If Annuire had made it through the Aether, the glaive was not immediately visible to Amica. The energies in the knife she held, though, remained potent.
The moustached man, who Amica, Jack and Maverick would recognise as the bullish Luis, chose that moment to issue a rasping death rattle, his eyes flicking upwards to seek Arigha's in an instant of gratitude. The girl's dance had bought him time - those vital flickers he needed to die.
The djinn seemed to notice this, for it withdrew from Arigha. Its own hiss was almost petulant now. No-reward. Lose-game. The approach of Amica and the empowered blade seemed to be the final straw, this spirit sensing the hostile energies disturbing the air in its vicinity and skittering away more rapidly than its companion had been able to.
Its flight away across the sands left the five of them alone on the Dragon's Backbone. T'kil was injured, but his bleeding had slowed to a trickle, and the others were unharmed. For the moment, no other sound reached them but the shaman's laboured breathing and the ubiquitous rustle of the desert breeze on the sand.
Dancing on a Dragon's Back - Samheen 28 ET
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Relief flooded Arigha's features and renewed her energy. The man's expiration meant that the djinn would not have him as a host. Now there remained the problem of whether it would have the young woman instead. Amica's words were taken to heart, as Arigha's took a gulp of water into her mouth almost before the words had died on the wind.
But there was to be no great battle of wills. At least, there would be none at that particular moment. Amica's weapon and fierce presence caused the creature to flee. So imposing was the sorceress that Arigha herself was more than a little afraid of her.
Still, the Anddi-sus was strong-willed and shook the feeling off quickly. She danced one more graceful circle, letting the excess tension flow from her muscles. If anything, she found some slight bit of resentment to this more capable, powerful woman.
"My thanks, honored sister. It is good you have recovered."
But there was to be no great battle of wills. At least, there would be none at that particular moment. Amica's weapon and fierce presence caused the creature to flee. So imposing was the sorceress that Arigha herself was more than a little afraid of her.
Still, the Anddi-sus was strong-willed and shook the feeling off quickly. She danced one more graceful circle, letting the excess tension flow from her muscles. If anything, she found some slight bit of resentment to this more capable, powerful woman.
"My thanks, honored sister. It is good you have recovered."
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Jack Farrell
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Jack collapsed to his knees. He felt a wave of lethargy sweep him. He wanted to sleep, badly. It had been a hugely eventful day and the healing of the D'jinn had sapped him. All he wanted was shade, some water and a solid day to rest. He looked around, the desert allowed no such comforts. The nights were cold and in many ways as leathal as the heat of the sun. Even so, he was exhausted. A young man in his prime fell, arms useless all sense of vigor gone from his kneeling form.
"So, lass, where are we?" He directed his question at Arigha but looked at T'kil's bleeding form. There was little he could do, he had staunched the blood as best he could - he would probably live with rest but Amica's skills were probably his best bet. In either case, his fate was out of Jack's hands.
"So, lass, where are we?" He directed his question at Arigha but looked at T'kil's bleeding form. There was little he could do, he had staunched the blood as best he could - he would probably live with rest but Amica's skills were probably his best bet. In either case, his fate was out of Jack's hands.
(OOC: Amica might be away for a while, so here's something for you to chew on in the meantime.)
Jack's attention to T'kil had paid off, and what he surmised was correct. The man would survive, provided nothing else intervened.
But something was about to. Something, or someone, was approaching across the sands. The clouds being kicked up were too large, and were moving too rapidly and purposefully, to be djinn. As they neared, it could be made out that they were in fact two figures - on horses. The pair slowed as they realised that something was alive on the ridge, although continued trotting towards them.
Jack's attention to T'kil had paid off, and what he surmised was correct. The man would survive, provided nothing else intervened.
But something was about to. Something, or someone, was approaching across the sands. The clouds being kicked up were too large, and were moving too rapidly and purposefully, to be djinn. As they neared, it could be made out that they were in fact two figures - on horses. The pair slowed as they realised that something was alive on the ridge, although continued trotting towards them.
[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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(OOC: Thanks, Morgan...and sorry about the delay!)
With the djinni retreating, Amica allowed the fist that held T'Kil's knife to slowly lower back to her side. Beneath the defiant form of the tribeswoman was another wounded man, barely conscious and struggling to recover...proof that she had indeed distracted the djinn from it's intended victim. Sensible, approved the shaman, nodding once to the woman while her grip upon the knife relaxed. "Kal'essen, anddi-sus.*"
And now we are here, thought Amica, as curious as Jack Farrell regarding their new location. Glancing at the sky and the distant horizon, she tried to gauge the time of day and where they might be given that she had lost any sense of time or position in the swirling battle from which they had only just come. Time for that later, she decided, moving back towards Jack Farrell and T'Kil to offer what assistance she could for the elder shaman's wounds. As she knelt to inspect him, she noticed the advancing riders, riders that seemed at the very least to be real.
Riders. Amica was very self-conscious that she did not wear the cloak of a desert shaman just now. In fact, she wore little more than the torn rags of what was once a very lovely guarrdi dress made of the softest scarlet cloth, though much of the massive, ridiculous skirt had been torn away. Beneath this, the horrifyingly constrictive device continued to squeeze around her stomach such that she found breathing and moving to be cumbersome. While she could bear the discomfort and pain of such a device, she would not happily bear the strange looks and words from those that would see her in such a thing.
"Do you know of them?" called Amica to Arigha. The shaman had not seen the other desert woman on Flying Machine, and so she must have ben here. If fortune smiled upon them, she would know of these riders and to which tribe and clan they would belong. Mother Desert is a great place, thought Amica, crouching near T'Kil. And yet we are so quickly found for this wreckage. We are not safe here.
* - Greetings, Walking Sister
With the djinni retreating, Amica allowed the fist that held T'Kil's knife to slowly lower back to her side. Beneath the defiant form of the tribeswoman was another wounded man, barely conscious and struggling to recover...proof that she had indeed distracted the djinn from it's intended victim. Sensible, approved the shaman, nodding once to the woman while her grip upon the knife relaxed. "Kal'essen, anddi-sus.*"
And now we are here, thought Amica, as curious as Jack Farrell regarding their new location. Glancing at the sky and the distant horizon, she tried to gauge the time of day and where they might be given that she had lost any sense of time or position in the swirling battle from which they had only just come. Time for that later, she decided, moving back towards Jack Farrell and T'Kil to offer what assistance she could for the elder shaman's wounds. As she knelt to inspect him, she noticed the advancing riders, riders that seemed at the very least to be real.
