Storyboards: Slesthas

The Fens | Yar Nadrak | Captured

The Fens
'Boat? Got boat?' Rakheld looked up, startled, and stared at the hooded man. He frowned. High-pitched, worried voices did not belong to mysterious, sinister figures.
'Yes, my'lord.'
'One? Buy one?'
'Er... yes, I can sell one.'
'One.'
Rakheld did not know how to respond to that. Eventually, he settled on 'Do you want to see it? Check for problems?'
'No no. Pay gold. Now.' The man held up a pouch, which jingled tantalisingly. Rakheld opened, then shut his mouth. Gold was gold. He pointed to one of the boats. The man tossed him the pouch, and hopped nimbly onto the boat.
'Do you need some help?' he called out to the figure, who picked up a pole. The man shook his head furiously, and expertly propelled the boat out of the warf. After a moment or two, he was well away, navigating into the fens.
With a start, Rakheld realised he had not opened the pouch, and did so quickly. He gaped. There was enough gold to last him and his family for three years. He wondered who the man was. Probably another spy escaping the wrath of some Tolnedrans.

Slesthas crooned a Nyissan lullaby to himself as he pushed the boat along the fens. It reminded him of the swamps back home, but he wished there were more snakes. Sometimes he paused to examine plants drifting in the muck, but mostly concentrated on getting further into the fens, where he had heard a rumour about a witch called Vordai. He wondered what a witch was.
Then, out of habit, he started his muttering again.
'Wonder if scary lady met family man before. She nice if no knives. They look same. Same like funny thief too. Strange sign on dagger. Odd man look like all three. What they are? Ang... Angarocks. Funny Angarocks. Always chase chase me or chase chase Alories. And Alories fight Angarocks. Don't understand. Why can't be peace like odd man, family man and love bird-rats? People odd. Me no like them and like them. They funny sometimes. Make me laugh. But throw rocks at me. Me no like that. They hurt. Must wear hood always. "Never let them see your face, son." That what Father say all time. Me agree. Me agree. Least love bird-rats don't throw rocks. Just look. Just look. Smoke there! Wonder what it be.'
A few fenlings swam after his boat, attracted by the sound of his voice. They chittered among themselves, then one slipped off, swimming ahead of the boat. Slesthas did not notice them, until at least fifty had gathered around his boat. Then he stopped, scowling at them. They watched him. He glared at them.
'Go way away! Funny furry things. Me no like funny furry things. Last time one make scary noise and bite me! See? He bit me here!' Slesthas showed the scar to an imaginary person beside him. The fenlings craned their heads to look, and chittered. 'Shoo! Go way!' He waved the pole around, trying to scare them away, but they easily avoided it. He swung the pole again, lost his balance, and the boat tipped over.
He managed an 'aiyeeeee!!!! Slesthas can no swim!' before falling into the water. The fenlings drew back, watching with fascination at the peculiar human. He plunged into the murky depths of the bog, and tried to claw his way to the surface. However, as he came up, he slammed his head against the edge of the boat, and immediately fell unconscious.<>

Slesthas opened his eyes, and yelped, squirming away. He fell off the bed and landed on his back. He groaned. The woman standing over him frowned.
'I don't know why I'm doing this.' There was some chittering. Slesthas managed to turn his head to stare into a furry face. He squawked, but before he could move away, the woman reached down and hauled him onto his feet. 'Who're you?'
'Me Slesthas.' And he realised that his hood was not up. He reached up to pull it on, but the woman gripped his wrist.
'No need to hide who you are.'
'But me will get stonied.'
'Stoned?' The woman's eyes darkened with anger.
'Er... yes, stonied,' he said uncertainly, wondering what she was so angry about. Some more chittering from the furry creature. He stared at it. 'What this? Me no see afore.'
'Poppi. She's a fenling,' the woman replied distractedly, peering at him closely. 'You speak oddly.'
'Me do? Me don't know. Slesthas always talk like this.' He shrugged, then cocked his head. 'Who you, angry lady?'
'I'm Vordai. Witch of the Fens.' Her lips twisted into a bitter smile.
'Oh. You witch.' He sighed. 'Then witchs not snakes.'
'Witches. And no we're not snakes.' She smiled again, wryly. 'Though people enjoy burning us at stakes.'
'Steaks? Why burn you and meat? Smell bad. Me no like meat.'
