The Search for Redemption

As she headed for the tailor shop, Bjorke thought about the night before. Perhaps this was a way she could show Edrick how much she cared for him. She had heard, through her contacts, of a shaman who could create wards of protection, in the form of tattoos. She thought if he could give her some sort of ward to neutralize her “mark of evil,” as she jokingly called it, then Edrick would be pleased. She was shocked to learn that in his culture, such a child would have been put to death instantly. Bjorke had thought it completely barbaric that her own father had even considered it. She stopped, suddenly, and chuckled at her choice of comparisons. Barbaric, indeed.

The tailor, Thukad, met her at the doorway to her shop, holding up his hand so she wouldn’t enter. “First, are you carrying anything that makes flames?”

Startled, Bjorke thought a moment. “Um.. no… my flint and tinder are not with me.”

Nodding, he then asked, “Anything made of copper?”

She snorted. Copper did not make fine weapons. “No.”

“Anything to make music?”

Was this some kind of joke? “No, no music.”

“Very well, you may enter.” His accent was vaguely familiar, as was his coloring.

“What of my dog?” Bjorke indicated Hero with a jerk of her head. “He’s well trained.” She half-expected him to object.

“The dog… he may come.”

Bjorke entered the dimly lit shop. Hidden away in the seedier part of town, she was nevertheless familiar with the various businesses that had been there over the years. Hero stared at the corner, emitting a low growl. “Hero. Down.” The dog lay at her feet, head on his paws, still staring at the corner.

“I know who you are; I have been expecting you. The person you wish to see asked for those restrictions. You understand.”

Bjorke nodded. She’d been through far harsher preliminaries.

A low voice rumbled from the shadows. “Has she met the conditions?” Now that accent Bjorke placed right away: Orc.

Thukad nodded.

“Leave us.”

He nodded again, and left to the back alley Bjorke knew was there.

Revealing himself from the shadows, the large Orc stepped forward. Hero’s ears swiveled back and low, but he made no other movement. “I am Akaga Warsong. What is it you wish of me?” Bjorke took the words she did not understand to be his name.

“I was told you could help me. I have a mark, on my leg. My father once claimed it meant I was evil.” Her grin showed how absurd she thought such a notion. “I want a tattoo… to counteract it. To ease someone’s mind.”

He sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the table. “Eh? What do you mean? Who?”

“Well, he’s rather superstitious, you see….”

“Who?!” His voice rose in impatience.

“My … my… well, there’s this man. His culture is deeply ingrained in old beliefs. I want a counter-mark, to neutralize this one.”

“Show me.”

Bjorke’s jaw stiffened. “It’s here, at the top of my leg.” She indicated her left thigh.

“How am I to work if I cannot see this mark?” He rubbed his face in impatience and frustration.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine.” She sat down and pulled off her boots, then slipped off her leather pants. She stood before him. “There.” He leaned forward in his chair, his face professional as he examined the black dagger-shaped mark just at the top of her leg, on the inner aspect of the thigh.

“This is not good.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled forth a long, slender, gold needle. “This will hurt.”

She steeled herself, biting her lip. The needle flashed as he pierced the skin, outlining the mark. “Hurt” was a bit of an understatement. When he finished, he leaned back, looking drained. “That will contain it for now. I must meditate on this. Come back in two days.”

Bjorke frowned. Two days? For a tattoo? Before she could protest, he said, “I must go. It is not safe for me here.” With that, he ran out the back door.

Cursing slightly under her breath, Bjorke re-dressed, and headed out to the street. The leather chafed against the raw flesh where it had been pierced with the needle. She headed for the Tavern. A few drinks ought to dull the pain. The bad ale seemed to have no effect, and Bjorke shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. Perhaps this would be a good night to sleep alone, she thought, and she headed for the Inn.