The ancient riverboat groaned under the weight of its rugged passengers, its weathered planks barely holding together as it cut through the murky waters of the Great Divide, the lifeblood of Buriti-Vasca. Revita leaned against the sun-bleached Cactiwood railing, her copper eyes scanning the shoreline.

The boat was a microcosm of Izmarian society--merchants from Atlantia haggling over spices, Doigan pilgrims with their bioluminescent talismans, and the darker shadows of those who made their living in the spaces between law and chaos.

A prickle ran down Revita's spine, her Vascan instincts, honed through generations of courtly intrigue, screaming danger. She'd noticed a group of men boarding at the last stop, their eyes too sharp, their movements too coordinated beneath sand-colored wrappings. SandHound bandits, she was certain of it. The infamous river pirates were known for their brutal efficiency and their tense territory wars with anyone foolish enough to cross blades with them.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a war cry split the air. "For the Hounds of Kalashi!" The deck erupted into chaos as passengers screamed and scattered. Revita's mind raced, cataloging every detail in an instant. Twelve bandits, armed with curved khopesh swords and spiked mace-clubs reminiscent of ancient Buritian weapons. Two archers on the upper deck, their bows crafted from the dense wood of the Giant Cacti.

The captain and his crew were quickly subdued, bound with coarse desert hemp near the wheel.

Revita ducked behind a stack of crates filled with green Doigan bio-luminescent fungi. She needed a weapon, needed to even the odds. Her eyes landed on a coil of rope nearby, woven from the tough fibers of desert plants. Perfect.

With quick, deft movements learned in the cutthroat capital streets, she fashioned a makeshift garrote as she always did. The first bandit to round the corner of crates met a swift end, Revita using his own momentum to drive him into the rope. As he fell, she relieved him of his khopesh, its glinting curved blade singing as it sliced through the air.

Now armed, Revita took a moment to survey the chaos. The bandits were herding passengers towards the center of the deck, but their formation was sloppy. There was a gap in their coverage near the starboard side, where a group of Tykar merchants huddled, their tribal tattoos stark against fear-paled skin.

Revita moved like a shadow, using the panicked crowd as cover. She reached the railing undetected, then used the khopesh to slash at the rigging of a nearby lifeboat. The ropes, made from the tough fibers of desert hemp, snapped with a satisfying twang, and the small craft plummeted into the river with a tremendous splash.

The distraction worked perfectly. Half the bandits turned towards the sound, their instincts alert for any threat. Revita seized the opportunity, darting forward to engage the nearest pirate. Her stolen blade met his with a clang that reverberated across the deck, the distinctive ring of Buritian steel on steel that seemed to always pervade the lands.

The bandit sneered, clearly expecting an easy victory against the slight woman before him. His overconfidence was his undoing. Revita didn't match him strength for strength. Instead, she used his power against him, redirecting his wild swings with the precision of a Vascan court dancer, letting momentum do the work for her.

As they fought, Revita's keen mind never stopped analyzing. She noted the way the bandit favored his left leg, likely a result of some recent injury. When he overextended on a particularly vicious slash, she was ready. Revita sidestepped, hooked her foot behind his ankle, and sent him sprawling. A quick pommel strike to cloth-wrapped temple ensured he wouldn't be getting up again.

But there was no time to savor the victory. An arrow whistled past her ear, its obsidian tip, a SandHound specialty, embedding itself in the deck with a solid thunk. The archers on the upper deck had finally found their range.

Revita dove for cover behind a large wooden barrel, her mind already formulating a plan. The contents sloshed as she rolled it. Lamp oil from the cold north, if the pungent smell was any indication. A dangerous tool in the wrong hands...or even the right ones.

With a powerful kick, Revita sent the barrel careening across the deck. It smashed against the base of the stairs leading to the upper level, spilling its flammable contents everywhere. The archers, forced to scramble back to avoid the spreading puddle, lost their advantageous position.

