Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part two)
Rating and Warnings-- G; no real warnings, except for mild cursing.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, traitor and black magician (human male); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human male); Lhafa Softstep, nondescript native (baghan woman).
Previously-- Part One is here.


The outlanders were exotic and strange, seeming to be each other's mirror image in the way that the moon and sun mirrored one another. Where one was tall and thick-muscled, the other was shorter and thin. Where one was pale-skinned with dark hair, the other was dark-skinned with a shaven skull. Where one had dark tattoos everywhere, the other had white tattoos only on his face. Where one wore billowing robes, the other wore form-fitting leggings and a vest.

Opposites. It meant something. It meant they were whole together.

She watched, head cocked upwards, as they unrolled the rope ladder that led to their tree-held platform and clambered down awkwardly. The warriors of her tribe would have simply leapt, but these were not baghans. These were men of another tribe, from another land, from another light in the night sky.

The white tattoos meant something, too. A holy man. He was the one she watched most closely, both for a glimpse of some mystical sign of divine favor and to make sure he would not draw his bow on her again. The robed man was too weak to be a warrior, and too colorful to be a holy man. She didn't know what he was.

The holy man spoke in a gruff voice, mangling the subtle nuances of the baghan tongue. "Why do you come to us to help you? Don't your local hexers know about this?"

She was taller. It was strange to be taller than a male, even by only a few inches. She hunched. "I wish you to not let this happen," she repeated softly. "Some of us wish to summon Zeh Gurhai."

Dismissively, the holy man gestured and sighed. "Girl, listen to me--"

The robed man interrupted, long fingers snaking out to catch the holy man's wrist and still his impatient movement. "My name is Rai," he introduced, stretching his face into a smile. "This is my companion, Br--"

"--Exile," the holy man grunted. "Call me Exile."

The one called Rai sighed as she raptly watched their interactions. "How may we address you?" he asked her, releasing his mirror's hand and clasping his palms together, thin fingers twining.

He was being strangely polite. Perhaps he was a holy man, of a different sort. "My name is Lhafa. I am of the Softstep tribe." She drew herself up to her full height, presenting her flattened hand to him in a greeting salute. He was much shorter than her, and she hunched again.

"Will your medicine men and women not stop those who wish to summon Zeh Gurhai?" the robed one asked, speaking slowly. He must be new to the language.

She must be patient. They were outlanders. "Some of us," she said with deliberate slowness, "wish to summon Zeh Gurhai."

"Hellspawn, Rai," the holy man suddenly barked. "She means the hexers are the ones doing this. There's no one who'll stop 'em." He took a step forward and peered more closely at her face. "Light, you look strange close-up." The comment earned him a swift slap on the upper arm from the other man. "What?! She does!" he protested.

"Forgive Exile, please, Lhafa. He has no manners." Rai forced another tenuous smile, which quickly faded as he spoke again. "Is it true that your medicine people all wish to call down the Gurhai?" She nodded. "Do you come to us on behalf of your tribe?"

They were outlanders. It did not mean she could lie to them. It also did not mean she could expect them to understand the message the first time or first five times. "I wish you to not let this happen," she said, taking care to enunciate.

"Great. She's a parrot." The holy man hit his white-barred forehead with the heel of his hand. It made a loud sound.

"I understand," the robed man told her, ignoring his companion. "Can you tell us more?"

She pointed downwards and stamped a cloven hoof on the mulch-softened soil, then shook her head adamantly.

"Of course." Rai smiled widely - this one wasn't forced. "Please. After you." He gestured towards the rope ladder.

Finally, she allowed herself a sigh of relief. They were not entirely senseless, after all. Deftly, she pulled herself onto the platform, careful to avoid her hooves snagging on the fraying rungs. The two men followed her, and she turned to face them warily once all three stood again.

"Gonna talk plainly now?" the holy man demanded, impatient again. His body language was impossible to read, but his tone was clear.

"I spoke plainly before," she responded levelly. "Will you stop the summoning?"

The two exchanged glances, and the holy man sighed heavily. "Yeah, yeah. How many hexers are we up against? Six? Ten? There's only ever one or two hexers per tribe..."

Her voice was solemn. "All of the holy men of Jubagh."

They both stared. The holy man spoke first.

"SHIT."