Original Submissions
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Dwarven Lullaby, A by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005Lullaby sung to dwarves when they are children.
The burning sun may blind my sight
But its burning light shall never cross your eyes
For you rest under the cloak of your Mother.
The burning sands may sear my flesh
But your flesh it shall never touch
For you are carried in the hands of your Mother.
Harsh desert winds may scour my skin
But the desert winds shall never touch your skin
For you rest in the arms of your Mother.
Warm brackish water may pass my lips
But only sweet milk shall ever grace your lips
For you rest against the breast of your Mother.
Night's embrace may chill my bones
But your bones shall never grow cold
For you are warmed by the body of your Mother.
The burning sun may blind my sightBut its burning light shall never cross your eyes
For you rest under the cloak of your Mother.
The burning sands may sear my flesh
But your flesh it shall never touch
For you are carried in the hands of your Mother.
Harsh desert winds may scour my skin
But...
Continue Reading...Slave Song by Anonymous
Added on Feb 2, 2005Originally sung by slaves in the mines, this song has become popular in local establishments.
We slaves in Nakki's 'sidian mines, hurrah...hurrah.
We work and toil to pay our crimes, hurrah...hurrah!
We slave all day, we earn no wage,
and if we die, well that's ok,
Cause more will come to stand here in our place!
We used to think that we'd get out, hurrah...hurrah.
The trip was one-way there's no doubt, hurrah...hurrah!
We chip the stone and send it out,
The taskmasters they scream and shout,
And the whip marks scar our backs like burning fire!
We beg and plead to just be free, hurrah...hurrah.
Work harder men is their decree, hurrah...hurrah!
See that man there, hes twenty three,
But he'll be here till seventy,
And they bury his dried bones under our feet!
The Borsail lords they send their aid, hurrah...hurrah.
The slaves are ornrey but thats ok, hurrah...hurrah!
They draw the brunt of punishment,
There is no hope for their lament,
And they are beaten day and night without relent!
We used to think that it was cruel, hurrah...hurrah.
The mullish race is just a tool, hurrah...hurrah!
They are bred as slaves not free like me,
The lesser race, as all can see.
Their lives are w'out purpose, meaning, and their plight is dire.
We slaves in Nakki's 'sidian mines, hurrah...hurrah.We work and toil to pay our crimes, hurrah...hurrah!
We slave all day, we earn no wage,
and if we die, well that's ok,
Cause more will come to stand here in our place!
We used to think that we'd get out, hurrah...hurrah.
The trip was one-way...
Continue Reading...Rising Dawn by Anonymous
Added on Feb 2, 2005Song to celebrate the dawn of a new day.
Do you see on the horizon, it's as the glimmer of an eye,
and the shrouding blackness 'round you lets loose a strangled sigh.
Streams of fiery gold and reds arc across the land,
its flashing, scalding, burning power glinting prismatically off the sand.
With the force of ten thousand torches, all blazing high and bright,
the roiling wall of ravenous heat, cuts 'cross the desert like a knife.
Run my friends! Take shelter! Hide! Surely destruction is at hand!
but nay, tis not the doom of man, which sizzles ominously 'cross the land.
This orb of terror, now rising high, be it friend or foe who can say?
The shining face of 'Krath itself, gleams down on us this day.
It drives away our nighttime frights, and keeps fearful dreams at bay.
Hearken all, arise and see, the birth of this new day.
Do you see on the horizon, it's as the glimmer of an eye,and the shrouding blackness 'round you lets loose a strangled sigh.
Streams of fiery gold and reds arc across the land,
its flashing, scalding, burning power glinting prismatically off the sand.
With the force of ten thousand torches, all...
Continue Reading...Elven Running Song by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005Many different versions exist as runners make up their own verses during the run.
Light as wind across the sand
We run, we run, we run.
Faster then night falling across the land
We run, we run, we run.
Longer then the cities thrive
We run, we run, we run.
Stronger then the strength of five
We run, we run, we run.
Over desert sands that burn
We run, we run, we run.
Over the scattered roads that turn
We run, we run, we run.
Past the merchant on his wagon
We run, we run, we run
Past the Templar and their Dragon
We run, we run, we run.
Through the night and through the day
We run, we run, we run.
Through the sandstorm, without delay
We run, we run, we run.
Light as wind across the sandWe run, we run, we run.
Faster then night falling across the land
We run, we run, we run.
Longer then the cities thrive
We run, we run, we run.
Stronger then the strength of five
We run, we run, we run.
Over desert sands that burn
We run, we run, we run.
Over the...
Continue Reading...Three-Wind Thrind by Rialli, of House Kurac
Added on Feb 2, 2005
There was a dwarf, a famous bard,
of many ages past.
He sang his songs and played his lute,
of many ages past.
His stories were told, many a time, and now he is belov'd,
For he's the greatest bard and stoutest dwarf that ever liv'd.
Three-Wind Thrind was known to sing,
and for hours on end.
Three-Wind Thrind was known to talk,
and for hours on end.
People came from leagues around to hear him play and sing,
and yet, on a bet, he shouldered his lute to meet the Dragon King.
The fighting was fierce, and many dwarves died,
and Thrind remained hidden.
Suk-Krath beat down, the winds blew strong,
and Thrind remained hidden.
The Dragon roared, a challenge sent, across the Unseen Way,
and Thrind came out to fight the fight of which I sing today.
The Dragon glared, dark magick begun,
and Thrind sang a song.
The Dragon breathed, scouring his skin,
and Thrind sang a song.
He raised his arm, threw his lute, striking it in the eye.
and Thrind's blood flowed out, on the ground, and he was left to lie.
The dwarves of the village scattered and left,
off to lands unknown.
Thrind's body was dead, his spirit gone,
off to lands unknown.
But the dwarves were safe, and had escaped, during Thrind's last song,
He lived his life to entertain, and now I sing along.
There was a dwarf, a famous bard,of many ages past.
He sang his songs and played his lute,
of many ages past.
His stories were told, many a time, and now he is belov'd,
For he's the greatest bard and stoutest dwarf that ever liv'd.
Three-Wind Thrind was known to sing,
and for...
Continue Reading...Life by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005Song about life in Zalanthas.
Eyes open into blinding light,
From warm and comforting night.
The only thing that is exists is fright
All for another's pain, for their delight.
Your hands crack and bleed,
Driving you to some ignoble deed.
In the end, serving someone's greed.
But afterwards your life does proceed.
Pleasure is found in a smile.
Your heart won by voice's guile.
Nothing lasts longer then awhile.
Because even love can turn hostile.
The smell of blood invades,
A life taken by another's blades.
The light weakens and slowly fades,
In the cold echo of a darkness's shades.
Eyes open into blinding light,From warm and comforting night.
The only thing that is exists is fright
All for another's pain, for their delight.
Your hands crack and bleed,
Driving you to some ignoble deed.
In the end, serving someone's greed.
But afterwards your life does proceed.
Pleasure...
Continue Reading...Only One Day by Ysania
Added on Feb 2, 2005Song about the rising and setting of Suk-Krath.
Suk-Krath rises slowly, spreading light across the land,
Shadows fading slowly from the curves of desert sand.
Another day upon us, set before us gleaming bright,
Wishes and dreams could be made real before it's once more night.
We fear the hidden danger and do not hear the silent song,
We wander down the paths of life, some short and some too long.
We walk with eyes wide open but we never seem to see,
The beauty that surrounds us if we'd only let it be.
Suk-Krath overhead now, burning hot upon the land,
No shade or shelter can be found among the burning sands.
Another day is halfway spent, and what have we to show?
Wishes and dreams aren't foolish things for those who dare to know.
A man walks once upon the day Suk-Krath sees fit to give,
So many fear the dying that they forget to live,
So many do not hear the call of desert's silent song,
Until the path is fully walked and they are left alone.
Suk-Krath setting silently as moons rise in the sky,
Another day once brought to life now given up to die.
As shadows fall across the sands and day gives way to night,
Hopes and dreams are lamps of the soul to help us keep the light.
If we can see the sunrise and sunset with equal awe,
If we can walk and not look back upon the path we trod,
And when the darkness of our lives must pass before our eyes,
Be content with having truly lived and dreams realized.
Suk-Krath missing from the sky, Lirathu in domain,
The silent desert sands have no memory of our names,
Like shifting Whira, dancing free, wipes track with no regrets,
We only get one life and we must live it to our best.
Suk-Krath rises slowly, spreading light across the land,Shadows fading slowly from the curves of desert sand.
Another day upon us, set before us gleaming bright,
Wishes and dreams could be made real before it's once more night.
We fear the hidden danger and do not hear the silent song,
We...
Continue Reading...Save a Seat For Me by Ysania
Added on Feb 2, 2005A common drinking song.
It's a damn hard life in the windy sandy wastes
And you'd sell your own brother for just a tiny taste
of that life giving water which you cannot seem to find
and you follow that mirage till your half out of your mind
(Chorus)
Oh save a seat for me, my friend
When you find that journey's end
It's all the flame that you can hold
And the wenches there are VERY bold.
It's a damn hard life in the streets of Allanak
And you never know when you'll find a dagger in the back
All you want is a place to hide but you just can't escape
You're an Allanaki commoner and this is just your fate
(Chorus)
Oh, save a seat for me, my friend
When you find that journey's end
It's piles of spice for all to share
and never any danger there
It's a damn hard life on the wrong side of the law
And you wish you'd been smoother or that templar hadn't saw
You only took a few sids, what's the harm in doing that?
