Romano had neglected to visit his den for many days since the summer months had come and past. In fact, weeks drilled by and still the leopard was not heard or seen anywhere near his den that he had claimed as home. It begged to question where he was, if not in the Tafuati complex where his kin ran ramped; where could the leopard be? Did he leave to find himself over the mountains and further on an expedition to expand his clan’s territory? Had he wandered to the ocean shores where the Kukoa hunted mortals and monsters alike? If so, had he been eaten?
Romano had left plain and simple, to see the world. Nothing as gruesome or horrifying as his kin had thought up and flourished through rumors. After his encounters with Vellamo and Cothoza he began to question the truth his pride held and if “Hanma” was actually a living creature. It wasn’t them of course that sparked this, for at that point he had been a faithful member of the pride, through and through. He gathered bones and he toyed with mortals emotions, laughing as they stepped into his tricksome traps and pitfalls. He believed that Hanma slept under the volcano, that each day his motivation to live was fed through the false god’s hate and need to destroy the cursed perfect mortals and all their glory. So how did he suddenly come to forget that was his life? What, in a sense, had opened his mind and eyes to what reality truly was? To answer that was not what changed his mind but rather what sparked the invention of doubt. What caused him to “turn-coat” and allow his mind to be devoured by change was when he had aided in search for a lion among a colony of mortal leopards. They seemed to worship no god, and no god had come to their aid when they required it. He had returned home believe Hanma thinking them unworthy, but he was still lured to leave his home.
Then was the point that Romano left the Tafuati camp for an extended period of time. Oh, how much had he learned since then?
Had first, he had to admit it was difficult to adapt. His voice was quicker, words shorter and way of speech a little more strange than the average rogue. He first had to learn to slow his speech, talk in a way that was normal. This in itself was a bit of a challenge but he had eventually mastered the tongue of the common, and now spoke fluently in both monster and rogues languages. An advantage his pride valued. The ability to communicate.
But what communication had brought him, what he had learned upon the journey was something frightening, and that was the realization that his entire pride was wrong. He had spoken to many rogues, and none knew of “Hanma.” At first Romano had thought maybe it was because he had been dead for many years, and then he began to think maybe he had been reborn as a new god with a new name. Then it pondered on him that maybe Hanma wasn’t real to begin with.
Romano sat in his den, taking the effort to dress himself up with skulls, necklaces and other “mortal objects” that he had stored specifically for the purpose of when he returned to the pride. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was a people pleaser, and gods knew his people needed to be pleased. One wrong move around the area spelt death within seconds. He couldn’t let anyone onto the idea that he was changed, that he was turn coat. Not that anyone was suspicious of him… Yet… He held fear close to his heart and it troubled his mind over what might happen.
If Hanma wasn’t real, then why on earth was he so terrified? Why was it every moment he talked to a fellow Ghadhabu or Tafuati and thought “you’re wrong” that the voice inside of his head whispered a chant denying that fact.
The leopard had received a message from a small Mwenzi the other day that he was to visit “the voice of the sea, seer of fate!” as soon as possible. From all his days spent in the roguelands Romano was beginning to think he was one of them. In fact over the summer months he had all but abandoned the monster philosophy and no longer felt any true ties to the pride of fake gods and false seers. He had no family here, he had only warriors for friends and killers as allies. Maybe that was why he was nervous, for Romano knew well that the pride was violent. A traitor among their ranks was reason for rebel, was reason for chasing him away.
Was reason enough to kill him.
He gulped while attempting to make a bone fit through a slit in his ear. He needed to look proper and good if he intended on actually going through with visiting Vellamo like she desired.
He humored the Oracle due to the respect he held for her. He had risked his life to save Vellamo before and she had given him a favored touch in response. Nobody suspected him… Nobody knew of what he did, and it was due to the fact that Vellamo had “foreseen” his leaving for a long time. Otherwise him having disappeared for two months would have issued some sort of danger. Romano was orphan-born, and had transferred over from the Ghadhabu district. Nobody in the Tafauti really trusted him. Not truly at least. It was for Vellamo’s pardon he had to thank that he was still living, and allowed to be in privacy while decorating himself as a monster once again.
He took a deep, shaky breath in. It was time, the march would take weeks but he could- would make it in one piece. Monsters protected their own. Even when their own had Kaless in the ranks.
“Alright” He sighed. “It’s time."
1007 words