Tantra knows all about first impressions.

They are, universally, the one that sticks the most in someone's mind. You can change how they feel about you but that first encounter will always reign in their subconscious, like the canvas from which you paint upon. Merchants are all about good first impressions, it’s the difference between a sale and a customer walking out to spread rather bad rumors about your service. So she’s learned a lot about how to make the best first impression she can, mostly through formalities.

“Greetings honoured guard” Tantra says happily, blood soaking her robes (not the good ones, those are still repairing) and teeth, Rakan standing behind her holding his guts in his stomach. The poor man smells terribly because of the offal, but it’s healing well enough. Now the openings’ only half what it was, which is still enough that his intestines will hang from his abdomen if he’s not holding it back. “Might you direct us to the market? we have plenty of pelts to sell.”

The guard, at this point, is sweating like he’s in a desert, faced with five cultivators, two of which look like they had a bad encounter with a terrorclaw. Which is just as intended! Tantra couldn’t manage the normal polite/formal approach because of, well, all the blood. But what she can manage is the image of the big bad cultivators regarding massive injuries with barely a thought. Which is its own kind of first impression.

The guard bows, which is awkward with his spear, he doesn’t really look like a guard, more like a peasant dressed in leather and placed at the entrance. He’s quite young too, must be more of an early warning system than actual protection.

“Gr-greetings honoured cultivator,” he stutters and bows, “I-this one would be honoured to guide you and your fellow honoured cultivators to our humble market”

“No need for that,” Tantra waves him off, “you can keep your watch and we can be on our way, just give us a direction and we-” a cough, with a slight amount of blood, “we can find our way”

“Apologies honoured cultivator this one would of course be honoured to-”

“Just get to the part where you give us a direction,” Rakan says, “all this formality makes me nauseous.”

Etra gives him a raised brow, “you sure that’s not from the hanging guts?”

Rakan shrugs, “might be.”

“Sincerest apologies, honoured cultivators, the market is slightly to the west-of-centre, in that direction.” He points behind him.

“Good man,” Tantra says with a smile that makes him shudder in fear, “well then? Let’s be on our way.”

-

“It’s insulting!” Tantra raves as the crowd gives them plenty of space, “they didn’t even try to get a good deal, just smiling and agreeing with whatever I charged. Do they not have any professional pride?!?”

“They’re villagers.” Etra says blandly, “and a cultivator covered in blood followed by one with his guts hanging outside his body walked in and started talking sales for spirit beast pelts, one of which they definitely couldn’t afford. What? Did you expect them to haggle?”

Tantra grumbles out her dissatisfaction, “It hurts my merchant heart, I just took the intricate process of making a deal and shattered it with a hammer.”

“I’ll make sure to keep my guts on the inside next time,” Rakan chuckles. “Though I think you’ll find only city folk are willing to haggle with cultivators.”

Tantra pouts as she opens the doors to what is supposed to be an inn. Joyful conversation and merry banter stop abruptly with their entrance. There are a few beats of silence before all five of them stand from their seats and bow deep.

“”This one greets the honoured cultivators!”” They all speak at once.

“Yeah, yeah. Sit back down, which one of you is the innkeeper?” Tantra says, annoyed.

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They pale a bit and all but one takes their seat.

“This one is the humble innkeeper honoured cultivators.” The man says, still bowed and with sweat running down his brow.

“Good, we’d like two rooms please”

“Of course honoured cultivators”

“How much would that cost us?”

“I wouldn’t dare to charge ones as esteemed as you honoured cultivators, it is an honour to even be in your presence, let alone house you in my humble home.”

Tantra groans.

-

Villages are stupid.

She has decided this fact because over the week they’ve stayed here, they haven’t had to pay for anything once. Everyone just gives them what they need freely, roam and board? Of course honoured cultivator. Food and drink? Go right ahead, honoured cultivator. Alchemical concoctions? Why, you only had to ask honoured cultivator. Do these people not care at all about coin? It’s ridiculous! She wants to get out of here as soon as possible but Rakan refuses until he can get his Qi back to a safe level for travel, which should take something like a week. At least they have noodles, she’s gone too long without noodles. She shakes her head sadly at the sight of Yorin joyfully eating his curry.

“What?” He says, stopping for the moment.

“You still don’t recognize the true king of the culinary world,” she says mournfully, “truly it is my failure as your teacher to have not enlightened you to the undeniable truth. Also, don’t speak with your mouth full, it’s disgusting.”

Yorin scoffs, “puh-lease, you wouldn’t know good taste if it shat in your mouth.”

Etra bursts out laughing, getting a few chunks of meat on the table as Tantra gags, Kisrin just ignores the whole thing and continues with his meal of mashed beans mixed with cooking oil, small slices of tomatoes, cumin, salt, pepper, and tahina.

“Where did you learn such foul language!” Tantra yells.

Etra puffs out her chest proudly, “you're not the only one that can be a teacher.”

“You haven’t taught him, you’ve poisoned him! Witch! My sweet little Yorin can’t say such things!” Tantra barates the girl, who still seems quite smug in her accomplishments.

Tantra growls and tackles Etra to the ground.

“I will show no mercy!” She bellows.

“What the fu-” Etra can’t complete her sentence as she starts laughing hysterically from Tantra’s tickles.

-

Tantra is walking through the village alone. There isn’t much else to do, she even tried to help them with the more physically intensive labour but that managed to get them to actually say no, quite vehemently too. It’s good to know these people have boundaries because honestly, she could’ve been fooled. Suddenly a ragged boy covered in dirt steps in front of her, clothing little more than scraps, blocking her way. She raises a brow as more than a few bystanders gasp.

“Move out of the way kid, I'm enjoying a stroll.” Tantra says

The kid doesn’t move, staring at her, then seeming to realize something as he goes to bow. He doesn’t do it correctly, his arms are up in the air behind him as though he were about to start some sort of idiotic run.

“Cul-ti-va-tor,” the boy struggles through, “teach me!”

The crowd takes a step back as though they were just struck, a few even running away, as though Tantra would pulp them all for the offence of having a stupid child approach her with a stupid wish.

“Go back home to your parents” Tantra says, stepping to the side.

He gets in her way again, “no home! No parents!”

Tantra sighs, “a beggar then? Here, take a coin and leave me alone.”

She throws a coin at him but he doesn’t catch it, staring at her in the eye as it hits the ground. Tantra’s brow twitches as he doesn’t move.

“Teach me!”

Tantra sighs, “you realize what you're doing is monumentally stupid right now, right? Wait for the tournaments and find your chance then.”

“No!” the boy says, “I’ll lose!”

She bites her tongue as she goes to say something unkind. She turns to one of the peasants.

“You,” she says, “do you know this boy?”

The woman goes into a hasty bow that is much deeper than it needs to be, “yes, honoured one. His name is Erick Khal, please honoured one, the village will teach him respect, please do not visit your wrath upon us.”

Tantra is genuinely shocked by the actual pleading the woman is doing, are cultivators that feared? They were the closest village to the northern DarkWoods, so surely seeing a cultivator isn’t some strange anomaly, do they actually have a tendency for slaughter?

“Is he truly a beggar?” Tantra asks instead.

The woman rises from her bow, “yes honoured one, his parents died a few wars ago with Okham-Khal.”

Tantra sighs and turns back to the boy, “you truly want to be a cultivator?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, eyes sparkling.

Tantra sighs again, “walk with me boy, and pick up that coin.”