Bhathairk had been a sight to see. With numerous buildings all connected by roads of amazingly fine construction, the city was massive and comparable to
Thagretis itself. Even more amazing, it was not built by
humans, but by
Orcs, clearly a far cry from the nomadic orcs of
Malakath. Had
Azlat not seen it with her own eyes, she’d hardly have believed such a thing to be true. The northern continents continued to astound her in ways she could have never imagined.
Within, she found worshippers of many different
religions, and adherents to many different cultures. For the fist time in the northern lands, Azlat did not feel like she stood out. She surely couldn’t be seen a strange when she was surrounded by so many members of different cultures, and adherents to so many different religions. Some were shamanistic and minimalist, while others wore elegant clerical garb not unlike her own, aside from being of generally brighter tones than the black that was staple for Thagretan robes. No one had seen a Thagretan before, and her presence caused a small commotion. Azlat soon found herself in conversation with an orcish resident, who’s curiosity had been piqued upon learning of her distant origins.
“But tell me priestess, of whom do you devote your worship?”
“We give worsh͠ip to the great holy Dragons, Drakormir and Ne͟ha-” Azlat began, but was soon interrupted by her astounded company.
“…Neha!?”
“Yes, She is the…” Azlat began, oblivious to the indignation in the orc’s tone.
“The terrible dragon who wrought destruction upon us, spreading death and disease….is great and holy?” Inquired the orc. Azlat was in no position to make denial. She simply couldn’t waver in her faith.
“..Of the ho̶liest.” She affirmed, with nervous apprehension.
“That ruined our city and slaughtered our citizens without cause?” Continued the orc in protest.
“…The gods act as they do. N͟othing is without cause – perhaps it was de̷serv̸ed?” Was Azlat’s poorly chosen retort. To which the orc was utterly speechless.
As were those others within earshot.
“She is a cultist of the terrible dragon!” Exclaimed a nearby elf.
“For gods’ sakes…GET HER!” shouted a dwarf, a fist of anger raised in the air with his other hand on the handle of his axe.
Needless to say, championing the name of a goddess whom they blamed their destruction upon
had not gone well. The scene descended into a chaotic commotion in an instant, with the growing mob that surrounded her brandishing weapons and uttering vulgar threats. Not wishing to remain to see them followed through, Azlat immediately fled, with the mob giving chase. Citizens shouted profanities and threats, hurling objects and weapons at her throughout her hasty exit. The guards at the entrance knew not what to make of it, and she ultimately owed her escape to their confusion.
Through a prayer to the same god that had incurred an entire city’s anger, she invoked her magic to assist her in an arcane leap over the confused guards. They could only watch on, stunned and without an answer to capture the Thagretan in their midst. Initially working to contain the mob, once they were informed of her theological leanings they joined the chase as Azlat continued to flee for her life.
* * *
It had been a few days since her escape, and Azlat was finally feeling confident that she had escaped her pursuers. She’d seen no sign of them for the better part of an entire day, and by now she seemed reasonably far enough from the city that she could afford a moment of respite. Lowering her belonging on the ground, she eased herself down to lie upon the ground for a brief nap. After such an exhausting and long ordeal, the rest was well wanted.
It would not last long however, as an unexpected shout pierced the air and roused her, renewing the fears she’d only recently shed.
“Monster!” She heard a man scream, yet did not see him, nor the woman he was in the company of. Azlat, in her paranoia, assumed the accusation had been directed upon her, and she soon returned to her feet with a pensive gaze to scan her surroundings.
A slain body lay upon the ground, and a live one sat upright not far from it, the same man whom she had heard shout. At least he hadn’t been referring to Azlat, but the situation was far from peaceful. Further along were two more, a man standing still, with an unknown woman covering his mouth. She was neither human nor orcish. Azlat had never seen anything like her at all.
Azlat knew not what to make of it, though she held little sympathy for the notherners…especially after her recent ordeal at Bhathairk. She simply remained before them, her shortbow drawn, but not brandished. She had little inclination to save the lives of
pagans, yet she was hesitant to assume that whomever threatened them would exclude her. The notherners were a violent lot who cared not who they slaughtered, that much had been made clear.
The one before her seemed all but further evidence of northern barbarism.