'Stakes. As in wooden poles.' Poppi chittered, picking up a rag and scrubbing the floor next to Slesthas. The fenling gave Slesthas a disapproving look. 'Yes, dear. But you were the one who invited him. They burn us at stakes because they think we're evil.'
Slesthas blinked in incomprehension.
'Why they no like you?'
'Superstition. Stupidity.'
'Oh. Like the Alories fight Angarocks. They silly. Fighting bad. Peace good. So they silly because they burn you... at stake?'
'That's a way of putting it.' Vordai looked at him closely. 'Poppi said you said something furry bit you. May I see the bite marks?' Slesthas rolled up his sleeve and showed her the scar. She laughed. 'Looks like a dog bite. A dog is not a fenling, Slesthas.'
'They furry. Me like scales. Snakes. Me Nyissan, worship Issa and love snakes. Plants too.'
'So why did you come here? Didn't some people tell you that this place was dangerous? Didn't they tell you about me?'
'They say Vordai is witch. Must be avoided. Live in fens. People avoid snakes, but me like snakes, so I go in fens. Me also want new plants and new animals found. Fenlings poisonous?'
'No.' A pause. 'You're just like a fenling in some ways.' Vordai looked at him for a long time, then looked away. 'Well, you can go when you want to. Your boat's outside.'
'Thank you angry but nice lady.' Slesthas left the hut, wincing at his headache and painful back. He felt the top of the head, and winced again. It felt like a bump was developing there. He clambered onto the boat, and looked at the playing fenlings. 'Little ones playing games.' He tipped his head sideways, then clambered onto the boat. He removed his cloak and shook it, then put it on, shivering slightly at the clammy touch of the material, and continued to travel across the fens.

'What a peculiar man.' Vordai watched the boat disappear into the distance while Poppi cleaned the swampy water from the ground. Poppi replied. 'Yes, he's got a good heart. I wonder what happened to his mind though.'

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Yar Nadrak
And so, muttering and crooning, Slesthas traveled through the fens without any further encounters.
'Wonder what Slesthas do with boat. Up tie? Hide like green stripe snake?' he mused, trudging through the shallows of the fens, tugging the boat behind him. He paused, looking at the road doubtfully as he pulled out a tuber of a sedge plant and bit into it. 'Me no strong to pull boat up out to on road. Night soon come. Me must hurry for dry place.' He tried to move but failed, as he discovered his boots that kept his feet dry were now
stuck in the peat. He managed to wrench one foot out, overbalanced and found himself lying on a wet bed of sedges. He spluttered, yanking at his trapped boot. 'Slesthas no ever have luck! Fenlings chase chase me, then me fall into nasty, nasty water! Then me wet for three days, in middle fens and no fire, then me dry and me wet again.'
'Ho, there! Need some help?' a voice called out. An amused Drasnian, with a train of donkeys following him, peered at Slesthas from the road.
'Er...' The Drasnian jumped into the fens, and heaved at Slesthas' boot. It came out of the peat with a sucking sound, and the Drasnian quickly scrambled back onto the road. Slesthas followed him more slowly, still holding the rope the boat was attached to. 'Thank you Alorie.' The Drasnian gave him a puzzled look. 'You no Alorie?'
'No, I don't believe I've met someone called Alorie before.' Slesthas and the Drasnian stared at each other in incomprehension. Then the Drasnian said, 'I'm a Drasnian.' He shrugged, yanking some leaves off a nearby bush and wiping mud off his boots.
'Drasnians is Alories,' Slesthas explained. The Drasnian gave him another funny look, and laughed.
'Ah you mean 'Alorn'. Yes, I'm an Alorn. You just visited the fens?'
Slesthas nodded mutely. 'Started from where?'
'Aldur... place where can cross river. Me can no remember. Light place... like not deep.'
'Aldurford.' There was a long pause. 'And did you hear about Vodai?'
'Me hear. Vordai nice nice but angry lady. Me meet her.'
The Drasnian's eyes widened.
'Belar's beard! You've met her? Ah, the sun's almost setting. I must continue. Will you come with me?'
'Okay.' They started to walk down the road.
'So what was she like?'
'She save me from water death. Me meet fenlings. They furry creatures. Me no like them. They like another furry creature. Vordai call it dog. Dog bite me. Give me-'
'Water death? As in drowning?' Slesthas nodded. 'So what do you know about her? Why call her "angry"?'
