{Music}
{Now or Never ~ Three Days' Grace}
Calvin had been living with the People for months and still they regarded him with mild disdain. The oath he had made to be called beshi seemed eternally beyond reach, but the impossibility hadn't weakened his resolve in the least. He had once believed that freedom was out of his reach as well and now here he was, choosing his fate. The Achadhiel was forging his own destiny with every passing tide, no longer subject to any will other than his own, which drove him to gain acceptance among Shea's people. He was unsure if she had spoken with any of the tribe about his solemn promise to become a desert creature, and secretly hoped she hadn't. It wasn't exactly a secret, but he wanted to earn the title of beshi without the need for them to know his goal. Over the time he had spent with the tribe, he learned much of the sands and the people, and was particularly intrigued by the difference between the different tribes. Each had an associated color, which was displayed on their clothing in the form of ribbons or strips of fabric. There was Abia's tribe, red, the warriors. There were animal handlers and those that were in charge of water, but there was one that stood out among the rest. The black tribe, respected and feared for their mystical ways, were of exceptional quality. The way the others looked at them was fascinating to the guarrdi, Calvin longed for them to view him with such reverence. Still, he had never been close to one of these mystics, let along spoken with one, and even if he had, what good would it have done? The half-breed was nothing to them, neither a nuisance or a help, like a stray dog that was well-behaved. If ignorance was bliss, the People of the Sand were ecstatic toward him. Nothing could bring him equality in their eyes.
No...there is something that might.
Calvin's thoughts cut through the despair he felt like a blade. Suddenly there seemed to be hope, the fleeting title of beshi seemed that much closer, though the idea that was hatching in his brain would put him at great risk, but he had to try. Dusk had fallen, though it was still too early for any of the desert heat to have faded. Cal began to pack, stuffing all the rations and waterskins he had into his satchel. It didn't take long before he had made a decision to pack extremely light, and leave behind anything that one of the People of the Sand wouldn't have brought with them. Calvin would face the sands again, only this time it would be his choice. The Achadhiel had learned much about surviving in the desolate landscape that he now lived in, but his new knowledge had yet to be put to the test. Tonight that would change. He gathered his flint and steel, torch, eating set, rope and flask, shoving those into the satchel as well, filling it to capacity. In addition to those items, he brought only his spare set of robes and undergarments and the pair of scimitars he had recently purchased. Other than that, he only had what he was currently wearing: his black robe, white turban and facecloth, respective undergarments, and his brown leather sandals. Cal double-checked his gear before loading it onto the camel he had affectionately named "Mackey", after one of the crewmen of the slaveship who had a nasty habit of spitting. The man and the camel also shared an olfactory similarity. Once all belongings were secured on the animal, Calvin mounted and began trekking out into the darkness.
The plan was simple, yet infinitely difficult. There was much more to the desert than wind, sand and sun, it was almost an entity in and of itself. There was power out there, the half-breed knew it and planned on getting some for himself. The witch that had ambushed his caravan had made some sort of pact with a creature for power, perhaps Cal could strike a similar bargain. There were spirits, dragons, djinn, and Gods knew what else in this wasteland. There had to be something the Achadhiel could gain from a venture into the deep desert other than sunburn, starvation and untimely death. Calvin didn't know much about the creatures of the sands yet, especially those of an ethereal nature, but there were two ways to learn. This was one of them. Power awaited him, somehow he would return to the tribe more than he was before. The desert was a ruthless teacher, but there was no better one. Calvin was lost in thought atop Mackey, who plodded onward without complaint.
The half-breed thought perhaps he should have told Shea his plan, or let her know he was leaving, but it didn't seem right. How long could she hold his hand? Certainly she was receiving some sort of criticism for her friendship with Calvin, though she would probably never admit it to him. No, this was his struggle. He alone could accomplish his task, help cheapened the prize. After a while, he forgot his apprehension and just enjoyed the desert night growing deeper around him. He had no real destination, though he was headed in the direction of the oasis the dragonrider had taken he and Shea to after rescuing them from certain death in the Forbidden Lands. It was as good a short-term destination as any, and it was likely that he could restock his provisions there. When he was there before, it seemed almost like a town in itself.
