Senset—(L116) [Sand Rabbitkin] (Ra) (L58) [Master Assassin] (VR) (L58)—was annoyed. Usually, annoying the guildmaster of the Assassins Guild in Abmeris led to a quick death. But Senset was not in Abmeris, he was in Tarzu, meeting with his counterparts from Assassins Guilds throughout the Free Desert Cities. And not only was operating on foreign turf without local permission a bit of a faux pas, but, well, he was in a secret meeting limited to the six other guildmasters, all [Master Assassins] themselves.
So who the hell invited this whelp here?! he thought for at least the twentieth time this meeting. Where there should have been seven persons, there were eight. And while he couldn’t get the best view from where he sat in the circle—dark hooded cloaks tended to do that, even with the illumination from the skylight—Senset could tell that this guest couldn’t have been older than twenty-five (maybe even twenty!) in a room of graying forty-year-olds.
Maybe there was precedent for bringing a junior or inviting a foreign assassin to witness these meetings. But for the dozen years he had served, it had never happened and he couldn’t recall a story of it ever happening. Something to check at the recordroom. But even if it did, surely he should have been introduced, even if pseudonymously, to at least explain why he was here and not a threat. But no! he thought mockingly. The meeting was almost over and not. a. word. had been said about the visitor. It was almost like everyone was ignoring this interloper.
Was it a trap? he worried briefly. Rather than pat himself down, [Blade Sense] quickly told him that, yes, all dozen of his blades—from 10 cm throwing knives to a 40 cm shortsword—were in place on his person. And [Rabbit Constitution] meant that, even sitting during this long meeting, his muscles were primed to spring at a moment’s notice.
Suddenly, a terrible thought crept across the points of his ears. Was he being mocked? Was he just supposed to know who this was and not introducing him a powerplay on their part? Dammit, he gritted his teeth. He did not work so hard just to be bullied again by self-entitled pricks who thought themselves better than him.
“Senset,” a voice rasped at him and he glanced at the chairman. “Is something the matter? I was just asking if there was any new business to be brought up before we adjourned.”
Shit. Something must have shown, even on his hooded face, for Houi to call him on it. Well, if I’m to be made a fool, best to walk straight into it. Plastering a smile on his face, “Indeed Chairwoman Houi. I was wondering whether the identity of our guest would qualify as new business to be addressed to the Clade.”
“Guest? What guest?” Houi responded quickly, with a confused look on her face.
Senset quirked an eyebrow at that, glancing at his counterparts to see no comprehension on their faces. Confused himself now, Senset risked his own faux pas by pointing a finger at the eighth seated figure. “I mean this young man here. I’m assuming he is an [Assassin] as he is, well, here. But last I checked there were only seven cities in the Clade, not eight.”
“Aw, shucks, you broke the—” the young man was cut off, as a flurry of motion exploded as everyone else finally noticed him after two hours. The two nearest masters lept away, while three others rapidly threw a blade each at the apparent interloper. Despite being thrown by [Master Assassins], the interloper dodged the projectiles effortlessly, rising as he did so. “Hey, I was just saying—“ the young man began, before another six blades flew his away, but failed to land.
“I told you, brother, they would not be impressed,” a voice echoed from above. Senset and the six other masters all glanced upwards to see a young man floating cross-legged, silhouetted before the skylight, sipping tea from a delicate cup as a steaming teapot floated nearby. Senset gaped as a second interloper sat in the air like a jinn.
“Fine, fine,” Pamu ◮ conceded. “But that attack alone was worth a rank in [Dodgeball]. You know how hard that is to rank up.”
“That is difficult,” Amen ◐ in turn conceded from above. “But if you’re done playing—two hours later I might add—incapacitate them and let’s go.”
Four people tsked at that last statement—the first interloper included—but sixty seconds later, Senset found himself on the floor, paralyzed and bleeding. [Master Assassin], he scoffed of himself, trying to recall what happened. A dance of blades had descended upon the guildmasters and any attempt to dodge failed as the blades reached farther than the eye could see. First steel and then ice—ice!—lay nonlethal wounds on them all, hamstringing them, though Skills at work quickly immobilized them all. Senset, the last to fall, had managed to hold off the man for a few seconds, but whirled when a voice whispered in his ear, only for Senset to fall just as quickly.
Unable to even blink, Senset watched the jinn—a [Rabbitkin] too, he now saw—land gracefully on the floor and walk out with his brother.
Even in his own agony, Senset pitied any who would dare face such a pair.
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“[Light Shah],” Pamu ◮ greeted as the two brothers clasped their arms and briefly bowed to the cityleader of Tarzu. “The Assassins’ Clade meeting was broken up and its attendants incapacitated. It would appear that they were the guildmasters for the guild in each of the Free Desert Cities.”
“Incapacitated?” the older [Rabbitkin] gruffed.
“We thought it best to defer to the authorities, notwithstanding my official position,” Pamu replied.
“Unofficial position,” the [Light Shah] grumbled, then turned wistful. “Still, this puts my heart at ease. [Captain]!” he called out and a muscular guard in khaki chitinous armor broke away from a group and jogged over. “Head inside and clean up. Kill all [Assassins].”
