DK- Here There Be Dragons! - Jygust 30th MT

These estates surrounding the larger cities of the WK include Pax Balthasar, Brie and several other smaller grounds. The barons rule supreme and intent on holding on to their belongings.

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H`saan Alai
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Post by H`saan Alai »

Never too fond of cramped and dark places, H'saan had chosen to remain outside with the rest of the troops, sitting patiently astride his camel. The voices from inside the cave faded away and for a while, nothing particularly exciting seemed to be happening around them. Then a sudden sense of... loathing? hostility?... washed over him. Something seemed to pass overhead, casting a shadow over the knights. Instinctively, the half-giant looked up to see what was causing it, listening out for any sounds apart from those made by the horses and soldiers around him.
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Malakhai did his part, lancing down at the defenceless eggs with his spear as if they were boils to be burst. A perverse curiosity meant that he couldn't help but glance at the substance that seeped out, trying to discern the embryonic shape of what could have become a ferocious enemy many yahren in the future.

With his heavy boot he cleared the clogging substance off the blade of his spear, grinding it into the dusty floor of the cave. "All hail the conquering heroes," he spoke up, glancing at the others in the cave to see the expressions on their faces. Needless to say, there was a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone. Still, that didn't mean that he was disillusioned. He'd already justified the act to himself: however bad it felt, they were simply doing what needed to be done.

The tall tribesman saw no need to remain in the place of death any longer than necessary, so he moved swiftly out of the cave as soon as Magliorre gave the signal.
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Post by Vanadius »

With the exception of Magliorre, Duncan and Willem seemed to carry a certain exhilaration tempered with caution. They both looked around carefully, suddenly aware that a mother would return to this place, and would likely be rather upset at losing her children. It spoke of a certain doom.

Malakhai's words carried in the gloomy silence of the chamber, the words hanging as if being spoken again and again.

Magliorre hawked and spat again, and gestured for them to move out.

"Well then... let's be on our way." He said quietly.

~~~

Outside, the shape overhead was difficult to make out for H'saan and the others. It was vaguely bird-like, and carried off at a very high altitude and far away into the blinding sun. Whatever it was, be it dragon or something else, it was huge and distant.

~~~

"Three eggs." Magliorre said to Denbar as they emerged from the dim space of the cave.

Denbar said nothing. He merely nodded and went off to retrieve his mount.

The set off again through the rocky, dusty territories, the caravan crawled along as the wagon wheels squeaked and the horses snorted and whinnied at the heat.

Few words were said, the slayers Duncan and Willem rode at opposite ends of the troupe, lost in their own thoughts, both staring off to distant spots on the horizon as they looked back uncomfortably towards home. Clearly this was not the grand and glorious spectacle they had imagined.

Another Knight, named Wex, began to whistle a low, mournful tune and several others quickly joined in, trying to raise their spirits.

They rode for several more marks, until the sun began to fade behind the horizon. Marshall Lockwood called for a stop, and Denbar ordered for a camp to be set up.

Malakhai and H'saan drew separate watches, but Duncan, not wanting to endure his ordered watch, approached the tall Malakhai and asked if they could switch.
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Post by H`saan Alai »

Like Duncan, H'saan wasn't entirely pleased to draw the second watch, but he accepted his lot without complaint. Dinner was a brief and uneventful affair. After the rations had been downed and the utensils cleaned and put away, the half giant checked on Laetitia, then retired to his tent for an early night. Like all the other knights, he slept in his armour with his weapons beside him, ready for action in an instant. But despite the discomfort of the plate and mail, he fell asleep within a few burns, worn out by a long day's riding.

A couple of marks into gravetide he was woken again for the changing of the guard. It was then that the half giant learned what discomfort really meant. Unaccustomed to adjusting for the lurching of the camel ride, the muscles of his back and legs had stiffened during the night, and they now protested against every movement that he made.

Some use he was going to be if anything happened upon them that night. Grumbling to himself H'saan stretched out as much as he could to get some circulation back into his tightened joints. When his movements began to feel a little freer, he picked up his sling, a pike and a javelin before making his way to the sentry post.
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Malakhai Qinua
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Malakhai was only too happy to switch with Duncan, and accepted his fellow slayer's proposal gratefully. He wasn't an experienced horseman, and had never ridden more than a mark away from the Keep on a horse, especially in full armour. The day's journey had exhausted him, and the "exhilaration" of smashing apart a defenceless egg was hardly enough to give him extra energy to play with. He ate what little food he had been assigned with gusto, then dropped swiftly into a sleep that was not without dreams.