Riders. Amica was very self-conscious that she did not wear the cloak of a desert shaman just now. In fact, she wore little more than the torn rags of what was once a very lovely guarrdi dress made of the softest scarlet cloth, though much of the massive, ridiculous skirt had been torn away. Beneath this, the horrifyingly constrictive device continued to squeeze around her stomach such that she found breathing and moving to be cumbersome. While she could bear the discomfort and pain of such a device, she would not happily bear the strange looks and words from those that would see her in such a thing.
"Do you know of them?" called Amica to Arigha. The shaman had not seen the other desert woman on Flying Machine, and so she must have ben here. If fortune smiled upon them, she would know of these riders and to which tribe and clan they would belong. Mother Desert is a great place, thought Amica, crouching near T'Kil. And yet we are so quickly found for this wreckage. We are not safe here.
* - Greetings, Walking Sister
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Jack Farrell
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Horsemen... Jack saw the trail of dust before he saw the riders. He glanced around. Raiders in the search for loot would make swift work of the survivors. Jack glanced around, desperate to find his falchion or a similar weapon. The Condotierre would be bound to have weaponary of some kind, a spear - anything would be of use, though Jack sorely missed his long-blade, the weight of which made it a dangerous tool against rider and mount alike. The mercenary in him registered that this many bodies of an elite guard would most likely carry some very fine gear. His own clothes were looking a little shabby and he could do with some new boots. He made a mental note to return to the dead to scavenge. The conscience inside him noted that he should provide them with a decent burial perhaps at least, to protect their flesh from scavengers.
In his head a wishlist was forming, but now all he needed was a spear or his falchion, something to defend against any potential attack from horseback. He hated to put his trust in words, they were cheaply bought.
In his head a wishlist was forming, but now all he needed was a spear or his falchion, something to defend against any potential attack from horseback. He hated to put his trust in words, they were cheaply bought.
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"Kal'essen, d'war"
The term of respect leapt to Arigha's lips before she had thought it out. But clearly this was a formidable and possibly dangerous woman. Familiarity would have to come from experience.
The blood-soaked woman turned her attention to the figures that now approached. Of course the hellish light that had let forth with its downpour of bodies would have been noticed for some distance. The question was, by whom. By the direction and breed of horse she might be able to recognize them as local. Or perhaps they were scouts for the caravan that had come through Arigha's village.
"We are a good ride from my village, but there are also caravans about..."
"Andi-suss, Amica... I think there are some bolts of cloth that fell from the star with you. The stains I wear are readily explained, but I fear your strange garb will only add to the confusion if they are of my people."
If she would wear something in defiance of her people, why not opt for something more freeing? That looks like a device one might use to force a stubborn animal into submission. There must surely be a story behind it.
The term of respect leapt to Arigha's lips before she had thought it out. But clearly this was a formidable and possibly dangerous woman. Familiarity would have to come from experience.
The blood-soaked woman turned her attention to the figures that now approached. Of course the hellish light that had let forth with its downpour of bodies would have been noticed for some distance. The question was, by whom. By the direction and breed of horse she might be able to recognize them as local. Or perhaps they were scouts for the caravan that had come through Arigha's village.
"We are a good ride from my village, but there are also caravans about..."
"Andi-suss, Amica... I think there are some bolts of cloth that fell from the star with you. The stains I wear are readily explained, but I fear your strange garb will only add to the confusion if they are of my people."
If she would wear something in defiance of her people, why not opt for something more freeing? That looks like a device one might use to force a stubborn animal into submission. There must surely be a story behind it.
The time of day was easy enough for Amica to ascertain. The sun had dipped low, and in perhaps only a mark or two it would drop below the horizon and the freezing desert night would be upon them. Nothing more specific was immediately obvious from her cursory inspection. At her approach, T'kil attempted to prop himself up on his one good arm. The bleeding was more or less staunched, and although he was pale and still breathing raggedly he seemed to be in a stable condition. "Amica," he spoke again, voice full of wonder and gratitude. He otherwise seemed content to lie and let the others - whose health he had fought to regain - deal with this new situation.
Jack found it difficult to locate a spear or similar weapon, although many fine swords, long and short, were strewn about. Clearly polearms were rarely used by the Condotierre. His own falchion was also not within his immediate field of vision - it must have been separated from him when they were falling. A polearm was in sight, though... an enormous weapon, a glaive longer than Jack was tall and, more importantly, one that he had seen before. Lying in the sand only a few feet away from him, with most of its haft buried, was Amica's great "spear", Annuire, and the rune on its blade glowed dimly.
Heavy bolts of cloth had indeed fallen from the airship, as had a myriad of other goods in crates and boxes, many of which had split open upon impact. The cloth was of good quality, and making a garment out of it was not out of the question, but it would require some work.
Arigha did recognise the approaching riders. She had seen both before when the caravan had passed through their village. Both were men in the prime of their life, muscular and strong-featured. The older one, dark-haired and perhaps thirty yahren of age, wore an off-white shirt and tunic, while the other man was more heavily armed and armoured in leather. Conflict did not seem to be their intention, though. The dark man pulled his horse away in an arc so that his mount was side on to the group on the ridge, quickly followed by his younger companion. The two guided their steeds to a halt perhaps one hundred paces from where T'kil lay prone.
"Ho, there!" called the dark man, in a mellifluous Western bass that carried easily across the expanse of desert air between them. "You on the ridge! Identify yourselves!"
Jack found it difficult to locate a spear or similar weapon, although many fine swords, long and short, were strewn about. Clearly polearms were rarely used by the Condotierre. His own falchion was also not within his immediate field of vision - it must have been separated from him when they were falling. A polearm was in sight, though... an enormous weapon, a glaive longer than Jack was tall and, more importantly, one that he had seen before. Lying in the sand only a few feet away from him, with most of its haft buried, was Amica's great "spear", Annuire, and the rune on its blade glowed dimly.
Heavy bolts of cloth had indeed fallen from the airship, as had a myriad of other goods in crates and boxes, many of which had split open upon impact. The cloth was of good quality, and making a garment out of it was not out of the question, but it would require some work.
