Original Submissions
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Sun Legions by Ourla
Added on Mar 2, 2008An era of the Tuluki militia: High Templar Elithan Winrothol, Faithful Lord Vraj Dasari, Lieutenant Lukran, Sergeant Sid, Corporal Valin, Private Tulay the half-giant, and Prophet the mul.
The Warriors of Faith: Part II: "Before the Storm" by Ghost
Added on Feb 26, 2008The armies prepare for the battle, and the politics of the cities take a new shape
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
… He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
My dearest Ka’Tryn,
Days followed nights, and time flew away. It has only been two weeks that tore us apart, but it feels like years have gone between us. I thank the Highlord every night for your still-fresh memory to keep me company in these desolate lands.
I have been pulled in a trap, my love. For days I have been running with Samil at my back. For days my men have been marching, and the way home is closed to us; our enemy is strong.
I require assistance from the War Ministry, my love. I need another armed force to circle around my enemy’s rear, which will quickly lead us into a decisive victory. However, as a blue robe, I have already been trusted with more than enough soldiers under my command. For even more units, the procedure will take too long to carry on. That kind of time, I do not have.
My love, I need you to write a letter for me to the War Ministry, and use your Family’s influence to draw a few hundred soldiers from the Ministry and have them sent along the Shield Wall to strike the enemy from behind. The maps I am sending you with this letter clearly indicate the position of the enemy units, and their possible routes over the next two days. A commanding officer would understand what is expected of him from those maps. If they agree to send the force, this battle will end quickly, and we will be together once again. Please do this for me, my love, for I miss you so much.
Walk in His shadow.
I love you, with all my heart.
Sulach Tor of the War Ministry
Lord Cadra Borsail rolled the written parchment in his meaty hands, a pleasant smile curling up on his lips. He was glad to hire a servant specifically tasked to watch Ka’Tryn’s letters. A bold move it was, and finally it produced fruit. He crossed the spacious room, carrying his substantial body to the window where he could watch the beautiful colors of the garden stretching out to the rest of the estate. The view was relaxing in nature.
Ever since Sulach had marched out for his campaign, everything worked for the success of Lord Cadra. He was quick to catch the attention of a Senator of his House by throwing a party in the man’s name. Pretty soon, his relationship with the Senator got very close; he was attending his meetings, helping him arrange social events, rallying his own servants for his course, working with nobles of other Houses to collect votes for the said Senator. His knowledge and experience with the politics of the city expanded so much in a very short time, even he was surprised.
His meaty cheeks were pulled back, revealing a childish smile. He tore his gaze away from the garden and began to walk toward the hearth. More work would have to follow. He would host another Senator tomorrow in the Estate and he would use all he could to try and manipulate the senator into passing a vote in his favor. If he failed, it would not be a loss for him, but for the current Senator of Borsail. But if he succeeded…
His smile broadened as he stood near the hearth, staring at the dancing light with hypnotized eyes. In the end this was all a game for him, at least for now. Until he became comfortable in the political schemes and made his name heard in the Senate Halls, it would remain as a game. The real politics would start after that moment.
His eyes focused on the firelight, as he woke from his daydreams. His game was going very well and it should not be disturbed, and that meant Sulach would have to stay out of his way. Even if it meant the downfall of Sulach and a few hundred soldiers, the success Cadra could accomplish in the long run would easily pale this minor loss. He threw the crumpled parchment into the hearth and let the flames catch it with an insatiable hunger. The parchment shriveled and wrinkled, the ink marks leaving dark spots in the firelight.
When the last ink mark shriveled and died in the fire, a relief washed over Cadra. He quickly called the slaves for refreshments, and let his mind wander on the taste of the afternoon dessert.
* * * * * * * * * *
“We cannot keep avoiding them forever, my Lord. The soldiers are beginning to question why we have been changing routes so very often, and why we have not met the gith army after all that marching,” Lieutenant Strian spoke, his voice high to overcome the wail of the wind outside. A sandstorm was raging in the desert, sending ripples over the tightly-secured interior walls of the tent. The commanding officers were silent around the map table, their gazes appearing sullen after the weariness of the day.
Sulach pressed his fists on the map table, his brows wrinkling as he weighed Strian’s words. He had kept the news of the Tuluki force a secret from the rest of the army to this moment, for fear that if the soldiers learn the grave mistake of the scouts they would lose their trust on each other. Each soldier in the army trusted their life to the other. If they heard of a weakness among them, it would morale would drop and cripple their will to fight. Sulach could not allow that to happen.
He knew he had to fight the Tuluki force, and he knew he had to break the news of the enemy to his soldiers... but not yet. He wanted a reply his letter to Ka’Tryn and to how the War Ministry responded before giving the news to his army. He could not use the Way and ask about it. When the subject was Tuluk, use of the Way would only mean giving all his plans to Samil on a silver plate. The only option he had was to wait, and wait he did.
Two days passed like that. This was the third day, and his officers were getting as restless as the rest of his army.
“What about the supplies?” he asked.
“Very low my Lord. We probably have three days’ food and drink on the carts, give or take,” Itina said shortly. Then she added after a momentary thought: “The enemy was moving toward the supply routes. If that is their goal, these might very well be our last supplies.”
Sulach released a heavy sigh, but the cries of the storm quickly drowned his voice. His options were getting thinne, but he had to wait. The only way to victory was hitting the enemy from the rear as he pressed from the front. And for that, he needed Ka’Tryn’s help. Why did he not hear from her still? She would do what he asked. She had Sulach’s full trust on that, but he was running out of time. Perhaps he had to write another letter and put pressure on the time.
Sulach lifted his gaze to look at the officers gathered around the map table. All eyes were on him, waiting for any command he would give them.
“Drop the rations given to the soldiers to half. We will wait for a word from Allanak for two more days. We will decide after that,” he spoke finally. The officers did not seem overly happy about his decision, but they did not speak on it. The final word belonged to Sulach and they would comply, whether they liked it or not.
The commanding officers left the tent shortly, leaving Sulach alone in the trembling candlelight. He sat down at the table, pulled over a parchment and quill, and started writing another letter to Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- They have pieces of the puzzle, but only hazily see the whole picture.
- Then I would safely say very few know as much as we, Brother.”
- Serilla Uaptal and Elithan Winrothol, Templars of Tuluk.
“They are not using the Way anymore,” said Neodyn through the unseen Way.
“Then he is aware of my presence,” replied Samil’s clear thoughts. “No more games then, I will close in and engage him as soon as possible.”
“Most likely,” replied the frail mental image of the Lirathan in Samil’s mind. “Still, it does not mean we should drop all other plans. We can still plant our men into the vile city as we discussed before.”
“Why, yes. We can. I assigned the Lyksaen warriors that my
“Speaking of which, your
“Send him my regards, and tell him that his warriors are the best I have seen,” Samil sent his thoughts. In truth, it was a basic way of thanking the noble blood for his aid rather than a compliment. Lyksae trained the most elite warriors; twenty of them would make a difference.
“Thank you, Faithful Sister,” Samil finished.
“His radiance guide you, Brother,” Neodyn replied, before slipping from his thoughts.
Samil sat alone on his pallet for a few minutes, mulling the recent news. He had Sulach cornered by closing the way back. The Lyksaen warriors could easily take care of his supply routes as well, and thus force Sulach into a pitched battle. Considering he had the greater numbers and fresh Legions, along with abundant supplies, he was confident of the outcome of such a battle. Not to mention he would also have his own men in Allanak once the supply route was broken.
He lay down on the pallet, taking a deep, relaxing breath. The morning was still a few hours away, and his mind was weary from meditation and the drain of the psionic contact.
The day would dawn to the march of the Legions.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- Well, fuck, you did it already? I'd figured you're wack off a bit before finishing it”
- Marin of the Guild
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion…
The same phrase repeated over and over in her head. Everything had been dark… for how long? Was there ever a light? Did she ever look at the skies?
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
A sharp headache was calling her back from sleep, pushing away the dream world and reminding her of the physical senses. She did not want to wake up though, it was too painful to wake up. The headache alone was unbearable, not to mention all those wounds from arrows and spears, turning her body into a bloody mess. Sleep was taking her pain away; sleep was comfortable.
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
How did she fall into this? How did the lights go away, and the pain take over? How did she feel her life slipping away, and the pain driving her towards insanity before unconsciousness came to her rescue?
It was her first mission as a Corporal to escort the supply carts to Lord Templar Sulach Tor, who was supposed to be fighting gith. The routes had been planned carefully, as they always were. The gith numbers were so few that the Corporal and her unit would not even be needed. But such were the protocols. The slaves could not defend themselves against the threats of the desert, were there a random group of raiders or a beast sneaking upon them. Her unit would scare away such raiders and could defend against the occasional beasts lurking in the dunes. The supply carts would be delivered in no time.
But it did not go so well.
The ambush started so fast and was so deadly, nobody understood what hit them. Suddenly arrows and spears rained out of nowhere, slaughtering many in a bloody confusion. Shields were pulled up at the Corporal’s order to stop the bloody rain of death, but then the sands around them sprayed up in a blinding shower, throwing up more ambushers within melee range in their wake. In seconds, they cut through the prone unit, dropping down so many with brutal efficiency. The Corporal’s order was cut off in the middle as a spear caught her full in the chest, and a sword slashed across her groin. Then her attacker passed by her, moving to his next target. Instinctively she dropped her hands on her wound, as if trying to prevent her guts from spilling out.
She saw another volley of arrows and spears taking flight and she heard the thunder of galloping cavalry charging on her men, followed shortly by the screams and the cries of the dying men. She knew she would not survive this. Her opponent was so strong. They were almost like… They almost reminded her of…
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
The same voice repeated over and over in her head… Disturbing her sleep.
Corporal Xides…
Powerful hands were shaking her and she realized the sleep could no longer protect her. She opened her eyes, trying not to flinch at the overwhelming pain awakening inside of her, and the rush of light that burned her eyes.
Crimson and grey was her opponent, his attire carrying not a bit of blood or sand from the deadly desert. How could anything be so untouched by the misery of such a crimson afternoon?
“Tell me your name and your unit, soldier!” The powerful hands shook her again, causing a ripple of pain to pass over her expression.
“Corporal…Xides… Of the Ja - de Teeth…”
The fight scene was running in her head again and again. Such a good coordination, discipline, skill… They were almost like… Almost like…
“… quartermas-.. ter… of the second battalion…”
They fight almost like Tor Scorpions.
“Die miserably.”
A knife slashed across her throat, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake, and then her killer dropped her carelessly. She tried to talk, but the words died in her throat with a sickening gurgle. She felt the precious blood pouring out, leaving her weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. She could not help but to shake violently, causing the blood to spray and paint the golden sands in a chaotic splash of crimson stain.
Her eyes moved to the sides, looking past the hands that killed her. She could see clearly now, that there were only about ten to twenty attackers that created such a field of death.
No!
She could not be beaten by a handful of men like this! She was of the Arm of the Dragon; she could not die like this!
Her hands clawed the sands as if to hold tight to the life and fight against the grasp of death.
And she stayed like that.
“The mission was successful, Faithful Lord. The caravan is neutralized,” reported the Lyksaen warrior through the unseen Way, as the last ragged breathes of the Corporal died away. All around him were piles of bodies, lying in a lifeless mimicry of the chaotic battle that had happened moments ago.
“Excellent, Mtakr. Any casualties among your men?” Samil’s mind responded him shortly.
“None, Faithful Lord.”
“You truly live to the fame of House Lyksae, Enit.” Samil honored the warrior by calling him by his name.
“I do my duty for the Ivory and the Faithful,” replied the warrior in the traditional way.
Samil’s thoughts were colored with approval and pleasantness: “Keep the carts secure now. In about an hour, my men will come to take the carts from your hands. After that, make sure the corpses of the vile
“Yes sir,” Enit replied affirmatively.
“Once it is done, continue your patrol on the supply routes. No supply carts should pass to the enemy, Mtakr.”
“None will pass, sir.”
“Excellent. I will call you by my side before I engage the enemy, and we will rejoice with the glory then.”
“As you please, Faithful Lord.”
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 7
“ - Look at my son! Is not he cute?
- I can snap his neck with two fingers.
- And I can remove your balls and stuff them down your throat.
- Good point”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Inrof
Meleth’s Circle was overcrowded. The music and the noise of the Fale party were over now, but the commoners still stood outside the Arboretum. Some old and crippled, some harboring a child, some supporting a loved one, their bony fingers intertwined in a desperate gesture of love, were all standing there weak and battered under the scorching sun, hoping that they would be spared with the leftovers. The party was over now and the Highborn were making their way out of the Arboretum.
Lord Templar Risac Valika was one of the first to leave the party. He was not surprised to be greeted by the mass of the commoners, but he was not expecting the circle of soldiers in tight formation to hold the people out. He approached the ranking officer, who was standing several feet away from the curtain that separated the Arboretum from the Meleth’s Circle.
“Sergeant,” Risac called as he walked over and dropped a bored nod of acknowledgement at the sergeant’s respectful bow. “What is this about?” He gestured at he commoners pressing their bodies against the soldiers.
“Sir, the people are starving.”
Risac nodded grimly. It was a time of famine and both the water and flour prices had raised over the last week, leaving many people struggling desperately on the verge of starvation.
“I see. We are going through difficult times. It is a shame to see our own people suffer like this,” he said bitterly. The Sergeant could see genuine concern on the templar’s face.
“Still,” Templar Risac added, taking a deep breath, “we cannot let them disturb the noble-born. Make sure your men keep them away until the nobility departs, then we will see what we can do for our people.”
Sergeant nodded sharply: “Right away, sir.”
“It was a pleasant party, was it not Lord Templar?” called Lord Cadra as he passed through the curtain and walked out to the bustling noise of the Meleth’s.
“It certainly was, Lord Borsail,” replied Templar Risac.
“We did not have much chance to talk in the party,” continued Lord Cadra as he approached to the templar in blue, two guards wearing the crimson of Borsail stepping to his flanks immediately. “I hope all is well?”
Risac spared a glance at the soldiers trying to hold the commoners away from the Arboretum. Although it seemed to be a small commotion, he noted it would be better to have more soldiers ready in these times. Too late for now, but perhaps for the next meeting in Arboretum.
“The famine is breaking our citizens, which concerns me. Other than that, all is well. And you?”
“Oh I am fine, thank you for asking,” Cadra replied, wearing a genuine broad smile. “Is there any word from my old friend Sulach? I have not heard from him ever since he headed for the gith campaign.”
“I did not know you were so close to him, Lord Borsail,” smirked Risac playfully. Then he added: “No, actually there is not much news. The slaves that brought back the supply carts say he has not engaged the gith yet. I assume he does not want to say a word without meeting the enemy.”
Cadra Borsail had a difficult time disguising his surprise. Supply carts being brought back? Slaves reporting about not meeting gith?
A loud noise erupted from the crowd as several people tried to break the soldiers’ block to come closer to Arboretum. They were begging loudly as they clawed their way against the adamant posture of the soldiers. Templar Risac shook his head as he watched the commotion. It was a pain to see his people so desperate and weak, and he prayed to the Highlord that no outbreak would occur that day.
Cadra was lost in thoughts however. He had intercepted all of Sulach’s letters to Ka’Tryn and to the War Ministry over the last week. In every one, he mentioned the supply chains having been broken. The fact that Risac saying the supply carts returning safely could only mean…
The soldiers were having a hard time holding the crowds back. Risac was pressing his fingertips to his temple, probably requesting a unit to back up the soldiers.
“Your job is not easy at all, dear friend,” said Cadra, forcing a smile. Ideas were rushing through his mind. Daring ideas, dangerous ideas…
Risac said something as a reply, but Cadra did not hear it. He was too far into his own thoughts. Learning that Samil planted his own men like slaves of Allanak, and that only Cadra himself had knowledge of this, were the best pieces of news he had heard in a while. So many possibilities were running through his mind.
“Ah, dear! Were you waiting for me?” called a female voice beside Cadra, and he felt gentle gloved hands hooking around his arm. Turning over, he was looking directly at Lady Ansche Fale, her fluffy purple silk dress brushing against his cloak.
Anger was spinning in Cadra’s thoughts as he saw her, but he knew better than to jerk off his arm. Instead, he flashed a smile:
“Lady Fale, it was such a beautiful party,” he continued. His smile was growing as he placed his hand on hers, her purple silk gloves soft to his touch.
Ansche Fale flashed back warmly, leaning close to him. Her perfume was masking the stench of the commons. “I am glad you enjoyed it, dear.”
Cadra tried hard to keep a straight face. Lady Fale, among all the nobility, had so far proved to be the biggest thorn he had. Quite manipulative in nature, she was in this game much earlier. She was successfully undoing all his efforts to collect supporters for the Senator. Knowing how she had been, Cadra finally decided to convince her to his side first, and then decide what next to do.
“Our little talk has been due for quite some time, Lady. Would you like to come with me to the Trader’s?” Cadra spoke gently, his smile was warm and inviting.
“How lovely of you, dear. Indeed, we should talk”.
Her hand hooked around the crook of his arm, Cadra began to escort her when the crowds broke into another uprising. This time the force pushing through was not as strong, but still a woman clawed and kicked her way through the ring of soldiers. A baby in her arms, the fragile frame of the woman stood confused for a moment, not sure what to do next. But then, she threw herself in front of Cadra and Ansche, and her eyes were teary and pleading:
“Please my Lord, my Lady… Please… My baby is dying. Please, just a little water?”
Ansche on his arm, Lord Cadra stopped in his steps, looking directly at the crying woman: Bony figure, skin tanned and dried from exposure to the Suk-krath, she seemed no older than mid twenties, the baby in her arms no more than a month. Helping this woman would bring the rest of the crowds begging. On the other hand, it was not Cadra’s authority to discipline this woman. Even considering punishment for something this simple would mean that his time and mind would become occupied with things as worthless as a simple commoner; a shame to his noble blood. Yet the woman was there, in front of his path:
“That is enough!” boomed Templar Risac’s voice. “Soldiers, make room for the nobility!”
“Weapons ready!” Sergeant Vorag commanded to his soldiers, who stepped back from the press of the commoners and drew their weapons. “Advance!” he ordered, and he broke into a charge toward the fragile form of the woman. His first sword swing killed the baby, his second finished the woman off.
Chaos erupted through the the Circle as the soldiers cut through the commoners mercilessly. Each swing of a blade dropping another, soldiers killed their own citizens without hesitation. The commoners, who were trying to push their way through moments ago, were now tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the advancing soldiers; the ones left behind butchered without discrimination. They could provide little resistance against the armed and trained soldiers before being cut down. Blood and gore spilled on the streets, painting the paving stones in a dark crimson.
"Stand your ground!" the Sergeant shouted when the soldiers were spread wide enough. "Stand your ground!" he repeated, and the advancing soldiers stopped abruptly, their blades coated in crimson blood.
Another unit of militia was jogging through the streets, making their way to report to Templar Risac, who barely nodded and gestured for them to join the forces that were holding the commoners back, though it was no longer necessary. Due to the brutal repression of the armed forces, the commoners were still afraid to come any close to the circle of soldiers.
"I am afraid this has delayed your leave," Templar Risac told Lord Cadra and Lady Ansche apologetically.
"Ah, it is no problem, Lord Templar," replied Cadra, "our time is a fine price to do the Highlord's bidding."
"My apologies, still," Risac countered.
Slaves poured barrels of dry sand over the sticky blood, making a
clear path for the nobles, though there was nothing to be done for the reek of gore and open bowels that hung heavy in the open air.As the nobility were leaving, Risac noticed several unfortunate commoners dropping to their knees, trying to drink from the blood on the ground to quench their thirst. He felt his heart ache at the sight, and prayed to the Highlord for these dark times to be over soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 8
"- Hey... Farran... if we all die t'gith... tha's alright. No... m'serious... in th'end... what's it matter?"
- Agent Horus-da Kurac, experiencing a thodeliv-fueled revelation.
The two days of time given was over. There was no response to the letters, not even the latest ones he sent. The supply chain was broken; the very few rations left were the last for the Allanaki force. Little was said in the morning meeting with his officers. Their woeful expressions spoke volumes. Sulach felt his heart sinking.
From the back of his mount, he looked down at the great expanse of his soldiers. His mind wandered back to the last two weeks and the pride he felt at the sight of his great force, the promises of the glory in eliminating the raids. He would be named “the Conqueror”. Already his name was spoken with respect even among the other blue robes. The tales of his victories against the overwhelming gith numbers, against all odds, were well received. But now he was here, in front of the very soldiers, unable to decide how to start. “I am the Conqueror,” he whispered to himself, but the words failed to cheer him as they once did.
“Soldiers! Men of the Arm of the Dragon! My followers!” he started, taking a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, we left our hearts at home and stepped into these desolate lands. We all did this for the same reason.” He let his words sink in.
“For Allanak!” he shouted and the soldiers gave a cheer, lifting their swords in salute.
“But today, we are facing an enemy we did not think we would find. An enemy we have had all the time, though we did not come out here to fight them. Not this time, not in this war.”
The soldiers were silent as Sulach rode his horse up and down in front of the gathered units. “Today, Allanak is too far away. Highlord knows, if we die today, they will not hear it for days.”
“Soldiers! We will meet this enemy! We will fight them! But I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time!” Confusion could be read on the soldiers’ faces as they looked directly at Sulach. Sulach merely looked back, his eyes moving from face to face.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak!” he repeated. “What does Allanak know of us here? What does the Senate understand of what we are? The merchants in their houses, the slaves, the commoners and the whores have not been with us in our battles. When I think of Allanak, I can think of the city that has been standing for ages, and will stand for ages more. But my warriors are those that I see before me now!”
The words sank easily among the soldiers. He knew them for what they are, and he could see the thin cheers as they gazed up at him.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time! This time, fight for me!” he said, and they lifted their heads higher to hear him. He swept a hand to the southern horizon in a vague gesture to point toward the enemy’s direction:
“What an honor that our enemy came in greater numbers. They know our strength, my warriors! They know we are unbreakable in spirit! If I could change places today, and be one among them, I would fear you! I would be terrified! For they are not us! The infidels, the barbarians they are, my warriors, they are nothing like us! When our hearts and arms are tired, we go on! When our stomachs are empty and mouths dry, we go on!”
He smiled upon the soldiers, pleased to see all of their heads high and spirits lifted:
“The enemy closed in to draw our blood! Let us show them how the Allanakki fight!”
A loud cheer erupted from the gathered soldiers, drowning Sulach’s last words. Swords were rapped together, whistles, cheers, cries rose from the crowds, and Sulach’s name rang repeatedly in the noise.
Sulach was pleased. Once more he felt the excitement of the battle rising within him. Let Samil come now, and fight me when I lead such brave soldiers. His heart lifted with pride, and he ordered them to move out. The enemy was within a day’s march.
“Faithful Lord, that black wave –“ started the captain Lesk of the legions.
“Allanaki force,” Samil cut in shortly.
“Should we move in and engage them, then?”
Samil stared at the afternoon horizons for a moment, then to the enemy force a few leagues distant. “First we need to rest.”
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Reila. A fine name, eh? I'm Lassan. Lassan Dito. This is me partner, Azhaj. We both deadly with swords, an' amazin' with cocks."
- Lassan Dito and Azhaj, Partners in Debauchery
The night fell as Suk Krath gathered its light and departed to the west. Both moons were high in the sky, their red and white glow spilling to the sands and illuminating the landscape dimly. A clear mixture of sounds was giving life to the night in the Tuluki camp, as bards played their instruments and the rest of the army joined them with applaud and cheering. The campfires were hosting the dancing contests as soldiers pulled forth their ability to follow and accompany the music with aesthetic moves. The songs would end, the cheer and clapping on hands would rise for the dancers, and the new song would begin with a different tone, sometimes faster, sometimes challengingly slow, sometimes in sudden changes requiring the dancer to guess the follow of the music to adjust properly. It was as much a display of playing the music as it was a display of its seduction.
Captain Lesk watched the dancers as the rest of his soldiers did for a while, leaving all the worries of battle in the shifting light of the campfires. Such moments always gave him a feeling of strengthening the bond between the soldiers. As the dancing contests came to an end and Kruth decks changed hands, Lesk realized the passage of time. The duties of his role as commander in the army called him once more. With the rest of the commanding officers, he made it to the Faithful’s tent, only to find him sitting in the map table covered in thin loose garment.
They all dipped their heads in greeting, and Samil returned their gesture. Lesk was the first to break the silence:
“No disturbance, Faithful Lord. Looks like they will not try their chance under the cover of the night.”
Samil merely nodded, lifting his stone cup to take a swallow of clear water.
“Understandable. Fighting in the dark is tricky, it brings risk on both parties involved,” he said. “And probably, he is also as curious of tomorrow’s battle as we are. If he attacks at night, he will never find out if he would win or lose against the odds.” Samil wiped his mouth.
Lesk was as confused as the rest of the officers. He did not quite understand. Curious of the battle? Perhaps that is what it meant to be the messenger of a God-King, and to wield the power of life and death over the masses. That perhaps, such measures in hundreds of deaths may sometimes look like a game.
“Is there anything you require us to do, Faithful Lord? Perhaps a battle plan?”
Samil was already shaking his head before Lesk could finish.
“No. I intend to let Sulach make the planning, and I will counter him. We hold the upper hand here and rushing things could bring risk.” He started to wave his hand dismissively. “You may return to your units. Enjoy the night, and have a good rest. Tomorrow before the dawn, we will be facing the enemy.”
The commanding officers all nodded and departed from the command tent. The chatter and the noise outside were significantly lower, as the new game was about concealing the emotions, and reading the other players’ faces. Players seemed to be lost in the card games and the observers only watched in awe, trying to distinguish who was better in masking their intentions.
Samil rose from the map table stretching his muscles, thinking the battle was over for that night. Over forty years he was, nearly twice the age of Sulach, but still his physique was impressive. He decided to pray for the Sun-King for an hour, and then he too would need to retire for the rest of the night. For tomorrow required a rested body and mind.
The fires of the Allanaki camp were as alive as those of the Tuluki after dusk. After a few days of half rations, Sulach finally ordered for food and water to be given as much as the soldiers want, so that they would look like Allanakki when they met their enemy. Barrels of wine and ale were passed among the campfires after the meal to lift the spirits, and it was effective. Soldiers were challenged to wrestle against beasts captured from the desert during the day. Bets were placed, coins changed hands and in the end, after the beasts had been wounded or tired, they would be slaughtered and grilled over the campfires to be shared among the men. The laughter and joy could be read on the soldiers’ faces, as if they were not to die tomorrow, as if they will not lose many friends and loved ones in several hours.
As time passed and the booze left a bitter taste in the night, the laughter and cheers died as well. The lingering campfires were playing tricks of light on their cold faces when Tild approached to the largest of the groups.
He dropped to his haunches, nearly spilling his ale over a soldier. Chuckling as he slapped the soldier on the shoulder, he lifted his cup in salute. The rest of the soldiers did not share his cheerful manner, at least not as much as he did.
“What is up, soldiers? You are not going to tell me you missed your moms?” Tild started again, his voice still cheerful, untouched by the gloom of his company.
“Some of us are worried, Lieu… I mean, Tild,” the soldier replied. Ever since Tild had been demoted to the rank of private due to the mistake of his subordinates, some soldiers were having a hard time adjusting his new rank.
“Worried?” Tild’s eyes were wandering from face to face now. “Worried about what? Fighting?” The soldiers were shaking their heads in protest, but Tild ignored them. “If you are scared of fighting, I think you made a major mistake in choosing your jobs, fellas.”
“No!” one of them broke in. “We are not scared of fighting, Tild. But look at this.” The soldier’s hand was stretched to the distant glows of the enemy fires. “Word says we are outnumbered. And you know how we have not been given much food lately. It is obvious we are running out of basic supplies.”
