“Apprentice, *what* are you doing?”

Dareashea winced at the voice and put down the trowel. “Gardening, master.” She answered, turning and looking up at Master Xydoz.

She could almost *hear* him counting to ten as he gazed down at her. He finally leaned forward pushing a finger into her skull. “Your scales are hard, your skull is soft.”

“Yes, Master.” she murmered, studying the ground at his feet.

“Why are you not translating the Book of Third rites?” He asked after studying her for several long moments.

“I have finished, master. I was waiting for your return to find out my next task.” Which would probably be cleaning out the midden.

“Good. Follow.” Xydoz turned on his heal and started up the back stairs of the Tower, leaving Dareashea to scutter after him in an attempt to catch up.

Xydoz’s office was filled with scrolls and books stacked on what seemed to be ancient shelves. The plaster of the wall was chipped and peeling in more than one place and the tapestries were more than a little worn. “The guards at the north-west gates have reported smelling softskins in the woods. You are going to locate them.” Xydoz stated calmly after settling behind his desk.

Dareashea just managed to get a choke hold around “Me?! Are you MAD?” before the words left her throat. “Yes, Master.”

Xydoz’s eyes were twinkling suspiciously, like he enjoyed setting her these next to impossible tasks. All to see if she worthy of the Tower. *Bah. Someone who can raise half the crypt in their initiation is more than worthy. Stupid old men and their jealousies.*

“Go.” Xydoz finally said when he was tired of looking at the apprentice. Small, fine boned, and afraid of her own shadow. She was certainly a credit to her breeding. He snorted in amusement. The only thing making her worthy to look at was a particularly sleek tail.

* * *

Leaving her robes and helm with Trooper Ozlot, Dareashae wrinkled her nose and started her crawl through the bushes and trees. The Trooper was right, you COULD smell the softskins. It was like smelling furless cat with cinnamon rubbed into it’s skin. A foul, disgusting smell, which tasted horrible.. but she had to taste the air to make sure she didn’t run into any Goblins or Giants. ‘Bad’ didn’t even begin to cover the nastiness of the situation if *that* happened. One or two Goblins she could deal with, but a pack of them? Or a Giant? Her bones would be broken and the marrow sucked out before she could even begin to summon help.

Why was *she* sent? Wasn’t there an entire barracks full of big, brainless warriors who could be doing this? Or a temple full of fur-hugging shamans with their smart nosed spirit familiars? Wasn’t there an infinite number of people who could do this better than she could? Why did the Troopers turn to the Tower for assistance and why in turn did they send HER to scout?

She managed not to sneeze when she got a clump full of mud and pine in a naris. Stupid, filthy woods. She much preferred the nice, warm desert to the south of the city than this humid, cold, filthy forest.

She was cataloguing all the disgusting things that could be found here (Starting with Goblins and working her way up the evolutionary chain to slugs and snails) when she heard what at first sounded like the chatter of squirrels.

*Soft-skins?* Dareashae picked her head up from the ground and listened around her. Ahead and to the left.

Crawling through the bushes left her glad she didn’t have the soft-pink-flesh of the other races and that she’d left her robe back at the guard station. Although, pine needles under scale was far from a pleasant sensation it would hardly leave her damaged. *Just itchy.*

The voices and smells were strong from a grove up ahead, carefully positioning herself, Dareashea looked upon their camp. Recklessly, they had a fire going. Didn’t they know about the winds that came in the evenings that would blow smarks into the undergrowth? Stupid outsiders. Serve them right if they cooked themselves, but unfortunately, it would probably take half the woods with them.

Their chatter was loud and obnoxious. They sounded like rodents arguing over a burial of nuts. Her master had made her study the basics of their tongues, but they weren’t being considerate and writing out what they were saying and showing her. The appeared to be arguing about the watch schedule and some sort of ..bandits? Stupid soft-skins. No bandits, just giants, Goblins, Burnyai and the rare Sarnak. Oh yes, and the mighty legions of Cabilis. Idiots not to be scared of the last.

