Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part one)
Rating and Warnings-- G; no real warnings, except for one cussword.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, traitor and black magician (human male); Brandon Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human male); unnamed-so-far native (baghan woman).


A broad-shouldered man leaned back against a wooden post, drawing a heavy breath through a smoldering bundle of paper-wrapped herbs held loosely between two fingers. The pungent scent of burning flora was far thicker than the thin line of smoke idling upwards, towards the oppressive canopy of boughs and greenery.

"That reeks, Brandon," muttered a thinner man who propped himself up on the railing that circled the posts and pavilion. They were fifteen feet above the forest floor, alone at the abandoned outpost. "You shouldn't drag these alien chemicals through your body. Messes up the circulation of--"

"Don't care," the first man grunted, exhaling a thick puff of smoke and flicking the ash from the end of the herb bundle. "Tastes good. You should try it sometime, Rai. You might like it."

Rai grimaced, knotting his fingers as he gazed out over the darkening woods. The sunlight barely penetrated at noon; dusk came in the middle of the afternoon beneath the trees. "No thanks. I like my system clean and free."

"To hex." The dark-skinned man chuckled, taking another slow drag. The smoke hovering in a fog above his lips almost obscured the white tattoos that etched right angles over his face. "I think I'm the one doing less harm here, Rai." He glanced over at his robed companion, toeing the hem of the long cloth with his boot for emphasis.

"Jubagh is doing wonders for your attitude," the black magician said dryly, casting a withering gaze over his shoulder.

Brandon grunted again. "Did you expect me to enjoy being shunted off to this stinking pit of savagery?" He sighed smokily.

Rai smiled thinly and widely, gesturing at their surroundings with one red-inked hand, arcane tattoos gleaming unnaturally. "Going to get cranky with me, just because you got exiled from the paladin order? I chose to come help you, you ungrateful lunk. If it weren't for me, the local witch doctors would have skinned you alive already. They know the white pattern of your kind, and they don't like you."

"Shut up, Rai."

"Whether you like it or not, we're both on Jubagh, and we--"

"I mean it. Shut up. I hear something." Brandon leaned forward, smoke leaking between his teeth as he scanned the land below them. His dark eyes lit golden for a brief moment, a mere glaze that swiftly faded. He waved his free hand dismissively, snorting. "Just a native."

Slowly, the magician relaxed, and the faint glow from the red and black symbols that covered his entire body deadened. He dropped his hands back to the railing and leaned forward again, deflating. "Don't do that to me, Brandon. I'm on a hair-trigger here."

"Pfuh. You can out-hex the locals. Quit stressing."

Rai sighed expressively. "I can out-hex one local. I happen to be outnumbered by some dozens, just in this area alone. Too many tribes, Brandon. I'd have to wipe out the whole group, once I earned their ire."

"You worry too much." The ex-paladin took one last drag on his herbs, then dropped and stepped on the remainder, crushing it into the wooden planks that made up the floor of their elevated outpost. "You take care of the voodoo bastards. I can take care of the rest." He folded his arms.

"Do you ever consider any option that isn't violent?"

"Sometimes. But those take too long."

"And you wonder why you're an exile." Rai shook his head, then blinked as a native woman stepped into their line of sight. She lifted a pale hand, and only then did he realize that Brandon had drawn and loaded his crossbow. "Questions first, shoot later," the magician muttered. He nodded to the woman and beckoned her closer.

"You are the outlanders?" she called, struggling with the primary speech of Jubagh. Dialects and tribal languages were more common than the so-called common tongue.

"That's us," Brandon responded gruffly, crossbow pointed at his feet, but quarrel still loaded. Rai considered reaching over and un-nocking the bolt, but he knew better. He kept his hands to himself, tucked inside the wide sleeves of his robe.

Her voice was lilting and strange, too fluid - like water, not like vocal chords. "We are needing of your help. Some of us wish to summon Zeh Gurhai. I wish you to not let this happen."

Rai froze, eyes widening. Brandon leaned over to the shorter man and muttered, "Who the hells is Zeh Gurhai? Some ancestor or big warrior?"

The magician shook his head, slowly. "No. Zeh Gurhai is the baghan god of plague and war."

"Oh." Brandon peered down at the woman and sighed. "Shit."