An Oath to Keep: Facing the Sands Again (Chyril 22nd, Dusk)
Moderator: Mods
The night was clear and still, with no wind to add to the already fearsome cold of the desert night. Fortunately, the would-be beshi had brought sufficient clothing to protect him against the worst of its bite. The visibility of the stars above was a blessing, for it was nigh impossible to negotiate a route across the Sands without the constellations for guidance - the rumpled, dead dunes offered no landmarks for the purpose. As it was, though, the Dragon's Eye, a single great unmoving star, gazed down upon Calvin and his mount. The ancient dragon's thoughts and intentions were as impenetrable as ever, but its eye guided the traveller towards his destination through comparison with other celestial signposts. One of these was the Pitcher, a curved arc of stars with three brighter ones in a line towards the Dragon's Eye. This was normally used for navigating towards the sea coast to the east and the City by the Water, but was also commonly referred to whenever the People were trying to locate an oasis, because of its connotations: the constellation was seen as a vessel pouring lifegiving water into the desert.
It certainly helped Calvin to find the oasis he sought, in any case. There was no sign of dawn when he and Mackey approached the pool and its surroundings. Moonlight, the sinking of the terrain and the soft rustling of the trees were all the indications he had of its exact position.
And there were people there. Not People, but people. Guarrdi, maybe hundreds of them, their snores carrying up to the ridge from which Calvin could see them. They slept in crude shelters, not the elegant conical dwellings of the people but squat, squint constructions mostly built upon and around the oasis's youngish trees. They were to the south side of the oasis, and the nearest of them was perhaps thirty paces away from the central pool. But the lush grass and carpets of flowers had been crushed all around the oasis, and fruit had been picked and torn down before reaching ripeness. This ramshackle camp was leeching from the desert's sweet spot in the same way that a mosquito fastens itself to blood vessels where they approach the surface of the human skin.
It certainly helped Calvin to find the oasis he sought, in any case. There was no sign of dawn when he and Mackey approached the pool and its surroundings. Moonlight, the sinking of the terrain and the soft rustling of the trees were all the indications he had of its exact position.
And there were people there. Not People, but people. Guarrdi, maybe hundreds of them, their snores carrying up to the ridge from which Calvin could see them. They slept in crude shelters, not the elegant conical dwellings of the people but squat, squint constructions mostly built upon and around the oasis's youngish trees. They were to the south side of the oasis, and the nearest of them was perhaps thirty paces away from the central pool. But the lush grass and carpets of flowers had been crushed all around the oasis, and fruit had been picked and torn down before reaching ripeness. This ramshackle camp was leeching from the desert's sweet spot in the same way that a mosquito fastens itself to blood vessels where they approach the surface of the human skin.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
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Calvin shivered through the night as he rode Mackey in what was hopefully the direction of the oasis. The stars shone brightly, like gems in the blackness of the sky. The solitude was cathartic, Cal was no more lonely than he had been among the People. In a way, they had succeeded in driving him away, but their achievement would be short lived if the Achadhiel had anything to say about it. Before he could continue this line of thought, he saw a sight that set his teeth to grinding and caused his eyes to become slits against the darkness.
Dozens, maybe scores of guarrdi were at his destination. There had been People of the Sand when he was there last, not these wetlanders. They had no idea how to preserve the sanctity of such a place, taking everything for granted as they did in their homelands. Suddenly, Cal realized he was thinking like them, like one of the People. He was shocked at how utterly irate this situation was to him, and at his urge to take a torch to the entire camp. The half-breed wanted to burn it down, trees and all. The desert would heal itself in that case, but these guarrdi could possibly bleed the lushness of the oasis dry. Angrily, he lead his camel down the ridge toward the ramshackle shelters the parasites had erected, loosening the straps that bound his scimitars to his mount. When he reached the bottom, he dismounted, tucked the swords into his belt and retrieved the satchel that was slung beside where he had been riding. Calvin then let Mackey loose to drink, sure that the animal knew it's way around a watering hole.
