The Nombril dropped the lifeless body of Negaerion to the ledge, and immediately went into a rigidly upright posture. An observer might have thought it truly to be a statue at that moment, but the moment did not last for long. The image of a gem-encrusted axe swirled slowly before the mind’s eye of the creature, and it contemplated its own unfair existence at the realization of the missed opportunity. It had thrown away a tool that could have greatly reduced the time it would need to prepare for its mission. It set out on foot to the nearest cavern leading away from its ledge, a place that it had come in through some 300 years earlier. It stalked away with purposeful strides, leaving the body of Negaerion to the scavengers of The Deep.
Brambles had been traveling The Deep for more than two days. He decided that he would be less bothered by the Khazini if he traveled and rested in his own form, rather than taking animal forms, since there was a good chance he would be mistaken for food by a Khazin that happened upon him in the dark. He had grown restless in his natural form and was beginning to contemplate the dangers of at least traveling in animal form, when for the first time in two days, he happened upon a lone Khazin. The Khazin was wandering the caverns almost absentmindedly. It was a warning sign that Brambles immediately noted, and began to consider his options for flight away from the lone Khazin.
The Khazin male, Gulan, wasn’t really interested in causing havoc to Brambles specifically. He just wanted to start his exile in a style befitting his newfound love of random violence. His exile had become the price of his choice to forego the monastic training and seek a life of chaotic violence. He had originally planned to kill a patrol or two on his way out, but seeing this lone Ota really gave him a charge. He was truly hungry for some of the old ultra-violent, and this wanderer was going to be the recipient of his gift of brutality. He altered course so that he would end up precisely in the path of the Ota, and when the Ota reached him, it stopped.
“Whatcha carrying, bean-man?” snarled Gulan, hoping his insults would jibe the Ota into some kind of reaction that he could use as an excuse.
“Only the remains of a fallen Tolakian,” replied Brambles, hoping that the sight of the head would diffuse the situation. He reached for the ties to his sack again, but the Khazin quickly shot a hand out to stop him.
“I’m more interested in what you have under your other branch, there, bush-head.”
“Insults will not endear me to your questions, young Khazin,” responded Brambles, now irritated at the insolence of the obviously young and impertinent Khazin. This was exactly what Gulan was hoping for, and he spat on the ground at Brambles’ feet, saying “You’ll pay for your attitude this day, little walking tuber!”
The Khazin erupted into motion, long before Brambles had realized that this was the Khazin’s preface to a fight. He began to shift into a fighting stance too late, as the Khazin’s fists and feet blurred before his eyes. He had been struck several times before he could even consider his alternatives. Hoping that the Khazin was as young an inexperienced as he seemed, Brambles called out a quick little spell of transmutation. His plan was to simply remove himself from the fight, and force the Khazin to look elsewhere for his trouble. As he was gesturing, though, the Khazin’s amazing reflexes gave it the time to reach out and deftly pluck the bundled axe from beneath the arm of Brambles. Too late to change his mind, Brambles completed the spell and sidestepped away from the Khazin, right into the solid rock wall of the cavern. The Khazin roared in frustration, exposing the great chasm of its throat, and forcing Brambles to cower in his stony retreat, despite his relative safety.
Flushed with newfound rage, Gulan tore at the package, ripping the beautiful greataxe free of its trappings. A moment’s hesitation as he marveled at the craftsmanship of the weapon was all he gave it; the rush of his heated blood was flushing all coherent thoughts from his mind. With a second horrible scream, he flung himself at the wall with the axe in hand, and began carving great gashes in the stone with the heavily enchanted axe. He had no idea how much the axe could take, he only knew the joys of his first barbarian rage, and was exulting in the strength that it had infused into his limbs. He felt as though he could actually carve the lousy Ota free of his rocky hideaway.
It took a while for the rage to pass, and Brambles began to seriously doubt the stone’s ability to keep him concealed safely, but the entire passage was carved by time and water out of stone, and he was in no danger of being ejected from the stone by the scratches of the axe-wielding Khazin, no matter how deep. Frustrated and now winded, the Khazin turned dejectedly towards a side passage, and stomped off into the darkness, still clutching the greataxe in his hand. Brambles, with great discretion, decided that the prudent course of action would be to wait as long as possible for the unruly Khazin to get as far as possible before leaving the safety of his rock wall. Nearly an hour later, he stepped free of the wall and continued on his previous course, determined at least to return what he could, and to report the theft of the axe to the Tolakians. It would be their problem, not his, to recover it if they wished.