Amen ◐ flinched at the last order, but the [Guard Captain] merely affirmed and saluted, before rallying a dozen men to head inside, their grisly orders at hand, leaving a security detail with his lord. As the echoes of their footsteps faded into the building, a chill crept through Amen’s bones despite the morning heat.
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Amen ◐ was quiet as the brothers walked away from the crime scene and back across the city. Pamu ◮ glanced at him periodically, concern writ large across his face. As they finally crossed the central plaza, Pamu finally asked, “Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” Amen raised his head from where he had been looking at the ground. “Oh. Just thinking some things through.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Pamu offered.
Amen sighed. “It’s nothing we haven’t discussed before.”
“Oh,” Pamu replied lamely. Then, as they exited the plaza, “Hey, why don’t we go wrestle a few matches before lunch. That’ll make you feel better.”
Amen smirked a touch at the suggestion. “You mean it’ll make us feel better.”
“Yeah, yeah, tomato potato,” Pamu waved it away. “So…?”
“Sure, why not?”
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Arriving at the public wrestling grounds, the brothers purchased a small amphora of flaxseed oil from a vendor there, and sought an empty space. Dozens of men and women, mostly of the dominant [Rabbitkin], but a few [Nagas] as well, were in pairs or small groups about the space.
Finding a good spot in a corner, the pair set aside their cloaks, then stripped down to their smallclothes, removing their matching open vests and loose kilts, both made of the cheap flax linen characteristic of the poor of Tarzu. Exposing their bronzed skin to the open air, the two took turns with the amphora rubbing the cheap oil over their bodies.
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Before they even began, a small crowd of spectators began to form as the regulars notice that Thema’s twins are here.
The wrestling was a spectacle as always. Though they are only young men, they have the reputation for being among the best in Turza. Little did they crowd know all that goes into it.
First, there were simply the levels involved. Both Amen ◐ and Pamu ◮ had a combined 124 levels, split evenly between Race and Class. Both had evolved their Race to the (very rare) [Desert Rabbitkin], while Amen had a tiered up mage-illusion Class in [Desert Illusionist], while Pamu had a tiered-up assassin Class in [Desert Assassin]. Thus, their fights were always at a higher level than nearly all of the other wrestlers at the public grounds, as those few who had tiered up and still wrestled usually had private arenas.
Of course, no one there actually knew the boys were such high level. As in most other societies, asking that was a faux pas and while a few of the [Guardsmen] there had [Identify], half wouldn’t use it on principle on a pair of promising young men putting on a show and half who would use it didn’t have it high enough to bypass the pair’s [Obscure Identity].
Second, there were the Skills involved. Most of the regulars have one or two Skills or Traits that lend themselves to improved wrestling. The martial fighters would have perhaps four or five.
The twins used almost a dozen Skills each, not that anyone else knew that. Both Amen ◐ and Pamu ◮ shared several in common, [Elven Grace] and [Princess’ Touch] being the most bizarre as there were no [Elves] or [Princesses] of any sort for a thousand kilometers and, well, the twins were neither [Elves] nor female. And while both had [Unarmed Combat] , Pamu’s of course is much higher level.
And then there’s a hodgepodge of other Skills at play. Amen’s style of wrestling was a slippery, hard to pin sort, wrestling defensively, due to his skills, especially [Amorphous Body] and [Slippery]. On the other hand, [Firm Purchase], [Quick Hands] and [Sticky Fingers] were just generally helpful for not getting knocked over and getting a good grip on Pamu. Amen could also have used [Immaterial], but that would hardly make the fight any good and would have attracted too much attention.
Pamu on the other hand was a much more offensive wrestler, in no small part because he actually had [Wrestle] as well as the more specialized [Tackle]. Small spurts of [Shapeshifter], together with [Dancing Footwork], kept Pamu agile on the field, while [Falling with Style] and [Reflecting Block] allowed for a number of augmented throws, drops and pins.
Finally, there were the sheer Attribute counts involved, though (again) no one knew that either. The typical attendant had perhaps 200 to 600 in total Attribute points, and, if they were inclined to the more physical Attributes, had perhaps 60 to 180 points in each of STR and DEX.
Amen ◐—the mage, mind you—had over 700 points in STR and DEX, each. Pamu ◮ the assassin had over 1400 points in STR and over 1900 in DEX. Their power was unprecedented.
While their early lives had seen them pick up a number of rarely-sought Attribute boosting Traits, most of those Traits added (at most) a few dozen points to Attributes. Nearly all of the stupendous gain in Attributes both had was as a result of a great feat: defeating an [Eldritch Elder], one of the greatest threats to the world. When it happened, the Pantheon saw fit to award them a special Trait, [Divine Champion Against the Eldritch], which was so powerful, you really had to read the original text to believe it:
> [Divine Champion Against the Eldritch 35] (F): This special Trait ranks up based on the XP earned by killing [Eldritch] divided by 5,000. The XP required to rank up the Trait follows the XP Scale for Race and Class Levels. XP earned for most recent [Eldritch] killed applied upon earning Trait. Gain to all Attributes by (Rank) * 10%. Increased damage against [Eldritch] by (Rank) * 50%.