'Me no know. She say she witch. She say people burn witch at stake. She think people silly. Me agree, people silly. She want peace but people no listen, want fight fight. Want kill kill. She angry when-' Slesthas shut his mouth, suddenly suspicious of the Drasnian, and decided to lie. '-when me say me think witch is snake. She talk talk to fenling. Fenling furry creature scary.'
'Woah, woah.' The Drasnian laughed again. 'Slow down. We've got plenty of time. I didn't catch it all. She's a witch, people burn witches. Then you say something, and then she's angry because you thought she was a snake? You'll need to slow down, boyo. You can take off that hood too.' Slesthas flinched away from the Drasnian. 'Keep it on if you want.' Slesthas related the tale again, and the Drasnian stared into space for a while. Then he shook his head and smiled at Slesthas. 'Well, hello. My name's Khladron.'
Slesthas looked at him, head cocked sideways. 'Me is Slesthas, question man. Khaaalaaaaa....' He looked helplessly at Khladron. 'Me no know how say. Me sorry.'
'It's all right. Call me Dron then.'
'Dron.' Khladron nodded. Slesthas beamed proudly.

Throughout their journey to Boktor, Slesthas could feel Dron's eyes on him whenever he had his back turned, and so spent most of his nights awake, worried that Dron would think he was a witch and burn him at a stake. The Drasnian also tried to find out who he was, sometimes trying to peer into his hood when he thought Slesthas was asleep. Once, Slesthas even heard him mutter to himself 'must hurry, before I get fired'.
'Witch chase burn man burn same!' Slesthas thought, and could not help but shiver. 'Slesthas must leave quick quick.'
When they arrived at Boktor, he hurriedly bid Dron goodbye, and fled the city of witch burners. He followed the road east, wondering where it led. He passed by some moors, sometimes stopping to explore for some new herbs, catching a few insects, but discovered nothing of interest, and only a handful of new plants and a new dragonfly. After much meandering through the moors, Slesthas found himself in front of the mountains. He stared up at them dejectedly.
He heard the faint sound of hooves behind him, and turned, to see a cart coming towards him. He watched it for a moment or two, then sighed, shaking his head and trudging onwards. The Drasnian guards at the border waved him through, even as the cart drew level with him. To his surprise, it stayed at the same pace at he did. He glanced sideways.
A grinning man gave him a friendly wave.
'Hello Angarock,' Slesthas said cautiously.
'Why're we stopping?' A woman's voice snapped, and the man jumped.
'Oh, we were passing through the border.' The man smiled at Slesthas.
'Where're you going?'
'East...'
'Want to hitch a ride?' Slesthas nodded his head furiously, and the man grinned, offering a hand. Slesthas looked at it puzzledly. 'Hop on.' The man beckoned. Slesthas did so, and almost slid off the cart immediately. Fortunately, he grabbed the driver's seat in time. The man laughed, and grabbed Slesthas and swung him onto the seat. A woman poked her head out through the curtain.
'Yasheb, what in Torak's name are you doing?' she demanded irritably, then noticed Slesthas. 'Oh bother, another visitor.' She snapped the curtains shut. Yasheb noticed Slesthas' staring and shrugged.
'Best not talk to her much. She's very touchy. And while we're on the topic of touchiness, don't EVER touch her. If she's in a bad mood she'll probably carve out your... er... important bits.'
'Me no understand... Lady touchy but can no touch?'
'Touchy as in... sensitive, easily irritable.'
'Easy angry?'
'Oh. Slesthas must take care.'
'What are you two mumbling about? It's distracting me!' Lysha yelled.
'Oh, nothing, Lysha.'

The argumentative couple dropped Slesthas off at one of the roadside inns, somewhere within Gar og Nadrak, saying they had to go somewhere else among the mountains and could no longer accompany him to Yar Nadrak. Slesthas was very grateful for being able to leave the company of Lysha, who made up for her extraordinary beauty for her even more astonishing temper. However, just before the couple departed, Lysha forced him at knifepoint to swear that he would never eat anything that was not washed. He shivered at the memory.
He was seated at one of the tables in the corner, when another Nadrak lady strode to his table, grabbed a chair and slammed one foot down on it. He blinked in confusion, shrinking back slightly as he stared up at the looming woman.
'Who be ye?' she demanded. Slesthas felt his cheeks burn as his eyes travelled from the woman's almost overflowing bosom down to the curves, bound by the tight leather clothing. A coiled whip hung from her belt.
'S-Slesthas.'
''Ere, ye want to see some grass on fields? Cheap 'round here.'
'Grass on fields? What grass fields? Me no understand...'
'Oh, y'know, black forest.'
'Slesthas no seen black forest afore...'
'Ye got a funny dialect, y'know?' She spun the chair around and sat on it, looking into his eyes with unusual intensity. 'Sure you don't want to see a pussy? Not even mine?' She pouted.
'See a kitty? Me no like kitties. They furry. Me no like fur.'
Her eyes narrowed.
'Yer inconsistent. One minute ye sayin' you kenna know what grass on field is, next minute ye goin' all suggestive on me. I ken arrange a few gals fer yah if ye want.'
Slesthas' chair could go back no further, nor could he sink into the wall, no matter how desperately he wanted to.
'Me no understand...'
'Oh, don't tell me yer one of 'em who do it themselves. Y'know, spankin' the monkey, that sorta thing. Or worse yer one of 'em who prefer the salami. Don't think Drekar does that sorta thing.'
'Me no like monkeys. Me no have monkey...'
'Yer a eunuch?' Her voice was so loud all the patrons in the common room turned to face Slesthas and the woman. The innkeeper looked up from his sums, startled, then rolled his eyes. One glare from the woman, and all the patrons in the common room looked away. The innkeeper stood up and walked over to the corner, where he glared at the woman.
'What's the matter now?' he asked, wiping his ink-stained hands on his filthy apron.
'This man ain't know nothin'!'
'Yes, well, not everyone's had as broad an education as you have.'
'This man badly needs an education. Badly!'
'I'm not the one paying for it. Besides, if you scare him too much he'll run away before he tries. Best let 'em come to you, that's my policy.'
The woman froze, and carefully looked the innkeeper up and down.
'Ye never told me ye did that type o' stuff, ye bastard!' she laughed delightedly. The innkeeper merely smiled mildly, pretending to fuss about his apron. 'Ye had me completely fooled! I should carve yer guts out fer that, ye cheeky bastard!'
'Well, sir, if you want any services... mine or the girls, just tell me. We're always happy to oblige... for a fee of course.' He winked at the confused Nyissan, and steered the woman away from Slesthas' table.
By now, Slesthas had reached three conclusions. 1) The women in this country were very very scary, 2) the men in this country were very clever to be able to handle these women and 3) as much distance as possible should be kept from these weird people.
But, as usual, Slesthas was totally unaware of the irony of the situation, or the glances the patrons in the common room cast him.

After the peculiar man and intimidating woman left, Slesthas sat at the table, watching the patrons slowly drink themselves into rowdiness, and for some, into unconsciousness. Just as the drinkers started to become sluggish, a group of soldiers wearing red tunics appeared at the sole entrance of the tavern.
Immediately, all the Nadraks sober enough drew their weapons, but at that moment, a black-robed man stepped through the kitchen door, smiling smugly. There was silence as everyone stared at him. A few Nadraks threw down their weapons, spitting on the ground, and this was quickly followed by the others, with oaths and curses.
'I'm glad everyone is so cooperative,' he drawled, 'Now if all the gentlemen step this way.' He gestured at the entrance. 'My men will gladly clothe you in the... proper attire.' There was deathly silence. 'Of course, if none of you are willing to serve our God in the army you may serve him with all your hearts.' The Nadraks left the common room quickly. More than one hate-filled look was thrown the robed man's way. Slesthas flinched when the man looked at him, and the man's eyes widened. 'My lord, I did not know you were here. Would you like to join us in this escort?'
Something told him bad things would happen if he stuttered, or acted contrary to the man's expectations, and so he gathered his wits - all of them - somewhat reluctantly, and stood up as regally as he could. 'I'm honoured.
The man bowed. 'We are honoured to be your escort.' Slesthas nodded once.
'Lead on.' The soldiers parted for Slesthas, and he was helped onto a horse. The Nadraks were shackled, and most were staring down at the dirt road. Occasionally one would cast a murderous glance at the man and Slesthas. Around them stood the soldiers, who kept a wary eye on their prisoners but keeping some distance away from them.
For the rest of the day until nightfall, Slesthas rode, while the Nadraks, the man and the soldiers marched with him. The man, much to his dismay, spoke in a low voice to him throughout the ride, and gave him details on how many people they have forcibly recruited so far, how the Emperor of the Malloreans intimidated the King of Nadraks into doing various things, how they - including the man himself and Slesthas - the Grolims will be praised by Torak and showered with gifts when the Rivan King was dead... and the list went on. Fortunately, the Grolim did not ask Slesthas any questions, but nevertheless, Slesthas kept his mind focussed.