When it was his turn to be woken, he cursed viciously in his own dialect at the drebi-ferkit kzaohcks who had shaken him awake. Once up, he continued to shake himself. His armour felt like it was moulding itself into his protesting skin, becoming a part of him. Uneasily he glanced at the dark sky of the mountain foothills before picking up his sword and spear and joining H'saan.

"I think I may have been fooling myself about the nature of this hunt," he spoke quietly, almost ashamedly. Even now, he was understating the case, but with H'saan he felt he could be more frank than with anyone since his lost mother. "This is no honour-bound sport. It is a systematic extermination."
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Post by Vanadius »

Out in the open air, the stars were spread out among the Heavens like a never ending tapestry of glittering jewels. The moon was dim sliver on the horizon and the sounds of nightbirds and insects chittered and squawked in the darkness.

The ruddy glow of a lit pipe could be seen in the shadow of a large boulder not far away. In the daylight, it was the chosen sleeping place of Magliorre. Now hear in the night, the Paladin proved he wasn't sleeping.

"Just what do you think their hunting of us is?"

Magliorre's quiet voice somehow permeated out of the darkness. A rustle of cloth and the gentle scrape of leather on stone could be heard as he stood, and the silhouette of head and shoulders appeared over the rock as he began to move toward the two much larger Knights. When he came into view from the light of the camp's lanterns, his craggy face looked even more grizzled and tired in the soft light.
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Post by H`saan Alai »

H'saan's grip tightened upon his spear at the unexpected light and movement in the darkness, but he relaxed it as soon as he realised that it was Magliorre who approached.

"It is ancient, paladin," he said softly in reply. "Who amongst us can know the truth behind the wars of Joris Drakedoder? We have our histories, but history is written by the victors is it not?"

He addressed Malakhai next, clapping a large knotted hand on the shoulder of his troubled young friend. "You may be right. I think the truth is, we cannot know if our ultimate cause is just," he said heavily. "But neither can we stop the Hunts on a mere point of honour."

"My father told me a tale* when I was a youngling. There was a War Chief, a conquerer known as Za'im. He once laid siege to the city Q'esh, which now lost to the sands of the Great Desert. For seven yahren, the fighting was bitter. Neither his warriors nor the defenders could best each other. When the raiders tried to enter the city, the Q'esh would pour boiling pitch upon them. When the Q'esh tried to raid Za'im's camps, hundreds would fall to the slings and blades of his warriors.

At the end of the seven yahren, when his people began dying of thirst and hunger, the Governor of Q'esh finally broke and surrendered the city to Za'im on the condition that his citizens would be fed and spared. The War Chief agreed and for a day, the people of Q'esh feasted. The wine flowed in their cups and they drank to the end of the slaughter and to peace.

Then when the eventide fell and they were drunk and unsuspecting, Za'im's men arrested the governor, all the Q'eshian soldiers and their sons. They imprisoned them in a courtyard with high walls all around, then Za'im told his Battle Chiefs to send their archers up to the walls. Rain your arrows down upon them, he ordered. Until every last one has fallen on the stones.

The Battle Chiefs were two brothers, Atif and Firas, and both of them were deeply troubled. Out of compassion and honour, Atif refused to obey his chief's commandment and for his insubordination, he was chained to a wall and beaten like a dog. Now Firas was a man of no less compassion or honour... yet he led his men to the top of the walls and ordered them to fire. Again and again, he ordered them to fire and they obeyed, even as they cried out in pain at this terrible massacre that was now on their hands.

When it was over, Atif cursed his brother's name. Why, he demanded to know, did we have to kill them? They were defeated men who had willingly surrendered. Their sons were innocent. Why did they have to die?"

There was more to the story but H'saan chose to let it go, rather than spelling out the moral viewpoint given to him by Kh'leel. He was interested to see what conclusions his compantions would draw from it. Instead, he finished with another recounting of the day's events.

"I was reminded of this tale when one of the drakes flew over us today. It happened while you were in the caves. It was far away, a shadow on the sun, but even from such a distance we could feel its hatred."