Arigha did recognise the approaching riders. She had seen both before when the caravan had passed through their village. Both were men in the prime of their life, muscular and strong-featured. The older one, dark-haired and perhaps thirty yahren of age, wore an off-white shirt and tunic, while the other man was more heavily armed and armoured in leather. Conflict did not seem to be their intention, though. The dark man pulled his horse away in an arc so that his mount was side on to the group on the ridge, quickly followed by his younger companion. The two guided their steeds to a halt perhaps one hundred paces from where T'kil lay prone.
"Ho, there!" called the dark man, in a mellifluous Western bass that carried easily across the expanse of desert air between them. "You on the ridge! Identify yourselves!"
Last edited by Morg on Thu Feb 08, 2007 10:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Dragon Knights? guessed Amica the moment the riders had reigned their horses. Her guess couldn't be considered too absurd given that Dragon Knights could be found along the Great Western Mountains and into the nearby desert, based at the distant wetlander outpost of Dragon's Keep...and virtually all Dragon Knights chose to ride horses, even in the open desert. But her guess could not have been correct, as the Western Mountains seemed far too distant...and Dragon Knights were not known to venture too far from their fortress for their hunts.
Glancing over where Arigha indicated, Amica scanned the area once more for anything recognizable...such as perhaps her bag, which would have her own clothes and her sarri within. It would be a futile gesture, though...and so she would have to meet these strangers dressed as she was, for she did not have the time to prepare a more appropriate garment. And we must leave here soon, she repeated to herself, certain that whatever catastrophe had befallen Flying Machine, it would have been seen and would soon be investigated by anything and everything in the desert.
When they spoke, Amica took them for guarrdi. Perhaps traders...but certainly not Flesh Peddlers. Slavers would never be seen to travel so lightly, and in so few numbers...but merchants travelled the deserts frequently, alone or in great caravans stretching back to the distant horizon. Either way, the shaman could not fear them, for they seemed ill-prepared to offer any mortal challenge. Turning, she glanced once at Arigha and spoke in a low tone, speaking the language of the guarrdi such that Jack might understand as well. "Let them think of me what they will...instruct them in nothing," she hissed. Since she could not change her attire to match her purpose, then she would change her purpose to match her attire. In this way, they would be at ease...and they would see in Amica no threat.
Kneeling down next to T'Kil, Amica would occupy herself to insure that the older shaman's wounds were properly bound and clean, though her attention remained with the other nomad woman and the approaching riders.
Glancing over where Arigha indicated, Amica scanned the area once more for anything recognizable...such as perhaps her bag, which would have her own clothes and her sarri within. It would be a futile gesture, though...and so she would have to meet these strangers dressed as she was, for she did not have the time to prepare a more appropriate garment. And we must leave here soon, she repeated to herself, certain that whatever catastrophe had befallen Flying Machine, it would have been seen and would soon be investigated by anything and everything in the desert.
When they spoke, Amica took them for guarrdi. Perhaps traders...but certainly not Flesh Peddlers. Slavers would never be seen to travel so lightly, and in so few numbers...but merchants travelled the deserts frequently, alone or in great caravans stretching back to the distant horizon. Either way, the shaman could not fear them, for they seemed ill-prepared to offer any mortal challenge. Turning, she glanced once at Arigha and spoke in a low tone, speaking the language of the guarrdi such that Jack might understand as well. "Let them think of me what they will...instruct them in nothing," she hissed. Since she could not change her attire to match her purpose, then she would change her purpose to match her attire. In this way, they would be at ease...and they would see in Amica no threat.
Kneeling down next to T'Kil, Amica would occupy herself to insure that the older shaman's wounds were properly bound and clean, though her attention remained with the other nomad woman and the approaching riders.
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Jack Farrell
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Jack cursed and stooped to pick a scabbard from the wreckage his hand pausing inches from the leather. In his mind at least, weapons comanded respect and the mere presence of blade, particularly ones so fine as these raised his status a few notches, however, his garb marked him as a lowly sailor, a slave truth be told. He slipped a dagger into his belt. Jack rose and caught Amica's hushed tones, missing the wording he did at least notice that she relinquished control of the situation, prefering to kneel and tend her "husband."
Glancing at the hidden from of Annuire, Jack decided not to interfere with the magical blade. The memory of its glowing rage in the hold of the vessel still fresh in his mind. Perhaps another day. Jack sucked in a ragged breath, he hoped this encounter turned out nicely, he had had a lot of shit today.
"Evening gentlemen." Jack called back, his voice understandably rough. "I would offer you some wine but it would seem that kindness might have to wait."
Jack's mind was racing - what would the best story be to spin? Amica looked as if she wished to blend into the encroaching shadows so involving her was not perhaps the wisest course of action. But Jack was at a loss as to otherwise explain the rather extensive field of corpses, the blood that covered Arigah's arms and clothing and their good health amongst the carnage. It would be too much to suggest that they had fought off the D'jinn by sheer force of will so what had saved their skins? The gods? Prehaps, if these were men of the western kingdom were as pious as Jack had erstwhile been lead to believe... this would require ingenious fabrication.
"I am Jack Farrell, of the Scillus." Jack was improvising. As cabin-boy he was in fact the lowest ranking member of the crew. However, as the only surviving member of that crew it would be a simple matter to jump a few notches on the promotional ladder. Perhaps a junior officer would not be too difficult to assume. Jack wracked his mind, trying to think of an individual officer on the Scillus who would have been of an age and height with. Other than Luis and Rezon he was drawing a blank. "Though she has seen better days." Jack tried to draw a grim smile. This would be hard.
Glancing at the hidden from of Annuire, Jack decided not to interfere with the magical blade. The memory of its glowing rage in the hold of the vessel still fresh in his mind. Perhaps another day. Jack sucked in a ragged breath, he hoped this encounter turned out nicely, he had had a lot of shit today.
"Evening gentlemen." Jack called back, his voice understandably rough. "I would offer you some wine but it would seem that kindness might have to wait."
Jack's mind was racing - what would the best story be to spin? Amica looked as if she wished to blend into the encroaching shadows so involving her was not perhaps the wisest course of action. But Jack was at a loss as to otherwise explain the rather extensive field of corpses, the blood that covered Arigah's arms and clothing and their good health amongst the carnage. It would be too much to suggest that they had fought off the D'jinn by sheer force of will so what had saved their skins? The gods? Prehaps, if these were men of the western kingdom were as pious as Jack had erstwhile been lead to believe... this would require ingenious fabrication.
