Zashi's History/BronzeTiger
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by BronzeTiger
Blood Splashes up onto a wall to my left creating a grotesque sort of modern art as it slides down onto the ground, and I inhale the bitter sweet flavor of dust and death. I spin to my right as a blade hisses through the air thunderously connecting with the ground that I just stood upon. I lash out with a thrust with Thirst and the tip of the spear tears through the man’s armor and effortlessly hollow’s out what used to be his chest. I spin back to my left bringing the spear and the man’s body around with me. The spear torques heavily due to the force of my movement and as it snaps straight again the body catapults off of it towards a horde of on-rushing men. I at this time let go of the spear temporarily jump up on top of it and nimbly run across its length while its still in the air. As my feet feel the tip of the blade underneath them I kick down hard flipping the spear into my trailing right hand and launch myself high up into the air. I swing Thirst over my head and with a great cry of blood curdling delight bring Thirst down in a brilliant golden arc onto the heads of the now fallen horde. I can feel the blood hit my face, the taste of savage slaughter is upon my evenly timed breaths, and then I wake up.
I shoot straight up from my bedroll the images of the slaughter still dancing before my eyes and the screams filling my ears. My skin is covered in sweat and there is a little blood trickling out from under the bandage that covers the sword wound on my right side. A scream rises in my lungs, but I don’t let it out, I never do. To do so would be to show to great a weakness and instability in front of my men who lie sleeping just outside my tent. Only one person knows about the night terrors I experience after battle, and she is right beside me, now roused from her tranquil sleep due to my movements. As she rolls over and I take in the sight of her long, flower-filled, green hair framing her desert rose colored face I sigh and think I never would have told her either if we weren’t breaking so many rules already. She places a knowing hand on my hard brow and begins to wipe the sweat away all the while singing in a low almost ephemeral voice that soothes my worries and brings me peace. I look into her purple eyes and am momentarily bemused by the thought that they are the same color as forget-me-nots, despite the fact that I have had this thought countless times before. Her eyes twinkle at me and I let out a deep breath that seems to almost push me back upon my mat and pillow. She moves over and places her right arm upon my scarred chest and her hand moves to the side of my face. The last things I remember for the rest of the night are feeling her naked body pressed against mine, her cool hand firmly yet thoughtfully stroking my cheek, and thinking to myself that I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
When I awaken she is already gone, as always. It seems no matter how early I rouse myself she has always left before I open my eyes. Even amongst men who know of our relationship and would sooner die then tell anyone she still takes the utmost care to not let us be seen together in front of them. As per normal a lily from her hair was sitting on my chest and I smiled when I held it to my nose and drank deep of the intoxicating aroma that was my lady. As I stood and moved over to the corner of my tent in order to splash some water on my face and get dressed I could hear her starting to get the men up. I’ll be damned if she isn’t the best second a captain could ask for. I peek my head out between the tent flaps and take her in one last time as my lover and not a person under my command. She moved with the ease of a young sapling blowing in the wind even under her heavy green jade armor, and her matching colored hair was tied into a tight braid and stuffed down the back of her shirt. Her voice echoed across the camp like a starlings screech in the dead of night letting the men know they had 10 minutes till breakfast, and if anyone of them wasn’t there on time they would personally have to answer to her. I smiled as I re-entered my tent and began to don my clothes, to them she was Pernicious Snapdragon an old dragonblood and the second in command, but to me she was Emerald Lily my partner in all things.
I quickly slipped into my loose-fitting tan pants, enchanted, white tiger pelt vest, square toed boots that looked like they had seen far to many a mile and strode out into the camp. As I exited my tent I grabbed my golden bracer, Weeping Crystal, which was a gift from my love, placing it onto my right arm, and my spear, Thirsts for Victory, which as always I balanced perfectly on the back of my neck and shoulders. I moved deftly through the camp greeting my men as they awoke and moved out into the rising sun’s rays. The smell of frying pork and biscuits eventually drew me over to the fire where my units cook, Sylian, was making breakfast. I made small talk with the men in line to get food and then made my way over to a nearby rock with my food and water in hand to watch the new dawn break. As I ate the pork and biscuit sandwich I had made my thoughts began to drift back over last nights dream, the skirmish of that day, and then on too things farther back, like my time at the Rock and in the jungles that were my home.