The half-giant raises his fists and you're knocked out flat
(Chorus)
Oh, save a seat for me, my friend
when you find that journeys end
The nobles there wear servers garb
and you damn well bet we work them hard
It's a damn hard life living only off the land
And you curse your fate and the ever blowing sands
You risk yourself in stupid ways for a little bit of meat
But at least you aren't starving on an Allanak street
(Chorus)
Oh, save a seat for me, my friend
When you find that journey's end
Someday I will join you there
and we'll share a round of cheer
It's a damn hard life in the windy sandy wastesAnd you'd sell your own brother for just a tiny taste
of that life giving water which you cannot seem to find
and you follow that mirage till your half out of your mind
(Chorus)
Oh save a seat for me, my friend
When you find that journey's end
Continue Reading... Darkness by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005Written by an unknown servent of Drov.
As a child I walked my path without a guiding light,
Never realizing that beside the road lay night.
A night that searched for any soul that it could reach.
For Darkness always claims its own.
As a young man I did whatever was needed to survive.
I never cared who I might hurt and thus I did thrive.
Though sometimes I felt as if I was dying inside.
For Darkness always claims its own.
As an adult I briefly found a love that challenged my belief,
But it vanished into a sun-lit sky, leaving me with only grief.
A grief that drove me to embrace what I had lost,
For Darkness always claims its own.
As an old man I was cold to everything but my faith
Nothing left inside but the cruel remains of my wrath.
This was all I was till at last I saw my life illuminated in truth
Just before the Darkness came to claim its own.
As a child I walked my path without a guiding light,Never realizing that beside the road lay night.
A night that searched for any soul that it could reach.
For Darkness always claims its own.
As a young man I did whatever was needed to survive.
I never cared who I might hurt and thus I did...
Continue Reading...Ladies Love a Stone Mage, The by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005The verses of this song normally come in no particular order, and in fact, the song is often used as a contest, the trick being to continue coming up with new verses with the appropriate double entendres
(Chorus)
Oh, some men love a wind witch, because she'll never touch the ground.
And others like a water witch, with one they'll e'er be found.
And some men like a fire witch, though she'll keep them on their guard,
But the ladies like a stone mage, for he'll always keep it hard.
Oh, once I loved a wind mage,
eyes like a duskhorn doe,
And oh, I truly loved her,
for the way she knew to blow.
Oh, once I loved a fire mage,
though we fought and fought and fought.
And oh, I loved my fire mage,
for she was always hot.
Oh, once I loved a water mage,
for days and days and days,
And oh, I loved my water mage,
for all her slippery ways.
Oh, once I loved a templar tall,
her braids worn in a crown.
And oh, I loved my templar best,
when she had me kneeling down.
Oh, once I loved a Kadian lass,
she gave it to me for free,
And oh, I loved my Kadian lass,
when she was paying -me-.
Oh, once I loved an Oash wench,
in bed we'd freely play.
And if I wore my fake elf ears,
she'd love me all the day.
Oh, once I loved a Reynolte proud,
a lady through and through.
And oh, I loved my Reynolte proud,
for the common things she'd do.
Oh, once I loved a Faleish girl,
though could never call her nice.
Her philosophy was quite unique,
She did -everything- with spice.
Oh, once I loved an Azia girl,
all dressed in white and blue.
She completely stole my heart away,
and then my moneybelt too.
Oh, once I loved an Asenn girl,
all dressed in white and blue.
She lay me down and raised me up,
and then we began anew.
(Chorus)Oh, some men love a wind witch, because she'll never touch the ground.
And others like a water witch, with one they'll e'er be found.
And some men like a fire witch, though she'll keep them on their guard,
But the ladies like a stone mage, for he'll always keep it hard.
Oh, once I...
Continue Reading...Another Step by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005A song that made its way around the slave pits for a while. Rumor says the song's originator killed all his opponents and then just lay down on the sand and died. Just another legend that may or may nor have happened.
I was born to wealth and privilege, atop a lofty hill.
Given anything I could need, the life of my desires.
Changing in an instant when the soldiers came to kill.
Luck and wit kept me alive through the hostile fires.
So I take another step,
Each step harder then the one that came before.
So I take another step,
Leaving behind everything I know and adore.
I fought in many wars, for many different men
Never really caring whose blood would wet my blade
Then I saved a single child, why I cannot ken.
Everything was lost again, my employer I betrayed.
So I take another step,
Always looking back at what I had lost
So I take another step,
Trying not to brood over what it cost.
I raised a daughter in this world, giving all that I had.
Protecting her from violence, for I had no other task.
Until she caught a templar's eye and I went a little mad
I saw her die before my eyes and my face became a mask.
So I take another step,
Each step harder then the last
So I take another step,
No longer looking into the past.
I killed many types of men, many wounds I did sustain.
Friends and enemies alike did fall and die, I didn't care.
His face laughs in my dreams, feeding on my pain.
After years I was finally granted my only prayer.
So I take another step,
Stepping over what is in my way
So I take another step,
Living my life just like any day.
I was sold to a young lady, my scars she did admire.
Once more I lived a life of ease, and memory did fade
Even though she owned me, love she did inspire.
She trusted me too much, for my pain she has paid.
So I take another step,
Each step it falters more and more
So I take another step,
Each step another fight in my war.
I sing for one last time, relaxing before one last fight.
They think that my spirit's broken and my bodies old.
But they do not know that they face a warrior's might.
Using every trick I learned, it will be a sight to behold.
So I take another step,
This will be my final journey
So I take my final step,
Into the pit for one last tourney.
I was born to wealth and privilege, atop a lofty hill.Given anything I could need, the life of my desires.
Changing in an instant when the soldiers came to kill.
Luck and wit kept me alive through the hostile fires.
So I take another step,
Each step harder then the one that came before.
So I...
Continue Reading...Betrayal, The by Grog
Added on Feb 2, 2005Translated from the original Mirrukim. This song was sung only by a single tribe, and each dwarf heard it but once.
Sit down and listen to my words,
As I tell you of sacrifice and betrayal.
As I tell you of a hero and a fool.
He gave his life for the people
So always will he be reviled.
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those who continue on..
He betrayed his life
>From birth his was a single path
A path all the people walk
Never speak words untrue, his way..
Will was stronger then the stones
He was followed by all.
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those who continue on..
He betrayed his duty
One day a sandstorm fell across the land
Scouring the people from the world
Men marched to its song
Killing those that fled.
One stood in its path.
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those who continue on..
He betrayed his soul
To save his people was not his task,
Only to say the truth to what was asked.
But no other people remained alive
His will broke and to the storm he lied
We people lived, to our shame.
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those who continue on..
He betrayed his people.
Still his screams of pain are heard
By those who are tempted
>From the path they have choosen.
When you have chosen a way
You must never ever stray,
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those that must remain.
He betrayed his truth.
Sit down and listen to my words,As I tell you of sacrifice and betrayal.
As I tell you of a hero and a fool.
He gave his life for the people
So always will he be reviled.
A name that we won't remember
A face we must forget
Less the memory of what he did
Taint those who continue on..
He...
Continue Reading...An Oash Lord by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005This song sprang up in Allanak, and is common in the Labyrinth there. On rare and furtive occasions, it's been heard in the Gaj. The reference to Lawrence of Oash places it, timewise.
Ah, a new Lord of Oash, we wish him all the best,
And praise him to the skies, along with all the rest.
But, oh, new Lord of Oash, we hope you surely know,
All the ins and outs of Lording, the noble quid pro quo.
We urge Lawrence for example, since he's a fearsome Lord,
As long as he lifts a winecup, rather than the sword.
For sitting in the Inn, we know he has no match,
So you might sit and watch him, clues from him to catch.
He'll teach you how to drink, and after women chase,
Though they generally run too fast for him in that specific race.
And how to be ineffectual.. Oh! and how to bully elves,
Such complicated matters, in nobility to dwell.
Ah, a new Lord of Oash, we wish him all the best,And praise him to the skies, along with all the rest.
But, oh, new Lord of Oash, we hope you surely know,
All the ins and outs of Lording, the noble quid pro quo.
We urge Lawrence for example, since he's a fearsome Lord,
As long as he lifts a...
Continue Reading...Oash, They are Hiring, The by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005An Allanaki song. References to events of the time seem to place this song's origin pretty clearly within the last century.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, and that is no surprise.
For they're always needing guardwork, and carpenters, and spies.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, you're sure to find employ,
No matter your qualifications, or if you're mul, or girl, or boy.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, and richly they will pay,
As long as you are standing, and breathe throughout the day.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, I've said it's no surprise,
But let me amend my statement, for this is my surmise...
When the Oash they are hiring, they look for a certain kind,
A tricksome clever type, with a peculiar twist of mind.
For when the Oash are hiring, they'll put you to the test,
For they are pridesome stiffnecked folk, and only want the best.
So when the Oash are hiring, and looking hard to buy,
Your best bet for working with them is to be a gypsy spy.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, and that is no surprise.For they're always needing guardwork, and carpenters, and spies.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, you're sure to find employ,
No matter your qualifications, or if you're mul, or girl, or boy.
Oh, the Oash they are hiring, and richly they will...
Continue Reading...Once I Loved the Wind by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005The wind, one of Zalanthas's constants, is a favored motif in folk songs. This song, once popular, has fallen out of favor, perhaps due to its overtones of elementalism.
Once I loved the wind, and loved to hear it sing,
Blowing through the canyons, light as feathered wing.