One of their number, a disgustingly plump, hairy and short member of their number retreated into the bushes near her. Debating whether she should slay the invader or not she heard him rustle with his pants. *Now this is truly disgusting* Dareashea thought with a grimace. *Join the Tower, become a true member of the elite.. Accidentally raise a few dead buried under your shop and look what happens.. You get to hide in the bushes while a half-man tries to piss on you.*

She pulled the communication stone out of the pouch hanging around her neck. *Master, I have found the Soft-skins. They have set up a night-camp.*

*And what do they speak of? What are their plans?* Xydoz replied, sounding rather tetchy. Well, it was getting late..

Dareashea managed *not* to reply *How the hell should I know?* Admitting ignorance was never a good step, not to mention rather disrespectful to the master who was doing his best to shove knowledge into her head. *Their plans appear to be to set-up watch and sleep* She managed not to be entirely too caustic. It was easy to be short tempered when you were covered in mud, lying near soft-skins and had nearly gotten urinated on.

*What is their location?* Xydoz finally asked. She could almost hear his sigh and counting.

Dareashea rolled her eyes. What was she supposed to do, ask some mystic voice for some magic numbers what would relate her exact location? She took the risk of crouching up and looking around, *South woods, west of the guard tower. Perhaps a two hour stalk, just north of the tredal peaks.”

*Excellent. A guard party will be on it’s way shortly.* Xydoz broke contact.

Dareashea stuck the rock back into her amulet. Now what was she expected to do? Lie here and listen to soft-skin chatter half the night while waiting for a bunch of muscle-bound Troopers to show up? Why did she commit herself to the Tower again? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time to get proper training and do her best for her people..

A lumpy, tall, soft-skin was making some great speech. She’d buried the tip of her sword into the ground and was calling to the sky as she kneeled in front of it.

*Nice armour. I bet she could have fed children of her town for months on the cost of that armour.. but better *she* look good than her children be fed. Ignorant savages.* Dareashea thought at the lumpy-too-soft-female.

The woman with pointy ears and shining armour broke off in mid-chant and called something at her companions. The short hairy one looked around wide-eyed, yelped something that sounded like profanity and dove for his backpack.

Dareashea sighed. She’d been sitting her for twenty minutes and apparently the god of the over-armoured, selfish softie had decided she was a danger. Unholy warriors were not known for their brains and this pointy eared wench seemed to be parcel for the pact. How dare she call upon her god in Cazic Thule’s lands, anyway? Stupid pale bint.

The four travellors, two previously hidden by the fire, drew weapons and started to cast about.

*Great, announce to the entire world that there’s beings here. Why not just call ‘here giant, giant, giant’ while you’re at it?* Dareasha slithered her way back and away from the camp. Stupid soft-skins. Stupid master. Stupid apprentice tests.

A man (Dareashea thought it was a man - no lumpy bits) with a very, very nice bow looked out into the woods. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it, although he did stop by where she’d been previously hiding. He bent down and studied the ground. Dareshea considered trying him to gain the bow.. Yeegarn would appreciate it..

Then realization struck. *Damnit, my slither will be visable even to the most night blind.. and I probably left scale impressions all over it.. Four, soft-skins they may be, against me, is not much of a battle. Although, one of those idiot troopers would probably yell and attack.*

The man crouched there for several heart-thumping moments. He then shook his head and headed back into the camp. He spoke a few words with the over-armoured-Unholy Warrior and the four returned to the fire.

The wind shifted causing Dareashea to get a nose full of smells. Underwashed Softskins. Metal. Leather. Roasting rabbit.. Where in the name of Cazic Thule had they found *rabbit* in these woods? Normally the Goblins hunted them almost to extinction each Spring.. and it was well into fall!

A man in robes said something causing his three party members to laugh and pull the rabbit off the fire. *A Heretic!* Dareashea almost got to her feet to run before she remebered herself and pulled out the communication stone once more. *Master! There is a heretic with them!*

Her master said several phrases that Dareashea noted for the future.. if she could find out exactly what they meant. Who was Karana and what were his tits, for example? *Good work, apprentice. The troopers have been warned. Withdraw, if you are discovered..*

Dareashea didn’t need to be told twice. It was one thing to be rewarded for work watching the Troopers dismember some soft-skins, it was another entirely to have to deal with a powerful Heretic. And he must be powerful, why else invade the lands of the Iksar?