The battle of the former day wasn’t that big a deal, just a small scuffle really. We had been receiving reports that a cadre of bandits had been knocking off supply caravans headed to Chiaroscuro over the past few months. Now normally this wouldn’t really register on my group’s radar to such a degree that we would feel compelled to go and stop it. We are an elite strike force not a police team. However what caught our eye about this particular set of raids was that recon had come that this particular group of rogues, thieves, and highwaymen were steadily increasing in size, to the point where they even had a name for their coterie now, and their attacks were becoming more and more vicious and cruel. I mused for a second over their name. The sand sharks they called themselves. I smiled internally at thinking of this. I thought how amazing it was that so much is given away within a name, and how much a name can mean to a group of men. A title or name gives purpose and brings unity. It’s one of the sure fire ways to tell whether a group has it together or not. If they have a title for their collective selves and that name is fitting for them then you can bet you will be in for a fight, because now the men are no longer individuals, they are united. Names also give much away too though. Leaders usually give their groups names that sum up their vision for the men or describe how they fight, steal, live and/or die. My crew is no exception to this rule. I named them the Predators, because that is what we are. I just didn’t make the mistake of letting my men’s title slip to the outside world. The title “sand sharks” told me several things about the bandits already. One thing the title informed me of was that while they may school together across the desert, ultimately they are all out for themselves, much like a shark is when they are feeding. The second fact I gathered about the group was that they attacked quickly, silently, bloodily, and when their prey was at their weakest, like any good predatory animal would. The final detail I was able to discern was that like sharks if you gave them a good whap on the nose they would go scurrying back to the murky depths from whence they came. I informed my men of this as we traveled to the nearest city that sat upon the major three trading lines going to Chiaroscuro. Sure enough a major caravan had just passed through here two days ago and was on its way to the Glass City from here. I could feel in my bones this was their target and my mind suddenly started going through all the possible attack and defense scenarios that could occur along this route. After 10 minutes of staring at various maps and ceilings I had come up with a plan that assure us victory. It was quite simple really and I was mildly angry with myself for not thinking or it sooner. As soon as I was able to put the idea into words I informed Snapdragon and quickly took 5 of my men went off in search of the caravan.
The pincer technique had worked to perfection and despite being outnumbered 100 to 50 we walked away victorious and more impressively with zero casualties and only 5 wounded. The bandits as I predicted had tried to surround and conquer with quick darting attacks, but the location I had picked, with the caravan nestled into a little indent in a large Mesa wall, thwarted this type of behavior and they were forced into an all out frontal charge. From here it was all too easy. I stepped forward Thirst in hand and let the refreshing feeling of essence ripple over my body. As it did so my height almost doubled and my muscles bulged under the now straining vest. My eyes blazed with a terrifying light and Thirst seemingly already dripping with blood languidly whispered out to the onrushing men how it craved their very life’s essence. Needless to say none of these men had seen anything life this before and fled in terror before my frightening visage. As they skidded to a stop and turned to run back they met the onrushing charge of Snapdragon with the rest of my force. Green essence encircling her body has she fired barbed arrow after barbed arrow into the fleeing bulwark of men from atop her horse. Once more they turned and fled this time in a veritable frenzied flight back towards the caravan screaming for mercy. As essence finished dripping from my still massive hands I told them one should only expect mercy if they are willing to give some, and as I completed my words an on rush of razor-sharp, black butterflies appeared behind me and with efficient brutality tore a swath through the white faced men. The battle lasted no more then 2 minutes and within that time we had driven off 100 men killing more then half and capturing their 3 leaders. The caravan leaders and various merchants paid us generously in goods and gold for our help, and then before the sun had set we disappeared back into the desert proving yet again we were still the top of the food chain.
It all seemed so simple to me know. Commanding men, tactically outmaneuvering enemies, fighting, and hell even casting magic was like second nature to me now. I wasn’t always this good though I thought. It took a lot of endless nights, senseless beatings, and humility to get me this far. I smiled inwardly again remembering my time at the Kether Rock, and more importantly my graduation thereof. The circumstances of my arrival at those big stony gates were so hazy that they bled into the nothing that lay deep in my mind. I remembered walking almost in a trance up to the gates that barred the mighty fortress no golden spear in hand or bracer upon my arm, just me. My body was much as it is now. Tall and lanky with smooth, toned, deceptively strong muscles covering my bones. My skin was as hard as ever and I still bore the groove like scars I received before the darkness fell upon my mind. I was dressed in my normal raiment of loose pants, sandals and tiger pelt vest, but something was odd my head swam with an unnatural fogginess. I banged loudly and waited for them to open. Hours later as the sun was setting over the horizon the gates creaked open and a great rush of stale and used air rushed out from it, hot and still sticky with human breath. As I crossed its threshold my thoughts cleared and a sudden lucidity came upon me. I knew where I was, and why I was here, but not how I had arrived or where I had been right before coming hear.
