I leaf through the guild tasks absentmindedly, a grin on my face from my breakthrough this morning; my mana is almost viscous now! A month, maybe two and I will be able to form my mana core. I'm not the most talented of cultivators, never fast enough to get special treatment from my guild, but once I break through I'll be in the top 1% of the population. And 34 isn't a bad age to achieve a spirit core, finishing the condensation stage.
My eyes snag on a mission; escort of goods to the lamia settlement. Not too high a risk, doesn't depend on luck, pays well. I wonder why no-one's snatched this up. I look closer at the requirements: condensation stage, yep; male, yep; amber eyes, odd requirement for a mission but yes; experience guarding caravans, yep! I guess amber eyes aren't the most common, I wonder why on earth they're specifically required... not complaining though. Any mission that isn't tramping through a swamp looking for some rare weed variant is fine by me. At least a desert doesn't stink.
(Time Skip)
Damn, sand sucks. Or rather it blows... in your eyes... all the time. I've been told desert madness is a thing. I think the heats getting to me. I'm not the worst though; poor Mik is the youngest of the 5 guards and is only just in the condensation stage. He doesn't have nearly enough control to regulate his temperature with mana the way I am. I wrap the scarf closer around my mouth. Damn sand still gets everywhere though. Only one more week to go to the rendezvous. I'm not even thinking of the two months it'll take to get back, there haven't even been any bandits to break the monotony!
(Time Skip)
The lamia colony is built into the walls of a canyon, giving it, and the oasis it contains, shelter from the worst of the desert weather. The lamia guards in front eye us carefully and hiss in sibilant tones. There's a rustle of activity when they confirm our identity, and the caravan is quickly let through. I can sense more lamia gathering from where they were sunbathing higher up on the cliffs as we are led further in towards where the canyon opens out into a wider section. The lamia seem overly excited, perhaps it's for the special goods Head Trader Lamon said he was delivering. Must be some great stuff to get the whole colony, about 600 total I believe, this worked up.
Trader Lamon gestures me over with a smile, even though it seems a little strained around the edges. My eyebrows crease slightly, Lamon is a decent guy, but he's rather standoffish, so I'm curious why he wants to talk to me now.
"Ah, Andrew, could you please gather your guild mates and follow me. The Queen of the Lamia, Siscyla wishes to see us."
"Immediately? We're hardly going to be presentable..."
He winces slightly, then continues on in a lower tone.
"It's better not to keep a Queen waiting, you have five minutes to gather your guild and shake the worst of the road off, but that's all I can reasonably delay for."
"I see your point, I'll call my people here at once." I say, already pressing the guild communication token that's strapped to the inner section of my vambrace. "Gather at caravan one. Neaten up as much as possible. Political meet and greet with the Queen. And before you ask Mik no you cannot get out of it. 3 mins guys. Get moving."
Whilst I wait for the other 4 I do my best to shake the worst of the grit out of my hair and clothes, unwrapping the headscarf to fall around my neck instead. Fuck. I'm not exactly handsome, or clean, but it'll have to do. If she expected more then she should have given more warning.
5 minutes later, and we're heading into the cliff side complex of tunnels. The cool dampness is a welcome relief from the boiling temperatures outside and my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. It's barely lit in here, though small light spots appear due to carefully placed tunnels and mirrored materials that transmit light from the cliff side. Deeper in, dim globules of light are settled in alcoves in the walls. As we follow our Lamia guides I notice dozens of unlit tunnels branching off, and hear the gentle rustle of snakeskin against the rock. Their mana signatures are dimmed compared to the ones outside, though I don't know whether that's due to them not cultivating at the moment, deliberate suppression or even just the rock. Certainly something to mull over later though.
The tunnel widens as we reach what I assume is the antechamber. Sibilant tones from the guards at the door ask us to surrender our weapons. I scowl but gesture to comply. We are too few against too many. Best to keep this peaceful since we are in allied territory. It's not as if a cultivators body isn't a weapon anyway.
I myself unbuckle my sabre from my waist, placing my belt knife on the shelf as well, before bending to remove the stiletto knives from my boots. I left my bow with the rest of my pack outside, and whilst I still have other belongings that could double up as a weapon in a pinch they should pass whatever check the guards here do.
Time to see what the Queen wants I guess. Really hope this'll be short... I am not one for political hee-hawing. At all.
YOU ARE READING
A Cultivator's Cauldron
Short StoryA cultivator is taken captive by a group of lamias who modify him to suit their needs. They need an incubator... Ergo: smut Warning: non-con, slavery, please don't read if this will trigger you Also possibly terrible writing.. wrote most of this at...