Once I loved the wind, and then it went away.
Once I loved the wind.
Twice I loved a flame, and it kept me warm,
And flared forth in danger, warding off all harm.
Twice I loved a flame, and each time it went away.
Twice I loved a flame.
Thrice I loved the water, loved its silent gleam,
Sweet and cool as laughter, crystal and pristine.
Thrice I loved the water, each time it slipped away.
Thrice I loved the water.
Countless times I loved the Land, where it stood beneath my feet,
Steady there it held me, and whispered silence sweet.
Countless time I loved the Land, and it never went away.
I'll always love the Land.
Once I loved the wind, and loved to hear it sing,Blowing through the canyons, light as feathered wing.
Once I loved the wind, and then it went away.
Once I loved the wind.
Twice I loved a flame, and it kept me warm,
And flared forth in danger, warding off all harm.
Twice I loved a flame, and...
Continue Reading...Silver Wheel, The by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005Of unknown origin, and perhaps originally appearing in a somewhat different form, this song has been used to advertise the casino in Luirs.
Tell me your dream, and I'll sing it for you,
In soft lilting lyrics, while the stars shine above,
Fame, wealth or glory, or the purest of loves,
There at the Wheel, I'll sing it for you.
Tell me your love, and I'll sing them for you,
Fairer by far than they ever were true,
And that first fleeting moment, Ill spin it anew,
There at the Wheel, I'll sing them for you.
Tell me your hope, and I'll sing it for you,
Be you hero or villain, or somewhat in between,
For everyone has one, some small secret dream,
Here at the Wheel, I'll sing it for you.
Tell me your desire, I'll sing it for you,
A bold ballad of bravery, or love tune so sweet,
Or the merriest of melodies, to set dancing your feet,
There at the Wheel, I'll sing it for you.
Tell me your dream, and I'll sing it for you,In soft lilting lyrics, while the stars shine above,
Fame, wealth or glory, or the purest of loves,
There at the Wheel, I'll sing it for you.
Tell me your love, and I'll sing them for you,
Fairer by far than they ever were true,
And that first...
Continue Reading...What's a Zeina to Do? by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005Clearly of Tan Muark origin, this somewhat self-congratulatory song celebrates their cleverness.
Oh, my, what's a Zeina to do?
Lirathu's been stolen and red Jihae too.
And a templar a-scowling wants to chop me in two...
Oh, woe, what's a Zeina to do?
Oh my, what's a Zeina to do?
When accused of a-stealing moons numbering two?
By a hard hearted templar, all dressed in blue...
Oh, woe, what's a Zeina to do?
Oh, my, what's a Zeina to do?
I don't have the moons, and I'm quite frightened too...
I could look for an elf and say 'I blame it on you!'
But no elves in sight, what's a Zeina to do?
Oh, my, I know what I'll do...
I'll ask some large ransom for white Lirathu...
And skip out with the sid, ere the dawn comes anew...
Oh, my, that's what a clever Zeina would do.
Oh, woe, what's a Zeina to do?
The weather has cleared, and the moons shining through....
My clever plan's shattered, I must find something new!
'cause, for a Zeina, there's always -something- to do.
Oh, my, what's a Zeina to do?Lirathu's been stolen and red Jihae too.
And a templar a-scowling wants to chop me in two...
Oh, woe, what's a Zeina to do?
Oh my, what's a Zeina to do?
When accused of a-stealing moons numbering two?
By a hard hearted templar, all dressed in blue...
Oh, woe,...
Continue Reading...Wind Blows Over the Plains, The by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005This plaintive love song is a favorite among nomads and Northlanders, and is a standard of most bards' repertoires.
They say the wind blows over the plains,
... softly, softly....
And the tall grass bends, and the low trees too....
And all the while my heart's out there,
... wandering, wandering....
Looking for something by the name of you.
They say the wind blows over the plains,
...wildly, wildly....
And the nighthawks screech and the wild kanks too.
And all that while, my heart's out there
.. calling, calling....
Looking for something by the name of you.
And the wind blows to and the wind blows fro,
And my heart's held in my hand,
And the wind blows warm, the wind blows cold,
As I look for a place to stand.
They say the wind blows over the plains,
... always, always....
And the dry sand blows, and the red dust too.
And all that while my heart's out there,
.. lonely, lonely....
Looking and searching for something like you.
They say the wind blows over the plains,... softly, softly....
And the tall grass bends, and the low trees too....
And all the while my heart's out there,
... wandering, wandering....
Looking for something by the name of you.
They say the wind blows over the plains,
...wildly, wildly....
And...
Continue Reading...Love Comes Over the Plains by Sanvean
Added on Feb 2, 2005Attributed to a Whiran, Alkyone.
Like the wind that sweeps o'er the plains,
Swifter than flame, quicker than laughter,
Love comes, hair a-fly with her flutter,
And in her train comes joy trailing after.
Like the water which quenches your thirst,
Cooler than night wind, sweeter than wine,
Love flows, her eyes wild and wanton,
And in her kisses love grows like a vine.
Like the stones 'neath the traveller's feet,
Smoother than comfort, more solid than sand,
Love stays, settling her skirts all around her,
And with her smile, joy lifts its hand.
Like the fire which warms the once empty hearth,
Sparks from the stone, flames dying, lifting,
Love reaches out, ready to take you,
And in that touch joy comes like sand sifting.
Like the wind that sweeps o'er the plains,Swifter than flame, quicker than laughter,
Love comes, hair a-fly with her flutter,
And in her train comes joy trailing after.
Like the water which quenches your thirst,
Cooler than night wind, sweeter than wine,
Love flows, her eyes wild and wanton,
Continue Reading... Heru Got Ran Over By a Carru by davien
Added on Feb 2, 2005Tongue-in cheek adaptation of 'Grandmom got ran over by a Reindeer', Blackwing-style.
Heru got run over by a carru...
running back to camp one Marnlee eve.
You can say there's no such thing as chutzpah...
But as for me and Malkah, we believe.
We had just sat down to eating..
The Marnlee feast was set just right...
When out the gates there rose a clamor..
We hurried up to finish final bites...
She'd been drinkin' too much dark ale..
She outdrank the entire clan
But she made a bet with Galyn
So she staggered out the gate into the sand
Heru got run over by a carru...
running back to camp on Marnlee eve..
You can say there's no such thing as chutzpah...
But as for me and Malkah, we believe...
When we found her Marnlee mornin',
Hoofprints walking up her back
There were empties by her war braids
And sixty-five dead carru in a stack
Heru got run over by a carru...
running back to camp on Marnlee eve..
You can say there's no such thing as chutzpah...
But as for me and Malkah, we believe...
Now we're all so scared of Malkah,
She's not taking this so well.
See her in there playing quarters,
Drink her beer, and give the younglings so much hell.
It's not Marnlee without Heru.
All the blackwing back to back.
And we just can't help but wonder:
Should we duke it out or barbecue a snack.
Heru got run over by a carru...
running back to camp on Marnlee eve..
You can say there's no such thing as chutzpah...
But as for me and Malkah, we believe...
Heru got run over by a carru...
running back to camp one Marnlee eve.
You can say there's no such thing as chutzpah...
But as for me and Malkah, we believe.
We had just sat down to eating..
The Marnlee feast was set just right...
When out the gates there rose a clamor..
We hurried up to finish final...
Continue Reading...
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Spice Run by Dyrinis
Added on Feb 2, 2005Vaske, an elvish youth, ends a bad day with one of the most dangerous assignments that House Kurac has to offer, a Spice Run.
Vakse peered down Caravan Way nervously, watching from a secluded alleyway for signs of any approaching templars. It had been a rough day for the elvish youth, hinging on the fact that a House Agent had caught him flirting with one of the Al Kere women back in Luir's Outpost. He had been punished for "threataning relations" as the woman obviously had no intrest in the dark-skinned elf, and sent on one of the more dangerous assignments that the House had to offer, a spice run in Allanak. Vakse uttered a series of curses in Allundean for ever coming near one of the natives. The elf glanced out at the Way one more time, then slunk out of his cover, walking down the wide avenue while trying to look inconspicuous. As he passed into Meleth's circle and by the Temple of the Dragon, he glanced inside nervously - breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that they were all occupied, and crashed head-on into a glaring blue-robed templar. Vakse bolted, his long legs carrying him faster than the three lumbering half-giants that accompanied the overturned templar. The elf sped by a bustling inn and onto Merchants' Road, where he sprinted east, following the road past the bustling bazaar and straight to his destination - the Merchants' Quarter. As he came to the sidestreet leading to the area, Vakse remembered what he had done to pass the gate-guards and thought to apply it here. He spied out a rich-looking merchant wearing the sash of House Salaar, and as the merchant passed through the gate; Vakse followed at the distance of about three cords, head bowed. The brawny mulish mercenary set to guarding the quarter payed the elf and his adopted master little heed, and went on to stop a half-elven gladiator from entering.
The Salaari followed the Road of Commerce to Salaari Way, unheeding and uncaring of his new servant. Vakse dodged into a paved backstreet and glanced both ways for templars, a natural reflex that had been taken up in the past three hours under Allanak's walls. Vakse fished out a scrap of tandu-hide vellum from a pocket in his carru-hide pants. After scanning the document and confirming his orders, Vakse snuck down the dusty side-street, avoiding red-robes and soldiers, until he came up to a large dwelling made of a dark red stone. Vakse knocked twice, then thrice on the baobab door, creating a small noise that he was not comfortable with judging by his predicament. After a few moments, a man in a crimson aba answered the door, and spoke in the common tounge, Sirihish, "What foul winds bring you to this dwelling, elf?"