* OOC: actually I watched Tau Ming Chong last month and adapted this story from part of it.
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Malakhai Qinua
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Unlike H'saan, Malakhai did not ease up when he realised that their interlocutor was Magliorre. A flash of childish annoyance passed over his broad face. The words he had spoken to the half-giant were intended to be in confidence, and he felt as if the guarrdi had intruded. Of course, it was Malakhai's fault for not keeping his voice down - but in truth, the tribesman had always been suspicious of the Westerner, ever since Denbar had told him how Magliorre had sold himself to another knightly order. Marshall Lockwood seemed to trust him, which meant that Malakhai felt it his duty to remain civil. Still, his irritation was plain to see. But before he could respond, H'saan presented a more diplomatic answer.

He listened to the story with interest. The art of storytelling was important to Malakhai - one of the few things he had perhaps inherited from the Black Tribe of his father. However, he had to fight to attend to the substance of the tale. The tribesman was no philosopher at the best of times. Now it was only burns since he had awoken, and he was still rubbing sleep from the corners of his brain. In truth, he was not sure what moral to draw. Perhaps Firas was right. Many of the people of Q'esh would have done the same to Za'im's men after the betrayal. If he had not obeyed Za'im, either the War Chief would have found someone else to complete the task, or else his own tribe would have suffered at a later date when the men of Q'esh took revenge. Fcuk-shika... I really need something to drink..

He nodded to H'saan. "This one does not question whether the cause is just, dreshi," he assured Magliorre. The honorific fell reluctantly from his lips. Magliorre appeared to be in a position of seniority, but to Malakhai's eyes had done nothing to warrant it. "This one still feels himself committed to the hunt. It is simply the nature of that hunt that is in question."

He left the Westerner's actual question unanswered. It was late, and he did not feel capable of getting inside a dragon's mind at that point.
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Post by Vanadius »

If Magliorre knew the tale, he gave no sign of it. He did seem interested and attentive in the story and the details that H'saan willingly shared. Another drag from the pipe dimly illuminated his face in a rust colored glow, and the sweet smell of the smoke lingered and danced on the night air.

Malakhai's words elicited little by way of reaction as well. It seemed that the Paladin was something of a deep thinker, and it became more clear to the much taller half-giant and desert warrior, that Ren Magliorre had more substance to him that initially met the eye.

"There is a quote in the Book Two of the Drakonum, that I like to quote regarding these beasts and of the first Drakedoder's battle with them."

"The man upon his steed stared valiantly at the imminent decent of the winged beasts; but it is as they say- The One rode with him, for surely there is no other way a single man could stand up to the might of nature." He quoted.

"Do not get fooled into complacency from yahren after yahren with no contact with the great drakes. For them, our lifetime is but a mere blink of an eye. It may seem as if they are retreating deeper and deeper, and their numbers are becoming fewer and fewer. This is a ploy. A feint where we, meaning the realms of men, fall into lax habits and we sleep with unworried and contended dreams. Blissfully toiling away as we play at swords and our Kingdom's rise and fall. While we dream and slumber, they are out there, teaching their hatchlings to sharpen their talons, and file their teeth on the bones of the unsuspecting and careless. We live at their pleasure, and there will come a day of reckoning from them. A day where they will band together once more and decide to take back the lands that they have allowed to occupy. Like a fisherman reeling in a snagged trout, they will reel us in and satisfy their thirst and hunger."

The smoke from his pipe briefly formed a cloud around the paladin's head. He chuckled softly, withdrew the pipe from his mouth, and spat into the thick dust. He nodded his head in the direction of the sleeping camp as he spoke.

"I tell you this because your armor is still shiny and your sword hilts still creak. You both seem like honorable men, and able warriors, and the mere fact that you are questioning this damnable ritual, has you ten steps ahead of many of those fools. If you listen to them, you'll hear shining tales of glory and combat, of blood being spilled and countless and innumerable victories of conquest. But let me tell you both something you need to hear and grasp real well. If you consider the Knights as a whole, and you remove Lockwood and Denbar, and even perhaps that damnable Wex, there is not a one among them that has unhorsed an enemy of war. There is not one among them that has spilled the guts of a true and mortal foe into a bloody pile at his feet. They are green striplings that look tough and important as they jingle and prance, but they'll break, and they'll break hard if a real enemy shows up. Blacktree can teach you a hundred fancy things to do with a sword, but until you've stared death in the eyes, there's no way to tell if you'll remember a one of them that might keep you alive."