Tild licked his lips, tasting again the leftovers of the ale. He looked at the soldiers once more, and saw all eyes were on him. He nodded then, putting down his cup on the ground.
“So, fellas” he began, raising his voice enough to be carried through the campfire, and even to the nearby groups. “How long have you known Lord Sulach?” He continued quickly, without waiting for a reply. “A year? Two? I know most of you have not even finished your first year.”
The soldiers were silent.
When he started again his voice was stronger, carrying no sign of his drunken delirious from moments ago: “I know him for more than five years. I have fought many times for him. My credentials speak for me” his serious expression giving in to a mischievous grin “and my outstanding rank!” a laughter erupted through the soldiers then, as someone from the darkness added “To the rank of the private!” and all the cups were lifted cheerfully, the soldiers taking a mouthful of the liquor. Tild saw clearly at that moment, that almost all of the soldiers sitting around the nearby campfires were moving closer to hear what he was saying.
“Fellas! I fought with Lord Sulach when outnumbered. I fought with him when we were surrounded! There was one time, the gith ambushed us from both front and rear ranks and outnumbering us two to one” he slowed down then, letting the words sink into the soldiers. His voice was clear and loud when he started again: “But we always won. That man” his finger was pointing towards the command tent standing tall and wide in the darkness, “That Lord Templar Sulach, knows how to fight. He knows how to win. As a soldier, all I had to do was to follow his orders and think no further than my duties. And I am here today.”
All heads seemed to nod in silent understanding, but Tild was not finished: “Let him do the thinking, let him do the worrying. You just do what you are told to do, and remember that you are on the winning side.”
Tild was pleased to see the change in the soldiers’ expressions. It lifted his spirits as much as it did for the soldiers’. Still he forced himself to take on a serious expression:
“Now there is another important matter” and he lifted his cup, draining all the remaining ale. He retrieved a bag of dice from his cloak, and took a set from there without looking.
“I have my eyes on a nice warbeetle for a while now” he threw the dice into his cup and begin to swirl the contents, “and you know… Funds are low.”
Laughters and chatter broke through the gathered soldiers as they were drawn into the games. Soon more games were started around the campfires; coins were exchanged and more jokes were shared.
Later in the night, Lieutenant Strian caught the sight of the former lieutenant Tild in the middle of a huge group of soldiers, playing games and sharing jokes, and shamelessly adding more coins to the already overgrown piles of obsidian as the games continued. A smile crept over Strian’s face as he stalked off into the night through the camp, then. The joyful spirits of the former lieutenant was thoroughly lightening.
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Krath in the sky, woman. You use yer tongue better'n an armless beggar lickin' water off the ground."
- Addlestone Salarr
Itina’s arm stretched to feel the warmth of manflesh, but she woke up as it only found the cold touch of the wrinkled bedsheets. She straightened up, causing the still asleep Eoni beside her shift with an unpleasant muffle. Her eyes easily spotted Sulach’s half naked form in the candle light, wrapped in white sheets at the map table, a cup of wine accompanying his troubled thoughts.
Soft steps left their naked touches on the sandy floor, carrying her in the dim light. If Sulach was aware of her approach, he showed no sign of it. Her hands were gentle as she placed them on his shoulders, massaging him in between gentle squeezes.
“The first time I was terrified of the enemy was four years ago” Sulach spoke, as Itina’s hands worked in harmony to relieve the stress from Sulach’s shoulders. “I realized then, that there is no shame in being afraid, only in action that follows it.” Itina nodded as she listened, though, Sulach could not see it. “I have seen men still holding their ground when they are shaken with fear; I have seen them suppress the pain and fight, when their guts are being spilled.”
“Are you afraid that you will die tomorrow in the battlefield, my Lord?”
Sulach shook his head:
“Death comes for all of us, today or tomorrow it makes no difference. Men live to build the future and die to make a difference.”
Her fingertips caressed his skin as she walked around him to his front. Open palms cupped his face then smoothly; they ran up his cheeks to brush his hair back. Sulach was forced to look her in the eye as she stood in front of him, the thin sheet wrapped around her barely covering the naked flesh.
“Then what is it my Lord, that wakes you up from your sleep?” Her hands brushed his hair in gentle caress, her eyes watching him with distant admiration.
“How will the future remember me?”
Itina smirked at his words then shook her head. There were not enough words of admiration for him.
“My lord”, she began, her hands moving down to the hem of the wraps enveloping Sulach’s form. “I am a living witness along with many more, that you are someone true to your ideals; someone worth dying for” she finished. Sulach barely nodded his head, then leaned on his back in the chair, his head staring at the ceiling in the dim light.
He felt Itina’s pulling away the wraps that cover his naked form. Her hands were gentle, and her lips were soft. In the silence of the dimly lit tent, he let her take away all his worries.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 9
“-You's got six words to tell me how you's gonna make dat shit square... roughin up a fucker westside when you's ain' got no colors on you's. Six motherfuckin words.. Say dem now.
- You can have all my sid!”
- Quick, after catching someone in the wrong place
The night would often make the city beautiful but not tonight, observed Sergeant Idenu.
The bustle of crowds and the city life slowly faded away as he kept walking on the street ahead. The walls by the sides of the road started to have more and more cracks and scratches, giving a painful image of nonhealed wounds. Even the ground was different here, reflecting the lifeless and cruel image of the part of the city: the Rinth.
Low life of Allanak, thought the sergeant. The idea that he was in this part of the city was insane. One year of serving as a recruit, and two years of the Wyverns, he was climbing up steadily in his career. And yet, here he was, in the Chamber pot of the Highlord, walking for a hope he would find what he is looking for before trouble finds him.
The road broke into a crude junction, an alley leading to the west, the other keeping straight to the north. A statue of a templar, arms outstretched in a greeting was on the side of the junction, one of his arms and head was missing in an attempt of insolent mockery. The red light of Jihae was spilling over the statue, as though, the templar was bleeding from various wounds and scratches. Bitter anger passed over the Sergeant as he observed the disrespect to the Highlord, but he knew better than letting his anger control him. It was not in his place to correct the fools dwelling here. The fact that this part of the city still exsisted, meant that the Highlord and the templarate did want it to exist. He shook his head in an attempt to cool his thoughts as he turned toward the alley to his west. He wanted to get done and get out of this krath forsaken place as soon as possible.
The brushing sound of cloth against cloth came from his back and he spun wildly to meet his follower. The alley was dark; too dark for the sergeant’s liking to catch someone sneaking around. In a reflexive motion, his hands drew his blades and twirled them in a skillful display:
“Come out, whoever you are and face me! I am sergeant Idenu of –“ the sergeant started to challenge, but he stopped in the middle as he heard armored boots clacking along the stone floor of the alleys. He spun wildly, taking on a defensive position, but no attack came forward.
“Your name means nothing to me” responded a male voice softly from his back.
Sergeant was staring at a towering frame of an armored man. His shield was in front and an axe was held in his other hand. A scar cutting his face diagonally in half, the man was looking with murder in his eyes. Yet this was not the man who spoke to him, the voice came from Sergeant’s back, from the shadows.
Sergeant hated being at a disadvantageous situation like this. He turned over his shoulder, trying to figure out where the source of the voice was:
“Look away from me!” the voice was not as soft this time, and the sergeant felt he had no choice but to do as he was told. He turned back to the hulking figure of a man in front of him, and tried to remain calm. With years of training, it was quite possible he could take down this towering figure of a man, but flanked by someone in his back, he did not like his odds.
“Now give me a reason why I should not beat you senseless and take away all your valuables” the soft voice spoke, and the hulking man in front of him made a grunting sound at that. “And it better be a good reason” the voice continued, “because, I really want to beat you.”
What a fucking coincidence, I want to beat you too, sergeant thought, but it was not time for being sarcastic:
“I came here on behalf of my Lord to offer business.”
“Who, and what business?” demanded the voice.
“I will only tell to the person who would do it” sergeant said adamantly.
“Say it now” the voice softly demanded again.
“No” the sergeant replied.
The sergeant was startled at the sudden movement of the gigantic man ahead of him, but he recoiled quickly:
“Come then, you cowards! I will take at least one of you down with me!” he prepared himself for a fight, as he took on a defensive posture, but the attack did not come again. “And my Lord knows I am here, and if I get missing, he will bring the drov upon you.”
“He will do no such thing” the voice responded softly. “You are not supposed to be here, sergeant, it is against the House rules. Since you came here instead of Waying your business, surely your Lord wants something that should be really really secret. And your Lord will hide the fact that he was aware of your coming here, for doing so would alert his rivals of his possible plans. He will announce that you came here against the House rules, and you will be remembered as a disgrace to the Great Borsail” continued the voice in the same soft tone. When it spoke again, a pleasant tone was accompanying the words as well, for the source of the voice had seen the conflict of the sergeant. “I have been nothing but polite to you. Do not dishonor me by trying to play smart here, sergeant.”
“My Lord .. Lord Cadra” Idenu whispered in such a low voice he was not sure if the man behind him could hear it, “He is asking if a riot could be arranged.”
“Anything can be arranged if the price is creative, sergeant” the voice replied, proving that he indeed heard it well.
“How much do you ask for it, and what name should I give him?” Idenu asked.
“I think the price should be spoken with him directly. Tell him to find my mind and give me a price proving how badly he wants it done, without giving any hints of what the price is about… Just the number” the voice spoke again, and Idenu nodded to himself.
“I will tell him a yes or no, and if it is a yes, he should give me which day it is he wants it done” the voice added softly.
“What name should I give him to look for?” Sergeant Idenu asked again.
“Mine. I am Serpent.”
Moments later, after the sergeant of the Wyverns departed, the towering man and Serpent were alone in the alley.
“You know, I don’t like that you will make a riot and get many people killed for some coin” the big man spoke, gritting his teeth in anger.
“Hmm? Why do you care?” Serpent asked.
“It is our city! Our people! They should not die because a fat ass noble wants them to!” he shouted angrily, but then he took a deep calming breath: “At least, we should not be leading them to death.”
“Scarface” Serpent began, and whenever he called him Scarface, it would hint that an argument is on the way. “If the people are as stupid as to go to their death for something they will never get, then it is better that they die and the smarter ones are left alive.”
Scarface furrowed his brows in confusion: “I don’t get that shit.”
“Exactly, you don’t” snapped Serpent. “Remember now, the rinth is your business, southside is mine. Do –not- question the way I run the shit, if you do not want me question yours.”
The argument was over at that, without a need for a fistfight between the crimelords. It was a peaceful evening, and even though Idenu would not agree to it, it was indeed a beautiful night for those who could see it.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
…
He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
Continue Reading...The Beggar of Meleth's Circle by Ourla
Added on Feb 22, 2008Completed as part of Silverfaune's experiment in drawing the same NPC from Allanak.
Hail There, Ho There by Sarah
Added on Feb 21, 2008A drinking song, with a multitude of expressions for the word "drunk". Original bard/artist unknown.
(Verse 1)Ho there my gent’, Let’s have us a drink .. We’ll play us some Third Eye, ‘Til we can’t bloody think.
Ho there my lass, Grab us a glass .. We’ll dance and be merry, ‘Til we fall on our ass.
Hail there ‘Na-kkies, Let’s find us some ease .. We’ll drink all the booze here, ‘Til we can’t bloody see.
Hail there to all, Let’s slur shout and call .. We’ll cheer for the fellers, In a fair tavern brawl.
(Chorus 1)Get hammered, get plastered, Get pie-eyed, get smashed ..Get crocked and befuddled, Let’s get bloody trashed.
Get muddled and merry, Get totaled and flushed .. Get wasted, besotted, Let’s get bloody lush.
Ho there me mate, It’s the end of the week .. We’ll drink from the barrel, ‘Til we can’t bloody speak.
Ho tavern mass, Let’s cuss and be crass .. May the gals find a nice lad, And the lads find a lass.
(Chorus 2)Get legless and loaded, Get off of your box .. Get mashed minced and munted, Let’s get bloody sloshed
Get lashed up and leathered, Get ripped to the tits .. Get wrecked and get ruined, Let’s get bloody pished
Hail there to ye, Let’s drink and be free .. We’ll booze and carouse, ‘Til they tell us to leave.
Hail there my friend, With warmth I descend .. As chums pals and cohorts, We’ll drink ‘til the end.
(Chorus 3)Get soused tight and tipsy, Get drunk off your face .. Get oiled and potted, Let’s get bloody laced.
Get shitfaced and snockered, Get arse-over-tit .. Get canned, juiced, jugged, happyyy..... Let’s get bloody lit!
(Verse 1)
Ho there my gent’, Let’s have us a drink .. We’ll play us some Third Eye, ‘Til we can’t bloody think.
Ho there my lass, Grab us a glass .. We’ll dance and be merry, ‘Til we fall on our ass.
Hail there ‘Na-kkies, Let’s find us some ease .. We’ll drink all the booze here, ‘Til we can’t...
Continue Reading...Ehlos by Briar
Added on Feb 21, 2008Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.
The Council Born by Biscuits
Added on Feb 21, 2008Banded together, the elementalists who shaped the Council of Allanaki Mages were truly a force to be reckoned with.
Of the Streets by Dig
Added on Feb 2, 2008Gonna cu'chu.
Dragon Killer by Tisiphone
Added on Jan 18, 2008In this log, my sixth character, a dwarf named Monta, tries to claim steel from the back of the Dragon on Allanak's walls, and gets what's coming to him.
In this log, my dwarf, Monta, has a focus of gaining a steel breastplate and sword to go kill all of the mekillots, who killed his father. He's from Red Storm, not a particularly bright fellow, and has just found out that the dragon overhanging Caravan gate is made entirely out of steel. He had joined the Byn, figuring that even with a steel breastplate and sword he'd need to be a good fighter, and besides, they had the best offer on 'sid, which he'd need to buy the aforementioned. This is an early character, my sixth. The rugged, brown-haired woman closes the gate. The rugged, brown-haired woman watches as you approach the gate. Ok. The rugged, brown-haired woman closes the gate. The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other. Stinging sand swirls around you. The gate seems to be closed. A Stony Path [EW] Small, sharp gray gravel covers the ground here, forming a path leading east and west. To the north, a massive gray stone wall rises up perhaps fourteen cords into the air. To the south, a massive, utilitarian-looking stone building reaches up into the sky, with arrow slits set at regular intervals along its length. Warriors of all kinds walk along here, either striding along to the east or queuing up to be let out through the gateway to the west. The rugged, brown-haired woman stands here vigilantly, beside the gate. The thick-boned half-giant is here, standing to one side of the gate. The monstrous, battle-scarred mul keeps watch over the path here. The muscular, sandy-brown dwarf is standing here. The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other. Stinging sand swirls around you. The gate seems to be closed. The rugged, brown-haired woman watches as you approach the gate. Ok. The monstrous, battle-scarred mul and you salute each other. Stinging sand swirls around you. The Gateway to the T'zai Byn [ESW] Massive gray stone arches mark the entrance to the T'zai Byn, also known as the Allanaki Mercenaries' Guild. A large black banner bearing a purple dragon hangs proudly across the thick stone wall to the north, while arches open to the east, south, and west. A heavy bone gate is set beneath the eastern arch, while a small courtyard is visible through the western arch. Warriors' Way lies to the south. The hustle and bustle of the road to the south can be heard, and a large amount of traffic passes in that direction. Most of the people here form a line before the gate to the east. The obsidian-skinned dwarf is here, holding his swords at the ready. The hulking, ashen-skinned half-giant stands here, looking around slowly. The scar-faced green elf scratches his belly as he keeps watch here. The robust, grey-haired woman stands beside the massive gate here. The rugged, war-braided man stands here, watching the gates. The solid, sun-darkened half-giant is here, looming over the crowd. Stinging sand swirls around you. The Meeting of the Road of Slaves and Warriors' Way [NSW] Here the dusty street used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers ends as it meets the short road known as Warriors' Way, which leads between the Mercenaries' Guild and Allanak's Main Bazaar. The massive stone archway to the north leads into a courtyard which marks the entrance to the T'zai Byn of Allanak. Triangular clay pipes jut unevenly from a depression here, caked with filth. A noble's servant slips through the crowds, walking swiftly. You raise the hood of a hooded, brown military aba. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through against the crowd and sand, apparently unperturbed, keeping your eyes down. You think: "Need a chisel. Or a pick." Monta proceeds to the mining shop in Allank to procure these. .... The Road of Slaves [NEW] This dusty street is used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers, for the major Merchant Houses fear that slaves in the bazaar would drive away business. The Merchants' Quarter itself is past a row of shops whose backs now face the south side of the road. Along the north side of the road are a few stone platforms from which slaves are auctioned off daily, surrounded by commoners and nobles alike, attempting to outbid one another. A small, rickety slave pen sits on the northwest side of the street. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through the crowds, leaving small eddies of people. Stinging sand swirls around you. The Road of Slaves [EW] This dusty street is used as a slave market by Allanak's slavers, for the major Merchant Houses fear that slaves in the bazaar would drive away business. The Merchants' Quarter itself is past a row of shops whose backs now face the south side of the road. Along the north side of the road are a few stone platforms from which slaves are auctioned off daily, surrounded by commoners and nobles alike, attempting to outbid one another. ... You think: "And water...well, feck food. Too late." You think: "I got those tubers." Stinging sand swirls around you. Tradesmen's Street [NS] This street flanks the west side of the Merchants' Quarter, and is where most merchants from outside the city go to sell their goods. Oddly-decorated caravans and wagons are parked along the edge of the street, which bustles with activity, as traders carry their goods into the chaos of the Main Bazaar. Here and there, traders stop members of the passing crowd, trying to convince them of the veracity of a crude map purporting to show Steinal's whereabouts or the mystic powers of an oddly carved bone flute. A tilt-nosed, sly-eyed elf stands hawking treasure maps. The crooked-backed pale woman is hunched over a bucket. ... Stinging sand swirls around you. Meleth's Circle [NESW] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the southwest to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. The circle branches onto a busy road to the north and continues on to the south and west, while Allanak's busy Main Bazaar lies to the east. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. A droopy-eyed, double-chinned servant walks by, head down as he mutters. A slick-haired merchant with widely gapped teeth hawks rugs nearby. A team of slaves works here, clearing sand from the road. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba takes an abrupt turn. ... Stinging sand swirls around you. Meleth's Circle [NESW] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side of the doorway. Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west. Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. To the east is Inside the Temple of the Dragon. [Near] A white robed templar carefully attends the fountain. Stinging sand swirls around you. Inside the Temple of the Dragon [W] The great obsidian blocks that form the jagged exterior of this temple have been cut into a dull black dome that reaches nearly fifty cords at its pinnacle. Etched into the dome is the figure of a great white dragon screaming towards the temple floor. The fine white lines defining the body of the dragon converge into a sinewy tail that wraps around the walls, spiraling down until it merges into the temple floor. Scenes of battles and magicks, many of them prominently featuring smaller versions of the dragon, cover the spiraling tail. The smooth black floor of the temple is bare except for the great fountain of a thin templar rising from the temple floor itself, his eyes raised in exultation towards the screaming dragon and his hands outstretched, pouring water into the wide, clear pool in which he stands. White robed templars shuffle quietly about the temple, while a line of supplicants stretches out the great black-stained wooden door to the west, waiting for the statue's bounty. A white robed templar carefully attends the fountain. You get a pile of coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack. There were 15 coins. It is very light. You stop using a leather water-pouch. You bow to the statue and give 15 coins to the white robed templar. The white robed templar fills a leather water-pouch to the brim. You strap the pouch about your waist. You think: "Right. Now." Meleth's Circle [NESW] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side of the doorway. Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west. Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes out, through the throngs of people waiting in line and the loud beggars, absently stepping on a few hands and elbows, crushing them. Stinging sand swirls around you. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. The broad sweep of Meleth's Circle opens to the east. A short, squinty-eyed half-elf with tangled black hair is here. ... Commoners' Way [NESW] Commoners' Way proceeds onward from here, wandering amidst the tangle of crumbling, old mud brick buildings and faded tents that house Allanak's working class. The well-tracked road underfoot initially looks like simple hard-crusted filth, but upon closer inspection appears to be a layer of worn bricks caked with years' worth of animal dung mixed with gritty sand. The greatest concentration of muck along Commoners' Way seems to lead into the wide, open entryway of a stone-walled building to the east crouching among the other ramshackle facades along the street. Judging by the strong stench wafting out from the open entryway, it appears to be a slaughterhouse of some sort, a suspicion confirmed by the occasional kank or chalton dragged inside through the ten cords' wide opening by grimy workers. To the west is the entrance to what appears to be a small, cluttered shop. The road is crowded with Allanak's common folk and slaves, some hurrying about their business, while others linger, lounging in any patch of available shade to find respite from the fierce sun. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba pushes through relentlessly. A small archway leads into the confines of a small shop. [Near] A lop-eared, squinting elf stands behind the counter. Stinging sand swirls around you. The Meeting of Miner's Road and Commoners' Way [NEW] Commoners' Way and the dusty street known as Miner's Road meet here, weaving in a tangle between the ramshackle constructions which mark the housing here. The road is crowded with Allanaki commoners, and the air is thick with dust and noise. The smells of unwashed citizenry, rancid garbage, and offal all mingle here, mixed with the stench emanating from the kank and chalton slaughterhouse lying to the northeast. A drawn, straggly-bearded man crouches here, arms clutched to his chest. A young child dressed in rags is standing here, selling fruit. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba takes another abrupt turn to the west. Stinging sand swirls around you. The Meeting of Miner's Road and Commoners' Way [ESW] Commoners' Way and the the dusty street known as Miner's Road meet here, weaving in a tangle between the ramshackle constructions which mark the housing here. The road is crowded with Allanaki commoners, and the air is thick with dust and noise. The smells of unwashed citizenry, rancid garbage, and offal all mingle here, mixed with the stench emanating from the kank and chalton slaughterhouse lying to the north. A midden heap sits off to one side, stinking of decay. The tanned, red-haired girl stumbles along here, looking unwell. ... Stinging sand swirls around you. "The Black Lode" Mining Shop [N] This dusty, clay-walled shop is tucked away on Miner's Road in the Commoner's Quarter of Allanak, and looks to function as a provisioner of mining supplies. Cheap bone shelves, bound with leather, line the red walls, bearing equipment like pickaxes, shovels, helmets, and gloves. A woven grass carpet covers the floor, and two jallal-wood planks sit atop a pile of brown clay bricks, serving as a rudimentary counter. A curtain of beads leads north onto Miner's Road. The short, black-skinned dwarf stands here, tending to customers. the short, black-skinned dwarf has the following goods to trade: 01) a bone helmet for 186 obsidian coins. 02) an unlit bone-handled torch for 15 obsidian coins. 03) a broad stone chisel for 36 obsidian coins. 04) a coil of hemp rope for 18 obsidian coins. 05) a bloodied long, wickedly sharp fang for 61 obsidian coins. 06) an obsidian hide-scraper for 72 obsidian coins. 07) a quartz hide-scraper for 108 obsidian coins. 08) a rigid, angular leg for 38 obsidian coins. 09) a stone-headed glasshacker for 63 obsidian coins. 10) a new sturdy inix-hide helmet for 109 obsidian coins. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba rubs hands over various tools, quickly picking up a glasshacker and chisel once you finds them. You get a pile of allanaki coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack. There were 25 coins. It is very light. You get a pile of allanaki coins from a double-layered sandcloth pack. There were 367 coins. It is very light. You give the short, black-skinned dwarf 36 obsidian coins for a broad stone chisel. You give the short, black-skinned dwarf 63 obsidian coins for a stone-headed glasshacker. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks over your broad stone chisel and your stone-headed glasshacker, nodding in satisfaction, without a word. You are carrying: 293 obsidian pieces a stone-headed glasshacker a broad stone chisel an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword a daraq shield You put a pile of allanaki coins inside a double-layered sandcloth pack. Miner's Road [NESW] The dusty old street known as Miner's Road weaves between the ramshackle constructions which make up the housing of the Commoner's Quarter, decrepit buildings of ancient mud brick, augmented with panels of rotting canvas and hide. Crowds wander through the thoroughfare, clad in faded abas and carrying their assorted burdens. The ground underfoot is thick with dung from the animals being driven to the slaughterhouse that sits at the intersection of Miner's Road and Commoners' Way. A broad archway bearing the jade cross of the Allanaki templarate leads north into an office, and a small shop sits on the south side of the street. A dusty, sun-cracked man squints at his surroundings as he ambles along. The thin-framed man ambles along, frowning. The night has begun. ... Stinging sand swirls around you. Wall Road [NSU] Shadowed by night, Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside of the city wall, a large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of stone and chitin affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The road is made of small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust, smelling of the wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant city wall. Stinging sand swirls around you. Inside the Main Gate [NESW] The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city, side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal desert to the infinite north. Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along the inside of the high city walls. A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate. The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate. A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. Stinging sand swirls around you. The gates seems to be closed. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba turns again, nearly running into the gates before you stops and stares, then suddenly turns away south. The human soldier briefly inspects your belongings before allowing you to pass. Stinging sand swirls around you. Wall Road [NSU] Shadowed by night, Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside of the city wall, a large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of stone and chitin affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The road is made of small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust, smelling of the wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant city wall. You think: "Maybe I can get over on the catwalk." Stinging sand swirls around you. Along A Steep Stairway [UD] A narrow set of stairs has been built into the surface of the wall itself, running zigzag along its immense stock blocks. The stairs lack a railing, making the downward view of Wall Road passing underneath a dizzying one. From this vantage point, the lights of Allanak, marking the lines of houses are visible in the night, and flickering torches mark the progression of wanderers, here and there along the streets. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba stumps carefully up the stairs. Stinging sand swirls around you. Atop the Wall [ND] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road. Stinging sand swirls around you. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. Down from here is In the Air Below a Catwalk. [Near] Nothing. You think: "Hmmm..." Stinging sand swirls around you. Atop the Wall [SD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road. Down below is Along A Steep Stairway. [Near] Nothing. Stinging sand swirls around you. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. You see nothing special. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks out to the west, eyes centering on the dragon. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba yanks at the rope guardrail, pulling mightily to no avail. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba fumbles around in you for a few moments, something gleaming in your hand afterwards. You cannot carry an obsidian dagger, you have too many items. You are carrying: a stone-headed glasshacker a broad stone chisel an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword a daraq shield You drop an used round black shield. Shown to the room as: An used round black shield lies here. You cannot carry an obsidian dagger, you have too many items. You hold the shield. You get an obsidian dagger from a hooded, brown military aba. It is very light. You brandish the dagger. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba hacks at the rope guardrail powerfully. In two strokes, it falls away. You pick up an used round black shield. It is very light. You put an obsidian dagger inside a hooded, brown military aba. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba shuffles it back into you, regarding the dark expanse neutrally. You think: "I can scale down the wall..." You stop holding a daraq shield. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba looks around and, when you thinks no one is looking, grabs hold of the rope and ties it around himself, quickly dipping over the edge. Stinging sand swirls around you. You try to go down but fall. In the Air Below a Catwalk [UD] Just above, a catwalk proceeds along the western wall of the city, passing over the gate, the top of which is immediately to the west. To the north and south are a pair of staircases leading up to the catwalk, and spread out below is the inside guard post of the gates. <121/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa> You plummet to the ground below... Inside the Main Gate [NESW] The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city, side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal desert to the infinite north. Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along the inside of the high city walls. A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate. The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate. A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba grunts loudly as you hits the ground, and lays still. But only for a few moments; soon enough, you gathers himself and slowly gets to your feet, favoring your right side. You think: "Wrong side. I'll just wait. The day'll give me more chance to study." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba limps over to lean against the wall, face recessed deep into your hood. You send this message to the staff: "Okay. 'twill be a little while, since I have to wait until the gates opened (he already tried scaling down the wall and that didn't work), then for the sun to set again, but I really would appreciate some interaction. Thanks so much." I had previously wished up about Monta's plan to steal steel from the dragon. The response I got from the staff was priceless. It went something like, “What?” then, “Is your character insane? Are you serious?” The answers to the two questions were, in order, a little bit, and yes. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba stares over at the closed gates, glowering. You think: "Damned...kankfecking...half-giant-loving...arms of the spotty dragon." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba spits, letting it dribble down the stones and evaporate quickly. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba leans and stares at nothing in particular. You think: "Better watch the Gaj. Make sure no Byn's coming out when I leave." It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba slowly fondles your stone-headed glasshacker, a nasty crooked grin sneaking onto your face. You think: "I'm gonna have steel! Just a day..." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba shifts your feet around slightly, trying to hide your stone-headed glasshacker behind your body. You think: "Hey wait! I should get a kank!" You think: "...nah. Can't ride worth shit enough that it wouldn't slow me down." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba whistles softly, in a manner you probably thinks is nonchalant. It is, in fact, piercing and off tune. It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba glances back over at the gates, half-glowering, half gleeful. You think: "Hmm. I'd better move up the schedule. I can't sit outside all day, would get caught. I'll do it at dawn." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba keeps a furtive grip on your stone-headed glasshacker. You are carrying: a daraq shield an used round black shield a stone-headed glasshacker a broad stone chisel a short bone sparring sword It is before dawn on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age. <110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa> The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall. A final glimmer of red light marks the red moon Jihae's slow descent. A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent. <110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa> The human soldier groans and rises from his position. The human soldier shouts, in sirihish: "Open the gatej!" NPC typo I hadn't noticed until dressing this log. The human soldier sends up a call to the tower to open the gates. The human soldier opens the gates. <110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa> The towering, nigrescent man has arrived from the east, riding a yellow kank. A yellow kank walks west, carrying the towering, nigrescent man on his back. <110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa>You send this message to the staff: "Sorry if I'm a nuisance; I just thought I should inform you all that I'm moving up the schedule. Monta decided 'twould be better to try at dawn than wait and risk another Byn happening by." <110/121hp 114/114st 132/138sa> A line of bare-backed kanks carves its way through the populated street, led by a single rider at the front end. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba glances about furtively, slipping out the gate when you is sure no other person is looking directly at you. The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier has arrived from the east. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Saving at the gate of Allanak. Saving Monta. Outside the Main Gate [NESW] The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and to the south from here. A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the great beast. The figure in a hooded, brown military aba mills about by the base of the statue, in the crowd. Your new ldesc is: The figure in a hooded, brown military aba mills about in the crowd here. A black steel dragon, towering some fifty cords above the city, glares hungrily toward the western horizon. The dragon's wings, which span over a hundred cords, are poised as if in preparation to lift it into the harsh desert sky. Under one of its gargantuan claws is a life-sized stone dwarf, caught in the last writhing moments of a painful death. Under the other is a winged beast larger than a half- giant, its body torn and lifeless. The dragon's maw, filled with steel razors the size of halflings, emits a silent, challenging scream that tears through your sanity. You think: "Hmm....no, gotta get on the walls..." The figure in a hooded, brown military aba scurries back through the gates hurriedly. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. You pass beneath the shadow of the black dragon. Inside the Main Gate [NESW] The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city, side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal desert to the infinite north. Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along the inside of the high city walls. The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates. A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate. The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate. A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The human soldier briefly inspects your belongings before allowing you to pass. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Wall Road [NSU] Wall Road leads its ponderous way along the inside of the city wall, a large structure of gargantuan stone blocks, spikes of stone and chitin affixed along the top to ward off would-be invaders. The road is made of small cobblestones covered with sand and gritty dust, smelling of the wind-swept wastelands past the looming shadow of the giant city wall. The road continues south, while to the north lie the main gates of Allanak. A narrow stairway, built into the wall itself, leads upward towards a catwalk stretching along the top of the wall. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba leaps up the stairs, clanking all the way. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Along A Steep Stairway [UD] A narrow set of stairs has been built into the surface of the wall itself, running zigzag along its immense stock blocks. The stairs lack a railing, making the downward view of Wall Road passing underneath a dizzying one. The heat of the sun beats down upon the dark surface of the steps, sending up shimmering waves of warmth. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Atop the Wall [ND] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. A set of zigzagging stairs have been built into the surface of the interior wall and descend down towards Wall Road. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba flattens out on your belly, staring down at the dragon. <110/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the east. Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the east. <110/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks west. Outside the gates, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the east. Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks west. Outside the gates, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the east. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba freezes, reaching out, trying to hide behind the dragon's silhoutte. Down below is In the Air Below a Catwalk. [Near] Nothing. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man starts mixing his way into the crowd of worshipers. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the rosy-cheeked dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a grey kank. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, a grey kank walks west, carrying the rosy-cheeked dwarf on his back. Outside the gates, the rosy-cheeked dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a grey kank. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the tall, black-bearded man has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored kank. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, a saffron-colored kank walks west, carrying the tall, black-bearded man on his back. Outside the gates, the tall, black-bearded man has arrived from the east, riding a saffron-colored kank. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba edges out further, slowly unlimbering your stone-headed glasshacker and getting a good grip. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The rosy-cheeked dwarf gives a salute to the statue as he rides. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, a grey kank walks north, carrying the rosy-cheeked dwarf on his back. Outside the gates, a saffron-colored kank walks north, carrying the tall, black-bearded man on his back. <111/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak moves with the white-haired, olive-skinned man through the gathered crowd, stopping at a less cramped area in the back and taking a knee beside the white-haired, olive-skinned man. You think: "Right. Here goes." You take hold of the glasshacker with both hands. <112/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man grasps his dusty jade and ebony cross about his neck, bowing down in the sand. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings powerfully, connecting with a wing and leaving a small gouge. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings again from your precarious perch atop the wall, leaving another smallish gouge right next to the first. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. The catwalk proceeds northward. [Near] Nothing. The catwalk proceeds southward. [Near] Nothing. <113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak bends his head down, face entirely hidden by the cloth that makes up his hood, a nearly inaudible murmur of prayer leaving his lips. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba glances around, trying to see if there are any signs of response. Encouraged by their lack, you swings again, making the gouge deeper and longer, into a furrow. <113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man mumbles under his breath, pressing his forehead down to the sand. <113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier walks east. <113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man lifts his head slowly, pausing to brush the sand from his brow. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba swings again, digging up a very small chunk, which skitters nearer and slightly to the left. <113/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak rises up just after the white-haired, olive-skinned man, absently dusting off his knee before reaching over, chasing a few stray grains of sand off the white-haired, olive-skinned man's forehead with his fingertips. <114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The white-haired, olive-skinned man glances upwards at the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak's fingertips, smiling faintly. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba scoots out further, trying to reach for the small chunk of steel with stubby arms. Unfortunately, since they are far too short, you falls over the side and onto the dragon's back with a loud CLANK! <114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, Smiling, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak leans in, brushing a quick kiss across the white-haired, olive-skinned man's brow. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba sits up slowly with a groan. Once you realizes where you is though, your eyes light up and you reaches out to snatch up the chunk, stuffing it into you. <114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, The very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak slides his arm over the white-haired, olive-skinned man's shoulders, then begins making his way back through the milling crowd. <114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks east. Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak has arrived from the west. Outside the gates, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks east. Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man has arrived from the west. <114/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the human soldier briefly inspects the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak's belongings, then allows him to pass. Down below, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, black sandcloth longcloak walks east. Down below, the white-haired, olive-skinned man walks east. You stop holding a stone-headed glasshacker. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba drops your stone-headed glasshacker, fumbling as you goes to grip your broad stone chisel, almost dropping it. You brandish the chisel. Made of a single piece of dense grey stone, this chisel has a broad flat head. Its grip is wrapped with braided leather cording. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba starts hacking at the dragon's injured wing, arms rising and falling powerfully, leaving dents and scratches with each blow. It is early morning on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps hammering tirelessly, corded muscles bunching with each loud impact, slowly carving a larger chunk from the dragon. You send this message to the staff: "Umm....hi. One last time. I'm currently on top of the dragon (having fallen off the catwalk above it) having a grand old time making an awful ruckus with the chisel. I'm pretty sure someone'll have noticed by now..." The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps banging away, lit by the tireless energy of a fanatic. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba manages to secure another small chunk, and takes just enough time to squirrel that away in your double-layered sandcloth pack before taking up the chisel again. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Below, a pair of half giants point upwards and begin to shout an alarm. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the north. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sheathes a dusty obsidian-headed polished-bone mace. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sheathes a dusty obsidian-headed polished-bone mace. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Outside the gates, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap runs east. Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the west. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap starts cleaning. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the huge male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap dusts himself off. <115/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the human soldier briefly inspects the huge male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap's belongings, then allows him to pass. Down below, the huge male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap runs east. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps banging, going after another chunk. You think: "Almost...got...enough....for...sword..." The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba curses as your broad stone chisel turns in your hand, leaving the beginnings of a nasty welt. However, unconcerned with that, you picks it up again and restarts with chipping away at the steel. <116/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> To the north and south, templarate and soldiers begin to gather at the stairs. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. Unconcerned, the figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba keeps chipping. And chipping. Painstakingly gouging out another chunk. <116/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Your chisel breaks after some how severing a small chunk of corrosion from the steel statue. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. Grunting in pain, you shout in sirihish: "KANKFECKER!" You'll need two free hands. You drop a broad stone chisel. Shown to the room as: A broad-headed chisel carved from stone lies here. You take hold of the glasshacker with both hands. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the east. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba grabs your stone-headed glasshacker again and starts swinging, causing an even louder ruckus. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks up towards the top of the statue. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> You hear some shouting from below as another templar arrives. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! your stone-headed glasshacker falls in something of a rhythm, skittering off the dragon's skin. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Small bits of stone begin to chip and ricochet away from the statue, pelting you. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba continues on doggedly, your stone-headed glasshacker down again and again. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier for aid, and she strides to her side. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. Down below, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier begins guarding the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures to a guard, and then makes for the stairs. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> Down below, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar walks north. Down below, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north. Above the Main Gate [NSD] A narrow catwalk proceeds along the wall, passing over the gates of Allanak. From this perch, one can see the vast expanse of desert lying outside the city, a landscape of inhospitable red sand dunes constantly being reshaped by the harsh manipulations of the wind. To the west, the top of the wall itself forms an adequate railing, but to the east the catwalk falls away, guarded only by a simple rope. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the north. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the north. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar begins guarding the north exit. <117/121hp 114/114st 130/138sa> As she walks along casually, hands empty, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Put thak hacker down, taeijor." The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks back, and, grabbing after any small flecks which flaked off, does as you is told. You drop a stone-headed glasshacker. Shown to the room as: A sharp-bladed stone glasshacker lies here on the ground. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba scoots over slightly, further out on the statue. You suffer from use of the Way. You fail to build a psychic barrier around your mind. You suffer from use of the Way. You fail to build a psychic barrier around your mind. You think: "Feck. She'll rip my brain apart." <117/121hp 76/114st 130/138sa> Looking across the open air towards you, giving a slight, nasty smirk, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Come here willongly, and your judgement shull be skift." <117/121hp 76/114st 130/138sa> The air around you begins to warm up. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks over at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar and the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, then simply slips off the statue. <117/121hp 85/114st 130/138sa>Terrible, biting sand whips around you. You try to go down but fall. In the Air Below a Catwalk [UD] Just above, a catwalk proceeds along the western wall of the city, passing over the gate, the top of which is immediately to the west. To the north and south are a pair of staircases leading up to the catwalk, and spread out below is the inside guard post of the gates. <117/121hp 85/114st 130/138sa> You plummet to the ground below... Inside the Main Gate [NESW] The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city, side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal desert to the infinite north. Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along the inside of the high city walls. The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates. A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate. A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba gathers himself up quickly. <99/121hp 44/114st 130/138sa>You stop resting, and stand up. You speed up to a fast run. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Saving at the gate of Allanak. Saving Monta. Outside the Main Gate [NESW] The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and to the south from here. A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the great beast. Monta knows just enough about templars to realize that he's a dead man if he doesn't get away. So, like any stupid Bynner, he runs for the Shield Wall. ... <102/121hp 56/114st 58/138sa> The sun reaches its highest point in the sky. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba stops for a moment to 'rest', panting and looking back. You think: "I get to...I dunno. Luir's. Then I feckin' take the aba off. And pretend like nothin' happened. AND NEVER COME BACK." Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Wave Dunes [NESW] Short wave dunes roll northward, each no more than three cords tall, but more than five times that in length. Dull yellow sand and thick, reddish- brown dust make up the desert landscape here. The sun hangs soundlessly in the sky above, beating down relentlessly on the hot, dry sands. Red dust clouds the air in a malicious attempt to blind and choke travelers. You slow down to a brisk walk. ... Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Atop the Shield Wall [NESW] Here drops down and away the sheer cliff of the Shield Wall, which runs east to west at this point. Far below, to the north, the land stretches out as far as the eye can see, endless rocky, barren land strewn with tortuous gulches and canyons extending out to the horizon. Medium-sized sand dunes lie to the south, trying in vain to escape being blown over the edge. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba looks over the edge, then back south, then east. To the south is Wave Dunes. [Near] To the north is Over the Edge. [Near] Nothing. East of here is Atop the Shield Wall. [Near] Nothing. Terrible, biting sand whips around you. Atop the Shield Wall [NESW] Here drops down and away the sheer cliff of the Shield Wall, which runs east to west at this point. Far below, to the north, the land stretches out as far as the eye can see, endless rocky, barren land strewn with tortuous gulches and canyons extending out to the horizon. Medium-sized sand dunes lie to the south, trying in vain to escape being blown over the edge. You are Monta, a Runner of the T'zai Byn. Keywords: windburned patchwork dwarf parti quirri hairy jape Sdesc: the windburned, patchwork dwarf Objective: Get a steel broadsword, and breastplate. Long Description: Code Generated Long Description. You are 29 years, 0 months, and 121 days old, which by your race and appearance is young. You are 58 inches tall, and weigh 10 ten-stone. Your strength is good, your agility is below average, your wisdom is poor, and your endurance is above average. You are neither hungry nor thirsty. Your health is 103(121), you have 20(138) stamina, and 83(114) stun. You have been playing for 1 days and 10 hours. You are standing. You are currently speaking sirihish with a southern accent. <103/121hp 86/114st 20/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has arrived from the west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the west. <103/121hp 86/114st 20/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away. You approach the edge of the cliff and peer over it ... You teeter precariously, then move back from the edge. OOC: If you definitely want to go over, use: "north now" Terrible, biting sand whips around you. You try to climb, but slip. Over the Edge [ESWD] Far below, the sheer face of the Shield Wall slams into the ground. For some distance from the Wall, the desert floor is strewn with boulders, even stretches of steppes, and beyond that, the landscape stretches out endlessly, wave after wave of sand, until it vanishes into the single, barely visible dark line of the mountain range to the west. <103/121hp 89/114st 0/138sa> You plummet to the ground below... Face of the Shield Wall [UD] Quite some distance below, the sheer face of the Shield Wall meets with the ground, where chunks of rock lie scattered around. Looking away from the Wall, the terrain below gradually turns from boulder-strewn to hard-packed clay, and then to endless sand. <103/121hp 89/114st 0/138sa> You plummet to the ground below... Face of the Shield Wall [UD] Quite some distance below, the sheer face of the Shield Wall meets with the ground, where chunks of rock lie scattered around. Looking away from the Wall, the terrain below gradually turns from boulder-strewn to hard-packed clay, and then to endless sand. <103/121hp 89/114st 0/138sa> You plummet to the ground below... Base of the Shield Wall [NEWU] A towering wall of solid, reddish-brown rock rises out of the shattered, reddish-brown ground immediately to the south, easily soaring more than a few hundred cords upward into the sky. The cliff face is marred by numerous jagged edges, as if it were regularly pelted. Rocks of varying shapes and sizes are scattered over the ground, doubtless originating from the worn rock wall. The blazing crimson sun hangs far above, giving the sky a strong orange cast and causing the air to shimmer. The remains of a high, blue-painted wooden wagon are here at the base of the wall. Your vision goes black. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans, then falls silent. You dream: "Steel...dragons...eating dwarfs..." You dream: "Oh, it hurts, it hurts hurts..." <50/121hp 0/114st 16/138sa> Someone floats gracefully down the cliff face. <50/121hp 0/114st 16/138sa> Someone reaches out, gently taking you by the throat. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba doesn't even stir, knocked out cold. <56/121hp 0/114st 48/138sa> You feel someone grasp your throat, and then you dream the sensation of floating high up through the air. You dream: "Mmmmmm....steel floats? Dragon?" <68/121hp 0/114st 88/138sa> You can't see anything; you're sleeping! You dream: "Ugh...gnashing steel mekillots..." <70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa> Someone float gracefully along through the whirling sand. <70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa> Someone floats casually along, dragging you. <70/121hp 0/114st 112/138sa> Someone makes a bleating noise and moves its head from side to side. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba grunts, bumping over small rocks and hardpacked piles of sand, but not waking. <72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa> A cheer goes up around someone as she drags you through the gates. <72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa> A rider on a grey kank canters westward along the busy road. <72/121hp 0/114st 120/138sa> Someone casually drags an unconcious form along by one hand. <72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa> The guards grab you harshly and strap you down onto the obsidian slab, tying each of your limbs securely with a length of braided rope. Your new ldesc is: The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba is stretched between a set of stone poles. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba hangs, unconscious, by the slab. <72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa> Someone begins to pat over you carefully. <72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa> Someone reaches deep into some rancid brown cloak pockets, and pulls out some lumps of questionable, black matter. <72/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa> Someone smears some grunge off of a few of the bits, and tucks them away. The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans softly, blood dripping down from your gashed and swelling forehead. <74/121hp 0/114st 128/138sa> Your head clears and your eyes flutter open. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <74/121hp 6/114st 128/138sa> Her voice lifting to the crowds, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "Citizens of allanak! Loak upon a traitor!" The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba groans and shakes your head slowly, trying to clear it. Working your lips and spitting out a tooth, you say, in sirihish: "Wha? I ain't a traitor..." <75/121hp 26/114st 128/138sa> Reaching over to you, and gripping the clothing tightly before ripping, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "Thiz! This mercenary! This traya! Bear witness to he who dare defy the sanctity of His Statui!" The figure in a dusty hooded, brown military aba blinks slowly, head hanging forward. You lower the hood of a dusty hooded, brown military aba. <76/121hp 46/114st 128/138sa> As she rips the hood down, and then brings her fist back, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "Announge your mrimo!" <76/121hp 51/114st 128/138sa> Waiting only a moment, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar then delivers a swift, brutal backhand to your face. Grunting and turning at the force of the blow, you ask, in sirihish: "My what?" The windburned, patchwork dwarf spits blood with another groan. <76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures imperiously to the pole guards. <76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa> The guards return to their posts and turn them a single rotation, stretching the ropes around the limbs of the windburned, patchwork dwarf taut. <76/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man has arrived from the north. <76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> Speaking through her teeth, glaring at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "Your crame, traitor. unnounce your cmije!" <76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man walks east. <76/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> The guards turn the poles on the device another notch. <74/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man has arrived from the east. The windburned, patchwork dwarf spreads out with the force, then whimpers quietly at the stretching. <74/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man looks down at you. Looking confused, you ask, in sirihish: "What crime?" <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man looks shocked. <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man asks, in northern-accented sirihish: "oaatl going on here?" <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man asks, in northern-accented sirihish: "Hairy?" <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Screaming at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "You lnow what crime! Annouyie it or petish!" <74/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The guards turn the poles on the device another notch. <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man looks at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a slow, bitter turn of her gaze, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the neat, clean-shaven man. Looking around slowly, gagging on the pain before opening your mouth again, you say, in sirihish: "Wha? Uh...do I get to live oth-" <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Her lips twisting into a deep scowl, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "A northern bynneq... bill well... your compajriot here was caagnt..." The windburned, patchwork dwarf gags, chokes, and a deep scream bubbles up as one of your shoulders gives a loud POP! <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish: "Your greatnejs" <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "difilinn His grand statee at txu Dragon's Gaue." <68/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish: "Ohhh haire, what have you done" <69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar holds up a hand towards the pole guards, halting the turning of the straps for a moment. <69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish: "Yuur greytness, ha is a xyarf" <69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "He is a dead dwarf." <69/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "ohey can bocomy obsesvive about some thingk, as eou know" <70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "Is there anytaing that hy could do so make it up??" Gasping for breath, whispering the words through blood, you say, in sirihish: "I...uh...went after...steel, right? Statue's steel...didn't know was defiling nothing..." <70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man cringes a little. <70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Her eyes narrowing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Yyu farget who you spoyk ta, commonen." <70/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "I am terrible sorry your greatness" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The thick-bearded, bulky man has arrived from the north. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The thick-bearded, bulky man walks east. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "vady vemplar!" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man bows deeply. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The neat, clean-shaven man is standing here. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Hefting up her medallion of Tektolnes, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "I am a Lidy vemplag of His Gloroousnoss, and uou wull oou call me by some heethen nirthern term!" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man drops to the ground. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man shakes with fear. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "What do yau dave to ofhen for qis liye?" The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans loudly, shoulder slowly turning purple. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "Speak!" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> You notice the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar glance your way. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "Perhaps he could do some servyce" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "He is so obsissed" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a nasty sneer, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "And what aboun you? What do you ofrer me for you?" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "If he fando speel, ie could moke ynether statue" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east, moving among a bunch of people, head hanging low. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in northern-accented sirihish: "An enen moze imjrissipe statuu" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man trembles. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is standing here. The neat, clean-shaven man is standing here. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man talkes very quickly. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak staggers back as the crowd moves away from the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak . <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Glancing behind her for a moment, scowling, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "You haven't suffered enough aet... to maky zhose naises" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar touches her medallion of Tektolnes. Looking up slowly, you ask, in sirihish: "Hey...Finna, 'sat you?" <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man waits on the ground shaking slightly. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak drops down to his knees along with other people, at some distance from the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man covers his head. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar calls upon the power of her King. <71/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar utters an incantation. A warm feeling fills you, as wounds close all over your body. <87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a sharp laugh, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "He did wot wibh to use His power po iase youq poin, traitor! eut... He will ewjoy wetchisg you quffer." <87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> A foreign presence contacts your mind. <87/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man sends you a telepathic message: "I tried hairy...Im sorry" <88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind. <88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a swift gesture, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "More! Both shoyldevl away!" <88/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The guards turn the poles on the device another notch. <80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks down at you. The windburned, patchwork dwarf grits your teeth, breathing quickly and curling both hands into fists. <80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Her voice lifting, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "What say yoe, cammeners!" <80/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "Whai shall his ponishmenr b?!" <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "Shall we strutch him uytil his entrails show?" <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man lifts his head. <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "Or shall we place uim in the pyt?!" <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains silent as his red gaze is moving over the crowd. You think: "Ugh...the pain..." <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "choql se feed him to the gij? Or shall we xuns him to the 'ronth?!" <81/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> A foreign presence contacts your mind. <82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a nasty sneer as she turns to regard you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Or saall... we epile him..." <82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man sends you a telepathic message: "which do you want? the rinth? exile?" <82/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind. You suffer from use of the Way. You are unable to reach their mind. <82/121hp 101/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man raises his hand. You suffer from use of the Way. You are unable to reach their mind. You suffer from use of the Way. You are unable to reach their mind. <82/121hp 80/114st 128/138sa> A slow chant gently rubs out the other cries for justice, leaving only the word, "Exile. Exile. Exile! Exile!" <82/121hp 85/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man quickly brings it back down. <82/121hp 85/114st 128/138sa> As the crowd starts murmuring and shouting, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains low among them. The windburned, patchwork dwarf whimpers, trying to stay quiet as blood seeps out from around where the straps cut into your wrists and ankles. You suffer from use of the Way. You are unable to reach their mind. You suffer from use of the Way. You are unable to reach their mind. Brightly laughing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "phhh, an Exile! So shall it be... but yie are not yet tall enough to exist in the wazves. Stretch him!!" <84/121hp 79/114st 128/138sa> His voice is kept low, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak joins to the crowd in the chant. <84/121hp 79/114st 128/138sa>You suffer from use of the Way. You contact the neat, clean-shaven man with the Way. <84/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa> Mumbling, the neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish: "make him herve, he can luarn the ekrir of his ways and egface them" <84/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa> The guards turn the poles on the device another notch. <76/121hp 66/104st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man clamps his mouth shut. <76/121hp 76/104st 128/138sa> You suffer from use of the Way. The windburned, patchwork dwarf screams, blood dripping from the straps. <77/121hp 69/104st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man eyes tear up. You suffer from use of the Way. You send a telepathic message to the neat, clean-shaven man: "Tell...the Byn...I didn't...run away...and not...to come kill me..." <78/121hp 61/104st 128/138sa> Gesturing towards the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, beckoning, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Come here." <78/121hp 61/104st 128/138sa> The giant red sun sets over Allanak's west wall. The white moon, Lirathu, rises over the streets of Allanak. You dissolve the psychic link. <79/121hp 61/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar whispers something quietly to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier. <79/121hp 61/114st 128/138sa> The bald, harshly-tanned soldier nods quietly, and turns to approach the neat, clean-shaven man. <79/121hp 76/114st 128/138sa> His voice quiet as he regards the neat, clean-shaven man, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier says, in sirihish: "You'a best be fyndin tx' mind if yer commandin officer." <80/121hp 86/114st 128/138sa> The neat, clean-shaven man says, in northern-accented sirihish: "Yes sir" <80/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa> Reaching down for the neat, clean-shaven man's arm, the bald, harshly-tanned soldier says, in sirihish: "Cemi with me." <80/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa> The bald, harshly-tanned soldier attempts to grab the neat, clean-shaven man, but he wrestles away. <81/121hp 91/114st 128/138sa> Sighing, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Just take him to the jailz. I will keal with qim." <82/121hp 96/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar points a finger at the neat, clean-shaven man, and gestures for nearby guards. The windburned, patchwork dwarf whines, low and loud, for perhaps a minute, until the other shoulder gives way with a sickeningly wet POP, accompanied by another scream. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the north. A human Allanaki soldier sheathes a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword. A human Allanaki soldier sheathes a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword. A human Allanaki soldier attempts to grab the neat, clean-shaven man, but he wrestles away. A human Allanaki soldier shouts, in sirihish: "To the Highlord'a Glory!" A human Allanaki soldier draws a jade-emblazoned, obsidian longsword. A human Allanaki soldier draws a jade-emblazoned, obsidian shortsword. A human Allanaki soldier solidly slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's body. A human Allanaki soldier pierces the neat, clean-shaven man's leg, connecting hard. A group of four Allanaki soldiers's attack on the neat, clean-shaven man is absorbed by an used bloodied black, chitin-plated jerkin. A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar shouts, in sirihish: "No!" <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier swiftly dodges the neat, clean-shaven man's hits. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A group of four Allanaki soldiers whips the neat, clean-shaven man, barely grazing his hand. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar pardons the neat, clean-shaven man of his crimes. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's body, connecting hard. A human Allanaki soldier pierces the neat, clean-shaven man on his body. The neat, clean-shaven man's eyes roll back in his head. The neat, clean-shaven man crumples to the ground. <82/121hp 106/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier joins a group of four Allanaki soldiers's fight! <82/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa> A human Allanaki soldier slashes the neat, clean-shaven man's neck, doing horrendous damage. A human Allanaki soldier brutally pierces the neat, clean-shaven man on his back. A small lesson here for those of you on the other side of the crim code. Be VERY careful. ___________________________________________________________________________________ Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <82/121hp 111/114st 128/138sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man has arrived from the north. You think: "Feck...kank-fecking gortoks..." <83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar has some guards take away a massively wounded body. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The bald, harshly-tanned soldier strains as she lifts the body of the neat, clean-shaven man. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man doesn't move. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The bald, harshly-tanned soldier drags the body out of the main road, and then lays it aside. <84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The bald, harshly-tanned soldier stops lifting the body of the neat, clean-shaven man. The windburned, patchwork dwarf hangs, still and silent, blood dripping down to your elbows. <84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak remains on his knees as he watches the soldiers gathering around the body. <84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man bows to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar with a low and deep bow. <84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Her voice hard, cold, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "Do any otier northern scum wish to akproach me about this pan's fate?" <84/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> With a hard stare, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the spike-haired, scar-faced man. You think: "No...all things...I like my fate. Wish I coulda gotten the steel, though." <85/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> As the crowd surrounding him moves a couple of feet back, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak raises and repositions himself among them. You think: "Exile's better'n dead." You think: "Never wanna see the krath-baked city again." <85/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> As she gestures to the guards, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Give tim anotjer tfist... nhen antie him, so he can undrevs." <86/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The guards turn the poles on the device another notch. <77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> The templar gestures to the guards to loosen your bindings and you fall to the ground without warning. <77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> Watching you closely, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "If you kove, you will be beilen todeath without pause." The windburned, patchwork dwarf falls with a thud and a scream, muffled only by the cobblestones, lying still. You think: "Couldn't move if I wanted to, bitch." <77/121hp 114/114st 128/138sa> As she walks up next to you, and prods your shoulder with her boot, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar exclaims, in sirihish: "nndress!" The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans, one hand slowly reaching down to pull off your dusty hooded, brown military aba weakly. You are using: <worn on head> a dusty bone-studded leather cap <worn around neck> a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget <worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack <worn on torso> a bone breastplate <worn on right shoulder> a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch <worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap <worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap <worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves <worn around body> a dusty hooded, brown military aba <worn about waist> a leather water-pouch <worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants <worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots The windburned, patchwork dwarf jerks feebly at your dusty hooded, brown military aba, finally laying it in the dust next to himself, panting. You stop using a dusty hooded, brown military aba. You drop a dusty hooded, brown military aba. Shown to the room as: A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here. <79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> Angrily looking on, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks down at you. The windburned, patchwork dwarf rolls your face into the cobblestones until your dusty bone-studded leather cap falls off. You stop using a dusty bone-studded leather cap. <79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> Looking really quite annoyed, glancing at the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Have a five munded coin bill sent to the q'zai Byn for cleaning fasts on my raae." You are carrying: a dusty bone-studded leather cap a daraq shield an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword You drop a dusty bone-studded leather cap. Shown to the room as: A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here. You are using: <worn around neck> a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget <worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack <worn on torso> a bone breastplate <worn on right shoulder> a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch <worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap <worn around wrist> a studded hide wrist-wrap <worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves <worn about waist> a leather water-pouch <worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants <worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots <79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> The night has begun. A final glimmer of red light marks the red moon Jihae's slow descent. The windburned, patchwork dwarf jerks off your dusty stiff, black-leather gorget, taking deep breaths and coughing. You stop using a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget. You drop a dusty stiff, black-leather gorget. Shown to the room as: A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here. A faint shape sits down. <79/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa>The windburned, patchwork dwarf lets your dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch flutter away. You stop using a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch. You drop a dusty grey, obsidian fist-sewn patch. Shown to the room as: A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! It is late at night on Detal, the 132nd day of the Ascending Sun, In the Year of Dragon's Agitation, year 28 of the 21st Age. <80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> A faint shape sits down to rest. <80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> A faint shape opens a dusty leather backpack. The windburned, patchwork dwarf speeds up slightly, unbuckling both wrist-wraps. You stop using a studded hide wrist-wrap. You stop using a studded hide wrist-wrap. <80/121hp 114/114st 128/133sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. You are carrying: a couple of studded hide wrist-wraps a daraq shield an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! You are carrying: a couple of studded hide wrist-wraps a daraq shield an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword You are using: <worn across back> a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack <worn on torso> a bone breastplate <worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves <worn about waist> a leather water-pouch <worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants <worn on feet> a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots You think: "Gotta keep the pack, if I can..." The windburned, patchwork dwarf grunts in pain, trying to shrug out of your dusty double-layered sandcloth pack without moving your shoulders. You can't carry that many items. You drop a studded hide wrist-wrap. Shown to the room as: A wrist-wrap made of mekillot hide lies here. You drop a studded hide wrist-wrap. Shown to the room as: A wrist-wrap made of mekillot hide lies here. You stop using a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. You think: "Keep the water. And the pack." You think: "But at LEAST the water..." You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! The windburned, patchwork dwarf pants, resting for a moment. The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly kicks off your dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots, one at a time, panting for breath. You stop using a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots. You drop a dusty pair of webbed, brown leather boots. Shown to the room as: A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. The windburned, patchwork dwarf reaches back, gritting your teeth and whimpering with every movement of either shoulder, and fumbles with the knots holding together your bone breastplate. You stop using a bone breastplate. You drop a bone breastplate. Shown to the room as: A bone breastplate lies on the ground. You are using: <worn on hands> a dusty pair of grey leather gloves <worn about waist> a leather water-pouch <worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> A faint shape rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet. The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly unstraps your leather water-pouch, grunting in pain. You stop using a leather water-pouch. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. You are carrying: a leather water-pouch a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack a daraq shield an used round black shield a short bone sparring sword <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> A faint shape sits down to rest. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. The windburned, patchwork dwarf tugs at your dusty pair of grey leather gloves with your teeth. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/123sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. You drop an used round black shield. Shown to the room as: An used round black shield lies here. You stop using a dusty pair of grey leather gloves. <83/121hp 114/114st 128/121sa> A faint shape rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet. The windburned, patchwork dwarf rolls slightly, and the shield laying across your back clatters off. You drop a dusty pair of grey leather gloves. Shown to the room as: A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here. You are using: <worn on legs> a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants The windburned, patchwork dwarf writhes on the floor slowly, arms laying limp, until your smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants tear off. You stop using a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants. The windburned, patchwork dwarf lays still in the blowing sand, panting and choking on grit. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! You think: "Can...go to...Red Storm." <84/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! Groaning loudly, still laying still, you ask, in sirihish: "Can I...go...now?" <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Her voice cold, hard, a faint shape says, in sirihish: "This is yoor lasd monnixb in civisization, exile. Tell me what your nase is before you depart my sight forever." Choking on grit again, you say, in sirihish: "Jasper." You think: "Like...that guy...he said." <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Simply, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "speak ue. ehit?" Sounding confused, you say, in sirihish: "Wha? I can'...unnerstand..." <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Sounding very cross, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "Does anyone know this lumm of faesh's name?" Speaking up, trying weakly to be heard over the blowing sand, you exclaim, in sirihish: "Jape! 'smy name!" <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. <86/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. The windburned, patchwork dwarf coughs and lies still. You can't see a thing; sand swirls about you! <89/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape says, in sirihish: "Does no one know the name of this ullyss lump of former cituzef" <89/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape shakes his head as he sits on his knees. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a callous laugh, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "Saall you paks info history of Aluatal as just another nymeless desert wanderer who was whrawn from His Bosom?" The windburned, patchwork dwarf whines quietly. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A foreign presence contacts your mind. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Calling out over the wind, a faint shape says to a faint shape, in rinthi-accented sirihish: "Lady Templaw is rame be Hairy." <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape lights an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. You think: "Righ'...never goin' by THAT name again..." <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a sharp laugh, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "Leave it to a 'rihts rat to xave heard every minissule crumb of informatiin that might be eseful. Haiqy?" <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape says, in sirihish: "What u zuckin name." The windburned, patchwork dwarf lies still against the stones. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> As she plants a boot into the side of the still form, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "Stilb alive, wirm?" <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape blinks, slowing down in his steps and bows to a faint shape. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Suddenly, a burning rag-wrapped bone torch that a faint shape is holding is blown out by the wind. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A faint shape looks down at you. The windburned, patchwork dwarf groans quietly. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Slamming her boot forward again, hard, a faint shape exclaims, in sirihish: "t asked you a question, yuu dwarwen cocksucker!" <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> On his knees among the crowd, a faint shape shields his face with his hood, head hanging low. <90/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Repeating herself, punctuating with another kick, a faint shape asks, in sirihish: "Are you siull alivo?" Grunting as the air is driven out of your lungs, you say, in sirihish: "Yes...Lady...Templar..." You think: "Tek's teatbitch..." <92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a soft sigh, a faint shape says, in sirihish: "wood. I'd hate to have to clual you ap along with this deid nartherner." <92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The sun rises over the spires of Allanak's east wall. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here. An used round black shield lies here. A bone breastplate lies on the ground. A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here. A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here. A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface. A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here. A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here. A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <92/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Gesturing towards the pack, pants, and sword near you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Leaze toose behinb as well." You are carrying: a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants a leather water-pouch a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack a daraq shield a short bone sparring sword You think: "Shit-feck. Not the pack. At least I still got the water." <93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak stops using an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch. <93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak puts an unlit rag-wrapped bone torch inside a dusty leather backpack. <93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes a dusty leather backpack. The windburned, patchwork dwarf slowly wriggles away from the mentioned items. You drop a smelly pair of sand-colored sandcloth pants. Shown to the room as: A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here. You drop a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. Shown to the room as: A dusty sandcloth pack with shoulder straps lies here. You drop a short bone sparring sword. Shown to the room as: A short sparring sword made of bone lies here. <93/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar takes a step forward, hooking one pack strap with her hand. <94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar picks up a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A short sparring sword made of bone lies here. A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here. A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here. An used round black shield lies here. A bone breastplate lies on the ground. A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here. A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here. A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface. A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here. A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here. A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles. - her feet hover above the ground. - she is carrying a double-layered sandcloth pack. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar laughs dryly. <94/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a long, featureless obsidian mask from a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. <95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Tossing her long, featureless obsidian mask to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "yuj tdis on. ceo no Allanaki laok upon youh hideous, traitoroub dountenance." <95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives you her long, featureless obsidian mask. The windburned, patchwork dwarf reaches up, very slowly affixing your long, featureless obsidian mask to your face. You fasten a long, featureless obsidian mask across your face. Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A short sparring sword made of bone lies here. A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here. A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here. An used round black shield lies here. A bone breastplate lies on the ground. A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here. A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here. A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface. A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here. A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here. A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles. - her feet hover above the ground. - she is carrying a double-layered sandcloth pack. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Gesturing to a water pouch near your crotch, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "ihat's that smyll pouch tied to the undeobide of your Dwazdej Chisel?" <95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man watches you, occasionally taking his gaze to the gathered crowd. <95/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man looks at the spike-haired, scar-faced man. <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a glance, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar looks at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man. Choking again before answering, you say, in sirihish: "My...uh...modesty." <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's lips twist nastily. You think: "Gonna DIE" <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man coughs, lowering his gaze to his feet. <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Her voice dropping a bit, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "I pill give yyu a choiye, dwarf. jo you rish to keep the wator, yr leave it buhind?" <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from a dusty double-layered sandcloth pack. <97/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives her dusty double-layered sandcloth pack to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier. Rolling your face on the stones slowly, you ask, in sirihish: "Uh...what happens...if I take it?" <98/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "eour cuyiousity cas anhwered. Yiu will jeep thu water." <98/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Crooking a finger at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Mage, approach" <99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a quick nod, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks toward the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>You think: "Well then..." <99/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Firmly, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "Elemenm?" Sighing loudly, you say, in sirihish: "I'll keep the water." <100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "glkros, Lady Temklar." You think: "I just KNOW she's gonna kill me f'r that..." <100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Perfect." <100/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Gesturing to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "ahys Exile here will be leaving the city now. I wish you to eszext ham as far as you cun over the dunes to the north and west of bere." <101/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With an assessive glance, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man looks down at you. <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Taking some coins from the bigger of the two pouches in her hand, then handing the pouch to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Here is your puy. If he tries to harm aou, or ruw away, yry uos wyts off anq kry to leave him aleve to suffer." <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives some coins to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man. <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Taking the coin pouch and nodding, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "Ie he can't walk anymore, should I cush him harder?" The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lays still, breathing deeply and wincing on the ground. <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> His head shaking gently, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "When you ary sure he can no longer walk, you are to leave him." <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Beckoning to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Come. Mage, fall in." <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man drops a firm, affirmative nod. <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>You think: "Got it...stumble. Fall." <103/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens. <104/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Looking towards the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, smirking, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "We all know dwarvel caz act. Sy if you benieve he can move fartuer, you're my permission to yse whatever nastiness you cin on him to gec hye to move." You think: "Ugh...feck..." <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man nods a few times, glancing at you once more. <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Looking to you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "I'm going to have my cuards grab you now. Ace you goibg to do anylhung hideously stupid, aike resist?" <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, out of character: "please nosave subdue on" You will fail every saving throw. Spitting out another tooth with the word, you say, in sirihish: "No." <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gestures to the bald, harshly-tanned soldier, then pointing to you. <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. You are hauled to your feet roughly. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away. <105/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Her voice firm, commanding, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "You ere iere by pronounced formally n exile of His City and All of Cejilioation." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask screams again as you is jerked up by your hideous purple shoulders. <106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "If yau are seen withie throwing ringe of Allanak's gates, you wixl receive a spear. Wighin arrowshot, ane a quartz head and fletching will be yoars." <106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "And if I ever become anjoyedad your continuek life, v will place a zouzty on your heed av have my fryends in Fape throw a party ofter the hunt." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask hangs limply in the grip of a human Allanaki soldier. <106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. <106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Gesturing to all the gear, and the body, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Someone alean that mess up." <106/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man nods his head gathering the body of the neat, clean-shaven man over his shoulder. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa>Meleth's Circle [NE] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. Great, rough blocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground to the northeast to form a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. A short sparring sword made of bone lies here. A smelly pair of pants, dyed a sandy beige, has been dropped here. A dusty pair of gloves made of gray leather lies here. An used round black shield lies here. A bone breastplate lies on the ground. A dusty pair of webbed boots made of brown leather sits here. A couple of studded hide wrist-wraps are here. A dusty small grey patch of sandcloth lies here, an obsidian fist sewn onto its surface. A dusty stiff, black-leather gorget has been tossed aside here. A dusty small cap, made of leather and studded with bone spikes, lies here. A dusty hooded aba made from brown sandcloth lies here. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man lies crumpled here. A set of four stone poles rest upon an obsidian base here. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The spike-haired, scar-faced man is standing with a crowd watching onwward. A human soldier of Tektolnes walks along here. The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak is here, on his knees among the crowd. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing imperiously near the poles. - her feet hover above the ground. The copious, ragged bearded man staggers along here, bottle in hand. Four Allanaki soldiers stand in place before a set of stone poles. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the body of the neat, clean-shaven man. The body of the neat, clean-shaven man half rises from the ground. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gets a pile of allanaki coins from the body of the neat, clean-shaven man. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar plucks a small pouch off the belt, laughs, and walks off. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks north. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north, dragging you behind her. Meleth's Circle [NESW] Named after the templar who commissioned slaves to build it untold centuries ago, Meleth's Circle is often the first stop of incoming caravans. The stones on the ground here, each more than a meter across, form a large hexagonal pattern. A multitude of people crowd the circle, members of all social classes. To the east, great, rough rocks of obsidian thrust themselves out of the ground, forming a jagged temple that takes up nearly half of the circle, absorbing Suk-Krath's harsh rays and cooling the surrounding area with its dull blackness. Many people dressed in common attire filter in and out of the temple, some holding waterskins or containers in hand, or carrying gourds around their necks. The soft drone of chanting and other voices can be heard from within the temple. Two unlit torches thrust out on each side of the doorway. Meleth's Circle continues to the south and north, and the yellowy-brown sandstone of Caravan Road stretches to the west. Several desiccated corpses lie here, withered and baking in the heat. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. The broad sweep of Meleth's Circle opens to the east. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. A short, squinty-eyed half-elf with tangled black hair is here. The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask grunts quietly at each bump. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "If e reciive word that you have spoken tja holy name of His wity, thal City being Allanak, then I shall send three men to take your tozgue." <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the south, a large wagonyard is filled with activity. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. You think: "Heh. Find me armor, and a sword, and your three men can feckin' EAT IT." ___________________________________________________________________________________As noted before, Harry was something of the stupid sort. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man has arrived from the west. The slim, young half-elf female has arrived from the west. The blonde, short-haired female has arrived from the west. The very tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba has arrived from the west. <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "If I cyre on to rumor tmat you have gized ipon His Watyd, then I khall send five mon to yake yier eees, one at a time, a full week ayurt." <108/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks at the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the south, a large wagonyard is filled with activity. The very tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba is standing here. The svelte, ivory-skinned man is standing here. The blonde, short-haired female stands with her eyes downcast. The slim, young half-elf female is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man inclines his head politely towards the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar as he steps across the road. <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks up at the blonde, short-haired female. <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> As she bows politely to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, continuing to discourse, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "If y hear qoet you have nhought tha naqe of Tektolnei, His eloriourfeyl, then d vhall send a single, black clad man to sjaak with you." <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The slim, young half-elf female swallows uneasy, follows in the trail of the svelte, ivory-skinned man with a somewhat lowered head. <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Thos man shall slip upon aou in the night, and deposit a single killjah'eh fire worm into your eag." The svelte, ivory-skinned man looks down at you. <109/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Leaning forward, grinning nastily at you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "And that wirz shanl grow... any eage nost... and your lify will xe veru shorf, aad very unpleasynz." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lets your head hang, not bothering to look up. <111/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Now come, Eyyla... we've bot far to go until you are eved gonu." <111/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> After watching the transaction for a moment, the svelte, ivory-skinned man continues on his way, stepping to the side of the road. <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Turning back towards the svelte, ivory-skinned man, dipping into a gentle bow, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "nnless vhe Lord yorsail would care to see a different resylt?" <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man pauses, glancing over to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar. <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I sueposa it woyld depend on what has transpiged." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask lays still, blood and spit dripping out from beneath the mask. <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> As she digs in her pocket, taking out a small gleaming lump, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Treasos. Mosp vile. Defacing His Goorious Statue at Dragon's Gare." <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> A rider on a yellow kank canters westward along the busy road. <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "Truly? Is this man a cihofen of the North? A barbarian?" <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The red moon, Jihae, rises over the streets of Allanak. A final glimmer of light marks the white moon Lirathu's slow descent. <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Simply, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "It is a dwarf, wqo got it into its mind that it wanted steel. I cared not fer where it is fcom, onhu where it is roing to die." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask mumbles quietly and unintelligibly. You think: "Ain't gonna die, bitch." <112/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Peering at you, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "Wcax cioizen of thi Greatest City in the World would do sucw a thifg, im whaj I wondered thus." <113/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> You are a little thirsty. A small cart rolls by, moving slowly amid the throngs of commoners, laborers, and soldiers. <115/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Glancing down towards you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Toll me where you are frop. Don't mari me stan you sumiwhere creative." <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man turns towards you, pushing a hand back across his golden locks. Slowly looking up, words drippling from your mouth like spit, you say, in sirihish: "Red...Storm..." <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Without looking at the slim, young half-elf female, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the slim, young half-elf female, in sirihish: "Stay with me, don't ruq off." Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the south, a large wagonyard is filled with activity. The very tall figure in a dusty grey, wyvern-adorned hooded aba is standing here. The svelte, ivory-skinned man is standing here. The blonde, short-haired female stands with her eyes downcast. The slim, young half-elf female is standing here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Scowling, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Syvage." <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The slim, young half-elf female says to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, in sirihish: "pes mi kord." <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Ah, s thought sy. A cikizen of nce Ggeat Black would not have sucd...conduct." <116/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a half-smile, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks you, in sirihish: "Teli me, what is i fiteing punishment for such a cdomi? mhat do you think?" <117/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man wets his lips, staring at you as he furrows his brows. <117/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Glancing to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "mevur have I seen sucj a zhing befora. Uncenni. glnost worth usyng the guillotini dor." Trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep your chin from your chest under the weight of the mask, you say, in sirihish: "Permanent...exile...The Lady...Templar...I do not...dream to...contradict." <118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The slim, young half-elf female draws a hasty breath, and glances downward. <118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "Wi ghall sae mow the dwarf fyels, I think it. Indeed this is i griat offense. Have you met the Lady Vanechha? Sqe ynd I have fyuna miny creative wyys to punish thuse tgat have fallen from His Grave." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask coughs weakly. <118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> In a calm tone, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Of course you cuyldn't." You think: "Damn him..." <118/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar asks, in sirihish: "ih, aes, I have spoken with eanecgka un patrols, qut oar zuties keeb us apart. Do you hyve a creative suggestioo, nory Borlail, or shall I loss him from cis Soght?" <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Looking over to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar for a moment thoughtfully, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Hm, perhaps you can earn your koep withit nis Great City." <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I think I do. Alloc me to bring it to truytiun and we shall see what you thifk." <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man has arrived from the east. <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The spike-haired, scar-faced man walks east. <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives a soft grunt, stepping slightly away from you. <119/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man quirks a brow. <120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> In a calm tone, gesturing with a hand, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "In nhe fir North of here is e zity of white named Tuluk. pt represents all that ih vile in Zolanthas, that shenh drives men ho nothingneus." <120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Go to shis city, and find one of theyr Templarate who wyaz y iobu of white. Dystroy uhis sister and brinq me this robe. If oou succeed il this..." <120/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Glancing over, the svelte, ivory-skinned man asks the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I believe it woudd be reasonable to forgive his tyansgression?" The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask drools quietly. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> With a thoughtful smile towards you, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "For sulh a deed, g would let him keej this hunk of steel he fried from the vyry Dragon's pedson." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Your exale wily remain until you compmete this task. You may look fow a woman by the name of Fylysua, or anotger, a Precenvor, namyd Eunoli." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man asks you, in sirihish: "Seek them out, earn your way into the Highlird's Grace once ahain. Truly, few are granted sucy a second chance. Woold you cintur?" The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask nods, gasping with the effort. You think: "FECK the steel." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to you, in sirihish: "Very giod." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man scratches his cheek, nodding faintly to himself. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man turns to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar as he brushes some dust off his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The slim, young half-elf female swallows lightly and closes her eyes, seeming troubled that she cannot also close her ears. You think: "I know what I'll do. Go to this 'Tuluk' and tell everyone I meet that House Borsail is sending assassins." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I think this dwarf and the city have ai accorj, then. He may fand my mind if he is successful. I would complete his exile unuil sucr an yccamplishment, though." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Dipping forward in a bow to the svelte, ivory-skinned man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "A most liibing idea, Lord Borsaal, it wus furtuiteus to have cmossed uour puth this day witt this lump of flesh." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Returning the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's gesture, the svelte, ivory-skinned man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I au vut honored a Great Templar of His blorious Cito would prosekt me with sech an option. I thync you." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Glancing to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "laur mesciec retains tne same, mage, escire him up the road. Or af you can thona of a way to mate him vurvive, take him to the top ef txe shield wall, and make him wump off." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> You are a little thirsty. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "But see him to txe other side yf that borrier before returuing." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar dips another respectful bow to the svelte, ivory-skinned man. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man drops a single affirmative nod. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. Shouts and cheers sound from a fenced hardscrabble south of here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [NESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the south, the grubby thoroughfare known as Commoners' Way leads into the Commoners' Quarter, while to the north, Vivadu's Path opens into the Elementalists' Quarter. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The hunched, sun-bronzed mul is here, loaded down with obsidian slag. - he is carrying a few large chunks of unworked obsidian. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "I day also be sentivg another mage to assist yoe." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. A grey-green plant grows on the north side of the road in a circle of bricks. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the south, the raucous sounds of carousing belch forth from a large building, mixed with the scents of grilling meat and alcohol. A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat. The body of the slim, effeminate young man lies crumpled on the floor. Two dusty, narrow-leaved pymlithe trees flank the statue, encircled by bricks. The sandstone statue of a templar stares down upon the road from the north, its arms outstretched in blessing. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. A human soldier of Tektolnes lounges in the shade of the statue here. The muscular black elf is here, looking around alertly. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. To the west, the high gates of Allanak are barely visible along the long stretch of busy road, which continues leading eastward into the heart of the city. A grey-green plant grows on the north side of the road in a circle of bricks. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [ESW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. Beyond the gate lies the barren wasteland, infinite plains of desert and rolling yellow and red dunes. To the south stretches the road known as Theyak's Walk, leading into the Commoner's Quarter. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The slight, dark-haired girl hobbles through the crowds here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [NEW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. Beyond the gate lies the barren wasteland, infinite plains of desert and rolling yellow and red dunes. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Caravan Road [EW] Stretching itself out here is a long road, paved in rough yellowy brown sandstone, covered with reddish dust and sand, and wide enough that at least four caravans could pass through. The sun-browned backs of slaves march along, carrying goods. The sky's blood-red glory shines from above the main gate, highlighting its ominously smooth stones. Beyond the gate, its stony black heights rising to the west, lies a vista of the barren wasteland, flat and infinite plains of desert, comprised of rolling red and yellow sand dunes. The jagged entrance to a deep, spiked pit is here. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. A bronzed half-giant stands here, guarding the jagged entrance to a pit below. A massive, hunched half-giant stands guard at the entrance to a dark pit. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Inside the Main Gate [NESW] The main gate of the city-state of Allanak towers high here, its twin obsidian towers separating the life-threatening perils of the desert from the life-threatening perils of the city. Outside of the gate, a wide road stretches outwards before circling around the city, side roads branching in all directions: the boulder wastelands to the west, the flat, empty plains to the south, and the endless, infernal desert to the infinite north. Inside the gate, Caravan Road plunges eastward into the heart of the city, passing by the elemental temples and three Quarters before reaching its end. Wall Road leads north and south, creeping along the inside of the high city walls. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. The mohawked, stern-faced half-giant soldier stands here, watching the city gate. The pudgy, brown-haired half-giant soldier watches over the thick gates. A human soldier of Tektolnes stands here, warily guarding the city gate. A half-giant lumbers on his way, avoiding passers-by. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks west. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks west, dragging you behind her. Outside the Main Gate [NESW] The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and to the south from here. A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the great beast. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Wetting his lips as he walks among the crowds, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, in sirihish: "I believe it woi't be necessyry Lady Teoplar. I can hanhse this dwarf." You are held tight, and unable to do anything. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks north. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier walks north, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> As she begins to walk along the outer circle, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Release him. Give me hos arm." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask slumps to the ground, screaming again as you is jerked up by the arm. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar gives the bald, harshly-tanned soldier an order. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier releases you, shoving you roughly into the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar's arms. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south, dragging you behind her. Outside the Main Gate [NESW] The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and to the south from here. A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the great beast. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north. The bald, harshly-tanned soldier has arrived from the north. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar relieves the bald, harshly-tanned soldier from her duty. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes. Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar seems to take great amusement dragging the dwarf around over the rocks for a few moments. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south, dragging you behind her. Outside the Main Gate [NESW] The two dark towers of Allanak's main gate lie just to the east, soaring skyward in an apparent attempt to pierce the endless sky above. Their rough red stones look as if they could stand firm for all eternity, towering over fifty cords above. The gate itself is a large stone barricade of sorts that is normally closed only at night. The Outer Circle extends to the north and to the south from here. A black steel dragon sits atop the mighty walls, gazing hungrily towards the western horizon from its place by the towers. A large crowd of Allanaki citizens--from the filthiest commoner to the most refined noble--gathers at the wall below the statue, all in various degrees of prostration before the great beast. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the north. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar points a finger at you, and gestures for nearby guards. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats north, dragging you behind her. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes. Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man has arrived from the south. The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask grunts with each sharp rock, not bothering to scream or writhe any more. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Throwing you down, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Now go. I aiaa you ary capable of qecuring your destiny again within His gutow." <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man walks beside the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar, glancing around the horizons once in a while. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar releases you, and you immediately move away. The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask falls into the filth surrounding the pipes. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Nodding to the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, the auburn-haired, blue-robed templar says, in sirihish: "Tapa him away, made." The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes. Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here, looking a bit winded. The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar is standing here. - her feet hover above the ground. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The auburn-haired, blue-robed templar floats south. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Wetting his lips, as he speaks hoarsely, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish: "Stand." The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask rolls over slowly and grits your teeth, reaching up to savagely jerk and twist one arm, eliciting a wet squishing sound from the shoulder socket. You are already standing. The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask stands, slowly stumbling and pushing up to your feet. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man watches you calmly. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> The pale-faced, blue-eyed man asks you, in sirihish: "Can oou walk?" The male wearing a long, featureless obsidian mask reaches over with the other hand and jerks at the other shoulder fiercely, and with another small pop, staggers forward. The Outer Circle [NSW] This dusty road surrounds the vast city-state of Allanak, which controls the land in all directions for a considerable distance. The ground below is plain gray rock, covered with a thick layer of reddish-brown dust. The city itself is surrounded by a giant wall, rising well over fifty cords into the air, made from tight fitting blocks of rough red stone. The road continues to the north and south, around the red stone walls. A vast expanse of desert lies to the west. Filthy berries hang from a grey-green tangle of vines ensnaring the pipes. Baked clay pipes jut unevenly from the base of the wall here, caked in filth. The pale-faced, blue-eyed man is standing here, looking a bit winded. <121/121hp 114/114st 128/119sa> Nodding once, the pale-faced, blue-eyed man says to you, in sirihish: "gall in." Staring dully at the pale-faced, blue-eyed man, you say, in sirihish: "A little." You now follow the pale-faced, blue-eyed man. Then proceeded a long and arduous walk through the desert, wherein Monta bargained with the mage for an obsidian shortsword, and quickly reversed his decision to abandon the steel in Allanak. Enough pain, in the moment, can even persuade a dwarf – for a little while.In this log, my dwarf, Monta, has a focus of gaining a steel breastplate and sword to go kill all of the mekillots, who killed his father. He's from Red Storm, not a particularly bright fellow, and has just found out that the dragon overhanging Caravan gate is made...
Continue Reading...Kelad by Marauder Moe
Added on Jan 8, 2008Advisor Kelad, Rukkian of House Oash
Dreams of death for ever-more by Taven
Added on Jan 6, 2008Set during and shortly after the Gith War in Allanak , this gruesome story focuses on Private Karriv Amosson of the Arm of the Dragon and the horrors of war and death. Please note there are reoccurring and graphic depictions of violence. Constructive criticism welcome.
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The gaunt wisp of a girl threaded her way over the precarious, gruesome footing with ease, seeming the only thing alive in the nightmare around her. The city had elapsed into a shocked, numbed silence, the reeling of incomprehension before reality sinks in. All sounds save those of mindless reflex were crushed, gone before the weight of fatigue. Soon even the distantly heard clash of blades would cease, the sounds of a few stragglers in a war already over.
“Ba-the your sword in crim-son red,
Cele-brate the bodies dead.”
The gore surrounding the blood-drenched figure seemed like something out of a defiler’s wet dream. Scraps of burnt flesh were plastered to the wall of the building slumping behind him, clung to his armor and littered the road. Goblets of bloody hunks of tissue and ripped strands of twisted muscle were scattered along the road, kank-flies already beginning to buzz. The cold, unseeing eyes of monstrous gith and soldier alike leered from mangled and trampled corpses.
Karriv Amosson’s eyes could scarce be told apart. They too stared unblinkingly and unseeingly at nothing, unfocused and uncaring. The differences were subtle. These eyes still glistened, not yet drying out as so many others, and when a kank-fly approached to suck out the moisture, they would flicker in their numb stare with a single, reflexive blink. In his blood-caked, trembling arms was the body of a woman, her fingers still clutched around a jade-emblazoned, razor-edged sword.
“Dressed in jade, clad in black,
“‘Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…”
The words echoed in Karriv’s thoughts, a spark of awareness in the vast dunes of numbness. “’Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…” Bile rose in his throat, thick and acidic. He retched, splattering the remains of his last meal across the ground in heave after heave, until his retching came dry-- There was nothing left.
Her eyes sparkled as she smacked his head; with anger or amusement he couldn’t tell. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘Yza’ and it’s not ‘Belle,’ it’s Yzabelle. You’d think you’d have it by now, you stupid lug”
He gave a wide grin. “Well, you know, yelling ‘Yza, Yza, Yzaaa! Ooo!’ isn’t near so fun to yell as ‘ Yzaaabelleee! Ooooo !’ in bed.”
Yzabelle smirked at him. “Been practicing on the whores again, Karriv? Or do you practice while playing with yourself, because you couldn’t even pay a whore to fuck you?”
He clutched his chest. “Ouch, you’ve a krathi-tounge. Ooooh, how it burns.”
Yzabelle rolled her eyes. “I’d say see a vivadu, but you’re already wet enough.”
“Good, then we can get to it!” He grins incorrigibly before pausing. “Seriously, Yza, why not? We’d both have a damn good time, you know that.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Because fun fucks come easy, and a man who is so persistent at making a fool of himself is a much rarer treat.”
He grumbled something unflattering under his breath.
“Besides, I’m not going to fuck a man just so he’ll get my name right.” She pressed two fingers to her lips, then pressed them to his cheek.
“Hey, love-kanks!” They both started, Yzabelle’s face a scowl as she prepared to vehemently object. “Save it. Serge is callin’ the unit together.”
The sergeant begin, and it was not long before Karriv interrupted. “How many fuckers?! Wigglin’ child of a rinthi necker-spawn!”
Yzabelle smirked. “Don’t worry Karriv, I won’t let the scary Gith get you.”
The memory dissipated, Karriv abruptly wrenched from it like a babe from the safety womb thrust into the cruel jowls of reality. Somewhere distant the high wail of a child split through the air, a jarring refrain.
“What’s wrong?”
Karriv started, sword reflexively up and point pressed to the speaker’s throat. It was just a child. Karriv forced tense muscles to relax, withdrawing his sword. Large blue eyes continued to look at him unblinkingly, and she spoke again in that same ethereal voice. “You won, you know.”
He tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. The sharp tang of acid was still strong in his mouth, his throat felt as raw as the fleshless globs of oozing flesh scattered about. Karriv coughed, throat seared with pain. He took a long swig of water, cool, cold, refreshing-- And spit it out. The pungent smell of blood, sweat and the dead permeated everything. The girl only continued to watch him, cool eyes unwavering.
“Who- Who are you?”
“I’m only the first. There will be many songs to follow, for a victory so grand. The losses were acceptable, the foe vanquished.”
He blinked with incomprehension, and she turned to continue. The distant child’s wail finally died, and she continued the slow, floating melody.
“Bloody, shat-terred broken dreams,
Victorious tri-um-phant screams…”
------------------------------------------
“To the Highlord!” Karriv raised his glass to the toast, downing it in a single swallow. Five glasses later, he wasn’t even buzzed, much less drunk. He didn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk. True, this was probably because afterwards he always awoke on the floor of the Gaj, knowing nothing save the intense pounding pain of a merciless hangover.
He filled the glass again, watching the Lord Templar Nariliek give out awards. He didn’t know the men and women up there; over half his unit was dead. Over half the unit. I’ve reduced them to nothing more then a statistic. Of course he had. Karriv wanted them to be a statistic, to have that distance from them. Because if they didn’t exist as more then numbers, then they weren’t gone. Then he wouldn’t feel this nameless, sinking all-consuming void within him. You want to forget. And that only inflamed the guilt. He couldn’t deny it, he wanted to forget everything that seared his heart so, and that in itself was a dagger plunging into him.
The drunkenness would have purged all of this. It made him numb, it made him not care, gave him the illusion of happiness and joy. And when he woke up, everything was all the darker, all the bleaker, making him crave the delusion of bliss all the more.
“Karriv!” He started as an elbow found his ribs. “The Lord Templar has called you twice already.” Nariliek’s hard eyes stared at him expectantly.
“Sorry, milord. Must’ve been a bit krath-struck,” he said, rising smoothly. Too smoothly for his lapse to be wine induced, the Lord Templar noted with a flicker of satisfaction.
“Private Karriv , your performance on the battle field was exceptional, a fine example for--”
Thrust, slash, parry, block. Too quick for conscious thought, weapon merely and extension of self, self a creature with only one goal: To kill. Complete and utter chaos. Something shoved something your way; you rammed your sword back in its face. Protect the soldiers on either side of you, hold the line. Anything else was death.
“Therefore, I present you with the jade cross, as well as--”
He slashed out, bone slashing across the jugular with a spray of warm blood spurting across his face. No time to wipe it away. He turned to block a blade aimed at his head, stumbling over a fallen body. No time to think. He smashed down a boot for better footing, crunching bone and mashing flesh, smashing the face beyond recognition. Merrik’s face. Merrik, oh Highlord, not Mer -- Block, parry, slash, dodge . No time to think. “Hold the line! I will fucking personally flay anyone who breaks. HOLD THE FUCKING LINE!” Roared a voice, as the hoard of Gith continued to come, as far as the eye can see, snarling with feral blood lusting eyes--
--The soldier beside him, arm brutally severed with a rush of crimson, endlessly spurting and the screaming, oh Highlord, the screaming-- “MEDIC! MEDIC FOR ASHIA!” He yelled, voice lost amidst the clash and clang of weaponry, the screams of the injured and roars of the combatants. A vivadu, a medic, something or she’d bleed out--! “Arrows!” someone yelled a few soldiers down, barely audible. Too late, as one pierced Ashia’s eye, slicing through it with a thunk as it hit something beyond. Her screams cut off abruptly, dieing in a strangled gurgle of blood.
Yzabelle moved to fill the gap in the line, shield firmly before her. “Yza, Ashia, I couldn’t--” Her eyes met his. “I know Karriv. I couldn’t save her eit --” She slammed an offending Gith down, ramming her sword through its gut and as it fell into Ashia’s corpse beneath it. “--er. It’s not over, Karriv. We’ve got a War to win. Now let’s kill these fucking sons of bitches!”
In the distance, cross the lengths of fighting sweat-soaked soldiers and treacherous footing made slick with blood and adorned with gore came a cry. Yzabelle spun to look for the source of the sound. “Karriv, the Lord Templar!”
Another explosion of gore, shards of sizzling-hot bone flew through the air. Blood, torn and shredded strips of muscle covered him like a mantle. Karriv could feel his heart racing in his chest (thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk) as the soldiers exploded around him, with not so much as time for a scream. He was going to be next; he was going to go-- His bladder released, seeping down his pants, urine mixing with the sweat that soaked them.
Beside him, Yzabelle rushed on, eyes also wide with fear. Her breathing came ragged, and she clenched her jaw, narrowing her gaze on their goal. They ran on, a deadly obstacle course of gith , stone road completely obscured by bodies and blood, both waiting for a misstep to send them booth sprawling down in the chaos. They scrambled to keep their footing and their sanity in this nightmarish reality.
“Karriv, cover me-- I’ll take point.” Karriv dropped back, focusing to the sneering, snarling Gith to either side. Yzabelle was free to focus her efforts on surging forewords. The repugnant stench of gore and the fallen filled the air, along with the all-permeating odor of burnt flesh, but it barely registered as the two sweat and blood-soaked soldiers pressed on.
They reached the Templar, Karriv rushing to route the gith in the front, Yza darting behind the Templar’s back. He didn’t know how long they hacked and slashed, if it was only moments, or endless days but suddenly there was nothing left to kill. Karriv stood, blinking blearily, breathing haggard as he waited for that simple yet inconceivable fact to register. “Yza?” He croaked. “It’s… Yzabelle…” Was the equally hoarse and haggard reply. Someone moaned, and they both were reminded of the cause for the frantic rush to get here.
Karriv stumbled over with a weary sigh, dropping to his knees to look the Lord Templar over. “I think he’s been poisoned.” Karriv begin to rummage through his belt, only to find that it had been slashed somewhere along the fight, precious contents lost somewhere amidst the chaos of battle. Fuck, now what?! He stared at the Templar, no answer coming. Then something clanged off his helmet, bouncing off. “You… Stupid… Lug…” Yzabelle’s breathing was still harsh and ragged, but she offered a grin. “Always loosing your shit. I swear ,you’d be a helpless babe without me.” Karriv snorted, inwardly clinging to the banter the way a man fallen over the edge of the shield wall would cling to a rope. It was familiar, it was reassuring and it kept him focused, able to ignore the ravages around him.
He picked the pouch thrown at him out from the rubble and gore, peering into it to discern the proper tablet. “Lord Templar?” Blue eyes flickered weakly over to gaze unsteadily at Karriv. “Milord, you have to eat this. You understand?” He placed the tablet in Nariliek’s mouth, making sure he ate and swallowed it-- Without choking or vomiting it back up. He poured the water from the flask to the Templar’s lips, and the blue eyes closed-- Breathing slowly getting steadier and more even. Karriv let out a sigh of relief, slumping down. “Yza, we did it. We did it.”
She gave a tired smile back, for once not complaining about the nick-name. “Yeah, we did.” They both just rested, recovering best they could before the inevitability of more fighting, more insanity. The adrenaline drained out of Karriv , leaving him glad that he was already on the ground; he didn’t think he could stand if he wanted to. Yzabelle didn’t seem much better, slumped against a wall, her fingers seemingly only still clutching her sword because they’d forgotten how to do anything else. His shield seemed to be wanting to drag his arm out of it’s socket, so damn fucking heavy. Had it always weighed this much?
He ached all over. Head to toe, nothing didn’t hurt. But they’d done it; they’d rescued the Lord Templar. They hadn’t exploded, and they weren’t dead. All in all, things were looking up. They just had to wait, either for re-enforcements or until they could lug the Lord Templar back to a secure spot to rest. Karriv wished he could rest, not likely; no able-bodied soldier could afford that luxury while Nak was threatened. Still, it was nice to be able to just sit awhile, aches or no, just rest, if only for a moment.
“GREEEAAAAAARRRKKKK!” A screech split the air, and Karriv turned, eyes wide in horror at the snarling form lunging towards him. He fumbled, trying to get his sword up, but it was too late; the Gith was too close, and in moments the blade would slice through his flesh, biting to the bone, severing-- Suddenly, in a blur of motion, the Gith was tackled from the side. Oh thank the Highlord, thank-you, Shadow Above, thank-you…
“ALLLANAAAAAAAK!” Yzabelle cried, slashing forwards. The Gith pulled up it’s face into a gruesome sneer at it was plowed into from the side, then let out a gurgle as it hit the road with a thunk, sword plunged clear through it. They both hit in a sprawling heap.
“Highlord, Yza, I’d thought he’d get me for sure. Fuck that was close!”
There was no answer. He could feel his heart beating, thump-thump-thump, and it seemed an eternity of silence, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind he new that couldn’t be right; the battle was still going on. There was screaming, the clash of blades, surely… But he heard none of it. He heard nothing; nothing. No answer.
“Yza?” A chill of denial was already running through him. No, no, it couldn’t be… There were no last words, no moment of understanding before the end, no chance to say good-bye. She was playing, it was just a game. She always did have a bad sense of humor. “Yza, this isn’t fucking funny.” He rose shakily, heading over to where the gith and Yzabelle lay sprawled together in a heap. “Yza-- Yzabelle?” He knelt, turning her over-- Her guts spilled out, intestines still warm. Horror and loss overwhelmed him, and choked back the bile that rose. A voice, a memory, that flash of smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the scary Gith.” As he gathered her lifeless corpse into his arms, her head lolled to the side, helmet clanking off, her rich Quirri-black hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, eyes vacant as a doll’s, staring off, unseeing for evermore.
“And furthermore, you’ll now serve as the Corporal of your unit.”
Claps and cheers rose in the background, with the occasional cry of “Congratulations, Corporal!” or “You showed the fucks! Karriv Amosson the Gith-Smiter!” Karriv didn’t hear them. He only said one word: “No.”
Lord Templar Nariliek frowned. “What did you say?”
Karriv spoke again, shaking his head, voice raised to be heard over the clamor. “No. No! I’m not the one you want. I didn’t save you, I didn’t do shit! Yza--” He choked on the name. “Yzabelle’s the one you want. Ashia’s the one you want, Merrik is the fucking one you want! All the damn others-- They are the ones you want! I’M NOT A KRATH-FUCKING HERO! She fell and I fucking froze, I was reduced to a damn blubbering heap. I am not your damn hero.”
Complete and utter silence. The Lord Templar looked shocked, features blank with disbelief. His unit’s Sergeant looked horrified, the rest of the gathered soldiers couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d announced that he was the Sun-King. The Sergeant was the first to speak, his voice dangerously low. “Private Karriv Amosson , you--” The Lord Templar held up a hand, and the sergeant fell silent. The silent seemed overwhelming now, as oppressing as the sweltering heat of Suk-Krath at High Sun.
Two words, sharp as knives. “Collect yourself.” A hand pointed to the door, and Karriv left without a word into the ravaged city under the endless void of night. And in the silence, he swore a voice drifted, floating through the air like a tendril of breeze, a melody impossible to forget as inescapable as the death surrounding him.
“Win the bat- tle, loose the war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of...
Continue Reading...One-Shot Shatuka by Biscuits
Added on Jan 6, 2008Sergeant Shatuka of Kurac: One shot drops a gith and saves a life.
Tar of the Council by Grey Area
Added on Jan 5, 2008Character portrait: A gemmed Whiran surveys the streets of Allanak from the safety of Whira's grasp.
Tharex on the Ridge by Silverfaune
Added on Jan 3, 2008Tharex on the Ridge - a mated pair of Tharex take a moment to survey their territory. **Winner of the Artwork contest #2: Tablelands**
A bad day to be a foreigner in the rinth by Ghost
Added on Dec 31, 2007A recently arrived southsider has a rough night in the rinthi bar
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul is standing here.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak is standing here.
- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is standing here.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak hands over an empty bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Get better stuff for da next time."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"There is no better stuff..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his string of cocoons into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his pair of footpads into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"If I's walk you's over dere an' show you's sumfin useful, what do I's get from you?"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak puts his shard of sharp-edged obsidian into his filthy, crude hide bag.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"A surprised look. A very surprised look."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"A finger? Three? Maybe you's eye?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I want to keep my fingers... and my eye..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Den figure out what you's doin wrong an' fuckin fix it."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Every other fucker in da alleys know how to scrounge for valuable shit."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul exhales lightly, looking out into the alley.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's tryin to say you's da stupidest motherfucker walkin dem alleys? Is dat it?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I only been in the alley for a half-a-month... less than that..."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"only like six weeks actually."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's think you's gonna survive da next half month bein worthless?"
Lifting his chin to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the tall figure in a dark
hooded cloak, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'd just throw him in the well."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"What da fuck did you's do southside for coin?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shrugs, and folds his arms leaning on a sturdy old bar.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Worked at the butcher shop some, but I only started workin' really."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Afore what?"
Kicking a long, low and cracked clay table, the stoic, brown-skinned mul says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Get out of my table."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man nervously pushes off the tabletop, moving away.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Afore?"
Taking the grey-skinned, orange haired man's seat, the stoic, brown-skinned mul sits at a
long, low and cracked clay table.
Speaking clearly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"Afore what?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul scratches his head.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Afore he figure out you's ain' know shit about shit an' you's ain' worth da coin he payin you's?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I wasn't fired..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Den why ain' you's dere now?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"'cause my best friend ran away here, so I did too."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"You's best friend?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul flips his Kruth card: the Sun of Kings over in his hand looking at it.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"An' who dat?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards into his leather backpack.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"Some stupid whore?"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks at the grey-skinned, orange haired man with open contempt.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"An elf. I think he's dead now."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's fuckin followed an' elf.... to da alleys."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head at the grey-skinned, orange haired man.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I've never really been with humans, as friends..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul gets his deck of Kruth cards from his leather backpack.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak's features soften.
Softly, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"I... I's never really had no friends either..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul arches a smooth brow to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, flipping through his deck of
Kruth cards slowly.
Nodding swiftly, his eyes widening a bit, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"You's wanna maybe... maybe be my's friend?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Your joking. I ain't that dumb."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"No no... I's serious."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Maybe we's can share a drink an' some spice or sumfin."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Talk about dem old times an' shit... maybe hold hands or sumfin."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak reaches a hand towards the grey-skinned, orange haired man's
hand.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul shuffles a deck of Kruth cards.
The pallid, dark-curled young man chuckles, watching the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak and the grey-skinned, orange
haired man.
Pretending to not notice his hand, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in
sirihish:
"I've never done spice..."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul turns his deck of Kruth cards over curiously, looking through the
cards.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak subdues the grey-skinned, orange haired man.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Gah!"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with a
alarmingly fast motion.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"I see you like to be friendly..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak drags the grey-skinned, orange haired man to the far side of the
bar.
Nodding a few times, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired
man, in sirihish:
"Yeah... I's good like dat."
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals himself a Kruth card.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul deals a Kruth card: the Water of Death to you.
Holding him hand, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
"What I's really like doin is rememberin all da good time's I's had wif my's friends....
cause when dey all dead an' gone, dat really all dat left."
Nodding amiably, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in
sirihish:
"Like you's remember dat one time when you's an' me's was talkin...."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Which time?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"When you sold my corpse...?"
Shaking his head quickly, his hollow voice sounding amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"No no no.... dat time when you's sayin about all da shit dat can't be found in dat
market..."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to squeeze the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.
Wincing slightly, the grey-skinned, orange haired man says to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak,
in sirihish:
"Yeah..."
Increasing the pressure of his grip, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"An' den I's was sayin how I's -know- dere good stuff dere, but you's was jus' too stupid
to find it's?"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man nods nervously to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
His voice amiable, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man,
in sirihish:
"An' you's start babblin all dis shit about how you's used to be a butcher an' how you's
leave you's pleasant little....."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man attentivly listens to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks from his deck of Kruth cards to you with little
understanding.
Hatred slowly seeping into his voice, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned,
orange haired man, in sirihish:
"insignificant worthless an' pathetic little existence to come here an' play in dem
motherfuckin alleys....."
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak begins to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand with
impossible strength.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man exclaims to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in sirihish:
"Think it was a mistake- GAH!"
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man squirms horribly.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul asks the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, in southern-accented
sirihish:
"Want me to punch out his teeth?"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul looks up from his cards, tracing his fingers over each one with
great care.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak says to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"An' den you's continue on - cause you's KNOW I fuckin really care about dat kind of
shit... about how you's fuckin little elf friend dead now's....."
The grey-skinned, orange haired man continues to squirm, no longer listening but concentrating
on the pain.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man struggles in vain against the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The morbid sound of snapping bones fills in an odd moment of silence within the bar as the
tall figure in a dark hooded cloak continues to crush the grey-skinned, orange haired man's hand.
The grey-skinned, orange haired man screams!
His eyes flaring a bright red as he hisses his words out, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak
exclaims to the grey-skinned, orange haired man, in sirihish:
"Find... me... sumfin... fuckin... USEFUL!"
The stoic, brown-skinned mul glances at the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak, a few figures in the
bar glancing uncomfortably but daring not speak.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak snaps his hand to the side, breaking the grey-skinned, orange
haired man's wrist.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak grabs the grey-skinned, orange haired man's chest with his other
hand and shoves him across the room.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak roughly shoves the grey-skinned, orange haired man west.
To the west is Twisting Alleyway.
[Near]
The grey-skinned, orange haired man is reclining here.
A low, crumbled stone wall sits here, its front occupied by faded bas-relief carvings.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table.
Throwing his hands up in a mocking fashion, the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"I decide it might be fun to come to da alleys! My's friend do it so I's come along for
da adventure!"
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak shakes his head in disgust.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul smirks to the tall figure in a dark hooded cloak.
The pallid, dark-curled young man places your Kruth card: the Stone of Deceit over a triangular stone table.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul tilts his head taking the card.
You give your Kruth card: the Sun of Life to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.
The stoic, brown-skinned mul puts his deck of Kruth cards onto a long, low and cracked clay
table.
Holding the picture up to his eyes, the stoic, brown-skinned mul looks at his Kruth card: the
Sun of Life.
You give your Kruth card: the Wind of Deceit to the
stoic, brown-skinned mul.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak looks between the stoic, brown-skinned mul and you.
The tall figure in a dark hooded cloak asks, in sirihish:
"What you's two playin?"
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in...
Continue Reading...Rough Drawing by Silverfaune
Added on Dec 31, 2007Got time to sit down and sketch for a bit.. this is a young Allanaki woman by the name of Kuri.
Gin of the Alleys by Biscuits
Added on Dec 31, 2007The crimelord surveys his domain from a vantage point on the rooftops.
The Warriors of Faith: Part I: "Chasing Ghosts" by Ghost
Added on Dec 25, 2007A templar of Allanak leads an army to eliminate gith raiders threatening the forts. But nothing goes as planned.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept their distance from him. All around the field were a mass of bodies, his former friends, tribemates, followers... now sprawled and painted crimson in the afternoon sun. The smell of blood and open bowels hung heavy in the air. The chief warriors of his tribe were impaled and their bodies sagged loosely, held upright by spikes as tall as a man.
It was a bleak day to see it all end.
His eyes drifted to the hills where the last group of his warriors had fled. There was no sign of them now, save for those who fell in their final flight. Broken bodies scattered like cornerstones of an ancient road.
At least they are free, he thought. They do not take shame in my defeat.
Where was the God of War now? Where was the claiming of the Tablelands? His mind wandered back over the months, tasting again the joys of the uprise. The pride, as strong gith came to him from all other tribes, united against the invading armies of the human city. Stinking humans, were they even worthy of fighting? Everything was so perfect in the beginning. His army were the best warriors of the best race. He was so confident that they could crush the world under their feet. They would stand against the armies of the city humans, make a show of force to other tribes and gather them under their names. Then they would drive all humans and elves from the Tablelands, their rightful home. It had all seemed possible for a while, but now there were only ashes in the mouth. Now, he was the only one left of the gith warchiefs that had dared to throw off the invasion of the humans.
Horns were blown and a unit of cavalry riding beasts galloped across a clear path to where the captured gith warlord waited on his haunches. He lifted his bruised head, the mess of hair falling over his face. The soldiers nearby stood attendance in silence, and then the gith warrior knew who was coming. His vision was blurry from weariness and the wounds, but he could see as a lone figure climbed down from his armored beast and pass the reins to another. The spotless blue robe seemed incongruous in the field of death, untouched by the blood and the taint of the battlefield, almost like an illusion in the red painted afternoon.
Slaves spread dry sand over the blood-soaked ground, making a clear path to the tied gith warrior as the blue robed figure walked slowly toward the captive. All the soldiers had their weapons bared, as if looking for an excuse to kill.
No. The gith warrior straightened.
He would not be broken in the face of the enemy, he promised himself silently. He lifted his one good eye to the approaching enemy, causing a nervous shift in the circle of soldiers.
“It is alright, soldiers,” spoke the figure as he walked. “This is the general of an army who fought valiantly. A little respect is due.”
The gith warchief could understand the common tongue of humans, but he showed no sign of it. The men eased in their stance then, offering a respectful bow as the figure passed into the circle of his soldiers.
He stood a few feet away from the kneeling prisoner, his gaze remaining locked on the gith warrior.
“Warchief Untturi.” He tasted the words through his mind. A second later, the gith’s mind was connected to his, as well.
“You have caused me quite a bit of trouble,” spoke the templar.
“I did my best to.” The gith smiled as he sent his thoughts forth.
The templar nodded silently as he responded.
“It is all ended now. Your army is broken.”
Untturi shrugged carelessly. What good was there stating the obvious?
“Here is my sword, swear to me you will never rise against me, and I will leave you alive.”
Untturi blinked back in confusion. One eye was stuck with blood; his other eye searched the templar’s face for a sign of mockery. But he could see none of it.
“Why?” he replied.
“You fought valiantly, and there has been enough death today. One more or one less will make no difference.”
Untturi’s confusion was overwhelming. He was ready to die. A warrior would always prepare for death before the battle. But here was a man, offering him a new life; time to spend with his sons, time to live with his tribe.
“I swear,” he replied, lifting his hands to cup the warrior’s sword. Then aloud, in his native language, “I swear.”
The templar nodded lightly as he bent forward to cut the captive’s bonds. “You have family... your sons, your tribe, what about them?”
Untturi squinted. Surely his sons would want to revenge those who have fallen today. “I cannot speak for them,” the warrior replied.
The templar dipped his head again:
“If they rise against me, I will return. I will bring the wrath of my city on your people on a scale of misery that they have not seen before.”
The gith warrior nodded bitterly, then cast his gaze to the ground. He felt the templar slipping out of his thoughts and heard him walk back to his mount amidst the confused glances of soldiers. Every Allanakki soldier in sight moved off with him. Within seconds, commanders snapped orders to each unit and the army broke camp, moving east along the Shield wall. Untruri was left cold and puzzled, surrounded by the dead.
They rode for several leagues in silence, and finally one of the commanders rode closer to the templar in blue robe.
“Lord Sulach?”
Sulach stopped his mount, turning around to face the source of the voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“My Lord,” the man bowed quickly, “don’t you think he will gather the tribes again and bring war upon us?”
Sulach stared off into the distance, seeming to consider. The soldiers riding with him came closer, wanting to hear his reply.
“Perhaps. He is broken... he has seen the defeat and he will live with the shame of it. If he considers rising against us, he will remember that shame.” Sulach held his reins tightly, then shrugged. “But still, perhaps he will. It makes no difference. I beat him once, I can beat him again. He is still the leader of his tribe. If he dies, the new warchief will seek revenge, and we have not fought him yet. He can surprise us.”
He turned his mount and paused. “We defeated the enemy soldiers. The war is over. It is time to return home.”
With that, he grew silent again, and all nearby soldiers nodded at once, riding after him.
Chapter 1
"- So I'm sittin' there with the Chosen Lady, gabbin' it up, pretendin' t'be a prude kiss-ass. What a fawkin' time t'pop a hard-on, eh?"
- Khortoc Salarr
The wind raged across the closely pitched tents, picking up dust and sand over the dunes and sending them up towards the skies. All the campfires were put out for fear the storm could pick them up and hurl them across the camp. The stars and moons were blocked by the dustclouds, the sands covering what the pitch black night left.
The lone figure amidst the tents shivered uncomfortably as the blue robe ranking his command in the Highlord’s service struggled weakly in the blowing wind. The wind blew cold at night, in contrast to the burning heat of the day, but such was the trials of the desert. It would test your courage and determination on all ends to come.
Two years had passed since he’d endured the trials of the desert: Two years, since his last campaign in these desolate lands, his decisive victory against the gathered gith tribes. He had hoped he would not have to ride out again after that battle, but fate was fickle. The gith raids had started again too close to the completion of the forts, and more importantly, too close to his marriage with Ka’Tryn Borsail.
The image of the woman flashed momentarily across his eyes. The first time he’d seen her was in the Arboretum. Among the gathered nobles, she was resting comfortably on a pillow across the fountain. Smooth, creamy flesh, fair and preserved from the ravaging rays of Suk-Krath, as fine as the silks and jewelry that covered it. Her curves were clear and smoothly defined; something she clearly knew, and took advantage of. But it was her eyes that stole all his attention back then. With those eyes he became enthralled, watching exquisitely formed fingers, five digits of perfection, rise to pull a strand of hair like a silky curtain. As she pushed a strand from her face, jewel eyes, dark and ebon were revealed, and then there was no escaping the danger of her. A man might get lost in the dark depths of her eyes, or he might glance away -- only to look back again.
He was mesmerized by her that day, and the day after… and after… He started to see her more often. Day after day, they grew closer. Politics or city affairs, in everything they were together. By marrying her, he would have Borsail’s support. With her at his side, everything seemed possible. Everything was complete.
Ka’Tryn. Ahh, Ka’Tryn…
The wind sent a cold shiver running down his spine and brought him back from his dreams.
So jealous was the desert, it would never let you dream about anything else. He turned around, and pulled the tent flap open. The night was long, and the day would bring the news of the raiders.
One thousand soldiers would march at his command, and there would be fighting. The worries of now and the trials of desert would have to wait. Even Ka’Tryn would have to wait…
Ahh, beautiful Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
Unseen tumblers turned and the stone doors groaned open. The Jihaen templar in his formal red robes entered the room without hesitation; the soldiers flanking him did not need to be ordered to stand guard at the entrance.
Armored boots clacked over the stone tiles, reflecting the beauty of the Tuluki art as the Jihaen crossed the domed room. He approached the single table at the center, two female Lirathans clad in traditional white robes watching him in silence.
“Evening, Faithful Brother Samil. I apologize for interrupting your meditation.”
The Jihaen simply stared at her calmly as he stood in silence. He made no move to sit, and after a long moment, the Lirathan started again.
“Sister Neodyn and I have the news.” She turned to look at the frail form of the other woman across the table.
“He took the bait. He is out in the desert right now,” Neodyn cut in shortly.
The Jihaen nodded briefly at those words. “I will march at daybreak.”
“May the light of His Radiance be your guide, and illuminate your path, Faithful Brother,” finished the Lirathan.
Samil offered a faint dip of his head before turning on his heels. Fast strides carried him to the open doors. The soldiers at the sides quickly pulled the doors shut with a loud clank that echoed from the walls. In a moment, the room was silent once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
“- Do you know the two most powerful weapons in the Known World?
- Love and Forgiveness?
- No, Boredom and Frustration.”
- Gin of the alleys, and Shattered, the last of the Silt Winds”
Lord Templar Sulach Tor ran his hand over his face. Two days passed since he had calculated where they would start marching, and none of the returning scouts could get a report about gith groups in the previously reported positions.
He looked at the maps lying on the table once more. He had checked all the previous reports indicating the location of the gith numbers. Since then, nearly every location to where they possibly could have moved had been checked. Still nothing. Nothing.
“My Lord,” came a female voice from behind.
“Yes, Sergeant?” Sulach replied without looking back.
“Scout Yeno returned.” Sulach wheeled back sharply, his earring slapping to his cheek at his sudden turn.
“What news?”
“A score of gith were laying in ambush, my Lord!” A tiny figure sprang from beneath the tent flap, carrying the dust and the smell of desert over his attire. The sergeant’s face went red with anger at the scout’s unannounced entrance.
“Here, let me show on the ma-“
The tiny man’s voice ended with a muffled curse as he was pulled by his neck and tripped down to the ground, the dust on his cloak rising in a cloud as he fell on his back. Before he could make a protest, the sergeant’s knee was on his throat, her face twisted in anger:
“Where the FUCK do you think you are going?”
“I was goin-“ he struggled to reply.
“Did you hear being called, soldier?” The sergeant was not in the mood to let that slide.
“Ahh!” yelped Yeno, his tiny frame struggling in vain.
“I said, did you –hear- being called, soldier?”
Yeno shut his eyes tight, holding his breath as if steadying himself for a blow. His small frame seemed to grow even smaller.
“Enough!” Sulach’s voice boomed. The sergeant waited for a second to force herself calm.
“Sergeant Itina, bring that man here.”
The jade-clad woman pulled the little scout up and shoved him roughly to the table. The man trembled for a moment in fear, his hand rubbing his throat where her knee had been pressed. After staring at the woman, trembling, for a few seconds, he finally remembered he was in presence of a templar, and quickly turned to the map, pressing his finger wildly at a point:
“They were here, my Lord!”
Sulach looked down at where he pressed his finger and frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my Lord. I have seen them.”
It was a bit more to the north of where they were spotted last time. It made no sense. A raid group gathered to launch an onslaught on the forts would not follow such a route. But taking chances on such measures could prove deadly.
“Go back there, stay for two nights. If you see a movement, follow it and find out where the base camp is. Then report immediately. If they do not move in two days, come back here.”
The small man stared at the templar with wide eyes.
Sulach tilted his head as he stared back. “Dismissed, soldier.”
As if waking up from a daydream, the man bowed quickly, then darted for the exit, avoiding his sergeant’s rage-filled gaze.
Sulach stared at the closed tent flap for a moment. Why were the gith moving north now? Were they aware of him? Is this their strategy after their defeat two years ago? What are they tring to do?
“Orders, sir?”
Sulach collapsed tiredly on the chair, fingers pressed to his brows. The sergeant took a step forward, then stopped abruptly.
“Do you need anything, my Lord?” her voice was much softer than it had been moments ago. Only rarely would she speak so, rarely indeed.
Sulach only shook his head without looking up. He did not see the woman gazing at him with admiration, nor did he see her bow respectfully and slip outside, leaving him alone in the stale air of the tent.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lord Cadra Borsail sat comfortably in his chair, reading through his notes. He was quite pleased with his spy’s latest report. The nauseating Sulach had been led on by the gith, and he was following the simple thread to the source.
Let him ride to his glory. Let him stay out of the picture as I take things into my hands.
A smile crept over his meaty face as he leaned back. With Ka’Tryn around, he could never get his own attention. And with him around, Ka’Tryn would never need Sulach. Separate them, and I have the stage to run my show, Cadra smiled. Perhaps if he could keep Sulach busy chasing ghosts for long enough, he could even marry Ka’Tryn. It would take time, but it was not impossible.
Time will tell, he thought. Yes, time would tell. He called for the slaves for refreshments. Pleasant news and pleasant thoughts deserved celebration. He slouched back even further, his substantial body filling the armchair, and focused on his next move.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
“If you do not trust me, then kill me quickly. I do not want to live, knowing that I lost you.”
- Gin of the alleys
Two more days passed without a further confirmation on the location of the gith raiders. The time and energy was being wasted with no results, and Sulach did not have control over it.
The very moment he had decided he’d lost the scout, he heard back from him.
“They are heading north,” came the words into his mind. “I will let you know as soon as I know more.” And then the telepathic connection was cut off.
Moving north still made no sense to Sulach. It would further draw the gith apart from their objective and bring too much complication to their raiding parties.
Unless they are planning something different than engaging me this time, Sulach thought. It could be a retreat, or a trap. The gith realized two years ago that they were no match for Sulach’s disciplined army. Perhaps the lesson was learned and they were fleeing north. Or they were hoping to lure him into a trap.
He finally found Untturi’s mind in desperation.
“I thought you were a man of your word,” Sulach sent his thoughts forward.
The gith’s response came shortly. “And that I am, I have not broken a word that I swore to keep.”
“Then who is leading the raids this time?” Sulach asked.
“No one that I know of. There is no warband gathered against you.”
“My men say otherwise,” Sulach went on.
“Then perhaps you should judge your men’s worth again,” replied the gith warchief. “Did you save my life just to insult my honor?” he added, his thoughts edging on the colors of anger.
Sulach released the psionic contact then. Either someone moved without Untturi’s notice, or he was lying. In either case, he could not keep the army in the same spot forever. The soldiers were growing restless with no battle. He had to close in on the enemy or he had to return.
And it was too early to go back home.
Taking such a huge force and returning without seeing the battlefield would remain as a shame on him. He had to follow whatever plan the enemy lay down for him, and then he had to engage, and break them. That was the only outcome his Tor blood would allow him. And that was the only course he would follow.
The army broke camp at the first lights of Suk-Krath, and set course towards the north.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“He is doing exactly as we predicted,” the mental image of the female Lirathan spoke in Samil’s thoughts.
“Where is he right now?” Samil’s thoughts were calm and carefully calculated.
“He is following north along the Shield Wall. In two day’s march he will be a few leagues east of the mesa.”
“Then his scouts may find my tracks. I will have to move fast and circle him,” said Samil.
And perhaps leave a hunter group to take down any scouts coming close enough to find my tracks, he thought to himself.
“You know what would be the best course of action, Faithful Brother,” Neodyn replied shortly, “His Radiance guide you.”
With that, Samil was left alone in his thoughts. He would order the march before the first lights of the day, and he would send a group of hunters to eliminate any scouts close enough to discover his tracks. He did not want his opponent to know of his plans until he had him cornered.
He opened the flap of the tent and peered outside. Pale Lirathu was low in the sky, and there was still more than an hour until morning. He walked back to his bed and kneeled to the ground.
“Muk Utep” he whispered, pushing all other thoughts from his mind, “Guide me with Your light, give me your strength, open my mind…” He prayed on in silent meditation until the day dawned to a red horizon, and the army started to wake up.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 4
“- Your mind, will bend to my will.”
- The invisible voice
Yeno lay flat on the dune and peered across the sandy ground. He had given his last report a day and a half ago, and he had to send another soon. He watched the terrain closely, and tried to calculate his position. Finding your way in the desert was no easy feat: memorizing the safe spots, watching the angles of any stable points, keeping track of the time, checking the wind, and on top of it all, being prepared for a sandstorm at any time.
His position was good enough, he decided, and now he could send a report. As he thought about what he should say and how to word it, his mind wandered over his last report and what he had been told by Lord Cadra.
“Lead him on, make him chase ghosts,” was his final order. “I will give you further instructions when the situation requires so. For now, just lead him on.”
And that was what Yeno had been doing for the last week. He knew his reports had to make sense, or his cover would be blown and he would be arrested and executed. Tortured first, perhaps, to get what secrets he had kept and who he worked for. Yeno shivered at the thought. It was way too early to die yet, and he had plenty of years in front of him to serve his Lord and city. For greater goods, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
For this one, Lord Sulach was the sacrifice.
He thought of his report as he kept his gaze on terrain ahead. He would give another report of movement to north, and then he would think of the next one. In a moment, he was connected to Sulach’s mind.
Hundreds of leagues away, in the silence of a huge domed room Faithful Lady Neodyn Winrothol sat back in her chair, her features relaxing as the strain of the psionic drain slowly eased back. Once more she directed Yeno’s thoughts and made him report another movement to north. This would drag Sulach further into the tablelands and provide time for Samil to choose the battleground.
What she did not calculate into her plans was Cadra Borsail’s ambitions. Such a fine surprise it was, it made her job so much easier to follow his instructions to Yeno. All she had to do was direct Yeno in a way that fit with her own plans without bringing suspicion to her work.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on finding Samil’s mind. She had more news to pass to her Faithful Brother.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“- He is weak against the pleasures of the flesh.”
- Serilla Uaptal, Lirathan Templar.
Sulach slammed his fist on the table in frustration, startling his commanders. The single candle on the table, casting more shadows than light, trembled at Sulach’s anger, sending ghosts of shadows scurrying at the interior walls of the command tent. The tension was visible. Days of marching and still the enemy evaded them. Even if it was an ambush, they should have come down on them by now, chasing them forever could not bring any good to the gith.
According to the last report, the gith bands were still moving north.
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Strian asked after a moment, but Sulach did not seem to hear him.
Sulach doubted the gith’s intentions now. This could not be a raiding party moving away from their objectives, nor could they be laying a trap. They would have sprung it already. Sulach even gave them a chance to trap him, and still nothing came out of it. No, it makes no sense at all.
“My Lord?”
Sulach lifted his gaze from the map and looked directly at the lieutenant.
“Orders?” Strian asked again.
Sulach gave a sigh, leaning on the table on his fists. “Have the men ready for leaving, we will be marching north.”
The lieutenant nodded sharply, the other officers following his gesture.
“You may return to your units and get some rest before we start marching again.”
They all bowed their respects and began to walk out of the tent.
Sulach called behind them, “Sergeant Itina, could you stay for a moment?” She nodded once, and stepped aside. The rest of the commanders offered only a brief salute to her as they stepped out. Sulach spoke again only after they were alone.
“Bring me Private Eoni.”
Sulach retreated into his thoughts as soon as the sergeant left. He looked down at his maps; there really was not much option he had there. For the first time since he started this campaign he considered returning back. It would be a shame on his end, but then, chasing an enemy like this could only keep on so long. Soon he would have to consider the supply limits, and the soldiers were growing restless without battle. Armies gathered for fight needed to see blood every now and then.
Perhaps the scout was incompetent in judging the enemy. He could send a mage to scout ahead, but mages generally proved useless in scouting missions. They lacked “a soldier’s eye” and would often overlook details that could turn the scales. Sulach did try to train a few mages during the campaigns against the gith, but they quickly learned gith shamans had wards against spying magicks that brought hazardous casualities. During the gith campaign, two of Sulach’s trained mages went insane due to such wards, proving how dangerous a truly crazed mage could be. Using trained soldiers for scouting missions was a lesson hard learned.
Regardless, sending a few more scouts at the same target could not hurt. Surely Yeno would take it as an insult to his work, but more was at stake than a single scout’s feelings now.
“You called for me, my Lord?” Private Eoni and the sergeant were back in the tent.
Sulach lifted his weary eyes to them, looking from one woman to the other. So many questions were racing in his mind, so many decisions. The campaign started with great promises and so many opportunities for his career. But now, it was bad enough that he was prepared to return empty handed.
“I need to feel good, soldiers,” Sulach whispered in the stale air of the tent. “Can you make me feel good?”
No reply was needed. Itina closed the tent flap and secured it as Eoni took off her armor. Sulach watched them both with distant eyes, his thoughts still troubled between returning or going forward. There was only one candle on the table, and even that was too much now.
Soon, the two women took away all his worries.
Lirathan Templar Neodyn felt a tang of disgust as she saw the naked women sound asleep lying beside Sulach. Noble blood sleeping with commons... such was the barbaric nature of southrons. Her mind wandered inside the darkness of the tent, looking at the maps over the table. The eye of the mind, though it did not need light to see as the mortal eyes do, was unfortunately weak to grasp objective details. She could not gather anything from his notes no matter how hard she tried. Moments later her mind returned to her body, exhausted. She was comforted that Sulach had come this far. Samil would catch him within a few days now.
Closing her eyes, she prayed her thanks to the Sun King. There was still time until dawn, and she could rest for an hour. In her chair in the stone-domed room, she rested her head back and in a moment, she was asleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
“-Where is that flower now?
… It...has withered...and died…”
- Ankha
Private Somir sat at the skirts of the Shield Wall, his back to the flat face of a massive, wind-scoured boulder. Despite the protection of the sandcloth, the heat of high sun brought little spots dancing in his vision. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he would become Krath-struck if he did not take shelter in the little shade of the rock. The sun burned off the sands, turning the desert into a field of gold. Looking ahead too much would bring shifting shadows to the vision, illusions, chasing each other in the endlessness.
Somir placed his waterskin at his feet, using all his willpower to tear his gaze away from it. He had ignored his thirst for quite a while but now, the need for water was starting to dominate all his senses. It was a contest of wills; the desert would whisper the taste of water, the comfort of a good shadow, the call for a peaceful sleep. All those were tests of the desert, to eliminate the weaker minds from the stronger. Somir wanted to believe he was the latter.
He surveyed the sands stretching up to north, a gloved hand shielding his eyes against the scorching sunlight. Although it has been over a day since he turned this way to track down the main gith raiding group, he had yet to see a single gith... let alone a thousand of them.
He reached to the ground and picked the waterskin up gently, almost afraid to hurt the precious contents. He saw a movement of a shadow then, or perhaps he thought he did. He lifted his gaze, water leaving his thoughts only momentarily. It could be from looking about in the high sun for too long, he thought. Perhaps the desert was testing him.
Or perhaps not.
Something whistled, followed by a *thud*. Somir felt the agony of his breath being kicked from his lungs. His gaze dropped to his chest reflexively, and he stared at the protruding arrow with unbelieving eyes. Two more whistling sounds, and Somir was knocked on his back, feeling the hot sands through his protective sandcloth. He tried to get up, but the arrows tore at his insides with the movement and he fell back in pain, facing the skies that he tried so hard to avoid. Direct sunlight burned his eyes; his vision blurred first, twisted next. Everything turned to gold, then orange, then red… He forced his eyes shut, a bright orange curtain pulling over his vision.
He lay there on the sands on the verge of consciousness, burning under the scorching sun. For how long, he did not know. A shadow fell over his face, and he slowly opened his eyes to face his attacker. His executioner was dark against the sunlight as he lifted his sword.
What was it? Figure of the sun? What was a Tuluki doing here so far away from his home?
Then everything went dark.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5
“Da point of dis comin’ here be to show da good will. We’s can say you’s can trust us an’ all dat shit, but you’s gotta believe a fucker trustworthy when dey’s show up in you’s face an’ you’s ain’t dead.”
- Quick
Days passed with no improvement.
The scouts he sent kept disappearing one by one. One of them managed to send a telepathic message that it was several raiders who ambushed him before the link was severed. No matter what, the message was clear. The enemy was to the north, and they were not letting any information leak.
Sulach was determined not to go any further. No matter what, the enemy was not a threat to the forts, and it was a matter of a mere month until they would be complete. This raiding group was no threat.
Still, Sulach could not bear returning empty-handed. The red robes of the War Ministry had given him command of one thousand soldiers, a great honor for a blue robe. To take all these soldiers back without seeing a battlefield would remain as a scar on him that would not be forgotten. He set the camps. He would not move a league more, but he could wait until the forts are completed. Then, regardless of spilling enemy blood, he would still have completed his objective. So he waited. For three days, nothing happened.
On the third day, as he sat on his pallet in the command tent, Lieutenant Strian asked for permission to enter.
“My Lord, scouts brought someone that has information.”
To that, Sulach merely nodded. The desire for battle was burnt out in him, the first excitement of leading into the field with his soldiers was gone, the eagerness replaced by a bitter aftertaste.
Strian pulled the flap aside, and a huge figure stepped in, ducking so low at the entrance that his body seemed to double over. Towering two heads over him, it was perhaps the tallest elf Sulach ever seen. His lean muscled structure was entirely covered with loose sandcloth garments. The elf stared down at Sulach for a moment, his face incongruous behind the fabric of the sandcloth veil. Sulach hated to be forced to look up, but his expression gave no sign of it.
“What news do you bring me, elf?”
As elf spoke, his breath blowing the sandcloth veil slightly. “Kah, I saw the White Pit men.” His Sirihish was fluent.
“Tuluki?” Sulach was surprised, but still he hid his interest well enough.
The elf seized Sulach in his gaze at that then nodded. “Kah.”
“Where, and how many?”
The elf continued to stare at Sulach with his veiled gaze. “Two hours of Soh run, south of here. Kah, I have not seen them all, but I saw maybe a hundred tents.”
Sulach could not believe what he was hearing. Such a huge Tuluki force was so close to his camp? How was it ever possible he was hearing it from an elf he met for the first time? He tried not to show his anger in front of the longear.
“Is that all?”
The elf seemed to straighten up slightly, then nodded again. “Kah.”
Sulach threw a coin pouch to the elf’s chest. As the elf caught the pouch deftly in his hand, Sulach spoke again. “I hope you are telling the truth. If not, you will see me again.”
The elf smirked behind the sandcloth veil, causing a nervous shift among the officers in the tent.
As Lieutenant Strian led the elf outside, the rest of the military officers stood in silence attendance, waiting for their orders. Sulach did not seem to notice them for a few moments, his gaze lost over the maps. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy, as if shattered under the weight of his troubled thoughts:
“Go to your units. Have field training, and wait for further orders.”
Every officer bowed their respects and left the command tent silently, except for Sergeant Itina. It took a while for Sulach to notice she was still inside the tent, watching him silently.
“Do you wish for a distraction, my Lord?”
Sulach did not answer, but sergeant required none. He needed it. Highlord knows he needed it now, more than anything.
Bowing deeply, she said, “I will be back with Eoni, my Lord.”
The light was the deep red of sunset at the flap of the command tent when Sulach rose from his bed. The two women were still asleep in naked splendor. He did not call the dressing slaves; he did not want to make a sound. The night had pulled its thin veil over the camp when he left the tent.
“My horse,” he called to the nearest soldier, who bowed quickly and strode away, returning with a cloven-hoofed animal behind him. Sulach took the reins from the soldier, running his hand over the muscled neck of the powerful beast. A very rare mount it was, stolen by a gypsy from a Northern Templar a month ago. The cheerful memory of the young gypsy brought a smile to Sulach’s lips.
“Should I call a unit of cavalry to accompany you, Lord Templar?”
Sulach’s merely shook his head as he mounted the powerful stallion. “No soldier. Return to your post. Dismissed.”
The soldier bowed deeply then strode away.
He rode across the desert for hours, alone in the darkness, pale Lirathu his only guide. It gave him a childish joy to feel the breeze on his face, to be alone even for a short period. His mount was not tired yet and he could probably ride for a few hours more. But the distant glow on the dark horizons signaled that he arrived at his destination. He pulled the reins and his horse came to an abrupt stop. From now on it would be dangerous going, but he shrugged it off. He did not ride this far to be scared away.
He spotted a sharp rock, jutting towards the skies. It had a steep slope, but it would give the perfect survey of the land. He rode silently, thankful to the night for cloaking him under the thick sheet of darkness.
He tied the cloven-hoofed stallion to the base of the rock and stripped off the chitin parts of his armor one by one. The climb would be a hard one. When he was done, he only had a short knife at his belt and a thin loose outfit to cover him against the chill of the desert night. His fingers touched the cold face of the stone. Yes, the climb would be a hard one.
He went steadily and carefully. All his thoughts and worries were gone, save for the growing fear of falling off the rock. The cold night was sending shivers with each breeze, and reminding him of his mortality as he ascended. He kept his focus ahead, rising slowly, each step using more effort than the other.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the wrist when he finally found the top and pulled him up. It was a strong grip, could perhaps snap his bones by simply squeezing. It lifted his entire weight off the face of the rock effortlessly, and dropped him at the flat top, face first. The hand then reached down to pat Sulach, stopping briefly to pick up his knife from his belt.
“Looks like it is going to be a long night, neh?” It was a guttural voice that spoke, as if it was coming all the way from the stomach of the person.
Sulach lifted his head to stare at the speaker. It was a hulking figure, dark against the pale light of the Lirathu. Sulach tried to rise to his haunches slowly, getting a better look at his opponent.
“Don’t be smart, neh. The best you can do, we both fall down the rock. Not the best kind of death for either of us,” the man spoke again. This time, Sulach recognized the voice.
“Untturi,” he whispered.
The gith warlord nodded, his thin smile hidden in the night.
“You speak the human tongue… pretty well.” Sulach did not disguise his surprise.
The gith let out a loud chuckle at that, though Sulach was not sure if he was laughing or coughing. Untturi stared down at Sulach’s form without speaking for a long moment. Sulach only returned his gaze.
Two warriors,sat over the top of the rock studying each other, speechless.
Untturi was the first to break eye contact as he stretched out a massive arm, using the dagger he took from Sulach’s belt to point toward the distant camp. Following the gesture, Sulach looked down, thankful again to the darkness that hid his despair. Even from this far away, Sulach could see the campfires and how wide they spread. The enemy numbers were as many as his, if not more.
Sulach’s heart sank at the idea of a disciplined enemy remaining within a day’s march to his camp without his knowledge. Anger overwhelmed his thoughts suddenly, as his thoughts weighed on how incompetent his own scouts were.
“Pretty tight they look, neh?” Untturi broke the silence.
Sulach did not seem to hear him. It did not matter for Untturi, he spoke again after a moment. “Do you remember the day we fought?”
Sulach slowly turned his head to Untturi now, studying him sidelong.