With every part of his mind alert and awake, long buried memories started to stir. Slesthas allowed them to run through his mind, and everything came back, crystal clear and as vivid as they were ten years ago. An almost overwhelming urge rose within him to drink from the small, padded vial tucked in his belt, but he resisted. There were just some things that should never be repeated. The side effects and withdrawal symptoms still afflicted him at times. He hoped he would not be struck by another bout before he gets out of this mess.
The only times they stopped were for brief breaks, usually at streams, so that the men could drink some water, and after what felt like an interminable length of time, they finally set camp, when it was clearly too dark to safely walk or ride. The prisoners were chained to a few posts driven into the ground, while the recruiters set up some tents they carried in their backpacks. Slesthas was given a lone tent. Dinner - porridge – was served, and Slesthas ate little, wanting to return to the blissful cloud of ignorance he lived in for the past decade. Then the recruiters slept, assigning only four men to patrol the camp.
Slesthas spent some time lying down on his back and staring up at the ceiling of the tent, wondering what to do next.
'Nadraks being conscripted to aid the Malloreans in preparation for a battle, Grolims terrorising the country. Should leave this country soon. But how?' He paused, sitting up, and begun to anoint his knife with his favourite poison. 'Kill or run way away? Me no know...' he murmured, unconsciously lapsing back to 'Slesthas-talk'. 'If run they chase chase. Me no run must kill. Kill is no good, for bad bad people. They be bad though. They make people fight. So kill kill. Use snaky knife or poison? Light time or night? Knife easy, night easy. So knife night. Disguise? Yes yes, colour skin. Then Nadrakies not so scared.'
Slesthas blacken the knife and smeared some dye over his skin and hair. Then, judging the time was right, slipped out of the tent, knife in hand. He kept to the ground, and after slinking to where one of the guards sat, froze again. The other guard walked past, not truly taking the patrol seriously. Then he clapped his hand over the guard's mouth, and firmly slit the man's throat, and did the same to the other guard. The other two were quickly dispatched, and Slesthas found a key on one of them.
Hefting the key in his hand, he skulked to where the prisoners were chained, and waited for one of them to stir. None moved. After a while, he remembered he was mistaken for a Grolim, pushed back the hood.
'Take the key. I think it's the one that opens your shackles.' A few men looked up cautiously, and one accepted the key. The shackles unlocked with soft clicks, and soon all the prisoners were freed. They discussed with each other in hushed voices, glancing at the tents, then most of them headed towards the tents. Of those left, five were obviously guarding him, while the others were still drunk, sprawled on the ground. They took no notice of his red eyes in the darkness.
Distant sounds of scuffling and a few muffled cries and oaths. Then the men returned, some injured, and another dragging a corpse behind him. They gathered around Slesthas, eyes trying to pierce the darkness.
'Who're you?' the innkeeper stepped forwads, peering at Slesthas.
'I'm Slesthas... a Nyissan.'
'Why did they think you were a Grolim then?'
'Me no... I don't know.' Slesthas shrugged. 'They seemed pretty intent on converting the entire country's men into soldiers.'
'How'd we know if yer a Nee-yee-san then?' a man demanded.
'I dun think Grolims keel with poison. Them men back there - dead 'uns - they got blue faces. Choked tah death me thinks,' another replied.
'True...' the man conceded grudgingly, while others muttered.
'So what're you going to do?' the innkeeper said, when the murmuring died down. The men looked more relaxed now, as Slesthas was no longer considered a threat.
'Go back to the West, back... home. Or further East, outside this country, though I doubt it.'
'You'd be insane to go far east. Malloreans. Morindims-'
'Morindims?'
'Demon summoners. Every ten traders that visit them, nine come back to tell the tale. Most of the time they're harmless... but you never know. Don't think they've got that many bears in the country.'
'South, then.'
'Murgos-' he spat '-there. Tread carefully. And kill a few of our beloved cousins for us while you're at it. We would appreciate it.'
'I must leave now...'
'All right then. Good luck, Nyissan.' As Slesthas left the circle of men, a few slapped him on his back, while others thanked him, promising him beers if they met again. He gave them a final cheery wave, and made his way back to the tavern, and from there, he would follow the road.