Vaske replied, using the password that the agent had given to him, "The whirling sands blow me into your home."
The human arched an eyebrow, and ushered Vakse into a sparsely-furnished front-room. The elf eyed his surroundings with a keen eye, noting a discolored panel on the wall, probably a hidden catche for storing valuables...and spice. The elf raised a deeply-tanned hand in a brisk salute, saying, "The sandstorms bring you a delivery, Lord Hujat."
The apparent Hujat snorted disdainfully, replying,"I can only hope that it is what I have been waiting for for three months, courier."
Vaske nodded, retrieving a small hide bag brimming with a crumbly yellow powder - Krentakh, one of the more powerful spices to be found in the Known World. Hujat's eyes widened in anticipation and greed, and he walked over to the discolored panel that Vaske had noted earlier, releasing the lock by pulling on a stone statuette perched on a cylini shelf nearby. The panel popped open with pressure, exposing a small trove of obsidian coins and a diminuative amount of spice, mainly Melem-Tuek from what Vaske could tell. The human nobleman pulled a large pouch brimming with coins from the darker recesses of the wooden acalove, handing it to Vaske with a regretful expression. The elvish deliverer smiled thinly at the pale-skinned human, then turned to leave. Hujat sneered to himself, cursing the House for sending an -ELF- to deliver.
Vaske hopped out into the street, dashing back to the main road, his thoughts full of the obsidian in his pack. His thoughts were clouded with avarice and greed, and as he turned the corner he failed to notice the blue-robed templar approaching him, flanked by three muscular half-giants, and rubbing a freshly-collected bruise upon his forehead. The templars eyes were the color of his robe as they alighted in reciognition of the elf, who still failed to notice him. What Vaske did notice was a set of huge hands that clamped over his shoulder, and the feeling of being dragged a few feet to his left. The elf immediately shot out of his dreams of obsidian palaces, and his eyes flew to the glaring templar in front of him. The templar spoke a few words to his soldier, and the huge man ripped the pack off of Vaskes back, causing no small amount of pain as the straps dug into his shoulders. The templar retrieved the pack and rummaged around in it. Vaskes face turned white as he realized that there was a pinch or five of Zharal in one of the pockets. Fearing for his life, Vaskes hand flew to the obsidian shortsword hanging on his belt, breaking free of his captor with sheer quickness alone. Vaske flew at the templar, blade exposed. He was nearly there, and the templar was just beginning to look up.
When he hit something as hard as stone, the chest of a half-giant.
Vaske looked up from the ground, dazed - and met a swinging axe made of obsidian, nearly the sharpest material upon Zalanthas. Vaske's dazed eyes followed the axe, wondering where it was going - until his thoughts cleared, but by then - it was too late. The templar grimaced as a crimson shower sprayed the already red sandstone cobbles, and muttered something under his breath,
"Damn Kuracis.."
The End.
Compiled by the Sage Dyrinis,
On the eighty-second day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Lirathu's Defiance,
Year Thirty-Three of the Nineteenth Age
Vakse peered down Caravan Way nervously, watching from a secluded alleyway for signs of any approaching templars. It had been a rough day for the elvish youth, hinging on the fact that a House Agent had caught him flirting with one of the Al Kere women back in Luir's Outpost. He had been...
Continue Reading...Choice, The by Delirium
Added on Feb 2, 2005A hermit ponders his choice of lifestyle.
When you live like I do, you get used to many things. The intense heat, the burning sun, the stinging sand that manages to get everywhere, no matter how well you cover yourself. The lonely hiss of the wind, never ceasing in its patient efforts to reshape the dunes, to scour the bones of those that have already lost their battle with this unforgiving world.
I am an outcast, even among mutants and freaks. Mages like me have few choices, and none of them are easy.
One is to hide your true nature, to suppress the urges that are a part of your very being. To feel your powers gnawing away at you like rats devouring your body from the inside out, and to know that to release it and ease your pain would be to set foot down a path from which there is no turning back. To know that if you don't, one day you will end up losing control. That day will likely be the one you die. Whether to a frightened mob or to the ever vigilant justice of the templarate, it matters little, for those that wield the awesome and unpredictable forces of nature are never permitted to remain free once they're discovered.
You could choose instead to submit yourself to a lifetime of humiliation, to be collared with the infamous black gem. To be set apart from society, sequestered within the walls of the Magicker's Quarter, at once identified and loathed for the tainted being that you are, no matter where you go. To know that despite the things you have in common with other mages, each one of you is to be trusted less than the common people outside the Quarter's walls - commoners who are afraid to tread the ground you walk on, and would destroy you if they only thought they could.
Nonetheless, considering the alternatives, it's little surprise that many choose the life of being gemmed.
The alternatives? Death, or the desert.
When you live like I do, your day to day existence takes on a certain rhythm; it takes on the motion of the dunes and the shifting sands. You learn to move with the wind, with the sun, with the cooler blessings of dawn and dusk. Water is the ever-present desire in the back of your mind and on the tip of your tongue, more precious than the finest silks. Mortal danger hunts you at every step; whether presented by a ravenous beast, a band of raiders as desperate as you for water and survival, or within the very land itself, it is there. Storms can happen without warning, the mildest of them kicking up a blinding fury of whipping sand and wind that tears at your clothing, rubs your skin raw, and fills your nose and mouth with the gritty taste of desert life.
It's the life I've chosen. Better this, I say, than to be subject to the filth, decay, and corrupt whims of the Black City, or die to the fanatical judgment of the Ivory. Better this than to be used like a toy by a southern noble, to be broken and then discarded. Better this than to be a slave, utterly lacking freedom of choice and will. Better this than to be caged, collared and held back, to live in constant humiliation and fear.
There is a certain fierce pride I take in surviving until the sky takes on its evening purple hue, and living to see the red glory of Suk-Krath blaze above the horizon each morning. There is no better place than the desert to find that place within yourself that shows you just how strong you can be; and also how worthless and small you are compared to its stark, indifferent beauty. It moves my feet forward step by step, and it keeps me struggling to conquer this land that always wins in the end, to control these powers of mine that cannot ever be completely tamed.
Yet when the storms rage for days outside my crude shelter, the supply of precious water in my skin dwindles to a last tiny sip, and my belly grumbles in weak protest at its meager rations of food, I often begin to wonder at the choice I made.
When you live like I do, you get used to many things. The intense heat, the burning sun, the stinging sand that manages to get everywhere, no matter how well you cover yourself. The lonely hiss of the wind, never ceasing in its patient efforts to reshape the dunes, to scour the bones of those...
Continue Reading...Almost True Story of Eems, The Raider, The by Barzelene
Added on Feb 2, 2005A girl tells the story of a famous raider to the crew she has fallen in with.
They gathered around the fire. Outside the cave, the wind blew and tumbled. Inside, the smell of roasted scrab permeated everything. The two wind-tattered time worn men huddled around the roasting meat and with them a little girl. They were all thin, and they all drooled as the meat cooked.
All three looked up when the thick one walked in. Since they wouldn't tell her their names, she thought of them as the tall one, the skinny one, and the thick one. Mekuria stood and walked toward him. "Here he is!" Then to the thick one, "You got away."
The thick one said, "I 'ad ta deal wit all of 'em, got lucky an lost 'em all but one." The thick one had distracted the gith as the rest of the group escaped back to their cave, or home as Mek liked to think of it.
Mek said, in her squeaky little voice, "I was so scared I thought I'd pee on myself."
The thick one looked for a long moment at the tall one, who understood in the way that men who work together for a long time understand without words. The thick one told Mek, "Ya wanted life in tha wastes...ya got it."
The thick one settled in close to the fire's heat, and pushed back the hood of his dusty brown aba.
The thin one turned the slab of meat, exposing a perfectly browned underside. Mek sat forward and watched the cooking meat, with sleepy eyes. "Being a raider is tiring."
Peering up from the meat, the thin one said, "How old are ya, eh?"
"I'm twelve. How old are you?"
As he fiddled with the spit the thin one said, "'Round forty somewhere."
Mek nodded and said, "That's old."
The three men had another silent exchange then one asked "Where is yer parents?"
With an insouciant grin, Mek said, "Home saying, 'Where is that girl?'"
Laughing, the scarred, thick one said, "You ran away from home?"
"They want me to 'do something with my life.' And this wasn't what they had in mind."
For a moment, the only sound was the sizzling of the meat and the abrasion of sand on stone. Finally, one of the men opined, "You should go home...yer lucky to 'ave a mother an father."
"This aint an easy life."
"Go home and say what? 'Yes I'll go be a merchant and learn to sew and sit in a shop till I'm dead?'"
The thick one said, "Yer missen out on a lot if you stay with us."
Mek said, "I hope so."
Holding out a bit of perfectly roasted scrab, the thin one said, "Eat this."
Around a mouthful Mek said, "You'll be glad you let me stay. I've always wanted to be a raider."
"Aint an easy life...aint like sayen "I a'ways wanted ta be a noble"."
Mek said, "I wanted to be a raider ever since I heard of Eems. Since I was little."
The tall one said in his creaky voice, "You're still little."
Waving his comment away, she said, "Of course, we're going to need veils, but we're on the right track."
The thick one chuckled and took another bite of his meat. "Been doen a'right without 'em fer 'bout twenty years."
Mek shook her head adamantly, "No, to do it correctly, you have to wear a veil."
