Naked Aggression - Part 8

Part 8

The next morning Tyrissa awoke feeling refreshed and relaxed. After doing a short stretching routine, Tyrissa took out a small bottle and a brush. Looking in the mirror she painted the left side of her face, creating the design of a fragile flowering vine running from her temple to the hollow of her throat. Satisfied that the micpan dye would dry properly, Tyrissa chose her outfit for the day. The leather halter and wool tunic were exchanged for a thin cotton vest of sheer white silk. The thin fabric was pulled taunt over her nipples while the low cut front revealed a vast expanse of tanned cleavage. The grey cloak was left behind, replaced by a scarlet one made of lightweight linen. Her stained brown skirt was also replaced. Its successor was a black elven silk miniskirt. The side was slit all the way to the waistband, allowing for a clear view of her hip and buttock when she walked. As the material parted her centaur tribal brand was clearly visible, the raised scar a darker brown than her tanned skin. Her magic boots and bracers completed the outfit. Strapping on her sword belt she checked her belt pouches and went downstairs for breakfast.

After eating she checked on Greybeard. Satisfied that he was being cared for, she decided to explore Olikenshartz on foot. Several hours of looking for information led her to the library of a local sage. For the usual exorbitant fee he provided her with several maps of the land she found herself in.

Friesland turned out to be a region far to the north, an area dominated by ice and snow. Fierce tribes of barbarian raiders inhabited the region, perpetually warring and raiding with each other and their neighbors. Tyrissa was struck by the similarities with the Ice Barbarians of her home realm. Paying the old man a hefty portion of the gems from her last adventure, she returned to the Inn of the Siren's Repose as the day was waning. Luck smiled upon her when she met a half-elven mercenary. He told her of his time as a caravan guard and his encounters with the inhabitants of Friesland while watching the dancing girls strip.

"Proud people, noble in their own way. They are some of the fiercest fighters I have ever seen. Mostly all humans, with some occasional dwarves or the rare frost giant."

"Any advice for dealing with them?" she had asked.

"Well, their word is their bond, they don't give it lightly. They will expect you to do the same. They respect strength. They will try to test you, make you prove yourself before they trust you. Oh, and they dislike treachery, claim that is the tactic of their sworn enemies, the Celts."

Tyrissa listened as the sell-sword told the rest of his tale. For the price of several ales she bought for the two of them, he proved to be a fount of information.

"This is your lucky day. Ask about Friesland and look what arrives at your doorstep," he said in wonder, pointing behind Tyrissa with his tankard.

Tyrissa turned as a hushed silence fell over the tavern room. She took one long look at the giantess striding across the tavern floor. In awed wonder she uttered two words.

"My God!"

Continued in Part 9