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Captured
Slesthas stares blankly up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open and panting. 'Too hot! Too hot! And Sph... Sphariss is thinking he is never saying such things! Issa, Issa...' His words trail off for a moment, then he continues his litany of woe. 'Hot! Different hot! Dry hot! Slesthas is sitting in an oven. That is it! Dagashi is baking Sphariss... mmm baked Sphariss... Issa! Is not thinking about it, oh no, oh no. Me is missing wet hot, like swampy jungly wetty dampy Nyissa.'
He fans himself vigerously with his hand, and a smile spreads across his face as the clinking of chains reaches his ears. 'Jingle, jingle. Jingle, jingle. Like bells.' Sph-Slesthas listens for a while, before he suddenly sits up abruptly. 'Sphariss... is thirsting again.'
Heaving a great sigh, the Nyissan hauls himself from the bed with a jingle, fanning himself vigerously with his hand and pours out another glass of water. The water is, as he expects, laced with all sorts of wonderful poisons. The Dagashi must be having a field day, just like him.
'Mmm me is liking the taste of spider cactus and blade petals,' he sighs happily, smacking his lips, 'Will Sphariss bloat? Will Sphariss asphyxiate? Against these poisons be no immunising...' He peers closely at his arm and pinches it, then shrugs. 'Is not knowing. Light too bright, too bright.' He squints at the tiny aperture in the high ceiling, and helps himself to more water. 'Don't mattering too much. Me is turning into crisp snake man soon.'
'Crisp snake man, huh?' a voice by the door says, and Slesthas jumps. 'Why didn't you tell me this was for supper, Atgok?' A Drasnian is leaning against the wall by the door, a wry smile on his face, while the nasty, nasty Asturian who took Sphr- no, Slesthas into the room is standing outside, a sneer plastered onto his face. 'I wouldn't have bought the brace of sand lizards then.'
Sphariss... Slesthas just stares at the Drasnian, who, once he stepped out of the beam of sunlight, looks more of a cross between an Alorn and a Murgo. He tries out several words in his head, then settles on the one that sounds the best. 'Are you a... Drasgo?'
The Drasnian gives him a funny look. 'The word is Dagashi, white one.'
Sphariss considers the man's looks for a moment, then turns his attention to the Asturian. His eyes narrow. A man or a woman? No, a man. That would make him...
'Eunuchie?' The Asturian's eyes flash, and he moves forward, hand dropping to his waist. The Drasnian stops him with a gesture.
'No, he's not.' The Drasnian glances at the Asturian's effeminate features, and smiles. 'Despite his appearance.' The Asturian sneers at the Drasnian.
'Oh. Can I be freeing off shackle? Nice shackle, fit nice, look nice, make nice, but heavy.' Sphariss stops fanning himself, letting his arms droop. 'Sphariss is tired.'
Silence fills the room as the Dagashi exchange looks. 'Are you a lackwit, asking us this?' the Asturian asks scornfully, and laughs. 'Typical of Nyissans. Drugged up idiots whose only saving is their skill with narcot-'
Sphariss flushes. 'No, me just albino. Me not stupid.'
'Is that so?' The Asturian drawls, palming a triangular piece of metal-
'Addersting!' Slesthas blurts out, but before he can react, the Asturian is in the room. The front of Slesthas' robe is seized, and the Asturian smiles unpleasantly at him. The blade gleams less than an inch from his eye.
'We don't tolerate stupidity, nor do we like your acting. Act normally, white rat, or I'll shove this where the sun don't shine, do you understand?'
Slesthas stares at the blade, mesmerised by the way the light glimmered along the lethal edges. The Asturian pulls back in disgust, cuffing him hard. This snaps the Nyissan out of his reverie, and he whimpers, scampering backwards and pawing at his bitten tongue. On tasting blood, he whimpers again, cowering. The Dagashi gaze down at him.
The Asturian snorts. 'Lost his tongue, the cretin.'
'Cretin? Don't be so quick to judge.' The Drasnian-Murgo pulls out several leaves, which Slesthas instantly recognises as being demon weed, and begins to roll them into a cylinder on the desk. The Asturian turns to look at him, waiting. 'He hasn't pissed himself, yet he knows who, or what, we are.'
'N-no... Sphariss is just no enough water taking in...' Slesthas offers as an explanation, licking his lips nervously. The Asturian says nothing, tilting his head to regard the Nyissan again. In the silence, the Drasnian strikes the match against the rough stone walls, and lights the roll. He takes a long drag, and exhales, smoke streaming from his nose.