Breaking into a grin that showed broken teeth, the tall one said, "Oh, really?"
"Oh yes. Like the story."
"What story is this, little one?"
Rolling her eyes as she lost patience, Mek said, "Eems the Raider. You have to know it. I can't remember it all, so I have to make some of it up. You tell me if it sounds right." Then Mekuria began to speak, at first with her mouth full of scrab, and later as the fire burned low, with lips that held just a residue of grease.
"A long long time ago, in a city in the south lived a man named Eems. Eems worked as a guard for a rich and powerful woman. They spent most of their time together; he escorted her everywhere."
Thin said "No, no, 'worked as a guard'....was head guard for something better than just worked."
Mek nodded and said, "Was personal guard for?"
Thick said, "Tha works."
"Eventually he became her confidant and later her lover." Mek's voice skipped a little on the word lover, and she had to cover her mouth to stop an impending giggle. The men waited politely for the girl to continue the story.
"At first, everything was fine, but as he became more devoted to her, she became more careless with his affections."
Tall interrupted, "Average woman."
Mek glided over the interjection, though she gave Tall a meaningful look. "Broken hearted, Eems decided to resign his post. Now, while this woman (And personally I think she was probably a Fale) did not return Eems' love, she did not intend to let him go. They argued bitterly and eventually she had him beaten."
Thick said, his tone bawdy, "I wonder if she's still available."
Raising her voice, Mek went on. "Determined that Eems never work for anyone else she had his cheeks branded with her house sigil."
Thick muttered, "My kinda girl."
Even louder, Mek repeated, "Determined that Eems never work for anyone else she had his cheeks branded with her house sigil."
The three men tossed smiles across the fire, but kept silent as Mek took up her tale once more.
"Eems' passion had shifted from affection to loathing, and he stole from the estate one night with a bag full of valuables, his armor and a slave named Gaidon."
Thick, unable to resist, asked, "How'd 'e get the slave in a bag?"
The tall one could no longer hold back the laughter. "I love how "a slave" is on the list of stuff he took with him like a slave is a bag of tubers."
And the thin one contributed, "P'raps 'e was a talented packer."
Sniffing indignantly, Mek lay down and worked at fixing her cloak so it covered her totally. She rolled the hood into a small pillow and prepared to flounce into sleep. From the fire came a question. "What was the slave's name?"
"I'm not telling you."
A deep voice rumbled, "Gaidon."
Mek sat up and crossed her legs under her. She nodded and said, though a bit petulantly, "Yes, Gaidon. Now pay attention. Eems and Gaidon left the city to live in the wastes and for a time everything went well. But eventually they ran out of sid. Eems sunk into despair and Gaidon was left to deal with the practicalities of how they were going to make it on their own with no sid to speak of. One day while Gaidon was out hunting scrab, he came across a soldier, sleeping in the sands. Now, Gaidon, had no affection for the city's soldiers so he tied the soldier up and walked away with everything he owned."
Thick nodded and said, "I like it so far."
"Where was I?"
"Tied 'im up."
"Yes. Well, Gaidon returned to Eems with sid, supplies, and a new lightness in his heart. Turned out robbing that soldier was the most fun he'd ever had. Gaidon figured this was just the thing to draw Eems out of his funk."
"We're sunk inta despair, let's go kill and loot!"
"Shh, let da girl speak."
"Eems had reservations about turning to a life of crime. For one thing, it seemed rude, and for another with his branded face he was easily recognized. Gaidon convinced him to tie his veil over his face and try it just once."
"Again with the veils."
"Mek just spoke louder and went on with her story. They waited on the road until a traveler came by. They hailed the man but when he stopped, Eems found himself unable to knock him down and take his belongings. Instead, he engaged him in conversation."
One of the men laughed. "Conversation."
"No, I like it."
"They talked about the weather, and the political climate. Eems asked the traveler where he was headed. Gaidon asked if he wouldn't like to give them a few sid. When the man refused Eems lopped off his head, and they took his kank and his belongings."
Tall said, "Just like that? Maybe the man should be belligerent. Ya went from 'Eems found himself unable to knock him down and take his belongings' to 'When the man refused, Eems lopped off his head.' How'd that happen?"
Thin said, "'E needs to make a comment on 'is past lover."
"Yeah."
Mek nodded, and then went on. "Ok, so he becomes this big raider politely engaging people in conversation and killing them when they're rude. He only ever took half their stuff if they were nice. He meets a beautiful woman and convinces her to live in the wastes with Gaidon and himself. The people they like the best they ask to join them in the wastes. One day the stumble upon his old employer, and even though she's rude they do not kill her. They leave her naked and sidless in the road as they ride off into the horizon."
"What do you think?"
Tall said, "Leave a naked woman?"
Thin said, "Are they crazy?"
Giving up on the men, Mekuria settled back into her cloak. She soon fell into a deep and still sleep. She woke to a small insect walking across her cheek. She sat up and brushed off her face. The rays of the sun crept into the stone home, illuminating the men. All three had covered their faces with bits of torn cloth arranged to look like veils.
They gathered around the fire. Outside the cave, the wind blew and tumbled. Inside, the smell of roasted scrab permeated everything. The two wind-tattered time worn men huddled around the roasting meat and with them a little girl. They were all thin, and they all drooled as the meat cooked.
...
Continue Reading...Tool He Crafted, The by Priestess
Added on Feb 2, 2005A noble faces that which he created.
Tongue thick in his throat and eyes bulging, he crawls across the floor towards the pool of silken skirts around my ankles. Rich black silk, a gift he had given me on one of his earlier visits, woven with just the hint of red in the fabric which granted them the appearance of dark wet blood. .A fitting gift for you., he had said at the time, my back streaked with blood from his lash and his breath ragged from his pleasure. I lean back in the delicately carved chair, dragging up the heavy silk of my skirts as he claws at the carpet. He tries to scream, his swollen tongue muting the sound into a low desperate moan as he begs me for help, for life.
Raising my voice slightly, knowing his guards stand in the hallway outside my door waiting and listening for the sounds of my pain and his pleasure, I smile at him as I let out a long ragged scream. Long accustomed to making these sounds for him, my perfectly practiced cry echoes across the dimly lit chamber. The walls are padded with faded silks; old whores trying to conceal the ravages of time behind the obscuring veil of darkness. They drink the cries and screams of patron and whore alike, these walls, with a hunger born of centuries of dark nourishment. I see his eyes widen, blood filling them now, and I know his time is short. The poison is everything the guild had promised. Awareness of his own impending death is there for me to read, shimmering in obsidian dark eyes, as I watch him, silent except for the expected cries of pain that bring no undue attention in this dark establishment.
His hands spasm now, fingers curling and releasing in the final moments of his life and I know the time for my revenge will never be more perfect. I lean forward, pitching my voice just loud enough for him to hear it. Purring the words, I let him hear the pleasure it has brought me to see him before me like this, positions reversed in the ultimate reflection of our ongoing relationship.
"I suppose you are wondering: why? You have so many enemies, My Lord, most so trivial that you have dismissed them. Even poor men have memories and obsidian though, and your enemies have joined together in this cause. Enough obsidian to buy my freedom from this place, to buy my passage from this cesspit of a city. This is for Eola, whose wife you raped and had silenced. For Dargan, whose daughter happened to cross your path in the marketplace shortly before you took her as another of your 'toys'. You always were too hard on your toys, dear Lord Oash. This is for Bertrand, for Arkon, for Zas, for Fraen, and for so many more. Alas, I think you will have stopped breathing before I could name them all."
I slip from my chair, skirts pooling around me like drying blood, lifting his head to cradle it in my lap as I look down into his rapidly fading eyes. I can see Drov entering him, and I watch, mesmerized, fingers brushing through the wispy locks of his sandy colored hair, holding him close in his final fleeting moments.
"I really did care for you, in my own way, my Lord. Our games pleased me as much as they did you. You made me what I am, found me in the alleys and crafted me into your perfect vessel of pain. Still, a whore is a whore. Isn't that what you always told me? Whores are bought and someone topped your price, .I whisper softly in his last moment.
I can see when Drov takes him; smell the heavy acrid scent of blood and urine as his body spasms once more before relaxing with a soft gurgle. I sit on the floor, his head in my lap, for long moments just looking into the face of the man who made me. The man who broke me and reshaped me into his ideal and unknowingly forged the instrument of his own death in the process. I almost wish I had thanked him, but I doubt he would have been appreciative. I can hear the guards outside, talking quietly to each other. They won't grow concerned for hours yet as our games have always been long and elaborate. I slip the silver signet ring from his finger, palm the pouch of coins he always keeps in his belt and gently lower him to the floor.
I slip the coins into a pocket in my belt, adding the ring to the stash sewn into the secret lining in the bottom of my sturdy knapsack, and pick up a thick, black sandcloth cloak that lays waiting in the closet. Pausing as I gather my meager belongings, I look around the room a last time. My eyes linger as they pause on my benefactor and I think, in a way, I will miss him. The pain he brought me so regularly is a familiar companion if nothing else, but the deed is done now, my fate is sealed. To remain is to face certain death, and having watched Drov's embrace once this night, I find I am not as uncaring about when it finds me as I once was. A unit of T'zai Byn mercenaries will be awaiting me at Merchant's gate, and a new life lies ready for me outside the window. As the first faint rays of Suk-krath appear over the tenement walls, washing away the dark shadows of night that drape themselves with oppressing affection on the alleys, I slip out the window and down to the ground below.