Once away from his mount, Cal withdrew the single torch he had placed in the bag along with the means to light it. With these ingredients, he cooked up a fire on the end of a stick and carried it with him toward the sleeping population, taking stock of the situation in the flickering light. The Achadhiel scanned his surroundings, searching for someone who might be awake. If none could be found, he simply made his way to the most elaborate or important looking shelter, fully intending on kicking the owner back to consciousness to answer his questions. Either way, the words would be the same.
"Guarrdi, what is all this? What are you wetlanders doing in the Sands? Why must you rape one of the few pieces of paradise we have here when your homeland is so hospitable?"
Dozens, maybe scores of guarrdi were at his destination. There had been People of the Sand when he was there last, not these wetlanders. They had no idea how to preserve the sanctity of such a place, taking everything for granted as they did in their homelands. Suddenly, Cal realized he was thinking like them, like one of the People. He was shocked at how utterly irate this situation was to him, and at his urge to take a torch to the entire camp. The half-breed wanted to burn it down, trees and all. The desert would heal itself in that case, but these guarrdi could possibly bleed the lushness of the oasis dry. Angrily, he lead his camel down the ridge toward the ramshackle shelters the parasites had erected, loosening the straps that bound his scimitars to his mount. When he reached the bottom, he dismounted, tucked the swords into his belt and retrieved the satchel that was slung beside where he had been riding. Calvin then let Mackey loose to drink, sure that the animal knew it's way around a watering hole.
Once away from his mount, Cal withdrew the single torch he had placed in the bag along with the means to light it. With these ingredients, he cooked up a fire on the end of a stick and carried it with him toward the sleeping population, taking stock of the situation in the flickering light. The Achadhiel scanned his surroundings, searching for someone who might be awake. If none could be found, he simply made his way to the most elaborate or important looking shelter, fully intending on kicking the owner back to consciousness to answer his questions. Either way, the words would be the same.
"Guarrdi, what is all this? What are you wetlanders doing in the Sands? Why must you rape one of the few pieces of paradise we have here when your homeland is so hospitable?"
The camp indeed held someone who was awake, or at least supposed to be. A tall man, a couple of spans taller than Calvin, was slouched against a tree on the outskirts of the oasis, the sapling bowed back by his weight. He was lazily sharpening a boning knife against a whetstone, slowly running the blade along the stone. When he saw Calvin's torch, however, he got to his feet. The man was muscular and nearly clean-shaven, dressed in dark leather trimmed with white fur that provided excellent protection against the cold of the night.
Calvin's harsh words brought out an irritated scowl on his face, yet he was also a little unnerved by what the achadhiel said, or at least how he said it. He's not one of them crazy locals like the chief... not tall enough or dark enough. So how come he calls me a guarrdi and acts like he owns the place? And what's he doing riding the desert alone?
"I don't have a homeland any more," he growled in response, his accent betraying his origins in the frozen north of Trothgard. "Most of us have nowhere to go back to now, not after the War. Or at least we don't want to go back to it. So this is our home now. Until we get ourself a better place to stay." The man's tone was defensive and belligerent. "So are you here to swear yourself in, or are you just looking to get yourself killed?"
Calvin's harsh words brought out an irritated scowl on his face, yet he was also a little unnerved by what the achadhiel said, or at least how he said it. He's not one of them crazy locals like the chief... not tall enough or dark enough. So how come he calls me a guarrdi and acts like he owns the place? And what's he doing riding the desert alone?
"I don't have a homeland any more," he growled in response, his accent betraying his origins in the frozen north of Trothgard. "Most of us have nowhere to go back to now, not after the War. Or at least we don't want to go back to it. So this is our home now. Until we get ourself a better place to stay." The man's tone was defensive and belligerent. "So are you here to swear yourself in, or are you just looking to get yourself killed?"
