In the dim flickering light of the mud brick fortress, Panjang watched as the wizard Azax removed his chromed space helmet. The old wizard reached up to scratch his scalp, itching from the flay mites with which he had formed a symbioses. The mites had turned Azaxs skin translucent his scratching hand and itching head a display of bloody exposed muscle both fascinating and hideous. Panjang tried not to stare; he glanced down at his ornate curl toed shoes and smoothed his long mustache with a practiced hand. The wizard settled his slight frame on the silk carpet alongside Panjang, removing the filigreed robe that concealed the rest of his raw red body. Beneath the robe, Azax wore an elaborate leather harness and girdle, armored with strange white ceramic plates, ancient Yeti battle gear reclaimed from a shoggoth pit.
The wizard produced from his purse a stack of hexagonal golden coins, each imprinted with a unique bar code. He placed them on the carpet with a flourish, Panjang half expected blood to be flung from the old man’s hand; it was hard to remember he still had skin.
“One hundred ancient gold coins, the Companies cut from the last contract.” Azax head bowed slightly, not a sign of deference to Panjang, but of loyalty to their organization.
Panjang too bowed his head, and collected the coins. “For the Company, these will assist in fortifying the kraal around our spaceship; our henchmen have reported deep ones prowling the perimeters at night.”
The Wizard snorted; “We should have destroyed the temple of Dagon when we had the chance, the Chief of the Blue Men was a misguided savage, but at least he struck a blow that we as of yet have been unable to.”
Panjang raised a bushy black eyebrow, “Unable to or unwilling?”
“Ha!” Azax stood up, a powerful presence filling the room. The old man subsumed by the wizard.
“If you refer to my Cousin Jabba the Sea Blood, I can assure you it is not for his sake that the temples still stands. I have no loyalty to the deep ones, and when the time comes he shall not stand in my way. Now if you'll excuse me, the Mistress Jaingaiva awaits my call, good evening Panjang the Samarajyan.”
Panjang clasped his hands together before his chest and made a salaam to the old man. The wizard threw his robe over his shoulder and stalked out of the room dim light reflecting off of his translucent skin.
Panjang too arose from the carpet. “I must look to my spear and shield” he thought to himself, “for this night smells of blood.”
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