Tongue thick in his throat and eyes bulging, he crawls across the floor towards the pool of silken skirts around my ankles. Rich black silk, a gift he had given me on one of his earlier visits, woven with just the hint of red in the fabric which granted them the appearance of dark wet blood. .A...
Continue Reading...Scaien Wall, The by Gorbei
Added on Feb 2, 2005A Byn Runner's experience at the battle of Luir's during the rebellion.
Part 1Another day, doing chores for my trooper masters. I'm standing in the mess hall, sweating by the stoves, making another big batch of stew. I look around the filthy stone room. I'll probably have to clean it later. I go back to stirring the pot with a big wooden spoon absently and I lose myself in thought about my upcoming graduation for a short time. I look to the left, out the big mess hall doors to where the sergeant and troopers from my unit are gathered for the contract today. I turn back to the stew and watch it bubble as I stir it slowly, waiting for the horn to blow. I feel a tap on my shoulder a few moments later and turn to see a stocky bald man. He's one of the troopers. "'ey, sergeant Kaleb say we need one more."
I immediately toss the spoon to the head cook Cailin, rip off my apron and jog out of the mess hall, chuckles from Cailin and the trooper following me.
My unit and I leave the compound as soon as I am ready, and sergeant Kaleb, a grizzled, gray skinned dwarf, briefs me on the mission. "Tha templarate's hired us ta go ta the Northlands fer a couple o' months," he tells me as he grimaces, "Seems hey got a little rebel infestation they want us ta look at. Ya can ride, right?"
No, not really. "Yea, of course," I reply with confidence. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
When we get to the stables we see sergeant Steiner there with his runners and a couple of his troopers. "Hello, Kaleb. Heard about your contract and I thought I'd take my runners along for some desert training, you mind?" says Steiner, with a grin that folds the long scar on his cheek.
Kaleb looks for the bunch of nervous runners with a wry twist of his mouth. "Faugh, if ya gotta, but we en't waitin. fer 'em." Kaleb shakes his head with a mutter.
Both Steiner and Kaleb pull out a handful of stable tickets, and most of the troopers produce their own. As the stable hands rush to locate everyone's kanks, Kaleb approaches me and shoves the reins of a large, twitchy, yellow kank into my hands. "Hope ya can keep up, runner," he states, before turning to distribute kanks to his troopers that don't own their own.
I nervously look the kank in the eye, glance around at the others in the stables, mount the beast, and quietly try to get it to move, with no success. Fuck.
When we leave, Kaleb immediately notices my troubles and covers his face with a hand and mutters angrily. "Ya said ya could ride!" he angrily exclaims to me. He points to two troopers, Bjarne, a large, brown skinned man, and Racoi, a tall, cocky elf, and orders, "You an' you, ride in the back wit' him, keep him outta trouble."
We leave the gates shortly and I ease my half-spear off of my back as I struggle to make my mount keep up. The two troopers assigned to me ride easily at my sides, watching the bland desert scenery in boredom. Later, we see the group stop and wait for us, far ahead, for the third time. The troopers glance sidelong at me from their kanks, and I sigh and kick mine, trying futilely to speed it up. Suddenly, a dark red blur dashes over a dune and slams into the side of my kank. My mount rears up, screaming, and drops me on my head as my guardians leap from their kanks, yelling battle cries. The scrab scuttles over to me and I woozily try to keep its pinchers away from my body and neck with my short spear in one hand as I fumble at my belt, trying to free my long dagger, with my other. Bjarne charges the vicious animal and bashes it away from me with his large hammer. Racoi is close behind, his swords already drawn and slashing. I scramble to my feet and circle the creature. The scrab squirms as I slide my weapon into its body, under its shell. Racoi takes this opportunity to jab his obsidian sword into the scrab's neck. Bjarne uses the pause to slam the scrab on the top of its head, hard. Racoi's sword snaps at the hilt as the scrab falls, shuddering, lifeless to the ground. Racoi sends me a withering glance and discards his stone hilt. I rub my stinging hand. Then, our comrades finally arrive. Steiner moves to the fallen scrab and gives his recruits a quick lesson about skinning one, and where to hurt it best. Kaleb approaches me and asks, "Ye all right, lad?" with more concern than I would have expected from him.
"Yea, I think so," I reply, before looking down at myself. I see that the attacker managed to rip a respectable chunk of flesh from my hand while it was on top of me. I suppress a moan before it can escape.
A portly, pock marked trooper named Raul steps up from the sergeant's side and takes my hand to inspect the bleeding wound. "Bah, 's not so bad," says Raul with a grim grin as he wraps my hand with a thin white bandage. He then gives me a pair of armored gloves to protect my hand and keep the bandage in place. I smile shakily and thank him before we all mount up and start moving again.
We are almost to Luir's Outpost, and I'm looking forward to the rest. I just sit and watch my kank's head bob, occasionally flexing my hand. I look up and scan the barren desert road for a moment before returning my eyes to my mount's head. Wait, something's missing. I look up again and think for a moment before sitting upright and searching the horizon. The main group is out of sight. I shout to the bored troopers at my sides that we have to hurry up and start kicking my kank in desperation. Racoi grins over to Bjarne and nicks my kank with his sword, causing it to run at speeds faster than any I had ever traveled at in my life. I clutch the reins tightly, and my face must have portrayed something comical to the troopers, because they laugh heartily as he ride easily beside me. "Careful, runner!" Bjarne calls to me.
Abruptly, the road turns sharply at the edge of a gorge. The kanks scramble frantically on the gravel at the lip, but their momentum carries them inevitably forward into the chasm. My mind gets blurry snapshots of Bjarne's tightly shut eyes and Racoi's wide, fearful mouth. The irony strikes me only slightly before the ground does.
I lay on the rocks, my vision swimming, only slightly aware of some movement near me. I blink slowly, my eyes rolling independently, and try to think of anything. I blink again, the sun jumps slightly in the red sky. I'm suddenly aware of some figures on kanks, shouting from the top of the gorge. I part my lips, I taste blood. I blink again, and he figures are gone. I look around myself and notice that I hurt. I see Racoi stumbling around and Bjarne lying on the ground near me. Three kanks, one large and twitchy, are scampering around, trying to crawl up the steep cliffs. There is a sand-scoured, broken down wagon some distance away. I slowly sit up and find the figures again, standing over a different part of the gorge that looks less sheer. One of the mounted men rides his kank slowly to the edge, pauses, and two of the other figures heave the kank and rider over the edge. As the flailing kank carries its rider down the steep scree slope, I chuckle, and taste blood again. I frown and look down at myself, seeing that the skin not covered by armor is a mass of small cuts and growing bruises. My face is probably not much better. I stiffly try to stand, then think better of it and prop myself up against a rock instead. Bjarne starts to stir. I turn back to watch the spectacle of the falling riders. As I see the second-to-last kank to come off the cliff, my mouth drops open. The kank catches itself on a dip in the terrain as it's pushed over the edge, causing it to flip over. The person and the mount tumble into the valley, smashing each other into the ground. At the bottom, the kank claws the air, trying to flip itself over and off the rider. The last figure quickly urges his kank down as I try my best to stand and limp over to the scene.
The figure that fell was sergeant Steiner, and now he's lying on the rocks, unconscious and badly injured. His troopers are already in the process of making a makeshift stretcher for him out of their brown Byn abas, and sergeant Kaleb, the last figure down the slope, is darting around at a surprisingly quick pace, trying to find good shelter. He pauses for a moment when he spots me, screams furiously, and then takes off once more.
Four troopers carry Steiner to the broken wagon on Kaleb's order, as two more herd a family of jozhal from the main room. Racoi, Bjarne and I follow them in. We make ourselves comfortable as one of our medics sees to our wounds, and watch Steiner being laid out carefully while the other medic scurries around him. Everyone but the wounded and the medics leave the cabin of the wagon to find a way out of the gorge. Kaleb gives me a seething glare as he stomps out. Our medic soon leaves to go help with Steiner and I lay back on my pack to recover and wait for the others.
I wake up. It's later, and I'm feeling slightly better now, so I decide to get up and see how the others are doing. I walk stiffly down the creaky ramp, out of the wagon, and see an odd performance by my colleagues. The kanks couldn't climb the cliff walls, so it seems that the strongest of the Bynners took on the task of dragging the kanks against their will by the reins through a small tunnel to he west. The bandaged form of Steiner is leaning on a crude crutch, speaking with Kaleb, and I overhear part of their conversation.
"I'm gonna fekkin' kill 'im!" growls Kaleb, his eyes burning.
"Get a hold of yourself Kaleb. No one died. No harm, no foul," Steiner states calmly. He flexes his sling-bound arm, lifting and turning it, to prove the triviality of his injuries. "He probably hurts more than I do."
"No one died, but they could've! An' we wasted mos'o the morn." Kaleb spits out, before noticing me.
"YOU!" screams Kaleb as he stomps hastily over to me, waving his weapon menacingly, followed slowly by sergeant Steiner. I stand paralyzed, trying to decide whether or not to flee for my life. Kaleb could defeat me with minimal effort if he decided to use his heavy stone axe.
"WHAT under Krath's fekkin' heat were ya THINKIN', runner?!" shrieks Kaleb, his diminutive form seeming to tower over my above average height.
Racoi and Bjarne arrive from the wagon as I reply, stammering, "I lost sight of the group, so we started to hurry, but lost control around the corner, sir."
I take a step back as the sergeant begins to sputter, his eyes angrily wide. Racoi steps in to save me. "It was my fault, sarge."