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Cal slitted his eyes as the man replied. He saw the wetlanders as an invading force, polluting his refuge and his memories of it.
"How do you expect to survive here? You'll have the water, sure, but the food supply isn't nearly enough to sustain this many."
As he spoke, the Achadhiel removed his turban and facecloth. The seeds of a plan were sewing themselves into his mind, but there was a large question of how to enact it. They would have to be desperate.
"Swear myself into what? Are you some sort of crew?"
"How do you expect to survive here? You'll have the water, sure, but the food supply isn't nearly enough to sustain this many."
As he spoke, the Achadhiel removed his turban and facecloth. The seeds of a plan were sewing themselves into his mind, but there was a large question of how to enact it. They would have to be desperate.
"Swear myself into what? Are you some sort of crew?"
So he doesn't know of us. Well, that suits me fine.
"I took you for one of them," replied the man absently, as he racked his knife...a wickedly curved weapon not native to the West...across his warped and worn wetstone. "But you can't be one of them. I've never known a nomad to care how any of us would survive in the desert. Hell...they don't even bother asking."
Stuffing the stone into his pouch, the mercenary...it seemed an appropriate title, given that he was armed with a curved sword typical of those made in Amun Rah and a armoured in leathers hardened by boiling in resins...turned and shifted his stance such that he could consider the visitor more critically...though he continued to lean against the straining sapling. He had knives upon him as well...more than the one he sharpened...that were stashed in his boots and his belt, perhaps five all told, at least among those Calvin could see.
"Never you mind how we intend to survive in the desert. And never you mind what we'll eat tomorrow for dinner. Just take your fill of the water...you and your animal...and be gone in peace," finished the sentry, his knife now put to good use trimming his fingernails down to a more acceptable length.
Around Calvin, the smells of food could be detected...smells of dried apricots, strong spice, and boiled meat...though no supply wagons or pack animals could be seen. The only fire still lit was elusive to spot and well-hidden...and nestled in what appeared to be a blanket tucked into the ground amid several of the slumbering warriors. Despite the fire's warm, glowing embers, the blanket appeared largely unharmed.
"I took you for one of them," replied the man absently, as he racked his knife...a wickedly curved weapon not native to the West...across his warped and worn wetstone. "But you can't be one of them. I've never known a nomad to care how any of us would survive in the desert. Hell...they don't even bother asking."
Stuffing the stone into his pouch, the mercenary...it seemed an appropriate title, given that he was armed with a curved sword typical of those made in Amun Rah and a armoured in leathers hardened by boiling in resins...turned and shifted his stance such that he could consider the visitor more critically...though he continued to lean against the straining sapling. He had knives upon him as well...more than the one he sharpened...that were stashed in his boots and his belt, perhaps five all told, at least among those Calvin could see.
"Never you mind how we intend to survive in the desert. And never you mind what we'll eat tomorrow for dinner. Just take your fill of the water...you and your animal...and be gone in peace," finished the sentry, his knife now put to good use trimming his fingernails down to a more acceptable length.
Around Calvin, the smells of food could be detected...smells of dried apricots, strong spice, and boiled meat...though no supply wagons or pack animals could be seen. The only fire still lit was elusive to spot and well-hidden...and nestled in what appeared to be a blanket tucked into the ground amid several of the slumbering warriors. Despite the fire's warm, glowing embers, the blanket appeared largely unharmed.
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Calvin rolled his eyes slowly as the man spoke, before nodding slowly.
"I've been living with them for months now." Cal adopted the mercenary's emphasis of the word, though it obviously didn't mean the same thing to him. The People had been the first he'd met after leaving captivity, hoping to make it the whole way across the sands. To the half-breed the mercenaries were them, because he hadn't been living with them.
"This was my destination. I'm looking for work." Was it a half-truth, or was the remainder of the truth more like a separate truth that need not be mentioned?
"I'm not bad with a blade. I'll be camping here for the day to decide a new destination, if you decide to let me in on what the situation is. I'd better get that camel something to drink."
