Your party is in a small clearing. As Twix and Heflam talk, and the rest of you listen, something changes. You suddenly notice the bird and occasional animal sounds that usually fill the forest have faded away. You get the feeling you are not along.
Someone steps out of the jungle. He is definitely a local, not an Imperial. He is naked except for a gourd covering his bits, and he carries a spear with a feathered shaft. His hair is elaborately piled and decorated, and his face and upper body are painted or tattooed in red and black and yellow. He has the drop on you completely, having emerged from the bush as silently as a ghost, in the middle of the day no less.
"No sudden moves, lads", murmurs Bombar, slowly nodding his head backwards. Five other figures have emerged behind you, as silent as the first. One after another, more and more file out from among the trees. They are all naked except for gourds, but only the first one has the markings or elaborate hair. You are completely surrounded, and the clearing is full.
The first one appears to be the leader. He looks you over disdainfully. Then he says something to the others in a low, quiet voice. It's a melodic language you don't understand. They break into smiles and laughter. Encouraged, Twix shifts to a more comfortable position from the awkward one he was in. The smiles disappear instantly, and three spears, carved wooden shafts with heads that look like black glass are an inch from his throat. The leader barks a sharp order in a very different tone of voice. The spears back off maybe an inch. Some of the spearmen carry knives made of the same black glass.
"For your information, those are obsidian blades," murmurs Dane quietly. "They are far sharper than steel. You wouldn't even feel them until important things were missing."
The leader says something else, softer, to you. He makes what looks like a beckoning gesture, turns on his heel, and walks out of the clearing without looking back. The other guys turn you, gently but insistently, spears at the ready, and propel you after the leader into the jungle.
The spearpoints are never far away.
You pick your way through the jungle for 10 minutes, up a rise, and come to path on a grassy hilltop. You head into the interior, the leader always in front with his head high, now talking to another man you didn't see before, almost naked and umarked like the guards, but wearing a cloak made of red feathers. You walk for half the day, pausing only at streams to drink, following the path ever further inland. It's a footpath, not a road, and therefore unlikely to be of Imperial manufacture. It's not even wide enough for horses to pass between the trees.
You emerge from the forest sometime in the early afternoon, following the path up over the lip of yet another rise. The path leads out into a vast grassy expanse punctuated with stubby trees. You can see for miles. There are elephants and gazelle in the far distance. You realize that you have climbed maybe a thousand feet over the course of the day as you look back at the forest receding downwards for leagues towards the sea, which is too far away to be seen.
There is a fire pit with a ring of seating stones and logs around it just off the path to the right, on the edge of the forest. You are escorted there. The leader and the one in the cloak sit looking at you as your escort sits you down, hovering nearby. Two of them produce bananas and some smoked meat, maybe crocodile, and some skins of water, and feed you a good meal.
At a word from the leader, the guards all withdraw to another circle nearby, and have a meal themselves. It's just you, the leader, and the one with the red feather cloak in the circle. The two of them look at you intently as you eat, not partaking themselves. Sometimes they confer in low tones in the unknown language.
Then leader leans towards you, his face earnest and serious. And says, in perfect unaccented Imperial Common, "We need your help."
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“Ahhh… I see”, I say. “Of course, you could have invited us a more gracefully.”
The leader nods, as if expecting this.
“Yes, yes, “ he says, “However we have been watching you for some time and I doubt you would have come quietly if we had simply asked.”
I think for a moment and then nod. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. At the same time, I do not feel very disposed toward your cause, whatever that might be.” I assume the pose of the recalcitrant oyster.
The leader eyes my new position with interest. Perhaps he has never negotiated with someone lying on his back with his arms and legs opening and closing in unison. I am about to pounce on his new openness with a demand and an offer, when Gepetto jumps in with his usual, abrupt manner.
“So you want us to reclaim the Smith and force these Imperial hooligans off the island.” He blusters, “In return, you’ll give us many blessings, eternal thanks, yada, yada, yada. Well, you listen here, buddy. We didn’t just fall off the honey wagon. We’re not going to risk our necks for nothing just so you can suck dragon blood out of the ground and prance about your own private island paradise.”
The leader sighs and gestures to the man with the red feathered cloak. This second man stood and walks to the guards, who busy themselves for a moment. Four guards and the cloaked one return carrying an obviously heavy burden. They set down a chest in front of us and with a great show the chest was opened. Inside was an incredible array of riches. Heavy gold amulets, loose rubies and sapphires, diamonds as big as a man’s index nail, all manner of jewelry.
We gape.
The leader rolls his eyes and says, “Is this what you were waiting for?”
We continue gaping, although Gepetto and Twix begin to grope through the treasure as well.
“Naturally, in return for freeing our island from the Imperials and teaching those dwarves that we are the real masters of the island, you will get this,” Said the leader, “Or….. I could give each of you a tattoo.”
We blink. Twix sputters. Bombor guffaws.
“Um... tattoo?” I say, “What am I missing.”
"What manner of tattoo do you speak of? Might these be markings of magical nature, or mere decorations designed to fright one's enemies into submission?"
The others look at me as if I've gone mad. Perhaps I have. I have been knocked unconscious four times in the last 24 hours.
More importantly, I have been shown the nature of my power. I can harness the forces of nature! I became as strong as a bear! I caused one of those little metal orbs to come to me! I have a dragon familiar!
A small voice in the back of my mind whispers: so far, all the magic you've done has been by accident."
I push the thought aside. The leader is considering my question. He looks less disdainful of my question than the others. Surely he recognizes the power that slumbers within me.
He speaks. "There are different tattoos for different purposes. If you wished a tattoo that connects various points of magical focus on your body, I could do that. Be careful, though. There is a reason why these points have been separated. Only a true mage can handle the power once it has been unified."
Dane speaks up. "What about the other types of tattoos?"
The leader has warmed a bit. Clearly he is proud of his people's artisanship. We can inscribe runes upon you to bless you in battle, to bring you peace, to make your hands more nimble, to draw women to you, or, as your sha-k'za suggested, make enemies fear you. Fear is a useful thing to generate as a warrior, as it makes your enemies stupid and clumsy, rushing attacks when they should be cautious, and presenting their backs at unwise times."
I have stood away from the gold. I've never been rich, but I've never been powerful either. If I become powerful, riches can come later.
"Can you make me see beyond this world? Can you make me see the souls that float all around us?"
The leader looks over at the man with the feathered cloak, who looks long and hard at me before nodding.
"It is painful."
I've been beaten almost every day of my life since I was five. Probably before then too, if I could remember that far back.
"Keep your gold. Open my eyes."
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