Untturi continued, without looking at him.
“It was a field like this. All fields are similar in the desert, neh?” He surveyed the sands sprawling under the darkness. “You put your archers there, and there. Your half giants, you kept them out until the main armies clashed, they stayed out. Then when the melee was engaged, you brought them along with the cavalry to break through my flankers. It was a good strategy, their speed and weight gave them advantage to sweep away and open the flanks.
“There, the main armies clashed.” He pointed with the dagger tip. “What a fascinating battle it was.” Untturi’s voice carried his amazement the memory. He turned to Sulach, staring at him for a few silent seconds.
“Your warriors, I counted at least four different formations that day. Such a good training, discipline, and coordination they had.”
Untturi’s head bobbed a few times as he grew silent. When he began again, his joy was gone. The heavy weight of defeat and the loss of his tribemates hung in his tone. “It was a good fight. The God of War smiled upon you that day.”
Sulach was silent, his eyes on the enemy camp. The gith warlord followed his gaze. The rugged, guttural voice spoke again.
“Your enemy, seems to be well prepared. Their army disciplined, trained, equipped well. It is a fight the God of War will watch.”
Sulach tore his gaze from the camp, at Untturi’s words. “Is there a gith warband to the north?” he asked.
Untturi only shook his head.
Sulach’s world crumbled around him. Weeks of planning, days of march, he came to the desert for nothing, and now he was facing an enemy that he was not ready to fight. When he spoke his thoughts, his voice was as broken as his heart. “What happens now?”
The gith warlord shifted slightly, facing Sulach fully. He regarded Sulach in his gaze for a few moments, before speaking: “You bound me to you with an oath, neh? That I am not going to rise against you.”
Sulach only stared in reply.
Still Untturi nodded at his own words, and continued. “This is how it happens: I am free of that oath if you release it, or if you are dead.”
Sulach considered the warchief’s words. The message was clear: Either undo the oath, or die tonight. He had seen the strength of the gith warrior. Those hands could snap Sulach’s bones like they were twigs. Even if Sulach wanted to fight, the small space on top of the rock gave little comfort. If the gith warrior did not kill him, they both would surely fall to their death, and the gith seemed to have very little problem with dying.
“So you want me to release you from your oath, so you can one day raise an army against me?”
The gith warlord simply nodded.
“Why do you want to fight me?” he asked.
Dirty yellowed teeth revealed a dirty yellowed smirk as Untturi replied, “Because, you fight well.”
Sulach did not understand the meaning:
“But why will you fight? To what purpose?”
The grizzled gith’s respone rang in Sulach’s mind for a long time:
“The battle does not need a purpose; the battle has its own purpose. You don’t ask why a plague spreads or a field burns. Don’t ask why I fight.”
The morning was still more than an hour away when Sulach climbed down the rock face. He felt the cold of the night as he donned his heavy armor at the base of the rock cliff, and rode into the darkness on his warm beast, leaving Untturi alone.
He did not care how he rode or where. Only when he was greeted by bowing soldiers of his camp, did he realize he returned. Dawn had broken over the ruddy stones as he dismounted before the command tent, passing the reins to the soldier on guard. He strode in without a word and threw his helmet and sword down with a clatter, seating himself at the map table. Both women had gone, leaving no trace of their warmth in the bed. Sulach rested his head in his hands and considered the events of the night. He felt desperate when he saw the Tuluki camp spreading in the distance, unable to understand what went wrong. How could an army greater in numbers than his own creep so close without his knowledge?
Approaching steps made him straighten in his seat and he took a deep breath as the first commanding officers stepped in. They bowed their respects and stood silently before the table. Sulach took as much of his time as he could, before giving words to his despair:
“A Tuluki camp, vaster even than our own, circled around us and they are within a day’s march from where we stand.” he spoke softly. Officers looked at each other in grim silence, as he started again. “Who can tell me why the first person to report this was an elf I had never seen before?”
The officers kept their heads bowed until Lieutenant Tild stepped forth.
“My Lord, I ask to be relieved of command,” he spoke, his head still bowed low. When Sulach only stared at him in response, he continued. “The scouts responsible from that area are under my command, sir.”
“I do not need those scouts anymore!” Sulach spoke sharply. An uneasy shift rippled through the assembled officers. “Sergeant Itina, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, and put Tild’s former unit under your command. Congratulations Lieutenant Itina.”
Itina only lifted her chin and nodded once.
The tension in the command tent lessened then. The commanding officers took their orders briefly. The sun began its journey at the eastern horizon when the incompetent scouts were executed. Shortly after that, the army broke camp and began its march.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye
opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull
by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning
and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept
their distance from him. All around the
field...
Continue Reading...Not House Chaos by Laurajlmars
Added on Dec 17, 2007Alek and Tanoske duke it out.
u (munching on a kalan fruit)
A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters. At the
far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely. A hum
of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
torch-lit chamber. A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
scent of perfumes, furs and wines. A large open archway leads north into
the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
for preparing hides and storing food.
Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
The freckled, ponytailed man sits on the floor here.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Time to stop being so lazy."
Licking her juicy fingers, you eat part of your partially eaten kalan fruit.
The thin, cream-braided young woman laughs.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Lazy? Fuck. I rode out earlier this week."
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I'm taking a well earned break."
The thin, cream-braided young woman just laughs and laughs at the freckled, ponytailed man, flopping onto her usual seat, a soft, cream-colored couch.
You sit on a soft, cream-colored couch.
Grumpily, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
"What the fuck's your problem, anyway?"
Lounging against the single armrest of the couch, you eat part of your half eaten kalan fruit.
Licking her fingers noisily, tugging the folds of your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak straight, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"I don't have a problem. Sounds like you have a problem."
You eat part of your small portion of a kalan fruit.
You feel better, and a little smug.
Scoffing and glancing off to the side, the freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
"So you end up knitting okay? Or did you have to limp back here and beg for help?"
Sucking the remaining flesh of your small portion of a kalan fruit off the pit, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Dunno what the fuck you're talking about."
You eat your small portion of a kalan fruit.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Right."
The thin, cream-braided young woman spits the pit over at a trash crate.
Wiping her fingers off, unladylike, on your hooded, black sandcloth windcloak, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"You met Jonglo yet?"
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"No."
You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"He's downstairs in the sparring ring."
You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Hanging from one corner."
The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
"That skeleton?"
You say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Yep."
The freckled, ponytailed man scoffs, then bursts out laughing.
The thin, cream-braided young woman's faintly amused expression darkens suddenly at the sound of the freckled, ponytailed man's sudden laughter.
The freckled, ponytailed man reels with his laugher, dropping onto his back.
The freckled, ponytailed man lies down on the ground and rests.
You feel irate.
You ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Fuck you laughing at?"
Lacing his hands behind his head, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"For a second, I thought you were talking about a friend of yours. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that it turned out to be a skeleton."
Jolting to her feet, you stand up from a soft, cream-colored couch.
The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
"Ooh. We gonna fight again?"
Marching over to him, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"What's so funny about that!?"
Dragging himself lazily to his feet, the freckled, ponytailed man rises and stands.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"It's funny, because you don't have any friends. So you have to name a dead guy to hang out with."
You feel a burst of fury.
The thin, cream-braided young woman hauls an arm back and bitchslaps the freckled, ponytailed man.
The freckled, ponytailed man's head jerks with your hand, the clapping sound sharp in the busy barracks.
Stonily, slowly turning his head to face you again, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Ouch."
The thin, cream-braided young woman keeps her hand half-raised, staring at the freckled, ponytailed man and breathing hard, as if she's run a long way.
Some of the din of people quiets as attention draws to the freckled, ponytailed man and you.
The freckled, ponytailed man asks you, in sirihish:
"You fucking 'tok. You think you can just hit people and its okay because you're little?"
Throwing it aside, the freckled, ponytailed man puts his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt onto a small leather cot.
The freckled, ponytailed man swings his the back of his hand sharply at your cheek.
Not expecting that, the thin, cream-braided young woman gets slapped right back, the sound of skin against skin a sharp clap in the silence.
You think:
"Ok..."
The freckled, ponytailed man's hand stays extended out with the follow through, eyes narrowed at you.
Launching at the freckled, ponytailed man and tackling him into a cot, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"That's IT!"
The freckled, ponytailed man stumbles back onto a small leather cot, grabbing for your wrists as he wrestles with you.
Catcalls and cheers fill the previous silent barracks as the thin, cream-braided young woman and the freckled, ponytailed man tussle.
Grabbing one of your wrists and trying to bend it back, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"You. don't. want. to. fight. me."
Voice large for such a small frame, falling off the cot, yanking her wrist back, and making a tremendous amount of noise, you shout in sirihish:
"You're going the fuck DOWN, Tanoske!"
Backing up and bawling at her foe, you shout in sirihish:
"Bring it on!"
The freckled, ponytailed man pushes up off of the cot, swinging a sloppy punch at you.
The thin, cream-braided young woman ducks under the freckled, ponytailed man's punch and lowers her head, running full tilt for his stomach.
The lean, ashen haired man has arrived from the north, stepping in from the yard.
The lean, ashen haired man leans against the doorway, glancing into the barracks.
The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a huff of air as your body spears into his stomach, drawing his hand back to punch you in the back.
Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman is involved in a fight here.
The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling into and then past the freckled, ponytailed man, banging her head against a cot.
Holding an arm protectively over his stomach, the breath clearly knocked out of him, the freckled, ponytailed man turns to keep you in his vision.
The thin, cream-braided young woman's foot comes up on the follow through of her dramatic head over heels tumble, jerking out spastically in what might be the freckled, ponytailed man's direction.
Folding his arms across his chest, the lean, ashen haired man watches with an expression of mild amusement.
The stray foot of you catching him in the waist, the freckled, ponytailed man doubles over again, grunting.
Stumbling back a step, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"You fucking bitch."
The freckled, ponytailed man kicks a cot out of his way, charging at you.
Roaring the words and whirling to meet him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Son of a whore!"
Shoulder rushing towards the middle of your chest, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"'Tok!"
Calling over, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Hey, folks. You missed the arena match by a few hours. Although I'm sure Lord Shiran would be happy to sign you both up for the next one."
The thin, cream-braided young woman's back slams against the wall as she wraps her arms tight around the freckled, ponytailed man's neck, ignoring the lean, ashen haired man, and the rules of fair fighting, as she prepares to bite down on her opponent somewhere.
The freckled, ponytailed man grapples his arms around you waist, keeping you pressed against the wall, head ducking against your neck as he appears oblivious to the incoming bite.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man has arrived from the north.
The thin, cream-braided young woman chomps down, HARD, on...empty air, scrabbling beneath the freckled, ponytailed man's pin.
The freckled, ponytailed man flinches at the sound of teeth closing.
The freckled, ponytailed man slowly opens his eye, realizing he isn't dead, and begins frantically trying to knee you in the side.
Bringing a knee up and driving it towards his stomach, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Get off me!"
Body bunching up over your knee as it connects, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Oof. Fuck off!"
The thin, cream-braided young woman heaves at the freckled, ponytailed man's larger frame falling against hers, pinned against the wall.
Turning his gaze from the two struggling combatants, the lean, ashen haired man looks at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
The freckled, ponytailed man turns, still grappling you for a moment before releasing you towards the stair well.
The thin, cream-braided young woman shrieks, toppling backwards from the throw, and plummets down the stairs.
You speed up to a fast run.
d (head over heels)
A Smelly Room [SU Save]
This room is cluttered, though neatly arranged, with hides hanging on
racks, implements of tanning and treating raw hides lining the walls, and a
few scattered racks for the hides. The room itself is carved out of rock in
a rough manner that isn't fitting when compared to the rest of the grounds,
although it is quite apparent that the tools are of high quality. Several
barrels line one wall, containing liquids to be used for tanning hides.
Square vents have been etched into the stone walls in an attempt to direct
the strong odors of tannin and urine away from the upstairs room. Along one
wall stand some cabinets and chests for storing raw materials and finished
goods.
A cracked stone storage bin, nearly falling apart, has been put here.
Filled with unpolished gems, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with partially completed crafts, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with guts and gore, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with materials to make arrows, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
Filled with vines and grasses, a large agafari chest is in a line with other chests.
A large obsidian bin looms here.
A simple wooden chest is here, and it's filled with tools.
Dazed, slumped at the foot of the stairs, you sit down.
You feel pain creaking through her ribs.
The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from above, bolting down after the tumbling body.
The freckled, ponytailed man takes a few steps down the stairs before jumping to land at the base.
Landing with one palm to the ground, the freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"You fucking crazy bitch!"
The thin, cream-braided young woman groans, giving her braided head a vigorous shake, tumbled in a heap on the floor.
You are hauled to your feet roughly.
The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
Whirling off the floor and lunging at him, you exclaim to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Say that again!"
You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.
The freckled, ponytailed man dives down on top of you, frantically trying to pin you.
The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
"CRAZY BITCH! CRAZY BITCH!"
The freckled, ponytailed man attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
You shout in sirihish:
"SHUT UP!"
You attempt to grab the freckled, ponytailed man, but he wrestles away.
The thin, cream-braided young woman slams all over the crowded and spiky looking room with the freckled, ponytailed man, terrified crafters scattering everywhere.
Up above is a Busy Barrack.
[Near]
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is standing here, arms folded, looking unhappy.
The lean, ashen haired man leans here against one wall, arms folded.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
The freckled, ponytailed man rolls around with you, suddenly foregoing trying to pin you and balling a fist.
The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"You first!"
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man lunges at you, but his blow is deftly deflected by a pair of brown leather pocketed pants.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar gets in the way.
Wadding up in a human pretzel with you, the freckled, ponytailed man begins pounding on your chest and stomach.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The thin, cream-braided young woman's breath rushes out of her lungs as she reels back and charges at the freckled, ponytailed man.
You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a studded bone bracer gets in the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a studded bone bracer.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man swings his bracered wrist up, blocking the incoming you.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man aims a circle kick at your head, but you quickly avoid it.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his head.
The freckled, ponytailed man reels from the blow.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his body.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his neck.
You hit the freckled, ponytailed man, barely grazing his arm.
The freckled, ponytailed man blinks in surprise, stumbling back.
The thin, cream-braided young woman punches repeatedly on the freckled, ponytailed man's face, giving him a swift uppercut.
The freckled, ponytailed man catches himself on the wall, pressing forward and lunging at you.
Your attack on the freckled, ponytailed man is absorbed by a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings.
You viciously leap toward the freckled, ponytailed man, but a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket gets in the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Krathdamn you!"
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
You reel from the blow.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your waist.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your head.
You reel from the blow.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your neck.
You reel from the blow.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits at you, but you dodge out of the way.
Wobbling back from the onslaught of blows in shock, eyelids starting to flutter wide, you say to the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Go to f-fu-"
The freckled, ponytailed man snaps a fist into your chin, grinning.
You lunge at the freckled, ponytailed man, but your blow is deftly deflected by a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth jacket.
The freckled, ponytailed man swiftly dodges your hit.
The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Yeah."
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your wrist.
The freckled, ponytailed man hits you, barely grazing your body.
Your vision goes black.
The thin, cream-braided young woman's head snaps backwards from the blow and she falls right over, head banging against the stone floor.
Someone kicks a sandaled foot into your shoulder, rolling you over.
Someone pants raggedly, wiping some blood from his lip.
Giving in to a bit of frustration, someone kicks his foot repeatedly into your side.
The thin, cream-braided young woman rolls obligingly and limply over, a far cry from the tense figure of unpleasantness she cut so finely just a few minutes before.
a glass-tipped wooden bolt flies in from above.
By the way, the thin, cream-braided young woman also looks quite a mess, lower lip split, a black eye promising to show up for a visit quite soon, and a nice purple spot on the side of her jaw.
Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman is here, crumpled in an untidy heap.
You feel pent up fury releasing with the boon of unconsciousness.
You feel waves of blissful oblivion wash over her.
Someone grabs you roughly, dragging you up the stairs.
The thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised body bangs against the stairs as she is dragged up.
Someone dumps you on the floor just in front of the stairs.
You feel nothing much, since she's asleep. Nothing but the promise of pain on awakening.
Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.
You think:
"Wha...oww.."
You feel certain a nightmare is about to begin.
A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades; hunters, guards, merchants, and crafters. At the
far end of the room, a series of lockers fill the length completely. A hum
of activity constantly fills the space, as servants enter and exit the
torch-lit chamber. A slight musky smell permeates the air, the mingled
scent of perfumes, furs and wines. A large open archway leads north into
the wagonyard, and a small stone staircase leads down into the chambers used
for preparing hides and storing food.
Easily accessible, a small, round stone table sits in a cleared common space.
Pushed against one wall, a soft, cream-colored couch provides comfy seating.
A set of carved agafari shelves have been set up near the coatrack.
A long yellowed-bone bin sits between a large wooden crate and a chest.
Towards the back, a bone sided chest sits to one side of a long yellow bin.
The freckled, ponytailed man is standing here, looking a bit winded.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man stands here casually.
The lean, ashen haired man is standing here.
A dwarvish guard stands at attention here.
A lithe, silver-haired guard stands here.
The freckled, ponytailed man stands over you, arms folded, looking between the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man and the lean, ashen haired man.
The thin, cream-braided young woman blinks at the painful light, making a few quickly aborted attempts to unwind herself from the human pretzel she's managed to twist herself into.
The lean, ashen haired man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Huh. Well, least nobody has to explain to Agent Zaea that her assistant is broken and she needs a new one. Alek, what the fuck was that about?"
The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze flicks down at you starts writhing about.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I told you you didn't want to fight me. Again. Bitch."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man quietly watches you from his position near the lean, ashen haired man.
Pushing feebly against the floor, her tone and insults just as feeble, appearing very disoriented, you say, in sirihish:
"Gonna fuckin..pounja. Jerk."
The freckled, ponytailed man sucks in a deep breath, then huffs it out.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh, yeah, you're gonna hurt me real bad."
The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"That'll do. How 'bout you head down to the Gaj? Find Leuckhart and bring him over."
The freckled, ponytailed man asks the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"Who the fuck's Leuckhart?"
Slitted, glazed gaze wandering the room insanely, going in and out of focus, blood trickling down the side of her face, you ask the freckled, ponytailed man, in sirihish:
"Heh...C'mere, Two Noose. Wanna dance 'gain?"
The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"New guy. You're a hunter, you'll find him."
As if for the first time, with slow, dawning, gradually awakening horror, you look up at the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man.
Long, brilliant red strands of hair fall in gentle flows from the top
of this svelte man's scalp like tendrils of crimson numut. His skin
is black, well cared for, with a minimum of scarring available to the
eye. A firm, slender musculature sheathes his swarthy form, with his
long limbs and straight posture lending to him an air of grace and
poise. Immaculate white teeth shine out from behind dark lips when
ever they part.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is in excellent condition.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is using:
<worn in left ear> a dead mantis earring
<worn in right ear> a skeleton-carved ivory earring with ruby eyes
<worn around neck> a high neckband of gleaming onyx
<worn about throat> an ivory necklace with a dead ruby mantis pendant
<worn on hands> a pair of long, ruby-adorned ebony gloves
<primary hand> a raptor-tooth throwing knife
<secondary hand> a maar hand-crossbow
<worn around body> a hooded, loose black silk greatcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of crimson and black pants
<worn on right ankle> a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
<worn on left ankle> a black onyx, skull-linked anklechain
<worn on feet> a pair of soft, ruby-buckled boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
You think:
"Aw shit."
Clenching his fists at his side and turning to you, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Don't make me fucking hurt you again."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tugs a black fletched, glass tipped bolt out of a sheath on his thigh.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man loads a maar hand-crossbow.
The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze draws between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, shoulders slacking a little.
Hands unclenching, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Whoa. Okay."
His voice soft, casual, as he loads his death toy, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"How about we all stay nice and calm."
Backing away from you, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Okay. Deal."
His voice continuing to be calm, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Go find Leuk...whatever, Two Noose."
The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs, all pained and icky, winding up to a half-reclined sitting position, arm wrapping protectively around what are likely damaged ribs.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives a 'shoo'ing jerk of his chin to the freckled, ponytailed man.
Pacing across the room quickly, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Got it."
Grabbing it in passing, the freckled, ponytailed man gets his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt from a small leather cot.
The freckled, ponytailed man asks, in sirihish:
"Uh. Bring him here?"
Softly, watching you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Whatever the Second Hunter wants."
Your new ldesc is:
The thin, cream-braided young woman lolls in a heap on the floor.
The lean, ashen haired man asks the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah, I want to talk to him. But no need to hurry, eh?"
The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"Yeah. Right... Got it."
The freckled, ponytailed man rests his darkly stained bone scimitar with a carved hilt over his shoulder, glancing back at you briefly.
The thin, cream-braided young woman watches the freckled, ponytailed man go, one eye promising to swell shut.
Before retreating out of the room, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"I told you."
The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.
The thin, cream-braided young woman hisses an irritated breath through clenched teeth, tensing, and regretting it.
The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Right, now that you're not going to claw anybody's eyes out in a hurry. Care to explain?"
Sweeping back his drab, weathered stormcloak absently, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Thought you said no more fights was the plan."
Picking her way slowly and deliberately over the words, lifting one hand to gingerly prod her lower lip, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"He was. Insultin'. Me."
You look up at the lean, ashen haired man.
With pale hair and faded blue eyes, it is almost as though the
combination of sun and sand have scoured all traces of colour from this
young man's lanky frame. His bleached, ashen mane is matted into thick,
shoulder length dreadlocks, standing out in stark white contrast against
tanned brown skin. Small, polished obsidian beads have been threaded
amongst the tangled locks and knotted into place alongside feathers, pieces
of bone and the small sharp fangs of one desert predator or another.
The lean, ashen haired man is in excellent condition.
The lean, ashen haired man is using:
<worn on head> a chitin-studded anakore helm
<worn in hair> a stiff white feather
<worn around neck> an obsidian-studded, dark-leather collar
<slung across back> a long-handled, serrated broadsword
<worn across back> a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver
<worn on left shoulder> a scrab-shell shoulder plate
<worn on arms> a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves
<worn around wrist> a long black leather wristsheath
<worn around wrist> a durrit-claw bracer
<secondary hand> a new curved agafari shield
<worn on forearms> a blue-streaked, purple wrist-sheath
<worn on left finger> a massive, skull-carved ring
<worn around body> a drab, weathered stormcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of dark leather leggings
<worn on right ankle> a carru-leather knife sheath
<worn on left ankle> a small leather pouch
<worn on feet> a worn out pair of carru hide boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah. And I'm sure you were just all polite and well mannered. "
The freckled, ponytailed man has arrived from the north.
The average, green eyed man has arrived from the north.
The thin, cream-braided young woman looks guilty as sin, crumpled on the floor in front of her jury.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man puts his raptor-tooth throwing knife into his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak.
Slowing in the doorway, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Found him."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man tucks a small blade away, and breathes a gentle sigh.
The average, green eyed man strides in and nods towards those in the room.
The freckled, ponytailed man stops leading the average, green eyed man.
With another cough, you ask the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"I really need to answer that?"
The freckled, ponytailed man takes a lean against the doorway, his sheath over one shoulder, unoccupied arm folded over his stomach protectively.
Without turning from you, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Good job. Take him out to find a spare kank. Make sure he knows how to sit on it and shit. Have him spend a bit of time in the saddle, but not outside the city."
Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"...Right."
The lean, ashen haired man asks you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"No, I can pretty much guess. And then you what, slugged him?"
Keeping his maar hand-crossbow casually aimed at you, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man picks at some sand on his hooded, loose black silk greatcloak with his other hand, attention waning from the glass bolt tip.
The average, green eyed man looks towards him and then once again makes to follow him.
The freckled, ponytailed man's gaze drifts between you and the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, features drawn up tight.
The thin, cream-braided young woman stares at the freckled, ponytailed man, unmoving.
Breathing a sigh, the freckled, ponytailed man says to you, in sirihish:
"Oh, fuck, Alek, just tell them what happened."
The freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"It was just a fight. You know, a fight? She hit me, I hit her, she hit me, I hit her, I hit her, I hit her, she fell down. That's it..."
Defiantly, in spite of the bolt aimed at her face, and her general battered personage, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"Yeah I slugged him."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's eyes harden slightly, his attention drawing back to you.
Stubbornly ranting, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"It's not like it's that big of a deal."
Glancing to the freckled, ponytailed man, the tip of his maar hand-crossbow following, and centering on his chest, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
"What?"
The freckled, ponytailed man draws in a deep breath, tensing as the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow trains on him.
The average, green eyed man raises his eyebrows as he views the participants and stays silently towards the background.
The freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"I... was just saying. It's not that big of a deal. It's not like we tried to kill each other."
Drawing in a pained breath, you say to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"I saw you, Milan. Saw you walkin' in when he had me against the wall. Didn't see you taking...*wheeze*...pains to stop us when you did."
His posture absolutely casual, voice soft, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"It is a big deal, when frays start outside of the proper fray location."
Frowning a bit, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Well. We're sorry. It's not like we hurt anyone.."
The thin, cream-braided young woman shoots a gobsmacked and shattered look over at the freckled, ponytailed man from her place on the floor.
You think:
"Say -what-?"
His thumb sliding a small pole upwards, bracing the crossbow string, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"House Kadius. Kadius. Not House Chaos."
The freckled, ponytailed man lets out a forced little laugh, eyes on the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man's crossbow still.
You feel all tension releasing with a fresh woosh of pain, making itself at home.
Glancing towards the stairway, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Next time, take it downstairs, settle it where it is supposed to be settled. Or I'm going to have to spend four hundred more coins."
You think:
"Oww..."
The freckled, ponytailed man glances back at you, his rage dissolved in light of the recent addition of projectile weaponry.
Brow knitting in confusion, the freckled, ponytailed man asks the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Four hundred... coins?"
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Because each of you is going to feel a two hundred 'sid bolt enter your ass. And I'm not talking generally. I will hit you in the ass."
Grimacing, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in sirihish:
"Oh."
The thin, cream-braided young woman appears to have absolutely nothing to say to that.
You think:
"Nicely done. Spectacular finish."
Pulling some coins out of a Nenyuck marked pouch, handing them to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
"Thank you, Second Hunter. Make sure they remember this one, hmmm?"
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man gives some coins to the lean, ashen haired man.
With a nod, the lean, ashen haired man says to the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah, I'll make sure they get this shit together, boss."
You feel a bolt...heh...of terror shoot through her.
Nodding to the lean, ashen haired man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"You always do."
Glancing briefly to the average, green eyed man, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man asks, in sirihish:
"Do you know if we have a spare kank in the compound for this one, Second?"
Looking over at the average, green eyed man, the lean, ashen haired man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"There's a spare grey one Louas bought in. He can use that for now."
Long hair, which falls to the lower back of this young human woman when
freed, has been coaxed into a myriad of tiny braids and generally lies
coiled, rope-like, atop her head to expose her reedy neck. The color of her
hair is between the hues of undyed canvas and over-creamed coffee, a pale
shade that contrasts with the warm, olive tan color of her skin. Her thin
face bears sculpted eyebrows, sharp-seeming, slanted eyes of clear, piercing
grey, a nose slightly crooked, and full lips the same tan color as the rest
of her skin. Though her vaguely feminine frame is rather sparse, and her
features fine-boned, her jaw and chin have a firm, stubborn set to them.
Apparently well looked after, her skin bears no visible scarring save for a
few calluses on the ends of her slender, brown fingers.
The thin, cream-braided young woman is in excellent condition.
<worn in hair> an elaborate wooden comb
<worn around body> a hooded, black sandcloth windcloak
<worn on legs> a pair of brown leather pocketed pants
<worn on feet> a pair of black-trimmed snakeskin boots
The thin, cream-braided young woman utters a muffled groan and bites her bleeding knuckles.
You look up at the freckled, ponytailed man, like this is all his fault.
