Ghost Rage, Episode 7a- Vote Now!

You decide to approach the mercenary and question him about his tattoo. There’s no time for subtlety, so you simply stand in his path until he frowns at you, blinking.

“That tattoo,” you say in Caerish. “What does it mean?”

The mercenary blinks and says something in Szaldic.

That could be a problem. You only know a few words of Szaldic. You know a little bit about the Szalds; they live in the northwestern corner of the Empire, in the old Varia Province, where the migrated during the War of the Fourth Empire. Clannish, insular, and superstitious, the only Szalds to leave Varia Province are either adventuresome sorts, like this mercenary, or the victims of slave traders.

You switch from Caerish, to Cyrican, and then to Anshani. The mercenary stares at you the entire time. Finally you try Kyracian, and his face lights up in comprehension.

“Moresti’s brother, he was right!” says the mercenary, his Kyracian almost incomprehensible beneath his accent. “In the Imperial capital, yes…the whores are lusty!” He smiles. “Moresti will pay you two silvers for the hour. Or even three! You look worth three silvers.”

Oh, for the love of the gods.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder. The riot is still ongoing, but any minute now Cenorix, Korthion, and the militiamen are going to fight their way free.

“Your tattoo,” you tell Moresti, “what does it mean? Tell me now.”

Moresti’s smile widens and he thumps his chest. “It means Moresti is strong man! Very strong, very brave! A woman like you, she deserves a strong man.” He grabs your left wrist. “And Moresti will give you strong child!”

You roll your right wrist, a throwing knife falling into your hand, and rest the tip against Moresti’s throat.

That seems to sober him up a bit.

“Moresti is thinking,” he says, “that maybe you are not a whore after all.”

“Astute,” you say. “Now. The tattoo. What does it mean?”

Moresti shrugs. “Is…ward.”

“Ward?” you say. “Ward against what?”

Moresti shrugs again. “Is…hard to say. No words in Kyracian for it. The mavrokh.”

“Mavrokh?” you say. “What is a mavrokh?”

To your surprise, Moresti shivers.

“Bad thing,” says Moresti. “When Moresti was a boy, in the woods near the village. The mavrokh in the woods. Sometimes they kill people, if they do not have the…the ward to keep the mavrokh away.” Moresti starts to shake his head, remembers your knife against his throat, thinks better of it. “Moresti, he does not like this. So he leaves to find gold and women elsewhere…and comes to Imperial capital, meets crazy woman with knife.”

“But what is a mavrokh?” you say.

Moresti thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “A bad thing. Very bad thing.”

Clearly, he doesn’t know enough Kyracian to properly describe a mavrokh…whatever it is.

Behind you, you hear shouts. Some of the militiamen break free from the riot, and you see Korthion shove his way clear, his expression thunderous. You’ve got to get away from here, now, and find a different disguise at the Ghost bolt-hole.

Moresti stares at Korthion, and rumbles deep in his throat. “Magi,” he says. “They’re all…”

He says one of the Szaldic words you do know, a term to describe a man who enjoys unnatural acts of congress with sheep.

Korthion hasn’t seen you yet, but he will, any minute. Worse, if Korthion sees you talking to Moresti, he will no doubt capture and interrogate the Szaldic mercenary. And you doubt a man like Moresti could hide anything from the mind sorcery of a magus.

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