"I am Jack Farrell, of the Scillus." Jack was improvising. As cabin-boy he was in fact the lowest ranking member of the crew. However, as the only surviving member of that crew it would be a simple matter to jump a few notches on the promotional ladder. Perhaps a junior officer would not be too difficult to assume. Jack wracked his mind, trying to think of an individual officer on the Scillus who would have been of an age and height with. Other than Luis and Rezon he was drawing a blank. "Though she has seen better days." Jack tried to draw a grim smile. This would be hard.
Last edited by Jack Farrell on Sat Feb 10, 2007 1:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
Inspecting T'kil, Amica found that Jack's makeshift tourniquet had succeeded in halting the bleeding. There was sand to be cleared from around the wound, but then there was sand everywhere. For the meantime, they had done all that they could to see to the older shaman's wounds without the application of magic. Within a few days he would likely require a more experienced healer to deal with the broken bone, but in the short term he was safe.
Even at a distance, the dark man's reaction to hearing the name of the Scillus was visible. Recognition was clearly present in his expression, and his stance relaxed somewhat. Jack's claim to be a member of the airship's crew meant that he seemingly no longer regarded the small party as potentially hostile, as he nudged his horse into a trot and started to cover the distance between them in a cautious, leisurely fashion. He still regarded Amica, T'kil and Arigha with outright suspicion, though.
"Quintus Lazare, scout for the Eastern Sands Company," he introduced himself, directing his comments to Jack. "And this is Sergeant Blesson of the caravan guard. Might I ask, signore Farrell, what in Light's name happened here?" This was said not with hostility but with a rather desperate incredulity. His gaze flickered curiously across the faces of Jack's companions, revealing his second question, one which didn't need to be put into words.
Even at a distance, the dark man's reaction to hearing the name of the Scillus was visible. Recognition was clearly present in his expression, and his stance relaxed somewhat. Jack's claim to be a member of the airship's crew meant that he seemingly no longer regarded the small party as potentially hostile, as he nudged his horse into a trot and started to cover the distance between them in a cautious, leisurely fashion. He still regarded Amica, T'kil and Arigha with outright suspicion, though.
"Quintus Lazare, scout for the Eastern Sands Company," he introduced himself, directing his comments to Jack. "And this is Sergeant Blesson of the caravan guard. Might I ask, signore Farrell, what in Light's name happened here?" This was said not with hostility but with a rather desperate incredulity. His gaze flickered curiously across the faces of Jack's companions, revealing his second question, one which didn't need to be put into words.
Last edited by Morg on Mon Feb 12, 2007 3:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[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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"Guarrdi. Part of a larger group."
Arigha spoke in a low tone for Amica's ears. Although her words said nothing that the other woman wouldn't have likely guessed.
The desert girl knew not what the Scillus might be. A secret society? A place? Certainly something that the other wetlanders regarded as both familiar and respected. More talk about light. Something to do with their strange religious beliefs? The Eastern Sands Company was a known. It meant that more resources than she had initially suspected were tied up in the recent caravan.
Conscious of her appearance, and of the men's obvious suspicion, Arigha kept her small knife in hand. If these men meant to bring more death to the Sands, she would go down fighting.
"You are brave to ride out just a pair. You've only just missed the attack of three powerful djinn."
Arigha spoke in a low tone for Amica's ears. Although her words said nothing that the other woman wouldn't have likely guessed.
The desert girl knew not what the Scillus might be. A secret society? A place? Certainly something that the other wetlanders regarded as both familiar and respected. More talk about light. Something to do with their strange religious beliefs? The Eastern Sands Company was a known. It meant that more resources than she had initially suspected were tied up in the recent caravan.
Conscious of her appearance, and of the men's obvious suspicion, Arigha kept her small knife in hand. If these men meant to bring more death to the Sands, she would go down fighting.
"You are brave to ride out just a pair. You've only just missed the attack of three powerful djinn."
Last edited by Guest on Mon Feb 12, 2007 4:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
With responses from the merchants and a confirmation from Arigha, Amica felt herself noticeably relax. They would be part of a larger caravan, one that kept sufficient supplies and personnel to offer some measure of safety...and if they were lucky, they might find safety within the caravan for at least one or two nights.
While she had been caught in such inappropriate dress, T'Kil had not. Still wrapped in his sari of black fringed with unbleached white, he would have been instantly recognizable to any of the People despite the recent tears by Jack to manufacture his tourniquet...and most likely recognizable to any experienced merchants as well. Glancing over T'Kil's form, Amica knew some concern over his well-being. The tourniquet was a good one, and it had saved the elder's life...but they had perhaps a tide at most to salvage what remained of his left arm or he would lose it. And he will grow weaker, she grimaced, feeling for warmth along that appendage.
"Shaman has no time, Sirrah..." called Amica, deliberately carrying her voice such that the riders could hear...and deliberately speaking only to Jack Farrell, which was appropriate for a servant or employee. If what they spoke the truth...and this Lazare was a merchant with the Company...then they would not willingly leave a Shaman to die in the desert. Such a thing would be disastrous for their safety and well-being while travelling through the desert. With a little luck, the riders would offer up one of their horses to carry T'Kil back to their camp for the attention he needs. "If he is not soon carried to safety, he will lose his arm or his life."
While she had been caught in such inappropriate dress, T'Kil had not. Still wrapped in his sari of black fringed with unbleached white, he would have been instantly recognizable to any of the People despite the recent tears by Jack to manufacture his tourniquet...and most likely recognizable to any experienced merchants as well. Glancing over T'Kil's form, Amica knew some concern over his well-being. The tourniquet was a good one, and it had saved the elder's life...but they had perhaps a tide at most to salvage what remained of his left arm or he would lose it. And he will grow weaker, she grimaced, feeling for warmth along that appendage.
"Shaman has no time, Sirrah..." called Amica, deliberately carrying her voice such that the riders could hear...and deliberately speaking only to Jack Farrell, which was appropriate for a servant or employee. If what they spoke the truth...and this Lazare was a merchant with the Company...then they would not willingly leave a Shaman to die in the desert. Such a thing would be disastrous for their safety and well-being while travelling through the desert. With a little luck, the riders would offer up one of their horses to carry T'Kil back to their camp for the attention he needs. "If he is not soon carried to safety, he will lose his arm or his life."
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Jack Farrell
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"There is much to explain." Jack added, if T'kil's state was worsening there would be no time to spin a yarn. "One of our passengers, a Shaman of the Natives was injured battling the D'jinn. We owe him much but he needs help or he may lose his life.
Jack looked around.
