“Unhand me at once, you rapscallion!” Reke shrieked for what felt like the hundredth time on the bumpy ride.
The stern-faced guard grunted menacingly, having long given up on telling Reke to shut up. As soon as they left the garden district, he had hopped on a chariot pulled by one shaggy, speedy furball of a creature on two long, scaly digitigrade legs. The Imperial City blurred past into a -blam!- mess of white, while Reke launched into another tirade about the strength of his Etchrytha blood and the prestige in which he was held by his people, that it was a heinous act on the part of the Elven Empire that he, Rekekledi'nevereld, son of Chieftain Ekledeki'neverelderoth, son of Chieftain Deklekedi'ralderothevereld, should be treated with such impunity, and that he ought to be let go at this very instant. But, instead of being released, the guard shook Reke’s cage violently, sending him tumbling against the cold iron bars of the cage. Nursing his new bruises, Reke skulked back, devising new lines for his next rant. Obviously, it wasn’t going to change anything, but after being treated like gutter trash by the Mages Guild, he was going to make sure to [i]ruin[/i] this guy’s day.
Soon, the magnificent white walls of the Imperial City loomed overhead. The guard breathed a quick prayer of thanks to a god he hardly believed in while he hopped off. There was an archway carved into the wall, like a miniature version of the one that Reke and Nona snuck into, complete with the cyan-to-purle ward protecting it. A lone lizardfolk gatekeeper sat in a blocky shack protruding from the inside of the wall with his spear couched lazily in the crook of his elbow. With little time left, Reke knew this would be his last chance to deliver the annoyance of a lifetime:
“Do you have the slightest notion of the punishment the Imperial City would face should you commit yourself to your unrighteous orders?? There will be enmity betwixt mine people and yours, and the Empire shall receive no trade form my people! No longer will you have a single biggleberry enter into these walls; you shall have no jams, no drizzles, and no delectable accessories to your cakes! You shall never see the handiwork of the legendary emerald biggle dye, and your artisans will weep, for their green hues will have more in common with a putrid mold than the freshness of newly sprung leaves! And when your wives and your daughters weep for this lost beauty, we shall turn our heads the other way and ignore them! For seven generations your people will be shunned!!”
The guard said nothing. He didn’t even want to look at the shrill, pompous, dense little lizlai. Instead, he unhooked the cage from his belt, unlocked it, and hurled it through the Ward, into the Outskirts.
The lizardfolk gatekeeper raised a brow, asking: “What was that all about?”
“Carted him all the way from the Mage’s Guildhouse, and he didn’t shut up for the entire ride. Please tell me you have something strong stashed away back there,” Reke’s guard pleaded to the gatekeeper.
He whistled softly, “Normally I’d say it’s against the rules to have anything hidden in the gatehouse, but I’d say you’ve earned it.”
Reke spun head over heel, hitting the roof, then the floor, then the sides of the iron cage before finally spilling out onto the dusty road. His head pounded, he had so many bruises that it hurt to move, and it felt like somebody had shoved sandpaper covered with spikes down his throat, but he managed to catch a glimpse of his guard slinking into the gatekeeper’s tiny gatehouse. Reke smiled contemptuously to himself. His wounds would heal in a matter of days, but that guard would suffer psychological damage for years to come.
As the dizziness from his abrupt fall subsided, Reke looked forlornly into the ramshackle maze of the Outskirts. In hindsight, the time spent pestering the guard would have probably been better spent making a plan for his immediate future, what with no money, no companions, and at a complete dead-end in his search for Lusahn. He did have the list of assignments, but there were not that many places, but they were scattered all over the continent! By himself, it would take years to get to all of them, if Lusahn was still at one of them.
Reke sighed, then looked across the broad, empty space in between the Outskirts and the wall. In the distance, trundling trade caravans were spilling in and out of the Imperial City, even in the late afternoon. Reke did have the list, so he should hitch a ride with one of the outgoing wagons and take it back to the village. They could give the list to adventurers passing through, and, in time, maybe one of them could find Lusahn. Reke had done his part in the investigation, and now it was time to go home. With a new resolve, Reke plodded towards the bustling wagons, daydreaming about getting back home. The first thing he would do have Lydia draw him a bath in a nice, clean flagon, where he’d scrub away at the nastiness in between his scales. He’d also have to figure out how to wash his fancy new pants, which hadn’t left his legs since he got them. Being a lizlai, Reke wasn’t much of a pants-wearer, but he could see the appeal. He probably wouldn’t keep them on all the time, like bigfolk did, but they would be good for formal occasions.