Revita allowed herself a grim smile, reminiscent of the cunning grins she'd seen on Vascan nobles outmaneuvering their rivals in her childhood. Two problems solved with one move. Though her satisfaction was short-lived as more bandits closed in, their weapons gleaming in the harsh Buritian sun.

She was outnumbered and outmatched in raw strength. Yet Revita had never relied on brute force. Her parents had gifted her with a mind sharper than any blade. Her eyes darted around, taking in every detail of her surroundings. The slippery deck, still wet from the spilled Svetlan oil.

As the bandits charged, Revita sprang into action. She feinted left, then pivoted sharply right, using the slick deck to her advantage. The first bandit, unable to adjust his course, skidded past her. With a quick slash of her khopesh, Revita severed one of the nearby ropes.

A massive bundle of sailcloths came crashing down, enveloping the second bandit in a billowing white shroud. He flailed wildly, his muffled curses barely audible over the chaos of the battle.

The third bandit, more cautious now, circled warily. Revita met his gaze, her copper eyes glinting with the cunning that had kept the Vascan royal line in power for centuries. She could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was trying to anticipate her next move.

She backed up slowly, drawing him towards the stack of crates. When he lunged forward, she was ready. Revita dropped to the deck, rolling beneath his swing. In the same fluid motion, she planted her feet against the lowest crate and pushed with all her might.

The tower of cargo swayed precariously for a heart-stopping moment before toppling forward. The bandit had just enough time for his eyes to widen in realization before he was buried beneath an avalanche of wooden boxes and their glowing contents, bathing the deck in an eerie, pulsating light.

Revita allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, but the respite was brief. A familiar twang split the air, and she instinctively threw herself to the side. Another obsidian-tipped arrow embedded itself in the deck where she had been standing just seconds before.

The remaining archer had regained his position. Revita cursed under her breath in ancient Vascan, a language few outside the royal courts would recognize yet was great for when her father and mother needed to speak with one another.

She needed to neutralize that threat, and fast. Her eyes landed on a discarded shield, dropped by one of the fallen bandits. An idea began to form. Snatching up the shield, its surface decorated with the intricate motifs of Buriti-Vasca, Revita sprinted towards the base of the stairs.

Arrows peppered the deck around her, but none found their mark. As she reached the oil-slicked steps, Revita dropped the shield and leapt onto it. Using it like a makeshift sled, she shot up the stair's railing at breakneck speed, a move that would have impressed even the most daring warriors in its agility.

The archer's eyes widened in shock as Revita came flying towards him, khopesh raised. He didn't even have time to nock another arrow before her blade found its impact, the Buritian steel easily piercing his light desert armor.

From her new vantage point, Revita could see that the tide of battle had turned. The remaining bandits were regrouping near the bow, clearly rattled by the unexpected resistance. But their leader, a towering brute with a vicious scar across his face, likely from a Svetlan whip-blades, was rallying them for another assault.

Revita's mind raced, formulating and discarding more plans in rapid succession. She needed something to tip the scales decisively in her favor. Her gaze fell upon the ship's bell, its bronze surface gleaming in the sunlight.

A memory surfaced; an old sailor's tale about the hypnotic effect of certain tones on the Great Divide's infamous flesh-eating eels, creatures said to have been brought to the Great Divide by ancient Buritian kings as living weapons.

It was a long shot, but Revita had always excelled at turning long odds in her favor, She sprinted for the bell, dodging a thrown dagger that whistled past her ear, its serrated edge a hallmark of vagabond craftsmanship.

Reaching her goal, Revita brought the hilt of her khopesh down on the bell with all her might. The clear, resonant tone rang out across the water, a sound that seemed to penetrate to the very bones of all who heard it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the surface of the river began to churn. Sleek, sinuous shapes broke the water's surface, drawn by the irresistible call of the bell. The flesh-eating eels of the Great Divide, their razor-sharp teeth glinting in the sun, circled the boat with predatory intent.

