The Changeling

8

The traveling party was several carts long, but not vivacious at all. There were about ten other attendants aside from Cetlali. All protected by nine Rangers, as well as a dozen retainers from their homeland, handpicked by Ezren as fodder. She recognized some of them and didn't much like them, but she left her life in their somewhat capable hands. It might be an unfair attitude, but it was hers. The Rangers who weren't pissing her off were far more than just capable of anything.

Dourgah, Inoue, and Fiera were the Wai sisters of the same birth. The skilled warriors were unrivaled in their speed and ingenuity.

They had some kind of titled nobility in their lineage, but their mother was from Wisteryala.

They were all masterful women, as wise and fierce as they were beautiful.

Cetlali had not had the pleasure of meeting them until this current trip, but she already felt half in love with all three of them. It took them a bit to warm up to her, but she didn't mind.

The women were vibrant, funny, bold, and boisterous, so unthreatened by the world around them. Cetlali thought even if she could only muster up the guts to sit next to them, she might glean a bit of their vivacity for herself.

Luckily, Cetlali's attachment to Ezren, along with Loraeta's endorsements, garnered eager sparring partners for the rest of the journey.

Zhi Xocthl of the Silt Falls was an astounding woman born into a hard life. She was quite bright, but sometimes annoying, because she knew it well. She'd grown as a pirate and perhaps a mercenary for most of her life and she'd tripped herself up into becoming a Ranger. For about a decade, she was quite successful at it. As Captain, she was older than all but Loraeta, who was near the same age.

Her face was a smooth, endless plain of the ocean seas at night, unblemished despite spending her life in the wilds and living rough beneath Uroxem. The nose that had been disastrously broken rested in the middle of her winsome face like a trophy. Everyone had to admit when she shot off that smug little grin, the wreck of her nose sat atop it quite nicely.

Xocthl was an absolute fiend most of the time, a finger in every pie imaginable and a versatile genius. She could charm herself into anyone's good graces (or pants) and only thieved every once in a while. Her capability was far outmatched by her ego, but she was still very good at being so very herself. She was altogether insufferable, but a begrudging Cetlali could see her appeal.

Then, of course, there was Lovou. It pained Cetlali to realize that she knew him the best by his reputation at this point. Lovou's shit poor attitude was as infamous as his skill and his scars. Whatever he once was to her, the beast who accompanied their party had blotted it out.

Harsh glare, bleak bearing, and sharp swords, hard edged in every way. Cetlali knew well how talented he was with a blade, and age had only improved him. Lovou was infamous, not just in Wisteryala, but in the entire Five Realms. He had two great, jagged looking Khopesh of blood red spinel at his sides.

Honed with expertise, they could be a

cataclysmic devastation in every conceivable direction. A fine onyx cutlass was at his lower back like a dagger, and other actual daggers he hid everywhere else. Despite his size, he was agile. With blades almost as tall as her, swifter than even Caran Armistead could hope to be.

Lovou was an exact type of horror with no name that dazzled the senses of lesser creatures, stuck in petrified awe as he approached like his horse's namesake.

The man only gotten rougher with age, meaner too, and far more fond of wine. He didn't talk to anyone aside from Ezren, Xocthl, and sometimes Loraeta. He didn't even spare Cetlali a single glance until she'd stumbled upon him setting up tents after the soiree stopped to camp for the night. She was heading over to set up her station too.