Chimera Desert Round1 pt2

“...your clan?” She caught Vixtor’s last few words. He’d been trying to talk to her for probably 20 minutes now but she’d hardly understood a word as he waxed on too quickly for her to catch, so she’d zoned out. He had continued talking.

“Hm?” she asked, glancing at him, finally recognizing the words and the question intoned. “Sorry.”

“Doyour brothers fight foryeaour clan?” he repeated, “Yourfather? Doyoeoaufieght? How? I heeeahrtheat heyuuooomeansareoftean fieaghtiong, theauoughthaheahy also excheangeandshaare much.”

Shida tried to refrain from grimacing as she shook her head. “My family… fight, words, but not others.” That was what he was asking about, right?

His gait shifted a little in surprise. “You… fight words? How? Oh, yeeoouuaregeuh, Iteakeit… ormagic? Do eyou figeght wih magic? Why don’tyoufeiaght otheerzs?”

“Aaahh... “ Was it a good idea to mention her magic use, limited as it was? Probably not. “Our clan not fight,” she said instead. “Travel and dance. Shows.” They did other things, the shows involved more than just dancing, but vocabulary was a bitch.

“Shows?” Vixtor asked, intrigued. “Dancing? Why?”

Why? That wasn’t a question she got often. “Aahh…”

“Perheaeaps to trade?” a new voice sprang up beside them, raspy and deep as a sand pit and just as stubborn. Shida jumped and jabbed as she gave a surprised yelp, and her hand came into contact with sand that disintegrated and fell. Vixtor set himself into a battle stance as Shida danced to the side, her hood fallen off and hands up.

The sand she hit rose up into the air and regathered itself into a human shape, a man wearing a tall wide hat and cape. It quickly solidified, giving him a short brown beard and a stocky build. Shida knew that he was just sand, she had just punched through him. But he looked solid and real and… human. Almost. Part of his face looked more like unbaked bread than flesh for a few moments. His red and yellow eyes paired with a wide grin did not encourage the idea that he was any sort of human. Nor did the fact that he was floating several feet above the ground.

“What are you?” Vixtor demanded, his sword still in its scabbard, but distaste in his voice.

The man laughed, a strange, deep yet dry sound. Shida did not like it. Or the creature. “What do you want?” she said in Arabic, not dropping her guard.

“Oh? You speaakh her leanguahhge?” the sand creature said, interest in his tone.

“What are you,” Vixtor repeated, “Andwheatdhoyoeu want?” He hadn’t relaxed, but he wasn’t getting his sword out or anything either. His helmet did shift to a red color, indicating he could become more insistent if he needed to.

The creature cackled again. “Oooooh! Andeah magic healmeheht! My lucky day.” He grinned and stopped floating so high and lowered to maybe half a foot above the sand below. “How are you todeaahey?”

Shida hoped that his recognition of the language would mean he understood it. She relaxed her stance some, though mentally stayed ready to jump at any moment. “Why are you here?” she asked in Arabic.

“Answer my questions,” Vixtor repeated, his helmet shifting back to its normal white with red stripe, though keeping his stance.

“Oh, Ie’vhe devieneatlieyhgota name, butyooouu’ll neheverghuesssit,” the sand man said, pointing enthusiastically at Vixtor. He glanced at Shida. “Or you. Fohurnaow, you can caahllme Zeal.” He grinned.

He wasn’t as bad as Vixtor with the vocabulary, so far, but Shida didn’t like his intonation at all. It reeked of scams and schemes. If Chuki was this bad, then he was better at hiding it.
Shida looked around, but didn’t see anyone else. “Why’re you here?” she asked in Arabic, pointing at… Zeal.

“You kneaoow,” Zeal responded, leaning in space on one elbow and gesturing with his other hand, “I neavearhrcouuerlhd understaaandaahllthose hiiisseeinghaas anddeeedsand allthat. Lehehtsfiehxathahat.” He snapped snapped his fingers, and a tendril of sand drew a golden wrapped-snake armband out from his cloak. He then threw it at Shida.

Shida caught the thing on instinct, and was actually surprised that it didn’t immediately transform into a real snake, or… sand.

“What is that?” Vixtor demanded, stepping forward.

“Just a translator,” Zeal said, and Shida could understand everything. From both of them.

Her eyes widened. “You…”

“Aaaand, look at that! I can understand you, you can understand me, life is easier for everyone,” Zeal said enthusiastically. “Well. For you. I guess it’s an easier afterlife for me.” He snickered, which sounded like a wheezing… goat, or something.

“You’re dead?” she asked, though as soon as she did it made sense. Somewhat.

“I’m a devil of a dead man,” Zeal said, leaning back with a leg kicked up on the other in the air. “And looking to trade. So. What’re you lookin’ for? Jewels? Treasures? Water?”

“Relics,” Vixtor said decisively. “Like that one.” He pointed at Shida’s armband.

So that was the word. Sands, she’d been close. “I am looking for a way out,” Shida said, a bit unnerved by the automatic translation magic happening, but grateful it was working.

“Out?” Zeal said, sitting straight up. “You think there’s an out?” He laughed loudly.

Shida glared at him, unmoving. “Yes.”

“Ooooh, lady, do you have ideas! Out…” He shook his head and snickered again.

“There’s a way in, there’s a way out!” she insisted.

“Yeah, no one’s found that one in centuries,” Zeal said dismissively, waving a hand.

“And what about you?” she pressed.

He just glanced at her. “I wouldn’t still be here if I had, let me tell you…” He turned back to Vixtor. “But you, my friend, are simply looking for… relics, you said? That, I can help with. For a price.”

