[center][h2][color=Goldenrod][i]Naea, Who Strikes[/i][/color][/h2][/center]
The humid coasts of Risha were a far cry from the arid sands of Ashar, but its crowded streets and bustling people were at least reminiscent of the great oasis cities which pumped trade through the desert like the hearts of a great creature. True, the buildings were different and everyone seemed so oddly dressed, but a desert traveler could almost feel at home in the busy atmosphere.

Unless, of course, that traveler happened to be a naga. 

Yes, for a naga, things were different. Even within Ashar’s borders coming across one was a chance encounter; finding one near the coast was unheard of. The vast, [i]vast[/i] majority of people in Risha would only perhaps have heard stories of naga, grossly warped, describing them as mere monsters. If one were old enough and lucky, they may have come across a black market naga skin at an outrageous price, left over from the days of the skin trade (or perhaps more recently, from rampant poaching). A Risha native would almost definitely never have laid eyes on a naga in the flesh, so imagine their shock to see one slithering down their narrow streets. 

Reactions were largely negative, though differing in severity. Some chose to stare, mouths agape, in blatant shock and confusion. Others gathered up their children and hurried from its path; still others chose to glare or shout. These differing reactions, however, were all answered the same way: a dignified Beast passing by unshaken, unblinking eyes trained forward and head held high. 

As luck would have it, the naga made it almost all the way from the sands of Ashar to Risha’s arena unmolested; though stereotyped and largely hated, the typical naga was a large and imposing creature, and few dared raise a hand against one or get in its way. Here and there was a pleasant surprise: a Jackal caravan offering food, a gruff ship captain open to bribes, a kind guard to grant access to Risha where it might otherwise be denied. Such things were welcome luxury, but any of the few naga travelling the realms knew not to expect them.

So, yes, almost all the way without an incident. [i]Almost.[/i]

Now, with crowds parting and staring and rather tiring the naga of so much attention, there were barely a few yards left to get to the arena, and then its doors could close and the crowds would disappear behind its walls. But before the distance could be crossed, an errant bone flew from an errant hand and struck with decent aim on the false eye of the naga’s mostly folded hood. The hood only flared when threatened, and the traveler was careful to keep it folded civilly so as not to incite undue fear. However, reflex took hold of the hood when the bone struck it, and it spread about halfway open before control was regained and the Beast regained its composure. Looking down, it followed the bone as it rolled to the feet of the scarred man who presumably threw it. He threw out insult, but it was almost unheard. The rust-coloured slitted eyes remained on the bone for several seconds without reacting. 

Was it anger building in the naga’s broad chest? Was there an internal battle to regain control over a hair trigger temper? As a matter of fact, no. The stillness of the naga’s form was due to a valiant effort to calm a pounding heart and steady the pace of quivering lungs. So ingrained was an ancestral fear of skin hunters and poachers that an unexpected strike could have sent the Beast into a defensive fury had so much effort not been put into remaining calm. Traveling in Ashar was stressful enough with poachers rampant; outside its borders, a naga was always on edge, wary of any who might be motivated to kill by the luxurious payoff should they manage to procure a fresh naga skin. A naga’s hood flares when threatened. This one had to make sure it didn’t seem that way. 

Finally, slitted eyes met a scarred face as the naga raised its unblinking gaze to the perpetrator. The word, [i]scaleback[/i], didn’t bother the naga – it wasn’t kind, but certainly not the most creative slur out there. As for the rest of his remark, the Beast had little reply. Its hood shrank calmly back to its neck, and its back straightened once more, eyes forward. Nonchalantly, the naga readjusted the yellowed linen sack slung over its sand-polished shoulder and spared a glance back to the angry scarred man. Towering several inches above him, the naga had only a short, gruff reply.

[color=Goldenrod]“I am aware.”[/color]