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Yasha should’ve seen this coming.
She also should’ve taken up Caleb’s offer of going home when she had the chance.
But now she’s stuck having to find funds for a safe passage back to the Empire, and the toll didn’t come cheap.
Not that Yasha had even realized it the first time, being bound and gagged and magically put to sleep for the majority of the Iron Shepherd’s trek back to their camp in the Savalirwood. And the second time she had been unconscious and circumvented the border entirely due to the Stormlord’s guidance.
Neither occurrence she really wishes to dwell on, given what occurred in the past.
And yet, here she is, finding herself in Shadycreek Run having left her coin purse back home because she didn’t think she’d need it.
If Beau was here, she’d gently scold me for it. Maybe after a nice dinner to soften the blow.
But Beau’s not here. And she has no coin. Just the clothes on her back along with the sheathed Magician’s Judge, the shawl draped over her shoulders, and the seeds she had received from the Blooming Grove. And her custom-made bracers from the Dynasty.
And so she did quite possibly the most reckless thing she could think of, outside of meddling with things too dangerous to toy with. And she once thought that only Fjord would be that reckless.
She had sought out an old friend, Gustav, whom she was sure was back here in the Run following the circus crew being disbanded. She was so certain that he could help her out, for old time’s sake.
What she got instead was the attention of a certain “noble” of the Run: Ophelia Mardoon. Yasha had heard stories from Beau about her when the Nein first came to the Run. And she herself had noticed the tiefling in her own carriage briefly as she had walked away from Molly’s burial site.
And now here she was, face to face with the head of one of the “tribes” once more, the woman herself disguised while at The Landlocked Lady tavern. Mardoon had noticed her and invited her to a private table in the corner of the room.
“You… You were there at that grave marker on the Glory Run Road,” Mardoon asks of Yasha.
“Y-Yes, I was,” she replies. She lacks the gift of a silver tongue, something that she credits to the likes of Beau or Fjord, so she figures that honesty would be the best policy. “Don’t mind me, I was just passing through and getting something to bring home to the Empire and—“
“That woman in blue who was with you that day…” Mardoon inquires. Yasha already knows she’s referring to Beau. “I imagine she’s faring well. She and your companions did me a great service, taking care of the Shepherds. And they were surprisingly efficient in not letting word out; the Jagentoths had no idea I sent them to the Sour Nest.”
“Yeah, she’s doing well. Um, we’re living together and… I’m just trying to get back because I don’t want her to worry.”
Mardoon gives Yasha an inquisitive glare. “I see. If you don’t mind me saying… You look like quite the fighter. Seen a lot out there in the world, have you? And yet you look so… gentle-hearted, for one so formidable.”
Yasha winces and looks away. “It’s not like I actually like hurting people. I only do it out of necessity. Or did. I’m trying to leave that life behind me.”
“Would you consider ‘earning coin for the toll’ a necessity?”
Yasha freezes. “How did you—“
“You have that look in your eyes. You want to go back to her so bad, but you lack the means. If you’re interested, I can get you involved in a private match tonight. If you happen to satisfy my need for a good show against one of my finest men, I’ll gladly give you money for the toll along with any other provision you’ll need.”
“A-And if I fail to do so?” Yasha is stunned, unwilling to believe that this woman could be her monetary savior. But then again, she’s grown weary of fighting.
“Then you‘ll only have enough to pay the toll. Anything else, you’ll need to get yourself.”
Yasha gives the offer some genuine thought. It’s not like she is pressed for time, and she had wanted to enjoy just traveling the road. But… despite believing otherwise, she knows Beau would be worried if she was gone too long. And besides, she still has to get back to her garden. Her babies need Mama.
“And if it soothes your nerves, this will not be a duel to the death. I have healers ready to intervene. And if you agree to certain… stipulations, you might come out of it with more than what I offer.”
Yasha raises an eyebrow. “What stipulations?”
Mardoon just grins, revealing her fangs. “Come to my estate tonight, and we’ll discuss further.”
And that’s how she found herself here. In a secluded dueling pit within the Mardoon household. Her opponent was an individual that looked somewhat like herself.
Or rather, the “self” she was a long time ago. Another angelkin, it seems, with raven-dark hair. And his eyes were focused and set squarely on his opponent: Yasha.
Across his forearms, Yasha could see numerous scars and burns, and more than a few past wounds that had required cauterization to prevent bleeding out.
Yasha herself was no stranger to such desperate battlefield care, having had to do the same for others back in the Dolarov tribe. Most times it would require her to heat up a dagger over a hot open flame.
One time she had to completely amputate a fellow tribe member’s hand as it became quite gangrenous. That, and she had to cauterize it. She can still remember the screams.
She doesn’t miss those difficult days, especially when the scent of burnt flesh became commonplace while traveling with the Mighty Nein, usually courtesy of Caleb and his pyromantic prowess.
The bout was to begin shortly. Two warriors enter the circled sandpit, and the first who is either ejected out of bounds, brought to within an inch of their life, or thoroughly disarmed and their weapon out of reach is declared the loser.
“Miss Nydoorin… are you prepared?” Ophelia Mardoon asks of the Stormlord’s avatar, sitting from her balcony seat like a noble at an actual gladiatorial arena, not unlike the Victory Pit back in Zadash. That was quite a bittersweet memory, that festival.
Yasha nods in place of a verbal response, removing her shawl from her shoulders and folding it into her backpack. And just as her opponent brandishes his weapon, a greataxe, Mardoon gives the signal with a wave of her hand, addressing one of the Druidic healers nearby.
One of the “stipulations” to an even greater prize should she win was that she fight to her utmost while under continuous pain. One such method of doing so was through creative use of the Heat Metal spell.
And apart from her sword in her hands, there was only one other source of metal on Yasha, and it came from the forearms holding on tight to the hilt of Magician’s Judge as her bracers grew warm and then white-hot.
“This is gonna suck,” Yasha remarks.
And her opponent is close enough to hear it as he replies, “Worth it for a bigger payday. All right, then, show me what you got.”
He’s smiling with vigor, as if his long-healed burns and scars don’t bother him at all. Yasha likes that about her “sparring partner”, being able to be jovial even before they fight.
The bracers begin to sear the flesh on her forearms, but Yasha holds strong. Pain is nothing new to her, even if it’s been a while.
The heat becomes intense just as Ophelia Mardoon gives the word.
“Begin!”
By the end of the fight, it was a close match, but the male aasimar is the one who falls. Cyren, he calls himself. And even though he lost, Cyren was a good sport.
Upon reflection, Cyren was the first person like herself that she had ever fought. She hadn’t been certain that there were more like her: humans with celestial blood. And so while she certainly wanted to get home as soon as possible, she found herself chatting with him, learning a bit more about herself and what it meant to be an aasimar.
If anything, her trip to Shadycreek Run proved far more fruitful than Yasha had anticipated.
She bid Cyren and Mardoon farewell and thanked them for the coin, provisions, and helpful lore of her lineage before leaving the Run altogether.
As she sets up camp on the first night out, she takes a moment to inspect her forearms. The healers did a good job, even though there were some faint lingering marks on them. They had reassured Yasha that by the time she came back to Rexxentrum, they would be faded enough to be almost unnoticeable.
But even if those marks weren’t there, it was worth the experience as it gave Yasha some story material to share with Beau later.
She’s certain that Beau is already home, tending to the garden as always, not a care in the world and nothing bad happening at all.
Yasha sleeps peacefully that night, and the other nights to come, satisfied with her solitary sojourn. It had been a long time since she walked alone, but this time, she did so of her own accord.
And for that, she’s grateful.