It was then that I took in my surroundings and realized that I was totally surrounded by men and women adorned in godly armors and with weapons fit to kill the very sky itself. It was such a sight that it took my breath away and I was suddenly reaffirmed as to why I had come here. Then out from the masses stepped the most magnificent man I had ever seen. He was tall and handsome, his long, unruly black hair spilling down past his thick, muscled shoulders. He wore a long, open vest that hung past his knees, and his pants were loose and flowing except where he tucked them into his square-toed boots. Marking him a Paladin of Kether Rock, he wore a long, billowing white scarf, the end of which marked with curved and elegant Flametongue letters, which spelled out “One Above Heaven.” He walked with a presence that could shatter moral as soon as build it and his voice throbbed with belief and power as he told me he was Michael, Warmaster of the Kether Rock and he was to be my trainer while I was here. At the time I didn’t fully understand what an honor this had been, but I soon did. A sword was tossed to me and I was told to fight. At first I hardly thought it was fair to fight an unarmed man, and then my stomach exploded with pain. Michael in what had seemed to be a causal step forward had burst towards me with unfathomable speed, his fists wrapping in essence, a great smile spreading across his face and a shadow of sparkling golden sand trailing behind him. His hit blasted me off my feet and I could feel my insides shake as I smashed into the wall behind me. I fell face first into the dirt and could feel the tiny particles mix with the blood in my throat creating a vile, viscous concoction that I had to spit onto the ground by my face before it choked me. Then, and I think to everyone’s surprise but Michael’s, I got up. My side was cracked and split open and I could still see the indent of his fist. As I stood my legs shook under me and I picked back up the sword. Michael smiled again and made some comment about how solid I was. I went on the offensive now, which was an impressive display as I am a Dawn Caste Solar Exalted, but it mattered little. Michael easily swayed away from most of my blows or shrugged off even the mightiest barrages I managed to hit him with, or he let me hit him with more likely. Then he hit me again. A jaw shattering left followed by the most perfect right cross I have ever seen.
The next thing I remember is coming to in the infirmary my wounds almost completely all healed off. I was greeted cordially and given my new robes and living materials. I was then showed down a set of winding halls, that I quickly learned to memorize out of necessity more then want, to my new living quarters. A small little square of a room with only a bed rack, a water basin, and a table that was somehow more Spartan then depressing. The next week was filled with tours, food, healing, and greetings from the men. Everyone seemed nice enough in his or her own way, but at the time I couldn’t understand why they all seemed to snicker behind my back. I knew that my training would start soon, so why should they laugh about it? Well I soon learned why they laughed, and why they refer to the first week at the Rock as “sweet bliss”. My first true day at the Rock began with Michael kicking me awake I swear as the sun was just thinking about rising. I was then taken out into the badlands that surround the Rock dressed in armor that must have been laden with lead weights, given heavy equipment to carry and told to run barefoot across the desert till he deemed me worthy to stop. The sun scorched and burned my face, rocks and hot sand constantly opened and then painfully cauterized the wounds, and all the while my legs churned me forward pushing me to my seemingly far off, intangible goal. After what must have been dozens of miles I heard Michael’s voice telling me to stop, and in that moment I knew what it must be like to be a parched man who finally found water. I collapsed on the ground scarcely able to breath in the heavy constricting armor. Michael approached me, hauled me to my feet as if I were a piece of timber on the ground and told me that if I ever collapsed again he would personally see to my punishment. No kind words I repeated to myself in a reminiscent way, not at your first year at the Rock. When we arrived back at the compound I was whisked inside to the infirmary pumped full of fluids and given some strange leaves to eat, which while tasting like rotting liquorish gave me some energy back. I had assumed that the strenuous part of the day was over; my first lesson learned at the Kether Rock was never assume anything. As soon as I stood up off the infirmary bed Michael led me outside where I was placed in a circle of men with wooden poles and told to brace myself. Knowing all to well what was coming I did so. For at minimum a solid hour those men smashed into me with those sticks and poles, trying to tenderize me as if I was to be that night’s dinner. At first my hard skin, a gift from my forbearers, protected me from their never-ending torrent of blows. My skin refused to be cut and pole and stick a like snapped on my skin. That was when Michael improvised and told the men that from now on instead of wooden sticks and poles they shall be using leather whips or thin metal rods. That was when the pain began. Leather and metal dug into my flesh grinding into it a fine dust and by the time the exercise was over I was a literal bloody mess. Every inch of my body screamed in pain as if a thousand small demons were flaying the skin from my flesh with tiny swords of flame. Then it was back the infirmary, a place I got to know quite well. Next it was morning combat exercises where at times I would have to face 5 or more highly trained mortal men or 1 or 2 bound demons with just a spear. Lunch came after this, and then it was back outside into the scorching heat and burning sun for afternoon combat exercises. My entire first year was this basic schedule over and over and over every day, except Sundays, which was a day of worship.