"Stay sharp men. These hills are dangerous, and fraught with those who would spill the blood of these men just for the sake of knocking them down a peg or two."

He inclined his head to the both of them, and returned to his place in the shadows and darkness.
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

(OOC: Was waiting for H'saan, but I don't want to let the momentum slide.)

Magliorre's words caused Malakhai to grudgingly raise him in his estimation. The paladin's words weren't easy to stomach. He was, after all, speaking disparagingly about men with whom Mal had spent the summer drinking, sparring and joking - good men, his friends. In contrast, the guarrdi was a newcomer to Mal's world, yet to prove himself. But it was difficult to ignore the impact of his words.

The term guarrdi could be translated, imperfectly, to mean "children". When Mal had arrived, impressed by the prowess of Blacktree and the quiet air of command held by Lockwood, he'd concluded that the term didn't apply to the men of Dragonskeep, despite what he'd been told. But was he right to do so? These Knights of the West, if their boasts were truly as hollow as Magliorre claimed, were children indeed. And Malakhai himself might regress back into childhood if he took them seriously.

Just as interesting were the paladin's intuitions about the dragons. His words recalled the tales he'd been told in his youth, about the great wars between their races. The difference was that, unlike his father and other fools, Magliorre treated the "might of nature" like a real enemy, one with its own plots and plans and strategies. And for obvious reasons this viewpoint struck a chord with the young tribesman.

He said nothing as the man departed, and remained silent, rubbing his eyes once again as he surveyed the hills. It now seemed more important than ever to keep a sharp vigil.
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Post by Vanadius »

The stars began to wink out a little at a time as they horizon began to turn a shade of deep indigo. Slowly, it began to burn into a beautiful orange as the sun began to rise.

Despite the somewhat ominous warnings from Magliorre, nothing happened for the rest of their watch, and the camp began to stir for its morning breakfast. Midge built a cookfire and set a large blackened pot over it. He chopped a few various things and tossed them in casually, and before long, the smell of food was gently wafting through the camp.

Breakfast was short, efficient affair and as soon as it was over, Denbar was riding around barking orders or everyone to mount up and get moving again. It was a full mark after sunrise before they were moving again.

Magliorre kept to himself for the most part, often finding excuses to ride off into various locations to scout for eggs alone. After some time he would return, reporting to Lockwood and then setting off alone again. Other patrols were sent out during the day's travel, and before long it was time for Malakhai and H'saan to be assigned for their turn to range.

Sir Sterling interrupted H'saan's assignment, stating he needed time with his new charge to speak of things that required mending. The healer Knight got his wish from Lockwood, and the pair sidled off together to speak of hospitals and such things.

Malakhai was paired with a cunning veteran named Sir Deymos Wickhame. Wickhame was well known and respected amoung the Knights. His flashing swordwork had earned him the nickname "Sir Demon" and he was often sought out for advice on countering moves and strategy in bladework.

"Mal. You're with Deymos." Lockwood had ordered, and with a nod from the elder Knight, they rode off towards the spot on the map that the Marshall had indicated they should scout.

As they rode away on their ranging, Deymos looked at Malakhai confidently, and when they were out of earshot from the rest of the caravan, he pulled them to a stop behind a copse of sage and scrubrush and began to rearrange his saddlebags.

"Sorry Mal. Need to do a little shifting of weight. Ol' Sharpie here has been tossing her head and pulling right all morningtide."

He removed a few items, setting them on a rock, tightened a few straps and then began to repack.

"Can I ask you something?" He said as he continued to work. "I heard you talking to Magliorre last night. What did he say?"
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Malakhai was surprised to find himself hesitating about what he should say to Deymos. The veteran knight held a high place in Mal's estimation for his swordsmanship skills, and he had been glad to have been paired with him - whereas the tribesman held no great loyalty to Magliorre. Evidently something in the paladin's words had struck a chord in him. And then, of course, he was surprised that Deymos had noticed their conversation. It seemed that just about everybody had had trouble sleeping last Gravetide - except Malakhai himself, who had wanted nothing more than to go back to it. Still, it didn't take him long to plump for honesty. Mal came from a tribal background, and secrets didn't tend to last long among the People of the Sands.

