[b]The Palace of Manyaa[/b]

The room was filled with the sweet smell of fruits. Between the two a small table lay on the ground. A great silver bowl laden with oranges, apples, and apricots. On the side, a smaller bowl sat, containing fistfuls of sliced, dried, and candied yellow-green bananas.

Reclining on large pillows that lay across the ground the mercenary and prince waited in silence for the prince's brothers to arrive. Within the plush confines of a royal home, and now no longer on the road the mercenary had shed aside his armor. It lay on the ground before him, hugged up against the wooden table that sat at the chamber's core.

Without the armor, the padded tunic he wore underneath could be opened to his relief. The neck of the under armor broke open so he may breath. The scars and ill-healed bruises visible underneath. Without his helmet his long curled hair fell past his shoulder in untamed wild knots. Rolled sleeves bore the signs of scars and foreign tattoos.

“When will they arrive?” the human asked, looking up at the reclining prince.

“Soon.” he said, twirling a banana chip between his fingers. He looked up at him momentarily as he popped the slice into his mouth before lowering his eyes to resume his distant meditation.

Stretched across the cushions the prince had thrown his robe across his legs much like a blanket. His horse legs stretched across the satin and cotton pillows. Gritty purple chalk had been rubbed deep into the fur of his legs, affording a flat, matte sheen in the oil light that held the room in an eerie green glow. Shimmer beads of alabaster gypsum and mother of pearl tied together long, loose ends of hair that grew along his fetlocks. A long black braided tail lay curled across his legs.

The turban had been removed as well. The prince's hair was short. Shaved nearly bald against his head.

With a groan a noise disturbed the peace in the room. Looking up to behind the prince the mercenary rose off the pillows as a second figure walked into the room, through a door that had otherwise been hidden by curtains. Arms outstretched he strode towards his brother laying on the cushions. “Agnimatra!” he cheered, approaching the reclining prince.

He was a tall satyr. His shoulders were wide. He was in his entirety sculpted from stone, heavy in his muscular physic and regal and handsome in his maturity. A thick waxed mustache swept across his upper lip and a mane of wild curled hair framed his thick face.

“Gopda.” smiled Agnimatra as he rose from his pillows. He moved with reverence for his brother, taking him in his arms like any other, “I'm back.” he smiled, holding him by the shoulders.

“And you brought the man.” nodded Gopda, brushing aside his brother's arms as he turned to the mercenary, “Welcome, my friend. Radapan Gopda. Yourself?” he inquired.

“Balel.” the mercenary bowed, “Ashidab Balel, your highness.”

“It's a pleasure.” Gopda replied, smiling as he took his place at the fruit table, “The rest of my brothers are sure to come. But let's see about each other.”

“Certainly.” Balel agreed, “If I may ask though, you look as capable a warrior as I. Why is I am needed?”

“Because I'm only one satyr.” Gopda smiled, laying on the cushions. Brown elephantine legs stretched out as he reclined, “And we had a regular guard who joined us on our excursions into the underground. But he has been getting old as of late and slow at that. Several months ago when we were planning this he actually had his arm smashed by a tiger while hunting.

“The Devi bless him, but he can hardly carry a spear anymore. The surgeons found it necessary to amputate. So we had to locate a suitable replacement. And your name came up.” he complimented as he took an apricot in his hand. Gold rings and jewels speckled from his ringers as he danced the sun-orange fruit between his fingers.

“That's unfortunate.” Balel admitted, “Though I am sure he knew it was coming time. No one in our professions last long.”

“That is the unfortunate reality of us warriors.” Gopda admitted humbly, “Agnimatra may as well last longer than anyone who will come to this room today. But he was fated to not adopt the sword when he was born.” he nodded, kicking the ankles of his brother as he teased him.

“A long life is just as good as one that burns like a fire to extinguish itself in a monsoon rain.” Agnimatra coyly bit back. Returning the kicks with the light toss of a apricot pit at Gopda.

“So, what you want me for then, it's a regular thing?” Balel asked, choosing to ignore the squabbling of the two siblings.