"I think I am the only one of the crew still standing. We should salvage what we can of the ship and send word of her loss, but please do what you can for the shaman - I owe him much."
Jack hoped that appealing to this man's sense of honour would pay off. The crew he had traveled with had been a motely bunch of pirates like Luis, but Rezon had been an inspirational figure. He hoped that such traits were more common in the west. The caravan would decend on the Scillus like vulture's he knew, but he cared little. He would ensure Rezon got a decent burial and perhaps he would appropriate a few items himself, but the cargo and such would be of no use to him, unless he could convince them of his ownership and perhaps barter a price from the caravan... Opportunity knocked.
Jack looked around.
"I think I am the only one of the crew still standing. We should salvage what we can of the ship and send word of her loss, but please do what you can for the shaman - I owe him much."
Jack hoped that appealing to this man's sense of honour would pay off. The crew he had traveled with had been a motely bunch of pirates like Luis, but Rezon had been an inspirational figure. He hoped that such traits were more common in the west. The caravan would decend on the Scillus like vulture's he knew, but he cared little. He would ensure Rezon got a decent burial and perhaps he would appropriate a few items himself, but the cargo and such would be of no use to him, unless he could convince them of his ownership and perhaps barter a price from the caravan... Opportunity knocked.
"Three Djinn caused all this damage?"
It was the younger man who spoke now, Blesson, still a few paces behind the scout who he evidently regarded as his senior. His voice betrayed disbelief.
When Jack made his appeal, Lazare seemed momentarily undecided, but the sight of the injured shaman seemed to make up his mind for him. "We can salvage the ship later. Tomorrow morningtide, perhaps," he said firmly. "For now I... suggest that you return with us to our camp. We have a competent healer with us. Besides which, the sun will be setting soon, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you of the danger of desert nights."
A snort from one of Arigha's camels drew the beasts to his attention, and he glanced from the beasts to the party before him and to his own steeds, working out the numbers. "Seven of us for four beasts," he said eventually. "It's not too far, less than half a mark's ride. I suggest we double up. Which of you know how to ride? I'll take the shaman, if no one objects." T'kil inclined his head in assent, but still glanced across to see what Amica's response would be.
It was the younger man who spoke now, Blesson, still a few paces behind the scout who he evidently regarded as his senior. His voice betrayed disbelief.
When Jack made his appeal, Lazare seemed momentarily undecided, but the sight of the injured shaman seemed to make up his mind for him. "We can salvage the ship later. Tomorrow morningtide, perhaps," he said firmly. "For now I... suggest that you return with us to our camp. We have a competent healer with us. Besides which, the sun will be setting soon, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you of the danger of desert nights."
A snort from one of Arigha's camels drew the beasts to his attention, and he glanced from the beasts to the party before him and to his own steeds, working out the numbers. "Seven of us for four beasts," he said eventually. "It's not too far, less than half a mark's ride. I suggest we double up. Which of you know how to ride? I'll take the shaman, if no one objects." T'kil inclined his head in assent, but still glanced across to see what Amica's response would be.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Nodding slightly at T'Kil's questioning look, Amica moved to help the man to his feet and lead him over to the offered place upon the merchant's horse. She kept her eyes down, as should be the custom among servants...and when the time came, she lifted T'Kil up to his place upon the horse with almost exaggerated care.
"I will ride with Desert Sister," she murmured to Jack Farrell, indicating her place with Arigha in the ride to the camp as she fingered the talisman around her neck. "We will follow, sirrah," she said, emphasizing this with a brief look. Indeed, she would follow to the trader camp...but first she needed to recover what she could of her belongings, chief among them her medicine pouch. With any luck, she could locate her bag and her spear rather quickly. If she could not, she would have to collect new materials, perhaps from among the traders.
Standing to one side, Amica withdrew slowly towards the wreckage, paying no attention to the remains of Flying Machine and instead listening closely to the others around her.
"I will ride with Desert Sister," she murmured to Jack Farrell, indicating her place with Arigha in the ride to the camp as she fingered the talisman around her neck. "We will follow, sirrah," she said, emphasizing this with a brief look. Indeed, she would follow to the trader camp...but first she needed to recover what she could of her belongings, chief among them her medicine pouch. With any luck, she could locate her bag and her spear rather quickly. If she could not, she would have to collect new materials, perhaps from among the traders.
Standing to one side, Amica withdrew slowly towards the wreckage, paying no attention to the remains of Flying Machine and instead listening closely to the others around her.
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Guest
The significance of her livestock was not lost on Arigha. In fact, it gave her something close to routine to pursue: a comfort in the extreme circumstances.
"Temi! Alta! Hef-fa!"
She called and then coaxed and then comforted. The camels were stolid beasts but even they were likely shaken by the falling bodies and djinn. Hopefully the scent of blood on the girl's clothing would not unsteady them.
The familiar feel of hide and snorts of the beasts help Arigha to calm herself.
"Temi! Alta! Hef-fa!"
She called and then coaxed and then comforted. The camels were stolid beasts but even they were likely shaken by the falling bodies and djinn. Hopefully the scent of blood on the girl's clothing would not unsteady them.
The familiar feel of hide and snorts of the beasts help Arigha to calm herself.
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Jack Farrell
- Civus
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"Three D'jinn? Ha no friend, but that is a story best told away from this place with a strong drink to settle the nerves. I can ride well enough, I would like to take care of my personal effects before the scavengers decend." Jack bowed Leaving Maverick and Agriha to help T'kill to the horse.
"Amica," Jack whispered "Your... weapon... is over here." Jack indicated to where he had seen Annuire. "We must make haste." Jack abandoned all thought of finding his Falchion and he had few personal effects in any case. He wanted to find Rezon or at least try and locate the captain's quarters in any case. He wanted to at least perform the rights of Upheron over his body, commiting him to the sand. Everyone needed a little help in the afterlife. If he could find a good long blade he would be happy, perhaps scavenge a little equipment from the Condotierre. Finding a pay chest would have made him ever so happy, but he doubted his luck.
"Amica," Jack whispered "Your... weapon... is over here." Jack indicated to where he had seen Annuire. "We must make haste." Jack abandoned all thought of finding his Falchion and he had few personal effects in any case. He wanted to find Rezon or at least try and locate the captain's quarters in any case. He wanted to at least perform the rights of Upheron over his body, commiting him to the sand. Everyone needed a little help in the afterlife. If he could find a good long blade he would be happy, perhaps scavenge a little equipment from the Condotierre. Finding a pay chest would have made him ever so happy, but he doubted his luck.
Maverick seemed a little disappointed at Amica's decision to ride with Arigha. "You sure about that, divina? I'm sure I could find some space between my thighs for you," he murmured as the young shaman went in search of her belongings. He then turned to Arigha, gesturing at one of the camels, which had trotted sedately over and were nuzzling at their mistress in a manner more agitated than usual. "Could I borrow one?" He smiled. "Don't worry, I've done this before."
Annuirewas where Jack had indicated, half-buried in the sand but remarkably intact. A few paces away lay Amica's medicine bag. Aside from the reshuffling of its contents, the only damage was that one of the receptacles of oil had split upon impact, leaving a slick wet patch on one side of the pouch and staining other items.
The Condotierre held much of value... much of which, sadly, was in the form of their immediately recognisable blue and silver uniforms. Crossbows could be seen here and there, but none of the intricate devices had survived the fall with firing and loading mechanism intact. Fine swords, short and long, and knives were in abundance, though, and a more thorough search would reveal that most of the Condotierre had money pouches about their person with a modest but reasonable amount of coinage within. The Mouth's most famous legion paid well. One crate had also split open to reveal a selection of leather armour, gauntlets, greaves, padded caps and simple jerkins, of good quality.
Rezon's red-coated corpse was draped over the very highest point of the ridge, a good way from any other bodies. From the way he lay, it was clear that his spine had been broken upon impact with the rock. A fine quality spyglass had tumbled out of one pocket into the sand, and, incredibly, none of the lenses seemed to have smashed. A little way away was Jack's falchion, one edge a little chipped but otherwise fine.
"Come on, signore Farrell!" Blesson shouted across the gap. "We can scavenge another time. Right now we need to get a wounded man back to the camp."
T'kil seemed to be bearing up well, sitting the horse as if he had ridden one before, although with his wounded leg hanging strangely. He was relying on the sturdy arms of Lazare behind him to keep his balance, as his own good arm cradled his broken one. Two places remained to Jack: on a horse with the Sergeant, or on the second camel's back with Maverick, assuming Arigha permitted the Sabatan to ride her animal.
Annuirewas where Jack had indicated, half-buried in the sand but remarkably intact. A few paces away lay Amica's medicine bag. Aside from the reshuffling of its contents, the only damage was that one of the receptacles of oil had split upon impact, leaving a slick wet patch on one side of the pouch and staining other items.
The Condotierre held much of value... much of which, sadly, was in the form of their immediately recognisable blue and silver uniforms. Crossbows could be seen here and there, but none of the intricate devices had survived the fall with firing and loading mechanism intact. Fine swords, short and long, and knives were in abundance, though, and a more thorough search would reveal that most of the Condotierre had money pouches about their person with a modest but reasonable amount of coinage within. The Mouth's most famous legion paid well. One crate had also split open to reveal a selection of leather armour, gauntlets, greaves, padded caps and simple jerkins, of good quality.
Rezon's red-coated corpse was draped over the very highest point of the ridge, a good way from any other bodies. From the way he lay, it was clear that his spine had been broken upon impact with the rock. A fine quality spyglass had tumbled out of one pocket into the sand, and, incredibly, none of the lenses seemed to have smashed. A little way away was Jack's falchion, one edge a little chipped but otherwise fine.
"Come on, signore Farrell!" Blesson shouted across the gap. "We can scavenge another time. Right now we need to get a wounded man back to the camp."
T'kil seemed to be bearing up well, sitting the horse as if he had ridden one before, although with his wounded leg hanging strangely. He was relying on the sturdy arms of Lazare behind him to keep his balance, as his own good arm cradled his broken one. Two places remained to Jack: on a horse with the Sergeant, or on the second camel's back with Maverick, assuming Arigha permitted the Sabatan to ride her animal.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Glaring at Maverick for a moment, Amica was reminded of the corset she wore. A horribly uncomfortable device that gave her no room in which to move, it did have advantages, drawing her waist to an indecently narrow degree and lifting her breasts outward as if they would float away. Under any other circumstances, she might have been amused or at least responsive to such a jibe...but considering her circumstances, it only gave Amica haste to find her bag...and her cloak within it.
It was something of a relief to find her medicine bag. The relief Amica felt was mixed with annoyance that she had lost her travel bag, though...which would include her clothing, her combs, her coins, her boots, both of her blades...and of course, her cloak. But she would miss nothing within in overmuch now that she had Annuire and her medicine pouch...and she could salvage a new blade from the numerous ones scattering the ground around her.
Collecting a belt that still held upon it a dagger and sheath, Amica would rob this from the fallen wreckage and buckle it around her absurdly squeezed waist such that it rested upon her hips. She would use the dagger to cut away most of the remnants of the skirt she had already abused horribly, leaving enough to satisfy some sense of dignity. Tieing the end of her sheath to her thigh such that it would not burden her while riding, she felt somewhat prepared to depart despite nothing to cover her feet. For this she would have to wait, for she was unwilling to spend any time at the crash sight searching for footwear that might fit her.
Moving to join Arigha, Amica shot another glance at Maverick and imagined what a ride might be like between his thighs. The thought almost brought a smile to her face, a perfectly undignified response if it were given life. At least he had some life left in him, which was something of a surprise given the hardship they had only just endured.
It was something of a relief to find her medicine bag. The relief Amica felt was mixed with annoyance that she had lost her travel bag, though...which would include her clothing, her combs, her coins, her boots, both of her blades...and of course, her cloak. But she would miss nothing within in overmuch now that she had Annuire and her medicine pouch...and she could salvage a new blade from the numerous ones scattering the ground around her.
Collecting a belt that still held upon it a dagger and sheath, Amica would rob this from the fallen wreckage and buckle it around her absurdly squeezed waist such that it rested upon her hips. She would use the dagger to cut away most of the remnants of the skirt she had already abused horribly, leaving enough to satisfy some sense of dignity. Tieing the end of her sheath to her thigh such that it would not burden her while riding, she felt somewhat prepared to depart despite nothing to cover her feet. For this she would have to wait, for she was unwilling to spend any time at the crash sight searching for footwear that might fit her.
Moving to join Arigha, Amica shot another glance at Maverick and imagined what a ride might be like between his thighs. The thought almost brought a smile to her face, a perfectly undignified response if it were given life. At least he had some life left in him, which was something of a surprise given the hardship they had only just endured.
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Jack Farrell
- Civus
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Jack wasted little time. He was a greedy bastard and no mistake but he did not wish to put T'kill's life at risk and tourniquets could choke the very life from a limb. He looked up as Blesson called and nodded, a few seconds were all he would need.
He stooped to pick up the spyglass, felt the weight of it in his hand, the cool metal finely polished by the sandstorm. Jack took a breath and walked over to the corpse, It was a shame, Jack had respected this man and felt more than a little sorrow over his death. Jack sighed and hefted his Falchion. He looked over its notched edge, a cruel blade with no finesse or thought to its construction. It was an evil thing that resonated with Jack's own raw past. It had been useless to him, a weapon for open battle not the quick brutal work he had seen. Perhaps not the wisest purchase in his life.
A trade
Jack drove the blade into the sand, a headstone till proper funerary rights could be observed. His face grave, Jack moved Rezon to a more natural supine position. He would return to see the rites performed.
Turning around, Jack retrieved a simple short blade from one of the nearby bodies, He buckled the scabbard to his own waist and smiled as he heard the chink of a few coins. He could buy some decent clothing perhaps. He slipped the scope into the pouch and drew the strings tight. His own belt knife he replaced with a more functional blade and then made his way back to the party.
"I am more at comfort with the horses." Jack spoke, standing a little way away from the sergent. "If it does not offend, I would rather ride with you."
He stooped to pick up the spyglass, felt the weight of it in his hand, the cool metal finely polished by the sandstorm. Jack took a breath and walked over to the corpse, It was a shame, Jack had respected this man and felt more than a little sorrow over his death. Jack sighed and hefted his Falchion. He looked over its notched edge, a cruel blade with no finesse or thought to its construction. It was an evil thing that resonated with Jack's own raw past. It had been useless to him, a weapon for open battle not the quick brutal work he had seen. Perhaps not the wisest purchase in his life.
A trade
Jack drove the blade into the sand, a headstone till proper funerary rights could be observed. His face grave, Jack moved Rezon to a more natural supine position. He would return to see the rites performed.
Turning around, Jack retrieved a simple short blade from one of the nearby bodies, He buckled the scabbard to his own waist and smiled as he heard the chink of a few coins. He could buy some decent clothing perhaps. He slipped the scope into the pouch and drew the strings tight. His own belt knife he replaced with a more functional blade and then made his way back to the party.
"I am more at comfort with the horses." Jack spoke, standing a little way away from the sergent. "If it does not offend, I would rather ride with you."
It took Jack a few flickers to find a spot where the makeshift headstone could sink deep into the sand without hitting the hard stone of the ridge. Once done, however, it stood firm. It would likely stand until the sands around it were stripped away by the winds. Such was the way of the desert: little could be made to last, because of the fickleness of all foundations.
"You're welcome to share my horse," Blesson replied curtly. "Maybe as we travel you can start telling the story of what really happened here." He shifted back in his saddle to allow Jack to sit in front of him, and extended a hand to help him climb up, freeing up a stirrup for that purpose also. "Although you might have to start again once we get there. I don't think I'll be the only one curious for an explanation."
Lazare's eyes, meanwhile, were on Arigha, Amica, Maverick and the camels. "Say the word, signoras," he announced, "and I'll lead on to the camp."
"You're welcome to share my horse," Blesson replied curtly. "Maybe as we travel you can start telling the story of what really happened here." He shifted back in his saddle to allow Jack to sit in front of him, and extended a hand to help him climb up, freeing up a stirrup for that purpose also. "Although you might have to start again once we get there. I don't think I'll be the only one curious for an explanation."
Lazare's eyes, meanwhile, were on Arigha, Amica, Maverick and the camels. "Say the word, signoras," he announced, "and I'll lead on to the camp."
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
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Guest
Temi was more experienced with riding, having been on several short journeys, so Arigha helped Maverick get situated on the male of her pair. She could not help but steal a few glances at the Sabatan, under the guise of making sure he was seated properly.
"He is stubborn," she instructed, "but if you let him have his lead he will get you where we are going in relative comfort."
Alta took considerable more coaxing, but the younger mount had shown comfort with Arigha nad her aunt as passengers so the tribeswoman did not expect the passage to be troubled.
She spared a glance at Amica's preparations, wishing that her own clothing could be easily replaced.
"Come, sister, the sooner we get your man to safety, the sooner we can clean ourselves up from this mess. Perhaps you can bend my ear with the tale of how you come from the skies with these guarrdi."
"He is stubborn," she instructed, "but if you let him have his lead he will get you where we are going in relative comfort."
Alta took considerable more coaxing, but the younger mount had shown comfort with Arigha nad her aunt as passengers so the tribeswoman did not expect the passage to be troubled.
She spared a glance at Amica's preparations, wishing that her own clothing could be easily replaced.
"Come, sister, the sooner we get your man to safety, the sooner we can clean ourselves up from this mess. Perhaps you can bend my ear with the tale of how you come from the skies with these guarrdi."
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Jack Farrell
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Jack gratefully took Blesson's hand and hauled himself up onto the saddle, sitting awkwardly, the pommel in a most uncomfortable position. He took a few flickers to settle himself before he addressed Blesson's request.
"Truely it is a tale better suited to a warm fire and strong drink." Jack replied. "But I can perhaps give the truth of it before we reach camp." Jack drew in a deep breath and tried to assemble his thoughts.
"In truth I joined the crew of the Scillus in Sabata where they were in the process of conveying the Contingent of Condotierre northwards. I was employed as a crewman and assistant of sorts to the Captain Rezon. It was in Sabata also that Maverick joined the crew and Amica and T'kill sought lodging. The issue of the Shaman confused me some seeing as Airships don't take passengers as a rule. Still, Rezon trusted the man and they were given lodgings below.
We were two days into the journey when a storm struck up. That in itself was nothing special, sandstorms are to be expected." Jack paused and steadied his voice as fear crept back into his heart.
"Save, this was no ordinary storm. A Dragon summoned those winds. She came at us through the sands and began savaging the crew. We fired upon her but it barely hurt the beast. She ruined the vessel and we started falling. Me and Mav tried to guide her down, but the beast tore the decking to pieces. It was the shaman that saved us. Don't understand it myself but he wrought some magics - that would have been the glowing light you saw - and I woke up on the ridge with a young lass nursin my head.