"He said a lot of things," he replied, more dismissively of Magliorre than he felt. Slipping his leg over the saddle and sliding off his steed, he rubbed Oren's neck tenderly and ruffled her mane as he spoke. "He said that the silence from the dragons was just an illusion designed to lure us into complacency. That they are out there, with their long lifespans, hatching foul plots against us. Then he said that..." The next bit was difficult to phrase, even for someone as forthright as Malakhai. "He was very openly sceptical about the Dragon Knights. He claimed that only a few had ever seen real battle, and that the rest was just boasting and posturing. He said that if they were to face a real enemy, they would break."

The tribesman's eyebrows were drawn in thought, and he was clearly unhappy about what he had said - or confused. He'd also left out the bit about him questioning the Hunt itself; Deymos didn't need to know about his doubts. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have confided in Magliorre, or indeed anyone other than H'saan.
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Post by Vanadius »

The veteran Knight nodded and didn't initially say much by way of a reaction to Mal's description. He gave the tall tribesman a grunt and a nod as he finished repacking his saddlebags. He grabbed his waterskin, and took a long deep drink from it before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and sliding easily back into the saddle.

As they began to walk along, it became apparent that he was actually thinking about it quite a lot.

"Much as I hate to admit it, that ol' bastard is probably right. I don't doubt for a flicker that the dragons have something larger and more sinister in mind. No matter what you hear or have already heard, they're crafty and cunning beasts."

The veteran then chuckled softly for a flicker.

"As for the Knights, he's more right than wrong about that too. Many of our best were killed in a stupid, pointless war a while back. Our numbers are more raw and green right now, but I expect we'd be fine if something really bad happened."

Deymos smiled warmly at Malakhai's undisguised discomfort.

"Don't fret over it much. Magliorre was once one of us. He's always been at odds with the way the Marshal commands, and that discontent was the source of why he left. Denbar hates the man with a passion, and most of the others aren't too fond of him. He's opinionated, and not too quiet about it, and most of all he'll speak truth, even when it's hard to hear. Lockwood and him go way back. They were practically brothers growing up, but idealism and religion have caused quite a rift. I can't agree with everything he said, but I can't disagree with it much either."

They rode on as they talked, a low ridge coming more and more into prominence as they grew nearer to it. A small copse of trees was just ahead, and Deymos seemed to be heading straight for it.
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Deymos's words did little to ease Mal's discomfort, but fortunately he was not one to dwell on things too long, and had a flourishing pragmatic streak. "If we are raw and green," he decided, "then we have a duty to grow and toughen up. And that will not be achieved by sitting around in a Keep." He smiled. "Also, green boughs can bend without breaking, and will come whipping back to sting." In Mal's own training with Deymos, the young tribesman had been the one to get stung, more often than not. But he had matured over the few months he'd been at the keep. At least he hoped he'd finally learned how to learn. If he kept at it, he'd be one of the survivors. Like Lockwood, Denbar, and even Magliorre himself. The alternative didn't cross his mind.

He patted at Oren's flank as the sturdy old beast cantered along, checking that everything was firmly attached to his saddle. The long spear he'd used to "slay" his first dragon the previous day was fastened to his left saddlebag, sticking up into the air like a bannerless bannerpole. His broadsword was worn in a scabbard at his belt and pointed out behind him, and accompanying it were a pair of gently curved knives of different sizes. His jazeraint armour, although it was starting to gather the dust and dirt of the road, was tightly clasped around his torso. Even his black hair, where it showed underneath his pot helmet, was dulled with grime. But the spirit inside him was as bright as a button now, despite his earlier doubts. Mal spurred his steed on a little as they approached the clump of trees, eyes sweeping across the ridge in front of them.
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Post by Vanadius »

Deymos looked at the younger tribesman with a look of grudging respect.

"I'll share a little confession with you since we're out and away from the others..."

He chewed at his lower lip in thought for a flicker or two, gathering his thoughts, or perhaps deciding how to express them.