“Very!” Gopda cheered, “Gold, treasures, artifacts, remains of our ancestors! The underground is a treasure trove. We'll go over all of it when the rest of us are gathered.

“But tell me Balel, where is it you're from and what do you bring to our table?”

“If you found me then you both no doubt know I'm from the Vös.” he said, “Namely, the dry interior. Though your Agnimatra met me in the eastern villages.

“I've been hunting and dealing with Shishkarat for nearly four years now.” he nodded proudly

“Which is just who we were looking for.” Gopda smiled, “Figured Agnimatra would do something right for once.” he played on.

“It wasn't all me, I'd thank Kuruntatki for chasing the gossip down.”

“Whatever.” the older prince laughed, “So lord Balel, what leads a  Vösputri to come as well traveled as you that you become more renown than a Peacock Warrior? And those tattoos on your arm, where did you get those?” he asked, pointing out the winding patterns inked into the muscles of Balel's arm.

“I traveled far abroad.” he said, “What else is a poor son of a noble to do at home? We hardly had any land of our own to farm, just rocks. So like so many others, I became a sword for hire, waiting for my inheritance to come to me.”

“Admirable, so where did you go to get that ink?”

“I went far off into the north once, beyond the dry cold steppe and to the west. I was pursuing rumors of gold. That had to be...” he paused, craning his neck up as he thought, “Over twenty-three years ago, to the month. I was still fairly young, and adventurous enough to pass through the realm of the khans and beyond.

“There I found a land of evergreens and snow like no man here in the south had ever seen. I had battered my skills for coats of deer and goat skin to simply stay warm until I came upon the house of the nobles that was promising wealth for my work.

“I went to them, far beyond the distance any man reasonable would travel. But I was young, and then not without property to anchor me. Determined to come back with gold and prestige to my name.

“I stayed in their courts for five years. Fighting, drinking, and fucking alongside foreign men with skin pallor than paper. Many of these men chose to darken their skin with tattoos. Often painting into their face and skin the design of their armor.

“The master I served in his tenure even went and had the needle paint into his skin the very pattern of his helmet across his cheeks, nose, and the rest of his skin, so when you looked up at him on his throne of furs he looked to always be wearing his helmet!” he continued, laughing at the memory.

“And there was his brother, his trusted marshal who had lost an eye in combat.” he waxed nostalgically, “he had an arrowhead tattooed in his cheek pointing into the empty socket where his left eye had been. He never said what had claimed it, but I suspect someone had shot him with an arrow there.”

“But as I stayed in their court and won respect in their eyes I would resign myself to their traditions as any other warrior there.” he brushed his fingers along the tightly woven designs on his flesh. Much of it was scripture in a language he couldn't read, but knew to be some manner of poetic blessing as the man who applied it recited the poem for him. But time had long eroded the words. Below it was a sword that curved around his arm like a armlet of steel.

“Sounds to be a splendid adventure.” Gopda complimented, “So then, what did you do so far north?”

“I helped in training one of the master's son's to fight with the fluidity of water as I was taught. And I went out to slay monsters in his name. But more importantly he tasked me to his retinue where we rode out together through the snow and the cold of winter against his rivals to forge a kingdom of his own, so he might have land to pass on to his sons. I rode out on a number of small campaigns until he promised me that I will forever have a home and land in the north. But by that point I had become tired and uncomfortable in the harsh winters and I bid my respects and honorably left his service.

“So then my lord, what can you add?” Balel adventured to ask as he took a banana chip.

“Nothing nearly as far-reaching.” the prince smiled, “Though I have many tales of the underground. But they are best told when all are here to represent their sides of the story.” he laughed.

“I can toast to that.” Balel smiled, “Speaking of which, is there anything to drink?”

“In the cabinet.” the prince nodded to the corner where stood a tall and monolithic piece of furniture, carved from fiery blood-red mahogany, trimmed in brass and bamboo strips, “We keep wine there. Feel free to bring a bottle and cups over.”