"I don't know about this!”
Three men stood in a clearing on the misty hilltop. One was gangly, one was small, and the last was a giant. The mist parted for a moment: in the distance, the uncounted campfires and lights of Dura and its crowded surroundings could be seen. Then, the mist shut the world again.
The air was cold; Gangly and Small shivered, their teeth chattering. Giant, though, didn't seem to notice the cold at all. The ground around the men was strewn with weathered rocks. Some were stained with lichens like green, clotted blood. Others had dark bushes pushing up between them. Black insects as large as a man's hand buzzed in and out of the mist. The men eyed them and kept their distance.
"Maybe - maybe Gudea, we should go," said Small.
"If they betray us," Gangly put his hand on the hilt of his club. It was made from a sawn-off human thigh bone. A stone club head of obsidian had been tied to its end with human sinew. "They’ve been abducting people. Sacrificing them to Azathoth. If they are such fools that they would try to claim us for-”
"Quiet," said Giant. His words sounded like the growls of a large wolf.
A light appeared in the mist.
Four others soon joined it. They became larger, each moving from side to side. There was the sound of loose rocks rolling down the hillside.
"Here they are," said Small. He was not smiling.
The lights became lanterns. Carrying them were five forms wearing brown, hooded cloaks. Three wore long knives at the belts. The other two were unarmed.
The cloaked group came to a stop in front of the three men. One of the unarmed figures threw back his hood, revealing the face of a middle-aged man. His hair was brown, going to grey at the temples. He was clean-shaven. Tattooed on his forehead was the mark of Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God. He smiled at the men with yellowed teeth.
"You must be the one they call Gudea," he looked towards Giant.
"Yes," said the Gudea the Giant. "Who are you?"
"That matters not, Butcher."
"Yes," Gudea folded his arms. "I suppose it doesn't. Are you the one, then?"
"No," the man pointed to the only other unarmed person on the hill. "She is."
The woman threw back her hood and stepped forward. She was young, perhaps 18 or 19 years old. Her hair was thick and wavy and fell down her shoulders. It was a dark brown, almost red. Her skin was pale. She took in the three butchers with eyes that were the lightest blue.
Gangly and Small laughed. Gudea did not.
"Is this some jest?" A growl ripped its way up his throat. "You want to kill one of the best swordsmen in Dura with a girl?"
"Not with just any girl," she said. She had a strong, Armanean accent. She slipped off her cloak and let it fall to the ground. Revealed, her small, pale body was naked. Her figure was trim with gentle, graceful curves. Dark green and black tattoos dedicating her to the Fish God Dagon ran up her thighs and upper arms. Cuneiform script tattooed in green and black circled her belly button, dedicating her to the Fish God Dagon. Her breasts were perky, the nipples dark pink. She turned her leg to the side for the men to see: an "X" brand almost healed. "This is how you get past Gerard Lightning Shield’s sword." She said, smiling. It was an arrogant smile without warmth.
Gudea stepped up to her.
She looked up at him, tiny, fearless.
He began walking around her, looking her up and down. The girl remained still, back erect, her stance relaxed.
"This-" the expression on Small’s face looked part-conflicted, part-pained. "This," he began again, "is not a slave!"
"No, she's not," said Gudea. "A good effort with the brand, but did you think that men wouldn't know?"
"I have served men. They did not know."
"They weren't slavers," said Gudea. "In a good month, as many as a hundred girls pass through Lightning Shield’s cages. Each girl is studied. Graded. Trained and unbroken alike are drilled night and day. You think they will not know?"
"Then show me," she said. "Why do you think we sought you out? If all I needed was to get into his cages, I could have been sold to him without difficulty. Or presented as a gift! We need you to teach me."
Gudea raised an eyebrow. He looked to the middle-aged man who would not give his name and shook his head.
"You don't understand what you're asking."
"Oh, but I do." Said the blue-eyed girl.
Gudea put his hand around her throat. It was like a monstrous claw; it looked like he could snap her throat with a small movement. He lifted his hand just a bit, and the girl was forced to stand on her tiptoes.
"If you want to learn how to be a slave, me and my men will gladly teach you, Pretty One. You will not like it, and once it starts, it ends when I say it ends. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The girl looked to the unnamed man and nodded.
"Do we have an agreement then?" Unnamed Man asked.
There was the sound of tumbling stones - and a curse. All on the hill stopped and turned towards it.
The mist parted at just that moment. Revealed was a young man carrying a staff. Slung over his back was a sack bulging with mushrooms. His eyes became saucers as he saw the group looking upon him. He turned and started running.
The girl slipped out of Gudea’s grip like smoke. Faster than he could understand what was happening, she reached for his belt. There was a flash as she drew his skinning knife. She flung it at the interloper.
It struck him in the back of his thigh. He cried out and went down, his mushrooms tumbling over the barren ground.
The naked girl ran down the hill, outpacing the larger men in their boots. She jumped from stone to stone as surefooted as a cave lion. She reached the wounded man first, kicked away his staff, and twisted his arm behind his back. He screamed and thrashed but could not break free. She shoved her knee into his back, and he was still.
"What is this!" He swore; his accent was Duran. "Get your Dagonite slave bitch off me! Cunt! You’ll be culled for this!"
She ripped the knife out of his thigh. He screamed, blood gushing. It splashed her legs and feet. She did not seem to care.
The others reached the scene and gathered around. Gudea stepped in front of the man.
"Please!" The wounded man gasped. "Gudea the Butcher? I know you! Help me!"
Gudea reached down to break the man's neck.
Before he could, the girl grabbed her victim’s jaw, turned his head to face her, and kissed him. It was a quick, darting motion, like the strike of a snake.
The man stared at her, surprised. Then, his lip began to tremble. The tremble spread to his jaw, and then his eyes rolled back in his head. His whole body began to spasm, and he started coughing blood. Then, just as quick as it started, it was over. He lay still, blood trickling down the side of his mouth.
"What did you do?" Asked Gudea.
"Butcher Gudea," Unnamed Man was smiling, "what good would an assassin passing as a slave be if she had to carry a knife? Where would she put it? Hidden in her hair?"
As he spoke, the girl with the Dagonite tattoos dug her fingers into the dead man's left eye and ripped it out. She slashed the optic nerve with Gudea’s knife, popped the eye into her mouth, and swallowed it whole.
The butchers cried out in surprise.
"Butcher Gudea," Unnamed Man gestured to the girl, "the Cult of the Deep Dark asks again of you - is there an agreement?"
Gudea got down on one knee and crouched, bringing his head level with the tattooed girl’s. The two stared at one another.
“Why does a cultist of the Deep Dark bear signs of Dagon on her body?” he pointed to her belly tattoo. “Do you Armaneans think Azathoth likes sharing?”
Unnamed Man said nothing.
"Will you eat Gerard's eye like that, Pretty One?” Gudea asked.
"Sure," she replied.
"Then we have a deal."