Before long, Reke made it to the chaotically controlled operation that was Imperial City trade. A massive train of wagons, carriages, and carts carried by odd two, four, and six legged beasts extended in in a straight, broad line that cut directly across the Outskirts. Closer to the gate, guards in green and blue checkered surcoats and armed with short, leaf-shaped blades milled about the caravanners, waving their arms in a hopeless attempt to guide the mess. Other guards ghosted between traders holding clipboards and chalks of graphite, stopping them and asking them a series of questions before heading to the next in line. A few peddlers, on foot or on small animals peeled away from the line and headed into the Outskirts while patient merchants bartered with one another for news and trinkets and stories along the road. Representatives from companies in the back of the line wandered between those in the front as money, sweets, and various knickknacks traded hands unseen. Hundreds of unintelligible conversations resounded, accompanied by the baying and yowling and wailing young, uncomfortable beasts, while traders politely jostled a bit more space for their wagons.
It took a long moment for Reke to take everything in. A groan soon escaped his lips as he realized that, as chaotic as the line was, nearly every trader in it was looking to get [i]inside[/i] the Imperial City, not exit it. He could try to get to the next major gate, which would be for outgoing traffic, but Reke’s muscles already ached, and, judging by the wisps of Nightclouds dotting the sky, it was getting too late for another trek. Reke squinted along the line and saw a handful of traders give up and try to turn around in line. There had to be merchant camps in the outlying hills; not even these hardy travelers would want to stay more nights than they had to in the Outskirts.
So he set off towards the back of the line, where people would be more likely to head back to camp. Reke hugged the edges of the road, staying well out of the way of wayward hooves and wheels. His feet squelched through the mud, which was much thinner on the outsides of the line than it was on the inside. He didn’t want to think about what he was walking through as he spotted globules of saliva, an assorted mix of discarded garbage and spilled snacks all over the road. But that was nothing compared to the smell of sweaty, hairy, scaly, slimy animals that filled his nostrils.
As he made his way to the back, traders were packed closer together, which only heightened the foul odor. Reke crawled in between silent, gaunt-faced beggars that huddled out of the way of the line, accepting any passing alms, and local Outskirter street kids boldly darted into the line, pestering traders for stories or playing stupid games with their buddies or swiping a shiny treasure or snack. Here, the guards wore tight steel caps and gauntlets, and carried sturdy round shields. They paid little heed to the merchants, instead watching Outskirters with vigilance. The children and the beggars they also ignored for the most part, except to seize stolen goods, but instead eyed the adults who leaned against the surrounding buildings with their arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold.
Soon, Reke had enough. There were few traders willing to give up their spot in line, and most of them disappeared into the Outskirts rather than head back towards their camp. Even if they were turning around, heading into the line to try to hop on was basically a death trap. The mud was constantly churned by taloned feet and heavy boots, not to mention the sporadic rain of shedded fur or scales, food, and other dropped trinkets that might threaten to bury him. Finally, Reke plopped down next to the hairy toe of a bleary-eyed lycan beggar. The sky was darkening with Nightclouds, and weariness was beginning to seep into his bones. His bruises throbbed and his head pounded and he didn’t even want to move. As unpleasant as the notion might be, it looked like Reke was going to have to hole up for one night in the Outskirts.
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2 RepliesEdited by Merribor: 8/21/2022 6:46:38 PMThen, he felt a pair of nimble, grubby fingers pinch his tail, followed quickly by the rush of air as he flew up into the air, dangling precariously by his tail. He came face to upside-down face with a goblin girl who couldn’t have been more than two feet tall. Reke tried his hardest to blink away the dizziness as her large, suspicious green eyes, tinged with a sickly yellow, filled his vision. She wore what looked like a sleeveless burlap sack and a black, wide-brimmed, floppy hat that flattened her wiry hair and drooped onto her pointy, protruding ears. She was a grimy little thing; her emerald green skin dulled by a thin layer of dirt. “Put me down, you -blam!-!” Reke shouted, waving two tiny fists at the goblin. “Who are yer? And whaddya doin in me territory?” She squeaked back, jutting out her chin defiantly. “Wha-? Territory? There’s nothing here!” he sputtered. “Oh yeah? The Dame tol me and moi crew tha’ we could have our pickins of anything from Gulker’s to Rancid Row! Which means you’s not s’possed to be here, which means I can do whatever I wants wif yer. And I might just ‘ave it in mine mind to eets yer!” She fired back, flashing a toothy grin. Reke scoffed. Eat a lizlai? Even here, people weren’t that craven. But whatever, if this kid wanted to play stupid games, he’d play stupid games. With the blood rushing quickly down to his head, Reke was willing to do anything to get back on the ground. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Don’t you know that lizlai spit is poisonous to goblins?” Reke challenged. She squinted at him, her confident smirk wavering only a tad. Reke curled his upper lip, baring his pearly white fangs, but she didn’t budge. He forked his tongue out at her and she flinched, but still held him close to her face, daring him to try it. Slowly Reke regurgitated a small glob of spit, and she leaned her head back further and further away as it traveled down the upper part of his mouth. When the some of the spit gleamed off the surface of his fangs, Reke -blam!- back his head, as if preparing to fling his venom into her face, but she stuck her arm straight out, away from her face. Reke swung nauseatingly by the tip of his tail, the world spinning as he coughed out the saliva he had worked so hard to intimidate her with. She barked something into the crowd, and soon a ruddy lizardfolk kid in nothing but colorless shorts came waddling forth. “You’s a Septine; is lizlai spit poisonous to goblins?” She addressed the other kid curtly. “Oh, uh, I don’ know much bout him, Keeblie” he said thoughtfully, prodding Reke with a single talon, “I s’posse it’s possible; me auntie says she’s gots them poison teefies. Hey stranger, does yer ‘ave them poison teefs?” “He’s already says he gots them poison teefs, yer goob-gobbler! Why’s you so useless to me?” Keeblie huffed, dropping Reke down a few inches, “Go find onna tha Watchers, an’ bring ‘em back here. An’ tell ‘em I found the stranger furst! An’ yer s’possed to call me ‘boss!’” The lizardfolk boy absentmindedly bobbed his head and wandered past her into the ramshackle maze of buildings. A few agonizing minutes passed as Keeblie impatiently tapped her foot, while Reke hung hopelessly at her side. He tried to wiggle free, but she her fingernails pinched his tail too tightly for him to do anything about it. Soon, the lizardfolk kid came back, with a familiar-faced, smiling assassin in tow. “Aww, why’d ye gots to bring Jerome?” Keeblie complained loudly. “He’s the only one that didn’t mind bein’ bothered,” the other kid muttered meekly before slipping away into the crowd of traders. Jerome, unfazed by the insult, popped a squat in front of the little girl. She shook Reke violently in front of his face and said, enunciating each syllable slowly, “This. Is. Tha. Pro-lem.” Jerome nodded, and stuck his hand out underneath Reke, curling his fingers twice to signal a handoff. “Well I ain’t givin him to yer for free,” Keeblie replied indignantly. Jerome tilted his head, did the finger curl once again before slashing horizontally across the air with the same hand. Then, he pointed to himself, made a fake talking hand, pointed up, pointed at her, then made two fingers walk across a border made with his other hand, and finally pointed down the lane. Keeblie blanched, clutching Reke closer to her body. “You wouldn’t tell the Dame I been poachin’ past me territory,” she faltered, then quickly added “Cuz I ain’t! You don’ know that I been pilferin’ where I’m not s’possed to!” Jerome put his hands on his hips, and tilted his head towards her, incessantly smiling with great mirth. “Foine! If you tell her I been oversteppin me bounds, I’ma tell her you been messin around wif us kids instead of huntin’ down that creepy, silverhanded bar-buster like ye said yer would!” she declared triumphantly. Jerome raised his hands in surrender but lifted a finger to tell her to wait. Reaching into one of his innumerable pouches, he procured a rusty copper coin. He held out both his hands, one empty, awaiting Reke’s arrival, and the other with the coin. Keeblie eyed it greedily but pushed her luck: “Two coppers. An’ we bof keep our moufs shut.” Jerome’s coin hand flipped down into a fist, and she cried out, backing down from her hard bargain. Jerome slowly started to reveal the coin again, and Keeblie tried to -blam!- it, but Jerome deftly rolled the coin down to his fingers. He toyed with her, twitching his wrist and rolling it across his knuckles, keeping the coin just out of reach of her tiny, grubby fingers until she finally released Reke onto his open palm. He let her have her prize, and she tucked it away securely in a hidden pocket. Before rising, Jerome ruffled her hat, and she snarled back, griping something about childishness. Reke was just glad to be back on his feet, although she had unceremoniously dumped him on his head. The last few minutes were like a blur. His head was killing him as blood flowed back down to his limbs, and his tail throbbed where it was pincered between Keeblie’s sharp fingernails. Jerome was kind enough to bring Reke up to his shoulder and gave him a few sips from his canteen. The vinegary drink sloshed a little over his snout as he drank greedily, and Reke was slowly able to regain his bearings as the dizziness gradually subsided. Then, weariness hit him like a truck. It had been an exhausting day, and now it was nearly nighttime. He dimly registered that he was on the shoulder of an assassin, not the most trustworthy of fellows, but he was so tired he didn’t care. He curled up, gently massaging his poor tail between his hands, and fell asleep to the gentle sway of Jerome’s gait. … Next Chapter: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/261580007 Previous Chapter: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/261157185?sort=0&page=0