On top of all this I was forced to learn the Cult Scriptures by heart in my free time, and was often quizzed on them by Michael during my long runs or while the men were beating on me. I shook my head for a second to clear the jumble of thoughts that were now flooding into it. Images of pain, hurt, triumph, sacrifice and humility all danced before my eyes out of sync and with bad tempo. I munched on my sandwich for a few more moments trying to get my thoughts in order when a particularly harsh memory leaped to the forefront. Often during your years at the Rock you will be called upon to partake in several tests or survival, tactical skill, and general combat prowess, this one in particular occurred during my second year. One of the more common tests is that either during your sleep or while training a group of Tiger Warriors will ambush you with sticks and poles. This is meant to keep you on your toes and prepare you for surprise assaults and sneak attacks. On one such occasion they came at me when I was asleep in my room. Like it had just happened yesterday I can remember hearing this faint rush of air above me, and a noise that sounded like two plates of armor lightly clinking. With a flash I was up my shoulder lowering into the oncoming metal pole bending it to a right angle as it smashed into me. My hand shot out and I delivered a lightening stroke jab to the man’s face breaking his nose and welling up tears in his eyes. I followed up the jab with a left the soldier’s stomach and then a thunderous uppercut to his chin. Just as my punch landed I could hear this sickening crunch as the skull snapped back and separated from the vertebrae. Hearing this noise something inside me snapped and a wave of catharsis came over me. It was as if all my pent up anger and aggression let loose in a deluge of rage and power. I quickly grabbed the bent pipe from the dead man’s grasp and hurled it across the room smashing into another soldier’s throat. Like a shark smelling blood I was on him and before the other 5 soldiers in the room new what had happened I had picked the gasping man up by his head and gave it a quick jerk snapping his neck and sending his body spiraling at the other soldiers. Once again picking up the bent pipe I leapt into the fray essence pouring forth from my eyes as I proceeded to slaughter every man that had come into my room that night to surprise me. After it was all over the shock hit me and I fell to my knees in anguish and hate for myself. This was how Michael found me and for the rest of the night I was grilled as to what happened and beaten for my careless killing of good men. It was right after this that the nightmares started. It’s never the same one twice, and despite living with them for 3 years now I still have never gotten used to them. From this horrible event though some good did follow. I became a better man and a better leader because of it. I learned to treat my men better, granted them more respect and learned that they are the foundation for what we are trying to do here; they are the pedestal upon which we stand. It was also from this incident that I received my nickname and my greatest source of shame. For during my second year I got to choose my Calling and it was clear to me that I was a Paladin, and that is the path I still walk today. Paladins like the other Callings at the Rock, or at least so rumors say, hold secret gatherings to enforce loyalty and personal relationships. Paladins in particular each meeting are asked to present their greatest shortcoming of the past month to the group so that they may be judged for their sins. For each sin you receive a strip of white cloth, and if the sin is particularly bad and you are judged harshly like I was there are a few words in flame-tongue written upon it depicting your failing. What was written upon mine is a badge I wear with pride and caution, for I have come to embrace that part of me lest it consume me totally, but also to respect it and be a wary of it at all times. My name since that day among my men and friends as always has been Zashi “The Quiet Tiger”.
