Lion Head Mesa it's the same old trick, they played their hand

it pleased qiao to be so grandly welcomed; even the pharaoh roused from their halls to meet her at the gates!

she motioned her guardsmen to step away as the retinue advanced, a voice doling out the storied epithets of the two souls that greeted her. 

no makono. 

 qiao noted, not for the first time, akashingo’s predilection for disposing those in power. the deck had been reshuffled  — who were the new kings and queens of this land with its insatiable appetite for kingsblood?

she bowed to the dark semer-wati and his moon-kissed pharaoh, the obeisance in her pose an insult to so wizened a spine. 

no sayf. no bayek. 

pharaoh. semer-wati. a custodial lowering of her head before she resumed, the scar from khaba still leering from her skull; i have returned from the red sands with the spices coveted by pharaoh ramesses, ordered before his unfortunate end.. she swept a long paw towards the peltskins carried by her guard. to toula, the once hemet-gaze briefly studied her. i tended to his body myself, pharaoh. i was only sorry i could not wake the dead myself. 

straightening just enough so that her olive gaze could behold both, qiao continued. there are other things that bring me to akashingo’s hall, great ones. her voice grew quiet, respectful yet gravid with intent. pharaoh ramesses and pharaoh makono understood my services did not come for free. both have left their debt unpaid. 

unafraid, unflinching, the priestess-hemet raised her green gaze. i have come to collect what is owed.