"... I haven't been too terribly fond of your people for many yahren. You may have noticed I been keeping my distance from you for a while now. The problem stems back to some old arguments that have never been quite resolved. There were some deaths and such involved back then. But I'll tell you, since you came to the Keep and been here, training with us, eating with us, fighting with us, I can say that I've been wrong about thinking the way I have in regards to you. You're smart, loyal, and down right goodly natured. We need more men like you. Whether you had any inkling or not how I felt, I was wrong and I apologize."

The copse of trees was fed by a small, trickling brook, barely more than a handspan deep or a long stride wide that meandered through some large rocks. Deymos led them in, seeking a little shade and to let the horses drink. He slid out of the saddle and splashed a bit through the thin finger of a stream and sat on rock. He sipped at the water, and ran wet fingers through his hair.

Behind him and unseen by Deymos, was something strange that lay in the stream bed. It was difficult to discern, but there was something long and black laying in the shallow water of the stream. Mal's horse Oren, snorted and tossed his head a few times, an indication he was mildly spooked.
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

The knight's words surprised Malakhai. Since coming to the Keep he'd put aside his own ill feelings towards the guarrdi. Relatively quickly, in fact. It hadn't been too difficult for him, he now realised. Back then he'd wanted nothing more than to sever his ties with his father, and that meant losing his father's values, at least to what little extent he ever possessed them in the first place. Like most of the People, Oyon Qinua had held outsiders in very low esteem.

It hadn't really occurred to him that there would be others in the Keep for whom it would be more difficult to lay old quarrels aside. Seen in this light, the past behaviour of Deymos and the others began to make more sense to Mal. He couldn't help but be pleased by the compliment. "This one accepts your apology," he replied with a friendly smile. "I cannot speak for all of my people, and I would certainly not defend all of their actions. But that you have accepted me in this way makes me glad."

Mal hopped off his steed, leading Oren to the water - and then noticed that something was out of place. The old steed was a steady sort, and wouldn't normally act up unless something serious was amiss. Sliding his spear from where it lay bound next to his saddle without bothering to alert Deymos, he approached the streambed and the dark object it concealed, narrowing his eyes to try to discern what it was. His first instinct was to poke it gently once or twice with the butt of the long weapon. Unless it moved, he would then reach into the brook with one gauntleted hand and attempt to retrieve it.
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Post by Vanadius »

Demos clapped the younger warrior on the shoulder warmly and began to take a break in the shady copse as well, allowing his own mount to drink as he rummaged through his packs and pockets. He was busy enough in his own thoughts where he didn’t notice the strangeness of Oren’s reaction, or the nervous stamping of Sharpie either.

As Malakhai slid from the saddle and went forward to investigate, his perception of what it was changed dramatically. A water smoothed boulder had been obscuring most of his vision regarding the object in the stream, but now as he warily circled around, he could see much more of what lay on the other side of the rock.

A skeleton lay at the water’s edge. The head and hands barely reaching the water’s surface, the torso and legs lie stretched out on the sandy, rocky bank of the stream. Tattered remnants of armor and a uniform clung to the bones in clumps and patches. The metal breastplate had been rusted through and the cloth had been bleached by the elements, making a guess as to their original color and design difficult. The dark object that attracted Malakhai’s gaze in the first place, was a sword blade that extended from the skeleton’s hand out into the stream.

It was an unusual looking weapon to say the least. The blade was all black and almost crystalline, with silvery streams running through it, and the hilt looked as if it were merely shaped from the same material instead of a traditional leather wrapped handle. The sword had no signs of rust or wear or any exposure to the elements. It looked new and complete and whole, as if someone had placed it here a scant few burns ago.

Demos started whistling a jaunty little travel song and other than the slight and faint trickling of water, there was no sound.
Malakhai Qinua
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Skeletons in this state were not an uncommon sight for the tribes of Terra Incognita - the wind and sands would occasionally uncover them and reveal them, people who had been stripped bare by scavengers after dying of thirst, overheating, hypothermia or starvation. None of those looked to be what had happened to this individual, though, and so Mal's first reaction was to wonder what had killed him. The shade of the little copse with its stream should have been a perfect environment for survival. Maybe he had been wounded in battle; Malakhai quickly scanned his body for injuries or places where the remaining armour had been penetrated. It was then that he first truly noticed the sword.

It was an enchanting sight. The young tribesman found himself momentarily captivated by the silver streaks on the blade and the way they seemed to swim in the little light that trickled down through the canopy and stream. As black as Mal's slicked hair, the sword must have been there as long as its former bearer, but had weathered the ravages of time much more gracefully, showing no sign of damage despite its immersion.

On a whim, Mal reached down with one gauntleted hand, easing the sword quietly out of the dead man's grasp. Returning to Oren and unpacking his robe, he swiftly wrapped the blade from head to foot in material and strapped it to the saddle, trying to keep it mostly concealed by his saddlebags.

"Sir Deymos!" he called then. "We should not stay here long. There is a dead man here, by the river." He indicated the skeleton. For the People of the Sands, superstition could barely be distinguished from the practical requirements of daily life. "The horses are afraid."
[i]"When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw" - Hamlet[/i]
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Vanadius
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Post by Vanadius »

Demos lifted his head at Malakhai's call and looked around warily. He was somewhat surprised and taken aback by the sudden cries from his companion, and clearly unaware of what had transpired with the strange sword.

"A what? Where?"

Sir Demos came around the boulder to look at the skeleton. He hopped from rock to rock and as he reached the other bank, he walked softly to it and crouched nearby, examining the corpse carefully.

"Been here a while." He said somberly. "More than a few yahren maybe. Armor's rusted through, bones are all but clean." He stood and began to look around.

"No weapons anywhere about. Nothing to show what killed him. Poor old bugger..." He said, finally nudging the bones with the toe of his boot. He turned to look at the almost retreating tribesman.

"All right, I suppose we've seen enough. Lets move on and see what else is out here."

He walked back to his saddlebags and put them back on his horse. He slid back into the saddle and in just a few burns they were well away from the body and the shady copse and the knight wore a thoughtful expression as they rode.

They spent the next few marks ranging from the Marshall's map. Each of the places that Lockwood had singled out were devoid of evidence that they were seeking. A few broken eggs, old and brittle, every few stops was as much sign as they could find.

With a wistful sigh, Sir Demos marked off the last place on the map.

"Looks like we come up empty but for a few old shells and a dead man's bones. Guess we ought to head on back."
Malakhai Qinua
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Post by Malakhai Qinua »

Malakhai's deception seemed to have worked, and although he wasn't proud of it, the memory of it didn't trouble him for long, for the tribesman was flighty and such qualms quickly slipped his mind. He turned his thoughts to hunting for the great lizards.

Not much luck there, though. Mal was beginning to think that their discovery of a clutch on the first day was a bizarre coincidence, as they'd now spent a few days on the road without finding anything at all. "I guess so," he responded to Deymos at the end of several fruitless marks.

(OOC: Assuming they get back without event - slap my wrist if I'm wrong!)

It was only when they returned to the camp and Mal began to unpack his saddlebags that he remembered his find. He didn't unwrap the blade immediately, instead making his excuses and wandering away to a secluded location well away from the caravan. It was tempting to share his find with H'saan, but the massive healer was not immediately in evidence, and Mal was gripped by an urge to look upon the strange blade again.

When he'd found a quiet spot, he slid the crystalline-black blade from its impromptu scabbard and tested it in its hand, making a few practice swings to get a feel for its balance and to see how the hilt felt in his leathery palm.
[i]"When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw" - Hamlet[/i]
Avatar is "sandman" by yifatshaik, from allavatars.com
Vanadius
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Post by Vanadius »

It was a strange and beautiful weapon to be certain. As Malakhai swung it around, he could feel it's sweet craftsmanship in every stroke. It was far lighter as a weapon than any piece of steel he'd ever held. It was well balanced, and felt true and natural in his hands, almost as if it had been waiting for him and him alone to come along and claim it. It was...

A screeching roar could be heard in the distance, interrupting Malakhai's communion with the strange ebony blade. Cries of alarm went up through the camp nearby. Shouts echoed through the stones around him, disjointed words and commands were garbled and difficult to hear and understand as they swirled and bounced all around him.

Finally, a familiar face could be seen standing on a large rock some fifty paces or so away from Mal's secluded spot.

"Dragon!" Denbar shouted. "Take cover!"

A shadow blotted out the sun for a flicker as it passed overhead.

It was a dragon...





OOC: We're impassible at this point due to the obvious threat... Good luck!
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