Calvin nodded to the well-armed man and took a quick glance about to see where Mackey had gone. First and foremost was water, though this man might provide a problem. This had been as far as the half-breed's plan could take him, so he was just making up the plan as he went along. He would just go about gathering water and setting up his own belongings a short distance from the general population. If there was going to be trouble, Cal would devise a new plan again.
"I've been living with them for months now." Cal adopted the mercenary's emphasis of the word, though it obviously didn't mean the same thing to him. The People had been the first he'd met after leaving captivity, hoping to make it the whole way across the sands. To the half-breed the mercenaries were them, because he hadn't been living with them.
"This was my destination. I'm looking for work." Was it a half-truth, or was the remainder of the truth more like a separate truth that need not be mentioned?
"I'm not bad with a blade. I'll be camping here for the day to decide a new destination, if you decide to let me in on what the situation is. I'd better get that camel something to drink."
Calvin nodded to the well-armed man and took a quick glance about to see where Mackey had gone. First and foremost was water, though this man might provide a problem. This had been as far as the half-breed's plan could take him, so he was just making up the plan as he went along. He would just go about gathering water and setting up his own belongings a short distance from the general population. If there was going to be trouble, Cal would devise a new plan again.
"Well, if it is as you say, then we can help you," replied the mercenary, standing up straight such that the sapling...a scrubby little deciduous creature...was at last relieved. "We have work here, but it is...more fighting. Most of us here have come from the Wars, so we are not entirely pleased with the work...but it pays, and many of us have somewhere that receive most of our pay. Ah...your camel seems to have found the water..."
Indeed, Mackey...like any Dromedary camel...did indeed know his way around an oasis. He had already picked his way to the water and drank with snorting enthusiasm, still mindful of the slumbering humans around. Near the camel, several other mercenaries shifted slightly, and the very soft sounds of casual conversation could be detected at the far edge of the oasis...proof that other mercenaries were at least awake, even if they had disregarded Calvin as another harmless traveler.
"They call me Salin. That is not my name, but it is the one I have taken until I return to my wife and children. Like your camel, my family hale from Amun Rah...from the great city of Abu'Si'Hir..." his pronunciation indicated that he most certainly was from that city. "You must speak to Mark if you would join us. He will tell you of our contract, and our terms. He is asleep just now...I have never known a man to snore as he does...but he will wake well before the dawn, and he will speak to you then. Warm yourself by the fire and rest, if you wish it."
The sentry...the sentry who called himself Salin...was not alone. The perimeter of the oasis was protected by several others, standing in the cold night air of the dry desert. While Calvin could make nothing of the other sentries, he could see their silhouettes in the distance, all standing high such that they might see any approaching travellers from some distance away. Salin must have witnessed Calvin's approach, but few threats travelled alone...and they were not so far from the city that such a thing could not happen.
Indeed, Mackey...like any Dromedary camel...did indeed know his way around an oasis. He had already picked his way to the water and drank with snorting enthusiasm, still mindful of the slumbering humans around. Near the camel, several other mercenaries shifted slightly, and the very soft sounds of casual conversation could be detected at the far edge of the oasis...proof that other mercenaries were at least awake, even if they had disregarded Calvin as another harmless traveler.
"They call me Salin. That is not my name, but it is the one I have taken until I return to my wife and children. Like your camel, my family hale from Amun Rah...from the great city of Abu'Si'Hir..." his pronunciation indicated that he most certainly was from that city. "You must speak to Mark if you would join us. He will tell you of our contract, and our terms. He is asleep just now...I have never known a man to snore as he does...but he will wake well before the dawn, and he will speak to you then. Warm yourself by the fire and rest, if you wish it."
The sentry...the sentry who called himself Salin...was not alone. The perimeter of the oasis was protected by several others, standing in the cold night air of the dry desert. While Calvin could make nothing of the other sentries, he could see their silhouettes in the distance, all standing high such that they might see any approaching travellers from some distance away. Salin must have witnessed Calvin's approach, but few threats travelled alone...and they were not so far from the city that such a thing could not happen.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant