How did you become a swordmaster?

For reasons surpassing understanding (see the forthcoming segment, Conqueror of the Amazons) the Cult of the Hashishan had been hired to **** you. Their tactics, attempting to ambush you in broad daylight in a blacksmith’s shop had met with a stunning degree of failure (helped in no small measure by the fact that you hadn’t paid the blacksmith yet, so she and her apprentice helped you stomp all over the poor southern bastards). After a few hours alone with you and your knife, the survivors had been eager to talk. The cult had accepted the mission to eliminate you and wouldn’t stop until you were dead, or they were. Conquering the Amazons was one thing, they were a lone kingdom (well, feuding tribes, really) with no allies. They didn’t even ally themselves against your forces. The Hashishan were useful to the Shah, ruler of the Southern Desert and one of the five most powerful men on the continent.

In other words, killing them all was right out.

After a little bit of encouragement and discussion of their wacky cult, you found a way out.

The Hashishan were sworn not to harm any of the Shah’s men. Now, you weren’t about to swear fealty to a man most famous for rewarding his best generals with decapitation, but you had a way around that, as well.

The bi-annual competition for the title Swordmaster was to begin shortly in the Shah’s court. Your reputation was good enough to get you in and no one was harmed during the contest, the Shah’s reputation for hospitality was on the line and not even the famed and feared Hashishan would damage that.

If you won, you would be richly rewarded and recognized as the first of the Shah’s men, without owing him fealty. If you lost…the Hashishan would hunt you down like a dog before you made it out of Te’vala, the Shah’s capital.

After your surviving captive confirmed that would work, you cut his throat as well, adding him to the pile in the blacksmith’s back room. Their fancy equipment would more than compensate Mika for the cleanup costs. You walked out and thanked her for her assistance and the use of her room, pausing briefly to confirm your purchases and have them sent to the fortress that was being established at the domicile of the Amazon queen, as she no longer needed it.

The blacksmith topped you by almost half a foot and her densely muscled frame could drive a hammer through a man’s skull as easily as air. Her hair was cropped short to her skull and her tanned skin was marked with burn scars. Despite all that, her features were soft, her lips full and her breasts large enough to be noticeable, without getting in the way. All together it was an attractive portrait. In passing, you noticed that her apprentice had gone home.

As you walked past, she grabbed your arm. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” she asked.