FLHTH Session 10 - Campaign Story: Tándir

A Tale of Many Turnings

Threesday, Fourth Hand of Coldeven, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

The Mystshroud Sea

I rubbed Saafiyah's back as she heaved again, throwing up over the gunwale. The cargo galley's constant rolling and cork-screwing motion was too much for her. She was definitely not a sea person, I thought with a smile as she heaved again.

"Kill me now, please," she groaned.

"Should only be another two days," I advised as she heaved yet again. Nothing was expelled, her stomach long since empty.

It was both surprising and strange to see Saafiyah experiencing a moment of weakness.

The girl had saved my life. My memory of that night so long ago was hazy at best, muddled by memories that I had never been able to determine were real or those made up in the mind. I had laid dying, unconscious, barely clinging to life with the remaining assassin poised over me ready to strike a final blow for this employer, Camedyr Cavalcanti, when Saafiyah, full of rage had tossed aside any concern for her own safety and charged the much larger trained killer. Maybe it had been her speed -- Saafiyah was fast, faster than me -- or perhaps the assassin had been focused on delivering that final thrust that would ensure his mark was dead. Whatever the reason, she had been on him in a flash, dagger flashing over and over again. Without any hesistation she had killed the man, viciously, in my defense.

She saved my life a second time in the days and turnings after, testing the bits and pieces of knowledge she had gained from the time spent in my study back in Folkestone's Landing devouring my entire library after I had taught her to read. She managed to stabilize me, staunch my bleeding from my numerous wounds before seeking out aid from Payatt and Aponi. She had found them both dead, along with a fifth assassin that Payatt had skewered with his short sword before being felled himself. With no one to turn to for help, and an understanding that Penrith's Point, a half day's ride away, would likely be even less safe, she had decided on a course of action that exemplified the brilliance of her mind: she had hitched Stormlight to the wagon used to transport the keber harvests to town, managed to load me into it by dragging me up a makeshift ramp. Safely out of the house she had proceeded to drag four of the five dead intruders out into the groves for predators to gnaw on then fired the property. She had set alight my manor, the barn, and the smaller home of Payatt and Aponi. Hands before we had rode into the higher foothills of the Dahkan Peaks to camp for a few days, and she recalled the small decrepit hunting shack that we had discovered together. By nightfall the next night she had claimed it as ours, installing my corpse-like form on the lone straw bed.

For most of the winter she had managed to provide for the two of us, hunting japers by day and tending to my health in the evenings. At one time, when food ran low and no game was to be found, she put a bolt through the side Ashkan's skull and butchered the pony for meat.

One night, shortly after the attack at the manor, she was lifting my head so that I could sip at a foul smelling and tasting broth. I was still disoriented, every movement excruciatingly painful. My concern, however, was for Saafiyah. "You okay?" I asked.

"Uh huh."

She had already told me what happened that night. "You sure? You just killed someone," I said, remembering the emotions that plagued me after I took my first life just before my eighteenth cycle.

She shrugged her small shoulders. "He deserved it," she said with finality, exchanging the bowl of broth at my lips for a cup of water. "Drink." When she put the cup down, she added, "He was going to kill you."

"And you're okay?"

"Yes," she nodded. For a moment it seemed like she might be recalling the memories of that night, playing them over again in her mind as I studied her face through a haze of pain. "Krugrapi," she spat out in Orcish, spitting on the ground beside the bed before looking at me, her smile returning to her face as she lifted the broth to my lips once again. "Drink more."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But there was no way in hell she should be that calm, that accepting of what she had witnessed let alone what she herself had done.

"Saafiyah," I started to say, trying to muster as much firmness to my voice as I could.

She continued to smile at me, clam. "I'm fine. Drink. Now."

As spring approached I was able to get on my feet again but my body was weakened from inactivity. I tried to lend her a hand with the hunting but she would not hear of it. I focused instead on myself, stretching recently healed muscle and bone, testing them, strengthening them. I began practicing with the sword as the hands passed, until I was confident that I could defend myself -- and Saafiyah -- if neceessary. I began to hike and run each day, rebuilding the stamina and constitution that I had possessed previously. And throughout spring I considered carefully how to respond to my life being threatened twice now -- and unacceptably threatening Saafiyah's in the process.

Finally, towards the end of spring I had recovered well enough to make a decision. Retribution was needed. With the end of spring fast approaching and my strength regained it was time to put that retribution into motion. Some people needed to learn they could never come after me and succeed; it would be bad for their health. A lesson needed to be given, an example made.

When I had told Saafiyah I would be away for a while she just about had a fit, yelling at me with anger shooting out of her pretty eyes. It hadn't taken me long to accede to her demand to come with me, though. The simple fact was I liked her too much to risk leaving her behind unprotected. She was safe with me, I told myself, though judging by her performance with the intruders in the manor, I was beginning to think I might be safer around her. That thought made me smile.

Throughout my long recovery and rehabilitation she'd shown no remorse, no guilt and no trauma as a result of that night. She'd calmly explained each time I asked, "They were bad, Tándir. They were trying to kill you. They deserved to die. So there," and nodded her head to emphasize her opinion. If I hadn't loved her before, I would have then. The thought of an eleven year old child taking the life of a skilled, experienced murderer was one I found incredibly funny. I was definitely weird.

Having decided to bring her, we'd had no choice but this galley. If I was to take her to Tyyst -- one of two island nations in the Mystshrouds that strictly monitored the comings of goings of visitors and citizens alike -- I would need to get Tyystian travel papers for the girl. Even stepping into a shop to purchase goods or services required travel papers, unless the shopkeep was willing to run afoul of law. Most weren't. I knew of no one on Wirost who could forge a set of travel papers for her, but I happened to know a man in Chimera's Rest on the island of Writh who had a remarkable artistic talent for such things.

We arrived in Dellyn Bay, a small town on the west cost of Wirth, early in the morning two days later. I secured a single horse for Saafiyah and I and we headed north to Chimera's Rest. One fast stop within the town to see Nyor and lighten myself of one of the platinum Dwarfs I'd bought in exchange for a promise of a faultless set of Tyystian travel papers for Saafiyah to be delivered no later than the following afternoon. We found ourselves a nice off-the-beaten-path inn and settled in for the night.

The next day was spent at the docks arranging transport on a ship headed for Southport. The only such ship that was available appeared to be a pooly constructed junk. Despite my reservations I booked passage on the vessel with the first mate and hoped that Nyor would come through as promised, for the junk was scheduled to set sail at first light the following morning.