Revita allowed herself a fierce grin, reminiscent of the triumphant smiles worn by Vascan Emperors during ascension. Now for the final gambit. She turned to face the remaining bandits, her voice ringing out clear and confident, infused with the authority that centuries of royal blood had instilled in her lineage.

"SandHounds of Torok!" she called, invoking the name of their patron deity. "You have a choice to make. Surrender now, or meet the embrace of the river's hungriest children."

To emphasize her point, she struck the bell again. The water around the boat irritated as more eels appeared, their teeth glinting in the sun. The bandits' bravado visibly wilted, several of them backing away from the railings in fear.

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Unfortunately, their leader was made of more rigid elements, his resolve hardened by years of surviving in the unforgiving Buritian desert. With a roar of defiance that would have made a Svetlan berserker proud, he charged toward Revita, his massive scimitar raised high.

Revita stood her ground, her copper eyes narrowed in concentration. She had one chance to end this decisively, to prove that cunning could triumph over brute strength. As the bandit leader closed in, his blade descending in a killing arc, Revita made her move.

The clash of steel on steel rang out across the deck, a sound that echoed through the annals of Izmarian history. Revita had timed her counter perfectly, catching the scimitar at just the right angle to deflect its momentum. The bandit leader stumbled, thrown off balance by the unexpected maneuver.

Revita pressed her advantage, not with her blade, but with her wit, the sharpest weapon in any Vascan's arsenal. "Is that the best the feared SandHounds can offer?" she taunted, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent deck. "I've seen Doigan love-maidens with better form."

The leader's face contorted with rage, his desert-tanned skin flushing dark with anger. "I'll gut you for that, girl," he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "And feed your entrails to the carrion birds of Nak!"

Revita allowed herself a small smirk. Anger made men stupid, and stupid men made mistakes. She could work with that. Revita stood her ground as the man charged in full force, her copper eyes calm and calculating. At the last possible second, she sidestepped, her foot shooting out to trip the charging behemoth with a move she'd used time and time again.

The leader went down painfully, his face smashing into the deck with a sickening crunch. he proved still that he was tougher than he looked, a testament to the resilience bred into the people of Buriti-Vasca by their harsh desert home. Before Revita could press her advantage, he was back on his feet, blood streaming from his now-broken nose.

"You'll pay for that," he growled, his voice thick with pain and fury. "I'll drag you back to the sands of Nak and birth seed from you...A strong woman for my harem is good!"

Revita didn't respond verbally. Instead, she settled into a defensive stance, her khopesh held at the ready.

The next exchange of blows was a blur of motion, a deadly dance that would have impressed even the most skilled wandering duelist. The leader's scimitar whistled through the air in great, sweeping arcs, each blow carrying enough force to cleave a man in two. Whereas Revita was never where the blade struck. She ducked, weaved, and spun, always just out of reach, her movements as fluid as the sacred oils.

With each missed strike, the bandit leader's frustration grew. His attacks became wilder, less controlled, more reminiscent of a manic berserker than a disciplined desert warrior. And with each dodge, Revita was learning. She noted the slight hitch in his swing. She observed the way his right foot planted just before a horizontal slash, a telltale sign of traditional Buritian swordsmanship.

As they danced their deadly waltz across the deck, Revita's mind was working overtime, processing information with the speed and precision that had made the Vascan people the puppet masters of Izmarian politics.

She wasn't just avoiding his attacks; she was formulating a method. Her eyes darted around, the other bandits were slowly encircling them. All waiting for an opportunity to join the fray, their movements betraying their tribal loyalties.

Revita knew she needed to end this quickly. Already, she could feel fatigue creeping in, her muscles protesting the constant strain. The leader, for all his bulk, seemed tireless, his attacks coming with undiminished fury.

It was time to spring her trap, to prove once and for all that cunning could triumph over brute muscle.

As the bandit leader wound up for another massive swing, Revita made her move. Instead of dodging back, she stepped in close, inside the arc of his blade. The unexpected move threw him off balance. Before he could recover, Revita's khopesh flashed out, quick as lightning from the heavens.