I could reminisce about my time at the Rock for days I thought out loud. From the weekly excursions as a third year, to the draining hours memorizing the prose from The Thousand Correct Actions of an Upstanding Soldier, to those painful first days learning how to harness the sorcerous power I had been granted. Those days of occult training were certainly grueling, but in a way they are the only true link I have between my new life and my old I reflected. My thoughts drifted back to the jungles of my homeland, rich with life and death. My small village rested on the banks of the great river that fed into Rathess and that water was the town’s lifeblood. Most of the people were fisherman or boatmen ferrying adventurers down the river or deeper into the jungle on a side stream. These things were not for me though, not for Zashi of the line of the Shadowhands. The men of my family were the mystical protectors the village. We were the warriors and witch hunters. Our job was to save the village from the hungry ghosts, spirits, and demons that sometimes frequented a jungle that stood old when man was young. My fellow villagers looked me at as a veritable god ever since I was quite young, for I was born to something sacred and great. I bore the mark of my line, a skin that was virtually impervious to all attacks due to a long dead relative’s dealings with the wyld, and the glint in my eye that said I was a hunter. People always said I moved with the grace and ease of Creation’s greatest predators and had the physical skills to back up the walk. My youth was filled with learning and fighting. The feeling of the air rushing through hair as you swing through the jungle on vines and specially hidden ropes, the sound of wood and metal smashing together as you learn to wield a weapon, and the pleasing smells and soothing voices that came from the village elders hut as he told you the secrets of gods and demons were all things I grew accustomed to growing up. When I turned 15 I took over my father’s position as the villages Shadowhand. I shook my head now thinking back at the funny title the villagers gave to those who they thought could touch the other, invisible world. In reality I couldn’t deal with dematerialized entities any better then they could, but my families great spear Midnight Veil was enchanted with powers that allowed it to touch the non-existent and allow he who touched it to view them as well. For five relatively short years compared to the way time moves now I guarded my village against all trespassers, whether they be god, mortal, or demon, and I garnered much respect from it. My thoughts quiver for a second and the world seems to lose focus as I dig back into my mind to try and recover painful memories long since buried. In the spring of my 20th year I married, my mind shakes again trying to dissuade me from going down this self abusive path, but I continue to remember as strength is built through adversity I tell myself. She was a beautiful young girl 4 years my junior named Quen. I shake my head as I ponder to this day whether I actually loved her or not, but either way their was a great fondness between us and we spent many happy days together. My mind gives one last attempt to make me forget and I drop my sandwich in the dirt, and curse at myself for being so stupid. I lean back and let the sunlight bath my face allowing my muscles and mind to relax as I let the memories seep back in. Tragedy struck two years into our relationship, when after numerous attempts to have a child the local shaman told me I was sterile. My world was shattered, for my family only had one child each generation, to keep the blood pure they said, and so I was the last of my line. The villagers roared with hate and fear, for it was rumored that when my line ended so would the good times for the village. I had gone from the most revered man in town to the most hated in the span of one day. My father and mother wouldn’t look at me, my wife wouldn’t touch me, and the village elders told me that I was useless to them and that I should leave before the sun broke on the next day. So it was with a broken body, mind and soul that I went out into the world and away from everything I knew.
What I did for the next 5 years was nothing I was proud of. By the Sun I thought I was a lost soul. My hands smack the dry ground in minor frustration with these thrown away years. I traveled ever westward doing what I did best, kill things. I hunted down every hungry ghost, every demon, every bad man I could find in order to try to fill my empty life with some semblance of worth, and in no small part to attempt to find a way to end it. I entered gladiatorial fights to deal with evil men, I stayed out at night on battle fields where hungry ghosts were sure to rise, and yet nothing killed me, it was as if the gods themselves found it funny to make me live a life I didn’t want. I did finally meet my match though, and I thought it was all over. I had traveled to the very beginning of the Southern savannas and was out hunting when at the edge of my vision I saw something truly massive. As I brazenly approach what lay before my eyes was something straight out of the great tales of the bards. Standing before me was a cat of some kind that stood 15 feet or more at the haunches and was as much machine as it was flesh. It turned and looked at me with my spear focused at its side, and seemed to say in unspoken words of a thousand days gone by “Don’t do this”, and yet I did. As I lay bleeding on my back a great claw mark racked across my chest it leaned over me and seemed to apologize before running off of the savannah like a king surveying its land.
Now I stood upon the great precipice of my memory overlooking the vast nothingness that lay between where I now stood firmly in remembrance and where off in the distance I can see myself walking to the Kether Rock’s gate. There are memories that I cannot recall between here and there, and I know it. For one minute I was dying from the now great scar that sits upon my chest and the next I was walking to the Rock. I don’t even know how much time passed if any at all, as years and days meant little to me in the jungle and even less when I left. Judging by my body I had not aged a day it seems, but as I cannot recall every drawing my second breath that does not mean a lot as I could have exalted while lying in the field dying for all I know. I think back now recalling probably the strangest twist to an already odd puzzle, and one that teases my mind daily. When I was walking to the Rock I knew that I was exalted. I knew that I was a Dawn caste chosen by the Sun to be great in battle, and I am unsure how that came to be. One day I will reclaim these lost memories for good or ill and bring them back into the folds of my mind. They are the focus of my nightly meditations, and the thing, which I gain strength from when I cast sorcery or increase the power my body can wield. One day I thought, one day I will remember what I have forgot.
