"I don't trust her." The contemptuous voice declared. The voice was rich and smooth, disgustingly pleasant to her ears.
A heartbeat passed before another man responded. His voice was like the sound of crushed shells under foot. She recognized this voice as Rowan, the older human guide. "I know."
"She's a beast, like them." The first voice insisted.
"I know that too." Rowan responded.
"Then why are we following her? Did the church not pay you handsomely to be my guide?"
"The church payed me, yes, and part of that fee was to pay her."
"You're giving her money?"
"Sir, what did you think I would pay her in?"
"I don't know... Food? more civilized clothes? She's still a beast. What more would she want?"
Shea-Rah Bol scoffed. She may look "uncivilized" to the shiny shelled creature that trudged behind her, but his insistence on wearing gilded armor had added almost a week of travel time to their journey. In her chaps and tunic, she could scout days ahead starting at noon, and still be back at evenings camp by nightfall.
"Why do we need a beast at all? I thought you knew these woods."
"Better than any man, sir, but not half as good as she."
"The church wouldn't stand for this if they knew..."
"She's only half beast, if that makes any difference to you. Her mums even a priestess of Cealia."
"And her fathers an orc rapist no doubt."
Shea-Rah huffed. She didn't care what people said about her. After years on the periphery of human civilization she'd been exposed to all variety of bigotry, even attempts on her life. She weathered insults like oilskin in the rain. Still, talk of her father was irritating. She picked indignantly at one of her tusks. Her tough nail scraped against the pale calcium extrusion. They were small, barely noticeable at a distance, but still too large to hide behind her lips... Not that hiding them would help her blend in. Her calico flesh of olive and green saw to that. It was only by the staunch love of her mother that she was even welcomed in human society. Even then that welcome extended only as far as her utility to the church.
For a moment she was lost in the memory of her youth. She could still see the tall slender window of that church office turned nursery. It was so high up, and she was so small... Oh, how she pined to climb up and peer through the shimmering crease in the gloomy wall. She could remember the fights about her stay at the church too... Her mother was a respected, though minor, priestess of the church of Cealia, goddess of enlightenment and sophistication... and her daughter? Her daughter was a beast. It was ironic that she was so mild as a child while her mothers spirit glowed like hot iron, and her tongue cut like crucible steel. It was this spirit that she had to thank for her protection and education in the church, and her toleration amidst human society.
She could still remember that fateful night, nestled in her mothers arms, where her mother, a lowly priestess, defied the Bishop of Arthelm. Back then, she didn't understand what was being said, but understood its implications. Her mother wielded scripture like a whip across the Bishops back. She made pleas to love while welding metal cages logic. Shea-Rah held her mother tightly, and in the end was granted a conditional pardon for the crime of her existence. The Bishop was unyielding in these few terms though.
Firstly, she had to take on a Cealian name, and be granted no surname. She was a bastard, and wouldn't be recognized as her mothers child in the eyes of the church. It was only in secret that her mother shared the name Rah Bol.
Secondly, she was to be raised in service to the church, and to never be allowed to be seen during services or public hours.
Lastly, she was never to be allowed to wed... As if any creature, human or beast would want to touch her in the first place.
"I assure you sir, she's been in faithful service to the church for years, she'll not lead us astray..." The gravely voice pierced through her reminiscence.
Shea scoffed again. She had half a mind to lead them through the southern swamps, just to muck the joints and dull the gleam of that arrogant paladins armor. But the other voice, the human guide, was right. She was faithful, if nothing else.
Shea revealed herself to the bickering party of humans over the next ridge. There was the paladin, and the grizzled human guide, and a dozen other church hunters. They'd never expect she'd been eve's dropping. Human ears weren't good enough to hear at such a distance, so they would assume hers were not either. "Two more days at this pace." She grunted. "The way is clear for a while longer, but you should sleep with your swords tonight. We will reach the camp of your enemy by the eve of tomorrow."
"Good" The paladin stated.
In the full light of the day, Shea could better see the face of the pompous brat. This so called "Immortal of Caelia." He was disgustingly handsome. A strong jaw. ebony black hair combed back to wavy perfection. Piercing grey eyes like deep springs in the summer sun. His armor seemed to shine impossibly bright in spite of their dirty journey. And a perpetual sneer was drawn across one side of his full lips. It was the sort of face that deserved to be rubbed in a shit pie. A shit pie fresh mucked from a pigsty! Shea smirked at the thought.
"Then you will stay with us. No more wandering off." The paladin declared. Shea recoiled. He continued. "I'll not risk you betraying our presence to the enemy, by accident or otherwise."
"Me?!" She snarled. "If you wish not to be seen, then why do you wear a lighthouse, shining wherever you go? There are no ships to warn out here! With your heavy boots, the enemy undoubtably knows of our presence already."
Rowan, shifted his posture, and stroked his chest long beard anxiously. His eyes were squinted, though one could hardly tell through the salt and pepper brow that hung like moss over the cliff ridge of his countenance. He speaks up. "You've done well Shea... As always... And you have our thanks, but that decision belongs to..." He's interrupted by the paladin.
"Three immortals." The paladin snarls. "Three immortals have gone missing in these woods. Two of them under your guidance." Shea, jutted out her bottom jaw, and ground her tusks against her teeth. The paladin continued. "I will wear my armor until we've returned to civilization, and you will remain by our side until this warlord is slain."
"Shaman." Shea huffed. The paladin jerked in surprise, not expecting to be corrected. "He's a shaman, not a warlord." she reiterated.
"He's consolidating the disparate beast tribes, and raiding the woodland villages for supplies. He's a beast warlord." He retorts.
"He's a shaman, and if you're predecessors cared to know the difference maybe they'd still be alive."
"Immortals blessed by Cealia cannot die!" He insisted with a tempered anger. "Should they be struck down, they're resurrected in their chosen temples. Sir Bowan. Sir Ursa. Sir Obir. None have not returned to their temples, meaning they're imprisoned or lost." Those blue eyes pierced her "Perhaps led astray." His accusation chilled her to the bone... still, she yet had some of her mothers fire in her.
"Or they're dead." She spit. "Killed by a shaman they didn't understand after stumbling into foreign woods in shiny clothes."
"This is not up for discussion. You stay with the party, or you forfeit your pay, and be counted as an enemy." Their eyes held for the length of a dozen heartbeats, until Shea relented and looked away. The paladin tromped past her, leaving heavy bootprints where he stepped. The rest of the troop passed by with Rowan bringing up the rear. He peered sympathetically at Shea from underneath those sorrowful brows. "Chin up, lass. The pays good, and one way or another he'll be out of your life 2 days hence."
She sighed, and drew her lips tight in resignation. As the guide continued on, she muttered to herself. "I should have lead them through the swamps."