“What would you give me?” Vixtor asked, distrustful. Vixtor’s demeanor had changed since Zeal showed up. Not that Shida expected him to be welcoming to everyone, but… he didn’t seem to particularly like this sand ghost either.

Good. Maybe they could get on with their trip soon then. She didn’t want to take her map out again now that there was another pair of eyes, and probably one that wanted to steal it.

“Weeelll, what do you want?” Zeal asked, leaning a different direction. “I’ve got access to potions that can change your shape, seals that can scream louder than a banshee, wraps that will grant control of a selection of mummies… Also available in a crown, which is my suggestion,” he added in a lower tone.

Vixtor looked unconvinced. Or a least debating. Honestly his helmet made it very difficult to tell. His body language was nearly silent at this point.

“What we want is out of here,” Shida said, slipping the armband on so she could use her hands to talk.

“Oh, but you don’t want to go empty-handed,” Zeal said, grinning as one of his hands disintegrated into sand, leaving bones behind. He rolled his fingers before reforming his hand and snickering.

“Potions won’t get us out of here,” she returned, folding her arms.

“Nooo, but they might help you survive,” Zeal returned, and pulled a bottle out of the sand. “See, this here will sate any stomach for up to five days just on a small swig. Handy when you’re running low on food stores.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Shida scowled. He had no idea that she actually was low, but it wasn’t hard to guess in this place. It was lucky she made a habit of going without food for long periods of time.

“Or this,” he continued, pulling out a small eye mask. “Lets you see far into the distance, despite wind or sand. Helps see through illusions, too.”

“I do not need another face covering,” Vixtor responded.

“Noooo, noo, course not,” Zeal said, waving the bottle and mask away. “You’ve got something special all of your own.” He grinned. “What kind of relics are you looking for?”

Vixtor hesitated, and that was all Zeal needed.

“Ooooh, sir! I have just the things for you!” He whisked up a sand bag and started pulling things out to show briefly before stowing them back in the bag. “I’ve got a lion skin full of the breath of the undead, nasty stuff believe me, but useful; Sphynx’s tears, okay not exactly a relic but the bottle is, gorgeous glass sculpture practically; demon’s dagger; papyrus of Horus’ Home Remedies; enchanted scimitar; Gown of Glory…”

“What is this enchanted scimitar?” Vixtor asked.

“Well I’m glad you asked,” Zeal said, pulling it out again, fully. It was a gorgeous old scimitar, somehow in prime condition. It practically— no, it did glow. “This thing here will solve most any problem you can put in front of it,” Zeal said. “Pesky horde? Slice ‘em. Math problems? It’ll cut ‘m to size, without pesky paper cuts.”

“Inescapable deserts?” Shida asked pointedly.

“Naaaaahhh now that might be too much,” Zeal said. “You can’t fit the whole desert in front of one sword.”

“I could fit you in front of a sword,” she muttered, though not low enough to avoid being heard.

“Aaah, I would not advise letting your lady friend hold this scimitar,” Zeal said to Vixtor.

“Nashida does not have a weapon,” Vixtor said. “Though humans can often find ways around that obstacle.”

“Aaaand you are correct there!” Zeal said. “Let’s not push it, alright? I got a lot of relics in these sands and not all of them should be messed with, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh?” Vixtor said, interest coming through the dislike.

“What do you want for these ‘relics’?” Shida asked. Even if they were real, which the translation armband seemed to indicate, that was no guarantee they could afford anything.

“Well that depends on what you want,” Zeal said in a haggling tone. “Frog spell in a bottle? I’ll give it to ya practically free, just one of your little dangly coins or something. If you want the lion skin, that might cost you some more, say some blood and maybe a toe or two.”

“What?” Shida demanded.

“Whaaat?” Zeal asked. “It’s a deal! Jut a toe!”

“Like hell it’s a deal!” Shida retorted. Any deals involving blood were a bad time. One of her traveling companions had once agreed to an exchange involving blood and it had nearly killed all of them.

“It’s a skin of undead breath!” Zeal argued. “It’s hard to come by!”

“What about the scimitar?” Vixtor asked.

Zeal was all grins again. “Oh, that? Good eye, sir, it’s a great find. For that, for you… what was your name?”

“Vixtor,” Vixtor said.

“Vixtor!” Zeal continued. “For you, how about that fantastic face covering of your own you’ve got? That helmet?”

Vixtor’s face, or place for a face, darkened. “You will not have this artifact from my clan!” His helmet shifted to a dark black, and its shape changed to a pointed diamond-esque form.

“Ooooh, woow, alriiiight,” Zeal drawled, floating back a little. “I just figured, magical war-type item, magical war-type item, fair trade, you know.”

“It is not,” Vixtor said definitively.

“Alright, alright,” Zeal said, and Vixtor’s mask shifted back to normal. “Well I guess I could settle for a kidney or spleen. … Wait, you aren’t human, are you? Do you have those?”

“Enough!” Shida spat. Zeal was proving to just be a bad haggler used to taking advantage of travelers’ desperation for his own gains. “You are not getting any internal organs, blood, or heirlooms today. Do you have anything useful in your bag that wouldn’t kill us to get?”

Zeal sneered at her. “Oh, I could make this kind of deal much more uncomfortable if you wanted to... “ He cleared up his face as he glanced at Vixtor, who still looked upset from the helmet comment. “But I thought you two might be reasonable types. Oh well, guess not.”

He clapped his hands once, and the bag disintegrated. “Well, let me know how you like the Maelstrom when I pop by later.”

Before either her or Vixtor could ask, the ground flowed beneath them like quicksand, but with an opening getting bigger beneath them. Shida cried out briefly before getting sand in her mouth, then just held her breath and hoped to whatever god existed that she would survive this.

*~*~*