The anger at this lost time begins to build in my breast, and with but a touch it is gone. A light squeeze on my shoulder from a knowing hand lets me know that my Lily is here for the moment and the men are not watching. My arm snakes around her legs and in one brief pull and flip maneuver she is in my lap and my lips are on hers. I drink deeply from her kiss and it rejuvenates me. I stand her back up quickly lest prying eyes fall upon us, and she smiles down at me in a way that lets me know she loves me. She suddenly changes over to Snapdragon and in her hard tone tells me that we need to get leaving soon so we can get the bandit captains to Chiaroscuro. As she walks away my mind slips back into the halls of my memory one last time to relive our tenuous first meeting and our eventual descent into love.
It was graduation day at the Kether Rock and I had come through with flying colors. Michael even told me that Madoka herself almost smiled after I had left her presence and my men had spoken for me. Now I stood waiting in the courtyard on a gorgeous day with several other third years waiting to be granted a gift, our men, and to request our assignments. I was the last to step up and I got to watch all the men go before me. Several received shining daiklaves made of the finest orichalcum, and a host of highly trained men, another was granted a sole lunar companion and a belt that made him into a shadow, finally I stepped up and was handed a weapon that took my breath away and made all the other men gasp as well. It was on this day that I was given my mighty spear Thirst’s for Victory. It stood as long as a dire lance, the shaft was made of Creation’s finest steel and it was inlaid with orichalcum designs that in old realm state its name. On its top sat a great, serrated spearhead of orichalcum that sparkled and glistened in the sunlight. As it was handed to me I was told that this blade had great power and that it had laid in wait for me a long time. Next I was given my men. An elite strike force of 45 superlative warriors, most of which I had commanded before, my 5 veterans, and an experienced Outcaste Wood Aspect. As Pernicious Snapdragon approached and I saw her for the first time I was taken aback first by her beauty and then by the hard look in her eyes that told me she would follow orders from me, but did not want to be in my unit. When I was asked whether I wanted to stay here and become a master of the Kether Rock or move out into the surrounding lands, I chose to move on and take my men out into the world where I felt I could do some good. Over the coming months many small skirmishes were fought, and in each case we won without any casualties, sometimes on either side, and with each of these victories my men’s faith in me grew, but Snapdragon still looked at me with those stern eyes. I did everything I could to reach her and bring her more into the fold. I gave her more responsibilities, I made sure the men were treated well but still trained hard, I took her opinions to heart more, and I made sure the men knew that after me she was the authority and law of this unit, but nothing seemed to work. Then came the day of the hardest victory we have ever had. It was against a group of Dune people who had many, many more men then recon had come back with, and Snapdragon became severely ill from the poison the dune people had coated their arrows with. I carried her back to where we had made camp that morning and removed what poison I could as well as dressed and redressed the wound hourly. For the next three days her body was racked with the disease, and for three long days the men and I sat by her side praying to the Sun for her to get better. Then on the dawn of the third day her fever broke and her eyes opened without the milky haze of poison clouding them. I looked down at her and smiled, asking her if she was all right. All she could do was ask why I had stayed by her side so long, why I had done the things I had done, most commanders even of the Kether Rock wouldn’t have done what I did she said. I told her then that I was Zashi “The Quiet Tiger”, and that was why. Her beautiful eyes looked quizzically at me, and then I broke the rules for the first time, but not the last. I told her what being “The Quiet Tiger” meant and why it was the source of my shame, and for the first time ever I saw her smile at me and tears formed in her eyes, because she new I had just trusted a secret among secrets with her.
As I stood up I thought to myself, and the rest as they say is history. I placed Thirst back on my shoulders and walked effortlessly back among my men who were just finishing cleaning up the campsite. Today we would head to Chiaroscuro drop off the bandit leaders, and then head out back towards Yane to see if the reports of a “rampaging demon” are true or not. As I swung up on my horse I thought to myself I may not lead a good life, but at least its one I can enjoy.