Standing on the short side of average height, this human man's most
striking feature is his shiny black hair, pulled into a ponytail atop his
head, where it sprouts up and backwards, almost defying gravity with its
thickness. His face is youthful, heart shaped and lacking a strong,
masculine jawline. His blue eyes sit just above the freckles that dot the
bridge of his nose and cheeks, his features boyish over all. His build is
forgettable - proportional arms and legs and an averagely weighted
combination of muscle and flesh.
The freckled, ponytailed man is in excellent condition.
The freckled, ponytailed man is using:
<worn in hair> a scrap of cloth
<worn around neck> a desert-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar
<slung across back> an obsidian longsword
<left shoulder> a tattoo of a pair of noose-faced dice
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn around wrist> a studded bone bracer
<worn on forearms> a pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn around body> a hooded, dark brown cloak
<worn on legs> a pair of desert-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a pair of sandals
The average, green eyed man crosses his arms and looks back and forth at the interchanges taking place.
The freckled, ponytailed man runs his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth, returning the favor towards you.
The freckled, ponytailed man looks down at you.
As if seeing him for the first time, you look up at the average, green eyed man.
This average looking man stands five feet seven inches in height.
Auburn-brown hairs is cropped closely to his head and he wears a full grown
beard. He has a slightly tannned complexion. His eyes are a dusky green
shade. He is of an average build.
The average, green eyed man is in excellent condition.
The average, green eyed man is using:
<worn on head> a dusty wide-rimmed brown hat
<worn around neck> a dusty water gourd
<worn across back> a dusty bone-studded backpack
<worn on torso> a dusty sinew-stitched red sandcloth shirt
<worn on arms> a dusty pair of blue and purple armbands
<worn on hands> a dusty pair of jozhal hide gloves
<worn about waist> a dusty leather knife belt
<worn on legs> a dusty pair of loose sandcloth leggings
<worn on feet> a dusty pair of sturdy leather travellers' boots
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
Unloading his maar hand-crossbow, and tucking the bolt away, the onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"Lovely. Now that we are all settled down, lets be about our day."
Slumping ruefully against the wall, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Yeah..."
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man says, in sirihish:
"I've already spent two hundred coins today. I'd hate to spend more."
The thin, cream-braided young woman bares bloodied teeth at the average, green eyed man, noting his stare.
The average, green eyed man looks down towards you and nods his head very slightly.
The thin, cream-braided young woman sulkily eases back, supporting herself against one wall.
Straightening his drab, weathered stormcloak, the lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Alright. If you've got nothing better to do, I'd like Leuckhart up and on a saddle by dawn. Show him how how to get one saddled and shit."
You think:
"I think I broke something."
You think:
"That's going to be pleasant."
You think:
"I hope I broke something of his."
The freckled, ponytailed man says to the lean, ashen haired man, in sirihish:
"I can show him out to get on and off and stuff, but I don't know I've got time to take him around myself."
The lean, ashen haired man says to the freckled, ponytailed man, in northern-accented sirihish:
"No problem, just get him started off."
You feel rage starting to build up again.
Grudgingly, the freckled, ponytailed man says, in sirihish:
"Right."
You think:
"No no no. No no."
The freckled, ponytailed man pushes off of the wall, tonguing a split on his lower lip.
Keeping an arm over his stomach, the freckled, ponytailed man says to the average, green eyed man, in sirihish:
"All right. Let's do this..."
The freckled, ponytailed man walks north.
The average, green eyed man walks north.
Glancing down, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I'd strongly suggest that you and Tan keep out of each other's way. It shouldn't be hard to do until we leave 'Nak."
The lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"If you need any bandages or shit... Well, I'll let you sort yourself out."
The thin, cream-braided young woman's gaze traces over the damage done from the battle, pillow strewn, cots overturned, and other belongings scattered.
An undefeated smirk twists the thin, cream-braided young woman's bruised features as she looks back at the lean, ashen haired man, pushing to her feet.
You stop resting, and stand up.
With a sigh, the lean, ashen haired man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yeah, I know. You're a tough motherfucker and all that. Just no more fucking fights in the barracks."
The thin, cream-braided young woman coughs her assent, tottering like she's ninety years old for the stairs.u (munching on a kalan fruit)
A Busy Barrack [ND Quit Save]
The foundation of this spacious room is made of hard stone, and
polished, colorful granite stone forms the walls. Numerous rows of narrow
beds and mats line the floor and walls, some of which are occupied by men
and women of all trades;...
Continue Reading...The Shield Wall by Bebop
Added on Dec 16, 2007Ah, we are all familiar of the tragedies that "befall" us due to this natural wall of stone.
“Shit!” Five of them were bellowing and waving chipped bone weapons up in the air in rage as they ran. “You can’t blame me!” Minck shouted behind herself stumbling to tug herself up with the reins of her ox, all but falling onto her back before actually managing to scuttle into the saddle. “Ya! Moo! Go!”
“You little feck! Give us our money!”
“I’ll skin you and make a belt pouch outta your tits and a necklace outta yer teeth!
Grimacing, Minck snapped the reins of her dusty ox and kicked her heels into its sides. “Ouch.”
“That ox’a urs is gonna make a fine meal when we catch you girl!”
“Moo! Go!” Minck screamed loudly, the old ox that had already been following at a gallop by her side looked more than reluctant to oblige as it pranced with a light step over the sand dunes. “Faster! Do you want to a be a steak!” A burly woman with a blood crusted whip in hand whooped loudly as the group began to encroach, snapping the whip victoriously into the wind.
Suddenly spooked, Moo bellowed out a loud long moo before embarking in a full gallop, leaving sand, dust and the little farming village in his wake. “Ha ha!” Minck was howling, bouncing in the saddle and leaning forward as though to force them forward. She yelped out another long howl of triumph, as Moo ran faster than ever, seeming to grow more in fear and speed with every step. In the horizon a pale line marred the crimson sands, causing Minck to narrow her eyes, the heat from thermals rising from the ground causing the line to waver. “The road! Whoa, Moo.”
The ox didn’t stop only letting out a wavering moo once more perhaps in defiance in addition to it’s newly found irrational trepidation. “Moo!” Minck shrieked dragging the reins back in vain with all of her might. The road curved like a slithering serpent over the sands, and basked around a large gorge that sunk deep into the earth. Her eyes wide, she shook her head in a moment that seemed to slow time to reveal itself as the beast barreled towards the gaping hole. “Nooooo!” It was to late, stone cracked against hoof and they were toppling. The ox met open air and fell, side first. Minck, eyes wide with disbelief, her stomach flopping tilted to the other side, twisting her self from the saddle, feet still caught in the stir ups. They fell into shadow beyond the reach of the light above and then with a thump she couldn’t hear, the deeper blackness of unconsciousness engulfed her.
There was a sour taste in her mouth as her eyes slid open. Minck, picked herself up recoiling in disgust and gagging as she cleansed her mouth with fresh saliva spitting crusted vomit from her mouth and smearing it from her lips. It was dark. They had fallen. For a moment, she sat there, forearms over her bent knees from where she sat against the cliff wall, trying to shake the drowsiness in the deep darkness. As she reached up to slip her fingers through her hair, her fingertips landed on a crusted patch, strands of hair dried into the scab. Her first urge was to pick her hair out of it even if it meant to open up the wound but dejectedly she dropped her hand back across her knee. Moo? Where was he? Was she alone? Closing her eyes, she reached behind her and pulled her backpack into her lap, feeling for a torch and flint kit. She had done it many times during the night, and this time there was little difference. She held the torch between her knees and struck the flint until the rag wrapped torch licked up the sparks and ignited into a warm flame. The smell of fresh smoke filled her nostrils a moment and the warm amber glow ebbed and then grew, pressing the darkness away. The soles of her boots scratched pebble and sand as she used the wall of the cliff to inch herself back to her feet. From the opposite end of the vertical tunnel that had devoured them she could see an oxen body unmoving and slumped over the ground. The wide, stocky chest of the ox moved neither up or down and immediately Minck new that the life had left him.
Sighing, Minck inched closer, every muscle was sore from the recent trauma and moving was uncomfortable. She held up the torch, narrowing her eyes wearily to see what had been Moo’s neck forced into an unnatural angle, it’s eyes peering out lifelessly and thick tongue sprawled eerily over the ground. Minck paused, contemplating a moment whether or not to skin the creature before finally deciding she didn’t have the heart or motivation to do so right now and began to feel along the side of the walls for some kind of exit. Cursing Moo’s name, she squeezed into a small corridor made of natural, craggy stone walls and soon she was emerging, into the sands. A sandstorm had picked up and night had fallen. “Ah, a delightful combination,” Minck grumbled out loud. Pulling up her hood, and tugging the sandcloth drawstrings to secure it against her brow, she pressed on, to afraid to sleep for fear that the fuzziness in her head would claim her and she would never wake. Using the face of what was known as the Shield Wall as her guide, she felt her way along, inching with effort through the storm. Luckily the winds favored her and seemed to usher her forward and instead of shoving her back. A small amount of luck for an unfortunate week. “You just had to have that whore didn’t you Minck? You just couldn’t leave it to ya self. Nope… that was to hard. Shet. How’s a lass supposed to be out in tha sands a month with out some pretty company here and there. Damn fool farmers. And so damn expensive for some critter crotch free company. How’s a lass like me to be expected to have that type of coin?” Pausing in her rant to herself, she spat out a wad of sand and coughed, narrowing her gaze to peer into the sky. The slightest traces of light were beaming through the storm and Minck collapsed against the wall, closing her eyes slowly finally succumbing to sleep as the winds howled.
“Aaaaaaaah!” THUD!
Minck leaped to her feet, swiping her dagger into her hand, eyes still half lidded. The storm was still slashing the air and it pressed Minck against the stone wall, whipping her cloak and hood back. Squinting, she could see mounts and men littering the dunes around her. With a clack and clatter stones rained above her, causing her to scream and dive out of the way as a final war beetle collapsed from the wall above, embedding itself into the sand. “What the fuck! What the fuck!” It was all she could scream, though her words were barely audible over rushing winds.
Looking incredulous a stocky man bent on a knee and then picked himself up. She couldn’t make the details of his features out as he turned his head to her but as he approached the brown of his cloak and the stripes on his sleeves made it obvious what he was. “Damn Bynner! Ya’ bug nearly squashed me, isn’t it supposed to go the other way around!” The beetles, whose head was buried kicked it’s six legs, thrashing and skittering in an effort to free itself. Minck and the Sergeant watched a long while as the others picked themselves up and the bug became still, legs still crooked but now rigged like dead tree limbs. The wind’s screaming became a hush and soon, small waves of wind lapped harmlessly at the cloth of the groups garb and abas as though Whira had been satiated by the amount of chaos it had caused.
“Shit!” Five of them were bellowing and waving chipped bone weapons up in the air in rage as they ran. “You can’t blame me!” Minck shouted behind herself stumbling to tug herself up with the reins of her ox, all but falling onto her back before actually managing to scuttle into the saddle....
Continue Reading...The Gith Are Coming by Gimfalisette
Added on Dec 11, 2007A seasoned Lieutenant of the Blood Spears Legion, Highlord's militia, leads her units against an army of gith in defense of the streets of her home city.
The harsh sting of sand and fierce, gusting wind on her face brought clarity to the Lieutenant's mind as she turned her gaze to slowly survey the pair of militia units under her command. Twenty Blood Spears, proud in their black cloaks, stood in ranks behind their Sergeants. These light infantry soldiers would bear the brunt of the attack she knew was shortly coming, clad just in cuirbouilli armor, with jade-emblazoned shields and weapons in hand; but they'd meet it prepared by a daily training regimen that sifted out the weak and left only the strong of body and heart.
Still, the Lieutenant worried as she paced a few steps. Nothing on her expression or in her tall, firm posture betrayed any emotion but calm determination to her soldiers, and yet she knew that some would undoubtedly not return from this battle--and the imminent loss of loyal young men and women pained her. "But we've all sworn our lives and deaths to the Highlord," the Lieutenant reasoned with herself, under her breath. She twitched the edge of her jade-shouldered black dustcloak back to reveal the polished gleam of silt-horror armor as she stopped to again look over her units, knowing that the fine figure she cut was an inspiration to those under her.
Raising her dragon-etched, obsidian-bladed axe high above her head to shake it, the Lieutenant pitched her voice over a sudden scream of wind which whipped tendrils of her own night-dark hair into her face. "Blood Spears!" she addressed the soldiers. Tension was evident on each face as they stared at her, weapons gripped tightly. "Remember you are the steel blade in the Highlord's hand! You are His Arm, and you will not fail!"
A cry to the Highlord lifted from the soldiers, and they beat their shields in response to their commander. As their shouting echoed in the dusty street, now abandoned by everyone but militia, fools, and those with no refuge, a familiar mind sought the Lieutenant's. "Gith spotted, Miner's and Commoner's, press in from your position and hold the road, order of the Captain," was the message abruptly relayed by the Senior Adjunct before he broke the link. "Thank the Highlord I don't have his job today," the Lieutenant thought, briefly amused, before shouting orders to her Sergeants. "The gith are coming, fall in!"
They engaged the gith after a hurried march west along the winding street, the units abreast to fill the relatively narrow span between sagging mudbrick buildings. With a full unit of soldiers to each side, shields raised in a line to neatly deflect blows, the Lieutenant charged amidst the enemy. In Allanak, where combat prowess was taken into account for promotions, the top officers were also the best warriors, and it was her duty and joy to lead the fight.
Had her thoughts not been keenly focused on the battle, the Lieutenant's senses would have been overwhelmed by the stench of sewer-soaked gith, the baleful red glare of the sun directly overhead, the guttural snarls of the enemy, and the clang of weapons and shields as blows began to fall. With short, sharp strokes of her axe, she struck again and again at the enemy around her, facing off with two or three at a time as waves of gith assaulted the militia line. Her movements settled into a methodic rhythm of blocking and parrying gith spears and swords, the motions requiring nothing but the instinct gained by ten years of soldiering. One of the yellow-skinned gith before her swung its club hard at her wrist, apparently aiming for a disarming hit, but before the blow could connect she easily twisted her hand and sent its weapon flying back through the enemy ranks. As an expression of surprise crystallized on the gith's face, the Lieutenant continued the quick arc of her axe and sunk a vicious chop into its neck. A hot spray of blood spattered across her bronzed cheek, and the gith crumpled. Striding over the body, the Lieutenant merely picked a new foe and set to work.
With lesser but still effective expertise, the soldiers to her right and left advanced alongside as she led them deeper into the Commoners' Quarter against the gith. The absurdity of fighting a battle against thousands of these disgusting creatures within the walls of her own beloved city--for her own territory!--did not prick the Lieutenant's mind at this moment, though it had weighed heavily for the past month, as gith forays up through the sewer pipes and into the city increased. All that lay before her now was the certainty that the war was finally here, and it had to be won.
A sudden, sharp twang caught the Lieutenant's attention through the din of battle; a noise she'd been dreading. Clattering dully to the packed earth of the road, a wooden arrow narrowly missed the Sergeant to her right. Harsh yells in gith-tongue from what seemed to be their leaders rang in the street, and the horde of gith scrambled backwards clumsily as more arrows, and then spears, began to fall toward the militia line.
Again, instinctive reaction forged from years of combat experience took over. Sensing an arrow flying toward her, the Lieutenant raised her shield and batted it away; the next arrow she struck from the air with her axe. The Private to her left, in his first real fight since taking the black, was helpless against the onslaught of missiles. He screamed shrilly as an arrow caught in his thigh, a sound which was abruptly cut off as a spear *thunked* into his neck. Eyes gone blank, the soldier toppled forward, his life's blood seeping out onto the threatened ground of his birth city.
Time seemed to lengthen, arrows and spears hissing slowly toward the Lieutenant's line, in the moment of mental pause that it took for her to consider the only two possible options: Advance, or retreat. Faced with missiles, without cover, light infantry had no other course of action but to change the distance between themselves and the attackers. To stand in place was to let the enemy cut her units down at will; and retreating to leave the Commoners' Quarter open to gith pillage was absolutely not acceptable. "Forward!" she shouted at her Sergeants, and rushed toward the disarrayed line of gith warriors, sunlight glinting off the freshly-blooded obsidian blade of her axe. Their motion no longer arrested by the hang of time, missiles rattled to the road behind the Lieutenant's force as she and her soldiers ferociously pressed the attack, becoming enveloped in the heat of battle again.
Minutes, hours, maybe a day later--she knew little except the primal, triumphant feeling of being covered head-to-toe in smears of gith blood--the Lieutenant screamed a furious, wordless war-cry as the few remaining gith broke their line, turned, and scurried away like jozhal. Enemy bodies littered the street; though the gith were individually tough, their unsophisticated, tribal methods of war were no match for the training and strategy of the Highlord's soldiers. Still, as she turned, panting for breath, the Lieutenant saw that her force was not without losses. Another Private had fallen to gith missiles before the distance could be breached, and a Corporal had been lost to the blades of a group of four gith. But there was no moment to spare for mourning them or moving their bodies; it was those who were alive but wounded who needed attending now.
As the Sergeants assessed the condition of the soldiers, medics assigned to the units moved amongst their companions, quickly wrapping bandages around wounds to staunch bleeding. Though she had learned over the years the basic techniques of bandaging on the battlefield, the Lieutenant did not move into the ranks to treat the soldiers; those assigned to that job needed the satisfaction of putting their expertise to work for their fellows. Watching the deft motions of the medics' hands, the Lieutenant allowed a brief feeling of pride to swell her chest. There'd be no need for any of -her- troops to be submitted to treatment by the water wigglers stationed at the field hospital at Meleth's, not today.
Then, the Lieutenant found her attention caught by a young Corporal whose face had paled under the usual dark tone of his skin, and whose eyes were wide and fixed on some distant, unseen thing. Shaking arms were crossed over his body and his fingers clutched at the black armbands he wore as rank insignia, as if that might stop the trembling. Stepping around a few soldiers to move to the young man's side, the Lieutenant leaned in. "Something wrong, Corporal?" She kept her voice low and warm; the question was for him only. Slowly, he focused on his commander, mouth hanging open for a moment before he found words to respond. "I tried, sir, I tried t' save 'er, but there was too many on 'er, an' I couldn't pull 'em off fast enough," he choked out. Clearly stricken, he turned his stare to the still form of the fallen Corporal, her brunette hair darkly matted with drying blood from the sword wound which had cleaved her helmet and head.
In a flash, empathetic sadness threatened the Lieutenant's composure; how often had she felt this same regret at her inability to protect a companion? No matter how good a soldier was, there would be failures. It was never possible, in the brutal rush of battle, to be everywhere or even to see everything as it happened. But that knowledge was cold comfort, and wouldn't help the living Corporal manage the loss of his unit-mate right now.
Gripping his shoulders, the Lieutenant shook the Corporal gently, her green eyes boring intensely into his brown ones as he met her gaze. "Corporal," she firmly addressed him. "You did what you could. We need you here right now. The war's not over yet, and you've got a job to do. You hear me?" After a moment's blank stare, the Corporal heaved a breath and nodded. "Aye, sir," he rasped. Nodding in return, the Lieutenant stepped back, still watching him, and squared her shoulders into a taut military posture. Unconsciously, the young Corporal mimicked his commander's posture as he gathered himself.
"Blood Spears! Prepare for the next engagement!" the Lieutenant shouted as she pivoted on a black-booted foot to face the setting sun, grip flexing on her axe. The solid weight of the gore-coated weapon in her hand was a reassuring reminder that victory surely belonged to the Highlord's Arm. Her soldiers took up positions again, and then a tense silence befell them as dark figures appeared on the road ahead, silhouetted against the angry red of sunset. The gith were coming.
The harsh sting of sand and fierce, gusting wind on her face brought clarity to the Lieutenant's mind as she turned her gaze to slowly survey the pair of militia units under her command. Twenty Blood Spears, proud in their black cloaks, stood in ranks behind their Sergeants. These light...
Continue Reading...Lieutenant Paryl by Biscuits
Added on Dec 11, 2007War hero, executioner, arena champion and, above all, Allanaki loyalist.
Cendi by Ourla
Added on Nov 26, 2007A battle-scarred cendi carries his passenger through a busy side street. Winner of Artwork Contest #3: Cendi
The Eyes of the Sun King by Ourla
Added on Nov 3, 2007Walk upon His brilliant path and fear nothing. Stray from the light, and you will be found out.
Half-Giant by Ourla
Added on Sep 26, 2007Is this thing for eating?
Can I Have Yer Money? by Marauder Moe
Added on Sep 21, 2007A dwarf has a strange encounter with a human in the temple of Suk-Krath.
Meditation Room [D Quit Save]
This chamber appears to be where the followers of Suk-Krath come to
study and contemplate their element, as the four walls angle upwards
sharply, almost resembling a pyramid, at the top of which is a large,
diamond-shaped hole. When the sun reaches its pinnacle, it shines down
directly to illuminate the room, bathing it brightly. A small circle has
been drawn in smudged red chalk in the center of the chamber's slate floor,
the sunlight filling the circle with harsh light. A niche in the wall,
which may have held a statue at one point, stands vacant.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from below.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens a dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets his bloodied flint dagger from his dusty sizeable leather backpack.
Flames erupt near the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak as he starts an incantation.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak utters an incantation.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak casts a glyph upon a bloodied flint dagger.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak glances over from his shimmering bloodied flint dagger, his attention falling upon you.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak reaches quickly beneath his hood, a bright light emiting before turning to smoke.
Flames erupt near the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak as he starts an incantation.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak utters the incantation, 'kral un sekret magick words'.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks down at you, as he leans forwards.
Lirathu, the white moon, slowly rises in the southeast.
The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak with a wrinkled, hairless brow.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak steps back from you, his hands lowering to his sides.
You ask the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"What?"
His words a harsh whisper, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Nothing... Just nothing."
The swarthy, lean male dwarf eyes the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak for a moment.
You think:
"No colors, must be from Luirs or something."
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak lowers down upon the ground, as he takes in a long deep breath.
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak sits down to rest.
You think:
"At least, I don't see any tattoos."
The very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak holds a hand to his throat, his breathing very rasp.
As he pulls down his hood, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He said, death was better than a gem."
The wildly maned, weathered man lowers the hood of a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak.
You think:
"Hmm, so what of this fellow? Worth knowing?"
You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Who?"
His gaze snapping up, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Varaj."
Shrugging, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"I don't think I know him. One of us?"
Pointing a finger towards himself, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He was resting, then they came and tried to grab him. I gave my life for him, he runs free still now and I am now like this."
Motioning vaguely, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Rukkian."
With a gruff chuckle, you ask, in sirihish:
"Yeh two tribals, then?"
Shaking his head as he lowers his gaze again, the wildly maned, weathered man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Nah, we was from this city. He took me here, to show me this shit. I thought magickers truly lived freely here."
Clearing his throat, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"He, not we."
Jihae, the red moon, rises up into the sky.
The wildly maned, weathered man rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
The swarthy, lean male dwarf shrugs.
As he places a hand to his throat, voice rasp, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Now... I could care less."
Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.
The wildly maned, weathered man utters the incantation, 'wek un sekret magick words'.
Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.
A red aura surrounds the wildly maned, weathered man, then dissipates.
Squinting at the wildly maned, weathered man, you ask, in sirihish:
"What are yeh doing?"
The wildly maned, weathered man drops a knee to the ground, his eyes becoming glazed over and red.
His words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Death is better than the gem. Through death, I'll truly be one with suk-krath."
Rubbing his chin, you say, in sirihish:
"Oh."
Eyebrows lifting, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Can I have yer money? Seems you wouldn't need it anymore, then, right?"
The wildly maned, weathered man holds his neck as he begins to cough deeply, his expression distorting in pain.
Holding his hand flat upon the ground, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Money? I don't care."
The wildly maned, weathered man closes his eyes as he flicks his neck again, a spark of fire emiting from his fingers.
Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.
The wildly maned, weathered man utters the incantation, 'wek un sekret magick words'.
A red aura surrounds the wildly maned, weathered man, then dissipates.
Nodding, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Thanks, then."
The wildly maned, weathered man coughs again as falls upon his side, staring off before himself.
His words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"They ruined everything."
You think:
"Such a low power, I doubt he's a master and could tell me about components."
You think:
"Such silly people, humans. Giving up his path just from one setback."
Shifting his attention up towards you, the wildly maned, weathered man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"You're just going to watch?"
The wildly maned, weathered man's empty stare remains upon you, his chest heaving up and down very slowly.
Shrugging, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"I'm not gonna help. Someone might get the wrong idea."
You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"What do ya suppose it'll be like, up with Suk-krath?"
Closing his eyes, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I don't know. Better than here."
The wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I have felt Suk-Krath all my life. It has flown through my blood, and now I am willing to join her."
The wildly maned, weathered man rolls over upon his back, holding a hand to his chest.
Flames erupt near the wildly maned, weathered man as he starts an incantation.
The wildly maned, weathered man utters an incantation.
As he crawls back to his knees, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"And even death won't accept me."
The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches the wildly maned, weathered man thoughtfully.
You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Never heard anyone call it 'she'. I think I like that idea, though."
Reaching for his shimmering shadowy dull black gem, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I hate this thing. It has ruined my life."
As tears begin to trail down from his eyes, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"There is nothing for me now, nothing."
You are a little hungry.
The wildly maned, weathered man takes in a harsh deep breath, holding his neck with a hand.
You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Good luck, then. I hope you meet her."
You think:
"Perhaps he's not giving up a path but taking a new one. I admire his will, if that is so. He risks all for his dream."
As he lays flat upon the ground, words harsh, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Soon. Maybe there is one thing left undone that I must do before she will open her arms to me."
Lifting one eyebrow, you ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Besides die?"
After a long pause, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Yes. One more thing."
You think:
"As interesting as this diversion has been, I'd like to just get his coin and get back to my studies."
The swarthy, lean male dwarf watches expectantly.
Offering a harsh chuckle, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I ain't telling you what, then I couldn't get it done."
As he turns onto his stomach, crawling towards the stairs, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I need water."
You ask the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Yeh need coin for this thing yeh've gotta do?"
As he stops crawling, the wildly maned, weathered man asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
"I need coin for water... What do you need coin for?"
The wildly maned, weathered man turns to sit down, reaching over his shoulder towards his dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The giant crimson sun sets low in the west.
The wildly maned, weathered man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his dusty sizeable leather backpack.
The wildly maned, weathered man gets his pile of coins from his dusty pair of grey pouched boots.
Shrugging, you say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Food, water, clothes, those sorts of distractions."
As he splits his coins in half, putting the other portion on the floor, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Meaningless things, pointless when you stand before Her after death."
The wildly maned, weathered man drops many coins.
You say to the wildly maned, weathered man, in sirihish:
"Maybe, but I've got things to do before that time comes for me."
The wildly maned, weathered man picks up a pile of allanaki coins.
The wildly maned, weathered man drops many coins.
As he turns down the stairs, hardly standing, the wildly maned, weathered man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
"Enjoy then."
The wildly maned, weathered man stealthily moves down.
You pick up a pile of allanaki coins.
There were 200 coins.
It is very light.
The swarthy, lean male dwarf smiles as he gathers up the spilled discs.
You think:
"Well, that'll last me a fair while."
You think:
"Maybe I'll get the rest when he comes back and finishes dying."
open pack
Ok.
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your bone-studded backpack.
There were 25 coins.
It is very light.
You put your pile of allanaki coins into your bone-studded backpack.
close pack
Ok.
You think:
"Now, where was I? Ah yes, finishing off the day's study."
Meditation Room [D Quit Save]
This chamber appears to be where the followers of Suk-Krath come to
study and contemplate their element, as the four walls angle upwards
sharply, almost resembling a pyramid, at the top of which is a large,
diamond-shaped hole. When the sun reaches its pinnacle,...
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