Once she was far enough away, she took to her feet and loped back towards the safety of Cabilis. They were probably scouts of the UnClean people, another attack was probably to be coming on their beautiful city once more. They still hadn’t managed to rebuild the damage from the *last* attack..

They needed more builders. Too many children were trained into the war rolls to defend the city. Too many younglings dying in the ranks. They needed the lesser castes filled out for variety in food, variety in clothing.. and for their beautiful buildings to be repaired. Even the Tower had taken damage in the past.. and wooden steps up the side was the repair job instead of the proper recasting and rebuilding that should have happened. The comforting and balanced roles of life was becoming more and more unbalanced as there were fewer and fewer in the “support castes” as Master Rixiz would call them.

All castes were equal in times of peace, but in times of war.. Dareashea sighed with a sudden longing for her simple shop and baked goods. Why did the soft-skins continuously have to attack and hound them? Why couldn’t they stay in their own lands and fight amongst themselves instead of continuously coming into *their* lands and destroying things? Why did they have to set up their forts and towers and steal the food from the young and damage the buildings and treasures that had been there for centuries? Jealous, savage, unclean beings.

Dareashea could smell the signal fires of the barracks and hastened her steps. The sooner she returned to the city, the sooner she could have a bath and forget about the soft-skins and their selfish, blasphemous ways.

* * *

Master Xydoz was apparently with the Troopers. Such danger was the Heretic that a master of the Tower was sent to deal with him. Master Rixiz looked at her with disdain. “Bathe and then write a full report.. *after* cleaning the baths! You are a mess” He sniffed.

What the hell did he expect after she’d slithered through half of the undergrowth of Warslik’s woods? Moronic Master. And she got to clean the baths. Lovely. Just because THEY had supposed better things to do with their time, it fell to the lowest of apprentices to clean up after them and take care of the tower. Stupid masters and their slovenly ways. If they just cleaned up after themselves as they made messes it wouldn’t be such a chore..

But they probably remembered when *they* were apprentices and had to do such things and were just “sharing the learning experiences.”

Well, the hell with them. Picking up a couple of buckets, Dareashea went outside to where her ally Nihilist Yeegarn was standing. He looked at the mess she was and smiled and took the buckets. Well, she’d done similar for him after he’d returned from battles. Patch up and bathe.

“I don’t suppose you remembered a scale-pick? Some of that crud is well imbedded.” Yeegarn said with a smirk.

“Yes, of course I did.” Dareashea didn’t *quite* snarl. If she hadn’t, he’d just use his claws and that HURT.

“Good.” As she moved to stand over a drain, he filled a bucket from the aqueduct and merrily dumped the mostly-clean water over her head. Clean-up would probably take as long as the scouting mission itself. “Have you managed to procur the History of the Sarnak creation yet?”

Dareshea sighed, Yeegarn was *obsessed* with books and histories and tales. He didn’t care about the race it was about or written by, had a very ecclectic library and expected his friends to share his passions in reading.

* * *

Harbringer Glosk looked down at the Nihilist and the lowest Apprentice with incredibly rare amusement. He was more ofteen seen impatient, surly and grumpy. “I like her,” he told Master Rixiz. “She is imagintive, ingenius and shows great patience.. for all that she cowers, is unconventional and forgets half the steps in a ritual.”

“If you need a gardener, a baker and a mud-covered child, yes, she is well chosen for the job.” Master Rixiz said sourly. He was well known to speak the words ‘What is the tower coming to?’

“It is a desperate age for us, Rixiz, we shall need ingenius youth if we wish to survive and reclaim our lands.” Glosk told the Necromancer with rebuke. “And better children with ..” he paused, and spoke words in the foreign tongue of humans, “Senses of humour” before returning to Iksar, “than ones without. I shall enjoy watching this one grow.”

Rixiz waited for his master to climb the stairs back to the top of the tower. “I think he has gone mad.” The experimenter commented, watching the girl and guard below laughing and bucketing water at each other. “Truly mad.”