'So. I'll keep things simple. Stay here. Provide us with poisons, ones that we can use to annoint that-' the Drasnian nods at the addersting '-toy. Preferably with something we can dose ourselves with, so we can ah 'immunise', I believe is the word, ourselves against the drugs.' A smile flits across the Drasnian's face. 'A precaution for our less-skilled... brethern.'
'Or become another sacrifice for the Holy Grolims, like those bleating Thulls.' The Asturian jeers, his green-brown eyes dark with amusement, and stows away the addersting. The Drasnian flicks a bland look at him, then draws out several vials from his robes.
'As a symbol of good will, or rather, should we say, to keep you alive so we can have your answer, here's the antidote to the poisons you've taken.' Slesthas stares at the liquids in the clear glass vials. 'From your case. Catch.' The vials are flung into the air, and Slesthas throws himself forward, managing to grab them just before they hit the ground. 'Good. He's fast.'
Slesthas glowers up at the Drasnian. 'Dagashi not nice,' he mutters, and the Drasnian gives a low chuckle, taking another draw from the demon weed.
'Best take the antidote... not that you aren't aware of the effects of the poison, of course.' Slesthas glares, but obeys, popping off the corks and tipping the vials' contents into his mouth. He sighs happily, the not-so-unfamiliar bitter tang of dog's tail and slissa root filling his mouth. He hesitates at the last vial, however, and meets the Drasnian piercing gaze with suspicion.
The Drasnian smiles, taking the vial from Slesthas and tossing the dried fruit from where he had kept it concealed in his hand. 'Just testing.'
Slesthas snatches the out of the air and quickly pops it into his mouth. 'Tesshting, he ish shaying,' he grumbles over the tastless, crunchy myrsa.
'I thought I said speak normally?' the Asturian asks archly, and Slesthas flinches.
'Sl- Sph- I is, am, not helping it... can,' he stammers. The Asturian steps forward, but is stopped by the Drasnian.
'Now, just one last task left.' The Asturian turns to him, a puzzled expression crossing his face. The Drasnian drops the smouldering end of the cylinder onto the floor, and grinds it with the toe of his boot.
'What, you finish your fag?'
A blur of unbleached linen flashes before his eyes, and Slesthas backs up further against the wall in alarm and awe. Fists and feet blur in the flurry of exchange, and a moment later the Asturian is pinned down to the ground, one arm painfully pulled back and the other crushed beneath him. The Drasnian smiles, relieving him of his addersting and springing lightly back to his feet, out of reach of the Asturian. The Asturian, on the other hand, is slower to rise, clutching to his shoulder and gasping.
'Tsk tsk,' the Drasnian tuts, shaking his head. 'A virgin blade?' He turns it over in his hand. 'I thought I was just seeing things, but it seems not. How very disappointing.' The Asturian spits a string of curses, and the Drasnian raises an eyebrow.
'Give that back,' the Asturian snarls.
'As you wish.' The Asturian's eyes widen and he ducks. The addersting embeds itself into the wall. 'Oh, I'm sorry. We won't be able to get it out.' The Drasnian quickly snaps off the protruding blade with a quick chop of the hand, easily evading the punch thrown at him. 'Here you go. Half is better than nothing, no?' The Asturian spits again, snatching the proffered broken addersting, and stalks off.
'A word-' the Drasnian says softly, and the Asturian stops in his tracks '-of warning. Do not insult me again, or overstep your rank. You might just wake up one morning greeted by Torak.' The Drasnian shrugs, turning his back on the furious Asturian, and beams at Slesthas.
'Do you have your answer?' Slesthas stares at him, then at the blade, then jolts when the Asturian slams the door again. The Drasnian's eyes narrow slightly. 'Just nod,' the man says absently. Slesthas nods. 'Good.' The Dagashi heads towards the door, then stops. 'I'm Kardhun, by the way. And since you're here to stay, I can't keep calling you 'white one' all the time. What's your name?'
'S... Sphariss,' Slesthas mutters, wondering how he is going to get out of this mess, and more importantly, how he is going to survive in this place. 'W-what's the Astrurie's name again?'
'He's no Asturian, Sphariss, and would take great insult in being called that. Call him Agtok.' Slesthas nods mutely. 'Well, I'll have a new jug of water - clean, that is - sent down to you. Perhaps two. Have a good day.' The door swings shut.

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