After that things get hazy, there were D'jinn - I remember that. The shaman tricked them somehow into fixing us up and they got... angry. I just remember the bastards trying to take my body, It took a lot out of him to drive them off..."
Jack knew it wasn't his best tale - he would spin a better yarn for the crowds - but a succinct, albeit somewhat improvised, summary would do for Blesson. The closer your lies were to the truth the easier they were to remember and the easier they were to believe. Jack just wanted to get to the Caravan and get a hot meal.
"Truely it is a tale better suited to a warm fire and strong drink." Jack replied. "But I can perhaps give the truth of it before we reach camp." Jack drew in a deep breath and tried to assemble his thoughts.
"In truth I joined the crew of the Scillus in Sabata where they were in the process of conveying the Contingent of Condotierre northwards. I was employed as a crewman and assistant of sorts to the Captain Rezon. It was in Sabata also that Maverick joined the crew and Amica and T'kill sought lodging. The issue of the Shaman confused me some seeing as Airships don't take passengers as a rule. Still, Rezon trusted the man and they were given lodgings below.
We were two days into the journey when a storm struck up. That in itself was nothing special, sandstorms are to be expected." Jack paused and steadied his voice as fear crept back into his heart.
"Save, this was no ordinary storm. A Dragon summoned those winds. She came at us through the sands and began savaging the crew. We fired upon her but it barely hurt the beast. She ruined the vessel and we started falling. Me and Mav tried to guide her down, but the beast tore the decking to pieces. It was the shaman that saved us. Don't understand it myself but he wrought some magics - that would have been the glowing light you saw - and I woke up on the ridge with a young lass nursin my head.
After that things get hazy, there were D'jinn - I remember that. The shaman tricked them somehow into fixing us up and they got... angry. I just remember the bastards trying to take my body, It took a lot out of him to drive them off..."
Jack knew it wasn't his best tale - he would spin a better yarn for the crowds - but a succinct, albeit somewhat improvised, summary would do for Blesson. The closer your lies were to the truth the easier they were to remember and the easier they were to believe. Jack just wanted to get to the Caravan and get a hot meal.
The talisman...that which she had grown accustomed to fingering...was gone. It was a shame given that the talisman was constructed from wood...and wood was a rarity in the desert, at least wood of such quality. Still, there would always be abalone or bone...and she could construct a new talisman with some ease. Or perhaps I will return here and search for the old one? thought Amica. So long as her magics still ran through the charm, she could no doubt find it. For now, it might be wisest for her to leave it behind. Could Aeis, Dragon of Wind, find me through my talisman? I must not ignore this. She is clever.
Climbing up behind Arigha on her beast, Amica settled in and smiled at Desert Sister's talk. It had been some time since she had tried to relate her travels...and she hardly knew where to begin now after so much time. There were things she could easily share...such as her battle with the Witch or the unusual Djinn she chased outside the city or perhaps the tyranny of Rah-mah-su, wetlander Elder of Sabata. But there were also things she should not share, things that might give any of the Gens harinae reason to fear. Did they know that the Elder Council was so divided and embittered against one another? Even if the People knew of this, they would not know of the Pact...and the curse it was designed to check.
"I will tell you how I came to be aboard Flying Machine. This story begins with a man known as Peshawgo. The djinni lead me to him and wished for me to heal him, for they had come to love using his flesh. This I did, but I stole him away from them and fled to the wetlander city. Many coveted Peshawgo for his great strength...and of those that coveted him, none were as strong as Aeis, Dragon of Wind. She came to him and stole him away from us, and I have chased after Aeis ever since. She is there..." Amica motioned back towards the Great Western Mountains far behind them. "...in her lair, where she keeps Peshawgo. I sought to give chase aboard Flying Machine, but she was too strong. She is responsible for this fate..."
Entirely true, and most of the story...though it might not have been Aeis' spell that had cast them into the World of Ghosts to be torn apart. The spell could have been T'Kil's...or perhaps the Elders...or the Spirits themselves, for all Amica could guess.
"I will take shelter with the traders for a night. Tomorrow I will leave them and set out across the desert towards the Great Western Mountains, where I will face Dragon of Winds to free the Peshawgo." Amica stared out at the dunes as they rode, imagining the endless stretch of desert that lay ahead of her. She had tried the short route once...trying to cross the desert on the wetlander contraption...but she had been foolish. Tomorrow she would set out, either on horse, camel, or foot...and reach the mountains without being detected. After all...it seemed likely that if she had lost her talisman and fell through the World of Ghosts...then Aeis could only believe she was dead.
Climbing up behind Arigha on her beast, Amica settled in and smiled at Desert Sister's talk. It had been some time since she had tried to relate her travels...and she hardly knew where to begin now after so much time. There were things she could easily share...such as her battle with the Witch or the unusual Djinn she chased outside the city or perhaps the tyranny of Rah-mah-su, wetlander Elder of Sabata. But there were also things she should not share, things that might give any of the Gens harinae reason to fear. Did they know that the Elder Council was so divided and embittered against one another? Even if the People knew of this, they would not know of the Pact...and the curse it was designed to check.
"I will tell you how I came to be aboard Flying Machine. This story begins with a man known as Peshawgo. The djinni lead me to him and wished for me to heal him, for they had come to love using his flesh. This I did, but I stole him away from them and fled to the wetlander city. Many coveted Peshawgo for his great strength...and of those that coveted him, none were as strong as Aeis, Dragon of Wind. She came to him and stole him away from us, and I have chased after Aeis ever since. She is there..." Amica motioned back towards the Great Western Mountains far behind them. "...in her lair, where she keeps Peshawgo. I sought to give chase aboard Flying Machine, but she was too strong. She is responsible for this fate..."
Entirely true, and most of the story...though it might not have been Aeis' spell that had cast them into the World of Ghosts to be torn apart. The spell could have been T'Kil's...or perhaps the Elders...or the Spirits themselves, for all Amica could guess.
"I will take shelter with the traders for a night. Tomorrow I will leave them and set out across the desert towards the Great Western Mountains, where I will face Dragon of Winds to free the Peshawgo." Amica stared out at the dunes as they rode, imagining the endless stretch of desert that lay ahead of her. She had tried the short route once...trying to cross the desert on the wetlander contraption...but she had been foolish. Tomorrow she would set out, either on horse, camel, or foot...and reach the mountains without being detected. After all...it seemed likely that if she had lost her talisman and fell through the World of Ghosts...then Aeis could only believe she was dead.