Kaleb lets out a yell of frustration, slamming his axe into the ground, before turning to storm to the tunnel. His expression causes most of the runners, and some of the troopers, to scatter out of the way.
Bjarne bends to pry the angry dwarf's axe from the ground, stating in his muddled northern accent, "Don' wurry too much, 'e won't 'arm ye, an' e'll cool off inna couple o' weeks." Racoi chuckles, nodding knowingly at Bjarne.
After the last of the kanks have been forced through the opening, I help Steiner hobble to it and we all duck though, crawling through the darkness to the other side. We emerge, blinking, then move to calm the jittery mounts. Sergeant Steiner's runners surround him and they begin the ride back to Allanak.
I watch them depart, and then turn to find Kaleb standing in front of me. "Steiner ain't 'round ta save ya now, runner," he growls.
I swallow and prepare to dash into the desert. Sergeant Kaleb takes his axe from Bjarne's hands and waves the hefty stone weapon in my face.
"If ya EVER endanger my troops again, I'll kill ya. Got it?" he rasps to me with his deep, gravelly voice.
I nod silently, trying not to vomit. Kaleb turns and goes back to the mounts. I shove my hair into place under my helm and quickly straighten my armor before following him. We all jump onto our kanks and set off along the cliffs beside us. The mounts can't go as quickly along the rocky surface as on the road, and I have less trouble keeping up.
After backtracking for an hour, we finally make it around the cliffs and back to the road. Kaleb stops in the shade and puts up a hand, telling everyone to give the mounts a rest. My kank is inexplicably spooked by something and scampers around the corner of the mesa that's granting our shade.
I hear a deep, gravelly shout of protest and urge my mount back to the group, just in time to see the sergeant furiously fling his axe over the road. He jabs a stubby finger at Raul. "Get that fer me, trooper."
Kaleb runs up to me, grabs me by the leg, and hauls me off my kank, slamming me into the ground on my back.
"I told ya never ta ride ahead again," Kaleb reminds me as he squats on my chest with a finger hard under my chin. "Ya got an eight count ta tell me what ta do with ya, 'cause if ta leave it ta me, yer a dead man."
I start to stammer and look to the troopers. Most are pretending to be engrossed with taking care of the mounts, some are just watching a short distance away. Raul returns with the dwarf's weapon. Kaleb's fifth finger drops. My eyes widen and I begin to panic. Between terrified breaths, my voice strained by the weight of the dwarf on my breastplate, I plead, "Make me walk the rest of the way to Luir's!"
Kaleb steps off of me and lifts me roughly to my feet by my breastplate. "You're runnin' the way ta Luir's, boy," he says to me. Then, turning, "'ey! Get up! We're leavin' fer the Outpost! Raul, lead the way."
The chubby trooper looks down at me with a hint of sympathy from his kank, and starts to ride slowly down the road. Everyone else follows as soon as they are ready.
Despite the slow pace, I still have to jog to keep up and quickly become tired in the intense desert heat. Whenever I lag behind, though, Kaleb whacks me with the flat of his axe from atop his mount. At one point, I stumble and fall. Kaleb pretends to accidentally drop a water skin, which I grab from the dust and drink from, greedily. A few minutes later, the sergeant reaches down and hauls me to my feet by the hood of my aba, then makes me run twice as fast to catch up to the others.
When we finally make it to Luir's Outpost, my face is blood red, my throat is raw from breathing heavily in the wind-blown sand, the inside of my armor is sopping wet, and the sun is low in the sky. The sergeant says to Raul, "Give 'im some water, make sure he don't die."
A few troopers go to stable the kanks, one walks down the street to secure rooms at the inn, the sergeant leaves to search for a contact, and Raul approaches me, saying, "You ran good today, runner. There's a lot of troopers that wouldn't have made it as far as you."
Wheezing, I nod my gratitude to Raul as he helps me to the inn. After he assists me in bandaging my badly blistered feet, I sleep soundly until morning.
It's a clear morning, with only light sands blowing in the air, as we leave Luir's Outpost to the north. I am riding a large gray kank this time, who is much more docile than my last mount. I have a much easier time keeping up. Kaleb talks loudly as we ride, telling us the information on the contract that he learned last night.
"We'll be livin. in the Northlands fer at least a couple months," he calls to us, "guardin' the gates from rebels, an' routine patrol. Should be easy 'sid, if ya don't get homesick."
The journey continues without much incident. My mount follows the others on its own, so I get to watch the red desert setting slowly include more plant life and become greener. We arrive at our destination late in the afternoon.
Part 2We've been in the Northlands for over a month, helping the local soldiers with the rebels. Most of the time it has been pretty easy, standing guard at the gates, chatting with the locals, except for one night, when the rebels somehow slipped poison into my water skin. I got violently ill, and my muscles seized up. There wasn't any lasting damage, but the troopers all had a good laugh. Another duty of ours was a routine patrol outside of the walls. At first, I wasn't allowed on most of these, because sergeant Kaleb still didn't trust me on a kank. A few weeks after our journey up here, though, the rebels managed to ambush and kill him while he was on patrol with Bjarne and Racoi, as they reported afterwards. Raul received a message from out lieutenant that he was to be promoted to our new sergeant, which Racoi and Bjarne seemed a bit bitter about. Raul let me go on patrol more often, which I enjoyed because patrolling is slightly less boring than guarding the gates and it gave me the chance to leave the flat stone roads and half-constructed buildings of the city to see the lush countryside.
I stop reminiscing about my time here and snap back to the present. I stand in a row with the rest of my T'zai Byn unit, a step behind my sergeant. An aged templar is giving us a speech, which I just missed most of. I look around myself. To my left is another unit of Byn fighters who have just arrived, with a recovered sergeant Steiner at the head. To my right are ranks and ranks of Allanaki militia; heavily armored half-giants and some of the most battle-hardened men I've ever seen (aside from my colleagues and I, of course). I smile and wonder why they even bothered to hire us. I turn my head back to Lord Templar Sathis, who is now moving toward us, and my stomach rumbles. The small pile of obsidian coins I brought with me recently ran out and I haven't eaten in at least a day and a half.
"These mercenaries," Lord Sathis calls to the gathered crowd of Allanaki soldiers, with a wave of his arm, "have been hired to aid us in the fight against the rebel force." He turns toward us. "Until victory, you are no longer mercenaries, but are soldiers of Allanak. I expect that to be your attitude," he tells us, with a severe glint in his eyes that may or may not be magick.
As the old templar shuffles away and begins a new string of speech about national safety, I shake my head and let out a small chuckle. Raul turns slightly toward me and silences me with a harsh glare. I sigh quietly and my eyes start to wander again. They fall to my plain, stiff leather sleeves and I start thinking of the stripe that's waiting for me back home. Suddenly, everyone is moving again. I blink in surprise, and then run to where my unit is already getting ready to leave. I ask Raul what's going on, exactly. Raul responds with a snorting chuckle, "Weren't you listening, runner? The rebels are coming, with an army. We're stationed at the vineyard."
I frown and nod. We soon start the hike south.
We arrive at the gates in the early afternoon where a small section of the militia is waiting for us. The two sergeants go to discuss our strategy while the rest of us sit on a ridge just outside of the gates, and prepare to wait.
We've been here for several hours; it's now the middle of the night. I'm looking into the sky, watching the two moons ride silently past, and I realize something. "You know," I state to no one in particular, "I'm twenty-two years old, right now."
"Happy birthday," says Raul, tearing the paper-wrapped honey-cake he is eating in two, then tosses me half. I smile and devour the morsel.
I watch a shaggy half-giant trooper play with a set of small wooden soldiers.
Drums. My eyes flick open and frantically scan the dawn-dyed horizon. Many, many loud drums, in the distance. I scramble and scoop up my obsidian headed halfspear and long bone dagger. I stand and watch the sky nervously, my eyelid twitching with each slow, collective beat.
Some of the veterans around me have frightening expressions of twisted calm, which is almost comforting to see. Sergeant Raul is wearing a deadly grimace. I can't find Steiner's face in the group, and the enemy appearing on the horizon ends my search.
At first, it's just a thin black line, barely visible over the immense, dusty yellow plain. Gradually I can begin to discern individual shapes in their ranks. Tribes and tribes of savage plains-men run shrieking at us. Some are riding huge beasts of war, some are beating massive hide drums in time.
Much more terrifying is the front line. Hardly recognizable figures of all shapes and sizes. Mutants. War mutants. My mind shudders as I attempt to interpret them. There is one, the biggest one, I think: huge, muscular and gangly, it's literally bristling with barbed spikes. Lumps of muscle pulse under its grainy gray skin. At its feet, I notice another: almost hidden in the cloud of dust being raised, I spot this small energetic beast. It looks like some pathetic botch of necromancy, all arms and legs. Tumbling and hopping, it is barely keeping in front, and is lacerating itself with its oversized, hooked claws and teeth in the process.
I blink, quickly shake my head and sweep the line, trying to take it all in before they reach us. I get only a general impression, of sharp fangs, violent features and inhuman noise. It seems that some of the creatures were made with unholy racket solely in mind, spinning and shrieking with endless zeal.
I clench my weapons and teeth tightly. I put a growl in each breath, trying to raise courage. Then, everyone's together. I can't hear; blood is pounding in my ears as I jab at my opponents. I notice Steiner's arrival from inside a large bush, nearly decapitating a reptilian humanoid with the first strike of his glittering obsidian daggers.