The leader howled in pain as Revita's blade opened a long gash along his sword arm, the Buritian steel easily parting his sun-toughened skin. First blood had been drawn, a symbolic victory that would have resonated deeply in the ritualistic combat traditions of ancient Buriti-Vasca.

For a moment, the deck was utterly silent save for the lapping of waves against the hull and the distant hiss of the flesh-eating eels circling the boat. Then, with a collective roar the remaining bandits surged forward.

Revita's victory had been short-lived. She now found herself surrounded, by a sea of angry faces and gleaming blades closing in from all sides. Her mind raced, calculating odds and possibilities...It didn't look good.

Just as the first bandit raised his khopesh to strike, a new sound cut through the chaos. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the water, a sound as alien to the lower Great Divide as ice. It was followed by the distinctive whistle of bullets cutting through the air.

"Nobody move!" a gruff voice bellowed, its tone carrying the weight of countless battles. "Next one goes between the eyes of anyone still holding a weapon!"

Revita's head snapped towards the source of the voice, her instincts screaming danger. A group of men had materialized on the port side of the ship, their rifles, clearly of Atlantian make, trained on the bandits. They wore the mismatched garb of rebel soldiers, their faces hard and weather-beaten, bearing the scars of harsh desert winds and warfare.

At their head stood a man who could only be the infamous General Aygu, the Butcher of Buriti. He was a fearsome sight to behold, a living legend whose exploits were whispered in fear from the icy tundras of Svetlan to the steaming jungles of Doiga.

His dark skin was crisscrossed with a lattice of scars, each telling its own story of battles survived against man and nature alike. His most striking feature, however, was his mouth. When he grinned, revealing a set of sharpened teeth, many of them missing, Revita understood how he'd earned his grisly moniker.

"Well, well," Aygu drawled, his eyes sweeping the scene before him with the practiced gaze of a seasoned hyena. "Looks like we've interrupted quite the party." His gaze settled on the bandit leader, still clutching his bleeding arm. "SandHounds, is it? You boys are a long way from the dunes of Capital City."

The leader spat on the deck, a gesture of defiance that spoke volumes about the pride he apparently harbored. "This isn't your fight, Butcher. Walk away now, and we might let you live to see another sunset over the sands."

Aygu's laugh was like gravel in a meat grinder, a sound that would have sent shivers down the spine of even the hardiest warrior. "Oh, I do love me some misplaced bravado. Reminds me of the old days, before the Svets came with their ice and steel." His expression hardened, transforming into the mask of the feared rebel leader.

"But I'm not in a patient mood today. So here's how this is going to go. You and your mangy pack are going to drop your weapons and surrender. Or my men start seeing how many holes we can put in you before you hit the water. And trust me, those eels down there? They don't much care if their dinner's already dead."

For a tense moment, no one moved. Revita could practically hear the gears turning in the bandit leader's head as he weighed his options, his desert-born cunning battling against the reality of real firepower. Finally, with a snarl of frustration, he let his scimitar clatter to the deck. His men followed suit, the sound of dropping weapons echoing across the boat like a surrender song.

"Smart choice," Aygu nodded, his sharpened teeth glinting in the harsh sun. He barked out orders to his men, who moved quickly to secure the bandits with efficiency that spoke of long practice.

As the rebels worked, Aygu's gaze fell on Revita. She met his eyes unflinchingly, her hand still gripping her khopesh. Something flickered in the general's expression; surprise, perhaps, or recognition. It was a look Revita had seen before, in the eyes of those who'd glimpsed the truth hidden behind her carefully crafted facade.

"You," he said, pointing at Revita with a finger scarred by countless battles. "Step forward."

Revita hesitated for a moment, her Vascan instincts screaming caution. Then she complied, but as she moved closer, Aygu's eyes widened. His gaze swept over her with an intensity that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone.

"Those eyes," he muttered, almost to himself. "That hair..." His voice trailed off, and when he spoke again, there was a new edge to his tone, sharp as an obsidian blade. "Who are you, girl? You fight like a Buritian, think like a Vascan, and move like a Doigan acrobat."

