Ottokath's Journal #12
General Summary
Trust is something you earn. It goes both ways and is a fragile thing. The older it is, the harder it is to break. A new friendship may shatter in a moment. That is the line I crossed. For them.
My conversation with Art was enlightening. The core of their worry lay in the a lack of trust in others. A fear of abandonment. The collar tied her to us in a controllable way. The breaking of it worried her, as we might leave her as an enemy. It was not what I saw or intended. Yet I now had done the irrevocable. If given the choice, I would repeat the sin. Yet it gives me no pleasure to betray Art in this way. She had not earned my trust and had admittedly done little to properly earn it. Yet I also failed to give them a chance to do so. I took that from them. And in turn I betrayed any trust they may have had. So I did the only thing I could think of doing. I made a promise. One I would come to regret for what followed. Yet is was the only thing to do. I promised anything and await their demand.
The next day we left for El Shamir. On the way we met a wandering orc on a search for strong foes. A pleasant interaction was finally had.
Not to be outdone, the world presented us with El Shamir. An extortionate inn, a rude guard and a ruder priest. We asked for direction, explaining our purpose and who sent us. I have rarely seen a door shut harder in my 150 plus years on this world. The inn being extortionate, we set up on the nearby bridge. We were quickly chased off by the guards. I opted to rest at the bottom of the river instead, shaping myself into the crocodile.
The next day we set of for the oasis of our goal. The spirits guided our way and we found the camp set near it. It was beset by what was clearly bandits and my companions wasted little time setting upon them. Their leader proved capable, but eventually no match for our paladin. Only one of the bandits survived.
This is were I met the most vile human yet. A leader of a tribe, rich and wealthy of the back of needle trade. Slavery fueled this town. Slavery and sacrifice. I can't say I kept my cool. I drew my shortsword, the object made with my father for my own defense, and was planning to run the man through in my anger. Hamood stopped me, prioritizing the mission. Mutt, ever the faithful friend, is quiet when he wants to be. And so neither the chief nor Hamood saw the giant sneak up. One clean sweep separated the man's head from his shoulders, spraying both Mutt and Hamood in gore. A just and deserved end for vile scum such as this. This village would die, the inhabitants scattered among the other settlements. They deserved such a fate.
Slavery is never the only path to take. And if there are alternatives, they exceed such measures tenfold.
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