was all Kaie's and she'd be damned if she choked when the lights went on. No one could see. Oh, no. It was too good. Too perfect. It was almost criminal how easy her opportunity was. She leaned her head into the crook of the man's arm, nodding like she felt same at last. A nuzzle even. Not a soul that wasn't from her own party could see the sin she committed next. One hand reaching to his chest as if she needed support, the second slid to her backside casually. With him distracted, she withdrew the knife oh so slowly. Then like lightning, she quickly shifted behind his arm and out of his embrace. There now, she leaped upon his back like a tiger. Only there to ensure her knifes drew deep and true across his neck. He went down like a stone, eyes all bug eyed and gagging. Blood trailed down his throat like a mountain stream. He slammed into the dirt with her on top of his back. Crouching like the savage they always imagined over her fallen victim. A feral snarl slipping between her teeth. A tiger defending her prey. Behind that rage of blood lust was accomplishment. At last she drew first blood. Watched her first victim fall. Oh the look on their faces watching the man fall. Absolutely priceless. The act was over and the lights went out. Let the stage crew ignite the platform and burn the evidence of her performance. Let the audience bleed. |