Revita's mind raced, formulating and discarding lies she had loosely rolled in her head. She could feel the weight of Aygu's stare, sense the sudden tension in the air. Whatever the general thought he saw in her, it had changed the dynamics of their encounter.

"My name is Revita," she said carefully, deciding that honesty...or at least a version of it, was her best option. "I'm just a passenger on this boat, trying to make my way downriver."

Aygu's laugh was harsh and humorless, a sound that seemed to carry echoes of ancient battles and long-buried secrets. "Just a passenger? With skills like that?" He gestured to the fallen bandits and the general destruction across the deck. "No, I don't think so. Those eyes of yours -- copper, like shitty coins. And that hair..." He reached out as if to touch a strand of Revita's copper-hued locks, but she flinched back instinctively, her body reacting with the honed reflexes of one used to dodging assassins' blades.

The general's eyes narrowed, his scarred face twisting into a mask of suspicion and dawning realization. "You're Vascan," he said, his voice low and dangerous, carrying the weight of centuries of conflict between desert and court. "But not just any Vascan. That coloring... it's not common. In fact, I've only ever seen it in one family." His grin widened, revealing more of those sharpened teeth, a grim reminder of the brutality that had earned him his infamous moniker. "The royal family."

Revita felt her heart hammering in her chest, a sensation she hadn't experienced since her last narrow escape from the slums. She fought to keep her expression neutral, But she could tell from the gleam in Aygu's eyes that he'd seen her reaction.

He read the truth in the minute tensing of her muscles and the flicker of emotion in her copper eyes.

"Well, well," he chuckled, the sound carrying notes of triumph and barely contained excitement. "Isn't this interesting? A little lost princess, far from the gilded cages of the Vascan court. Or perhaps... a bastard? A secret shame, hidden away from the prying eyes of rival nobles?" He circled Revita slowly, like a desert predator sizing up its prey. "Oh, the possibilities are endless. And each one more valuable than the last."

Revita's mind was working overtime, weighing her options with the precision of a master strategist. Denial seemed pointless! Aygu clearly believed he'd stumbled upon something significant, a prize greater than any desert treasure. The full truth was out of the question; it would mean certain death, or worse.

That left... misdirection, the favorite tool Revita.

"You're right," she said, injecting a note of resignation into her voice, a performance worthy of the greatest actors. "I am of Vascan blood. But I'm no princess, and certainly no one of importance to the royal family." She met Aygu's gaze steadily, allowing a hint of bitterness to creep into her tone. "I'm a cast-off, general. A mistake that was never meant to see the light of day. You'll get no ransom for me, no leverage over the crown. I'm just another secret swept under the opulent rugs of the palace."

Aygu studied her for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable as the desert itself. Then, unexpectedly, he threw back his head and laughed. It was a booming sound, startling in its genuine mirth, echoing across the waters of the Great Divide.

"Oh, you're good," he said when he'd recovered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Very good indeed. That little speech --just the right mix of truth and misdirection, I'd wager. Enough to make me doubt, to perhaps let you slip away like sand through my fingers." He shook his head, still chuckling. "But you see, my dear, I've spent a lifetime reading people. From the highest nobles to the lowest Buritian street urchins. And you? You're hiding something big. Something that could shake the very foundations of Izmar itself."

He turned to his men, his voice taking on the commanding tone that had led armies to both victory and ruin. "Secure her. Gently, mind you. Our guest here is... valuable."

As two rebels approached, their hands reaching for well-worn restraints, Revita tensed. She could probably take them in a fight, her training giving her an edge...But then what? She was outnumbered and outgunned, trapped on a boat in the middle of the Great Divide. Even if she managed to overcome Aygu's men, where would she go? They were miles from any safe harbor, surrounded by flesh-eating eels and the unforgiving desert beyond the riverbanks.

Revita huffed as she was dragged off the ship and into a running vehicle. "Fuck my life"