Given that Amen ◐ and Pamu ◮—then known as Kazuhiro ◐ and Ryoko ◮, respectively—were exceptionally skilled at killing [Eldritch], and had exceptional XP multipliers, the pair abused the heck out of it, earning a +350% boost to all Attributes.
Though, given that they were reincarnators—Amen had the [Reincarnator] (unique) Trait and Pamu was soul-bound to Amen—that boost was now permanently going forward and would continue going up as they crossed paths with [Eldritch]. The reassurances of one of the deities notwithstanding, it wasn’t clear that was the Pantheon’s original intent. In any event, [Eldritch] activity had been fairly quiet in their lives since then, though the pair had ventured into the surrounding desert occasionally when [Long-Distance Eldritch Detection] went off (Amen having no qualms about killing [Eldritch], as opposed to incapacitated sapients).
In any event, the point was that Amen and Pamu could put on quite a show, albeit one that Pamu won every time—
Wooooo! the crowd cheered.
—including today.
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After wrestling, the brothers headed home for lunch. Though at 19 years the two were really rather old to be living with their birth family—[Rabbitkin] reached physical adulthood early compared to [Humans], typically around 14—they continued to do so for three reasons. First, free rent. Second, though they were not the oldest—they had an older sister Eopei and older brother Tarik, both of who had moved out—they still had five younger siblings that they were very protective of: Ramere, Azibo, the other twins Amunet and Ahit, and, the youngest, Hators. And finally, even outside their innate protectiveness, Amen ◐ and Pamu ◮ loved their family; not just their siblings, but their mother, Ana, of course, as well as their first and second fathers, Hanif and Qeb, who were both [Guardsmen] with the city.
Pushing aside the curtain that served as the front door to the adobe home, Amen and Pamu were tackled by the twins Amunet and Ahit. “Brothers!” they cried in unison, before descending into giggles. Perhaps it was the mirrored twin-ness between the quadlings, but the younger twins especially looked up to and admired the older pair.
“Where were you this morning?” one—Amunet?—asked.
“Yes, we went to the [Engineer’s] shop—“ the other continued.
“—but you were not there, Amen,” concluded the first.
“And of course we couldn’t find tricksy Pamu,” the second pouted.
“Yes~” a voice sang from the kitchen the next room over. “Your mother would also like to know where you two disappeared off to so early this morning only to run home at lunch.” Suddenly, Ana’s greying head popped around the corner. “And you smell of flaxseed oil. Were you skipping work just to play in the fields? Pantheon knows how you got a job as a draftsman without the Class, but don’t you be squandering good fortune.”
“I’d hardly call our national sport mere play, mother,” Pamu sassed back. “But no, Amen is too good to skip work like that. He was assisting me on a project for the [Light Shah] this dawn.”
“Ah yes,” Ana’s face darkened as a lone eyebrow arched upwards. “Your mysterious position with the city’s administration that you refuse to tell me about. And even your fathers refuse to tell me?” Ana smacked her wood spoon against an open palm. “Even when I threatened not to sleep with them?”
“You did marry the both of them, mother,” Amen replied calmly. “They can always comfort each other if need be.”
Ana sighed, walking up to and throwing her arms around Amen. “When did I raise such a fine, intelligent young man. You shouldn’t be burdened understanding such problems only us old folks deal with.”
Amen sniffled at the unintentional double-meaning.
Pulling back a little, Ana looked at Amen’s face, “What’s wrong, dear?”
“Jeez, ma,” Amen rubbed his face. “You got the spices on your spoon in my eye. I, uh, I got to wash up,” and then darted to the back to the cistern.
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“Pamu?” Ana asked, as the four of them watched Amen quickly leave. “What’s wrong with Amen?”
Pamu let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I have some ideas, but… I shouldn’t speculate. And certainly not with you, mother.”
Ana quirked an eyebrow, her copper cheeks wrinkling a touch as a smirk played across her lips. “Oh? Perhaps a problem for young men? You know I knew plenty of young men and their problems in my youth.”
“Mother!” the three siblings cried out together.
“Oh, come on. I’ve never seen a [Rabbitkin] so hesitant to court a young gal he liked. [Naga] can be hesitant, for sure, but that’s a cultural thing. I hear Aria’s a good girl [Rabbitkin], he should get to know her better. Are you sure he’s not just… frustrated?”
“Mother,” Pamu sighed. “If it was something that simple, I’m sure I would know for sure.”
“Simple? Simple, you say. And here you are playing all around town, not settling down or giving me any grandbabies. You know,” she said, stepping aggressively close to her son. “We had a term for your type in my day. ‘Play. Boy. Bunny.’” she ended, punctuating each word with a poke to his chest.
“Exactly, mother,” Pamu retorted. “Simple. Which is why it’s so easy to avoid.”
“Agh!” Ana threw her hands up in the air. “What will I do with you? Well, come help me in the kitchen anyways and we’ll finish cooking up lunch. And then you can apologize by running lunch down to your fathers.”
“If running is the apology, what’s the cooking?” *smack* “Ow, mother!”