I slowly become almost detached from the battle as I mechanically move from opponent to enemy to opponent, helping my friends and allies with well-placed attacks. Duck, step, strike, step, strike. I observe the violence and conclude that sparring was never like this. Step, step, strike, duck, strike. Next, a painted, muscular woman. Step, strike. Rivulets of blood run down her colourful chest as she drops to his knees. I spin around, my eyes painfully wide. My nose begins to bleed softly of its own accord. Duck, walk, step, strike, step, strike, parry, parry, dodge, parry. A spear-like arm rips past my head, under my helmet and splits my ear in two. The mutant retracts its arm and I am shoved harshly back into my body. I shiver and let out a cry when I realize that a tribal and two mutants are trying to kill me. There are no allies in sight. I frantically parry their attacks as best I can, each one getting closer than the last. Blood is starting to leak from the bottom edge of my helm. My arms already burn from berserk exertion. The spear-armed thing jabs me in the shoulder, lightly. My aba is abruptly soaked with blood, and the weight of the mutant brings me to my knees as it flings itself at me. I only fully realize that most of the blood isn't mine when Sergeant Steiner intercepts the other mutant, a small, clawed, bird-like thing. I disentangle myself and turn to the savage, then give a fast sigh of relief. Steiner calls out intensely, "Keep with the group, runner!"
The man sneers at me and sends a boot into my breastplate. He takes flight as I stumble. With a smirk, I assist Steiner and we dispatch the remaining creature quickly. Back to back, we scamper to return to the others.
I can't tell how much longer the skirmish lasts for, my mercenary comrades and I guarding the gates in a knot. The battle ends even more suddenly than it began, the enemy in abrupt retreat. There is a collective sigh, which releases the tension. It's late morning, and light sand is whipping though the air.
With Raul standing beside him, Steiner calls out, "Take what you want from the bodies, but be quick about it! They may come back."
My hunger grips me again, I had forgotten about it during the fighting. I wander over the battlefield for a few minutes before seeing a bag strapped to the back of a scruffy feather-clad tribesman. I pluck it from his stiff body and find a bundle of vegetables and nuts. I wander slowly back to the group, snagging various treasures and chewing a handful of seeds contentedly. I finish those and reach into the bag for a thick, green tuber. I take the first bite, but before I can swallow I cough the plant particles in front of me in a spray. I rip off my bone breastplate and fall to my knees, clutching the left side of my chest. My blood is on fire!
The two sergeants hear my moans and come running over. Steiner kneels in front of me and quickly assesses me with his hands and eyes. He then snaps a hand into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a red, thumb-sized tablet. He pushes the tablet past my chattering teeth and clamps a hand over my drool-smiled mouth. The tablet tastes terrible, and I would have spit it out if not for Steiner's hand, and his rough growl: "Swallow!. I swallow, and I can track the tablet as it abrasively makes its way o my stomach. Steiner releases me and lays me on my back. My head rolls to the side and I watch scavengers pick over some corpses as I wait for my blood to cool.
I let out a shuddering sigh, and begin to feel light-headed. "You may feel light-headed for a while, but you'll be fine, runner," states sergeant Steiner as he stands to he feet.
"Didn't your momma tell you if you don't know what it is don't put it in your mouth?" chuckles Raul as he helps me up. I nod absently in response.
"He did it again, boys!" cackles a nearby, bushy-bearded trooper.
My head feels like it did in the gorge. I seem to have my balance, though, and Raul leaves me to go greet Racoi and one of his elven friends, who each seem very agitated. After a brief chat, filled with rapid hand gestures directed at the city, Raul turns and bellows, "Everyone back inside! They've broken the gates!"
I closely follow everyone into the walls and watch dumbly as two half-giants barricade the partially constructed gateway, as I try to shake the clouds from my brain.
I turn back to my group and a messenger is explaining the situation in more detail. Apparently, the rebels have access to a small group of magickers, who blew down the western gate with ease. The attacking army pushed through, and the war is now inside the walls o the Northlands. Our unit is suddenly smaller by quite a few men. Raul picks up the dropped weapons and loudly curses the deserters, who are scrambling through the gate, over the makeshift barricade. I stand my ground, because I know that if it gets too dangerous, our sergeants will tell us to get out of here. Besides, my mind is still too befuddled to grasp the full concept of magick.
We then see a lightly armored unit march around the corner, far down the road. They see us at the same time, and quickly form a line facing us, drawing arrows into the bows they are carrying. These are the first true rebels that we've seen, and they are all wearing shabby red and white veils. As everyone around me dives for cover or ducks behind their shields, a huge man at the end of the line shouts soundlessly and waves a signal with his sword. A volley of arrows is launched. I squeak in fear and throw my hands up to guard my face just in time.
An arrow pierces my hand and nicks my left eyebrow. Three more heavy missiles slam through my breastplate, into my abdomen. I wobble, peering at my transfixed hand, during the brief respite as the second volley screams at us. Two final arrows slide into my right leg, one in the thigh and one in the ankle, and bring me crashing to the ground face first.
I sneeze through my nose. Sticky blood is now covering my chin. A boot lands heavily beside my head. I rest my face on my arm and begin to stare listlessly, trying to look dead.
Almost immediately, though, strong hands grab me under the arms and start dragging me on my back. I shift my eyes slightly to view my captor. It's the shaggy half-giant trooper, and he drops my in an alley, away from the fighting, near sergeant Raul. Raul wordlessly drops to his knees, shaking his head as he pulls the arrows through my hand, thigh and ankle. He leaves the ones through my breastplate alone. I let my head roll while he works, to look across the street. I notice a small girl watching me from a window. She smiles just before a terrified parent hastily pulls her away.
Raul lifts me to my feet by my shoulders. "Can ya walk, runner?" He lets me go.
I stumble into Raul and hug his thick, armored arm until my feet manage to scramble under me.
I lift myself up and nod, and the sergeant tells me, "Get somewhere safe. You're in no shape for fighting," before striding out of the alley into the fray.
I stumble, limping, out of the alley in the other direction, onto another side street, away from the skirmish.
An hour later, I'm still trudging on one leg through the alleys and wide fields of the city, struggling against the pain.
I've been trying to stick to the shadows, avoiding main roads and anyone I see. I'm moving steadily north, towards a tavern I know of. I think, "I'll be safe in the Sanctuary," through the haze.
The arrows in my stomach aren't deep, but soon after I left my unit, I snapped each of them off and carefully removed my breastplate anyway. I've been carrying it with me since then, and now it slips from my fingers and clatters to the ground. I can't go on. I slip to the street beside my bone armor.
After a short time of wallowing in self-pity, I notice a bald-shaven half-giant wearing trim linen clothing and a large leather pack round the corner to the south. I wait until he reaches me before croaking, "Help me," past blood encrusted lips.
The half-giant leans over, peers at me for a moment, shrugs his massive shoulders and grabs me by the hood of my aba. As he drags me over the bumpy hard-pack, he says, "I got a friend," and I manage to pass out.
I awake, having to forcibly open my crusty eyes. I'm alone, behind the bar of the tavern that I was heading for. A sharp burn in my midsection prevents me from sitting up, so I look over my bare chest. There are three enflamed incisions in my abdomen that are covered in sticky, white salve, and three bloody and broken arrows lie discarded beside me. I think of the giant.s friend and silently thank him or her. Thoughts of others vanish from my mind as I roll onto my side, slide a bottle of kalan wine and a full ginka pie out from under the bar, and have a long awaited meal.
Once I'm satiated, I stand gingerly and find that I'm feeling much better. I straighten my filthy, torn aba around myself, and notice with a frown that several pieces of my armor are gone. I step into the room, where I see a few citizens taking shelter under tables. Finally, I realize that the sounds I had been hearing are the noises of distant battle.
I poke my head out of the exit and my brows knit together at the sight. A few cords to the left of the door kneels Lord Templar Sathis of the Red, his carcass propped up by a javelin embedded in his spine. The wide road is littered with corpses of many different origins: from tribals to Allanaki soldiers, from scavengers to nobility. He air is gray with smoke from various burning buildings, and far down the road, I can see the smouldering ruins of the powerful gate. Near the gate flies the red and white banner of the rebellion, in place of the jade cross of Allanak. The only live allies I can see are fleeing a group of rebels in a small knot. I'm not safe here, I realize.
I leave the tavern and begin to search the city for my unit, traveling in the same manner as I had before, keeping to the lesser-used streets.
After an hour or two of gnawing fear, I come across a semi-constructed tower of stone by the city wall. Outside of the tower lies a bloody brown rag, similar to the one around my own body.
I shudder as I step into the shadowed carnage within the skeletal building. Everywhere, bodies are slumped. Blood covers the unfinished walls and my friends. mangled remains lie silent in the red moonlight the peeks through the naked rafters. I whimper and let my stained aba fall to the ground. Several enemy corpses also rest with us, and I shakily procure a relatively clean, light brown dustcloak from one as a replacement. Without looking back, I slip from the tomb. As I walk south with my dustcloak held tightly shut, the only living people I see are wearing red and white. Some glance at me, but none look twice. When I finally reach the unfinished south gate, I give a shuddering sigh and begin the long hike back to Allanak. I wonder fleetingly if I'll still be paid for the mission.
Part 1
Another day, doing chores for my trooper masters. I'm standing in the mess hall, sweating by the stoves, making another big batch of stew. I look around the filthy stone room. I'll probably have to clean it later. I go back to stirring the pot with a big wooden spoon absently and I...
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