Secrets in the Sands [Medieval Fantasy IC]

[RyuChi]

Chi stood at the sight of the banner, she knew the golden flag was for the recruits and she yanked her bag onto her back. She put her head down and walked toward it, halfway there she stumbled into a rather unhappily looking man, she stepped back but he carried on with only a "careful boy!" to set her straight. She had noticed that people did not react as badly to mistakes out of the inn then they did when she was in the inn. Maybe it was the influence of the drinks she served, she did not know but it was a welcome fact and she carefully navigated her way through the crowd to the flag. When she arrived she noticed the man who had been with the Ithuri stood waiting for all the recruits and she slowly approached, "this is for the recruits right?" she asked timidly. She couldn't remember his name but she knew she would probably hear someone say it soon.

[Aisling]

Ixonia had overheard that soon the passage would be closed for a couple days. She was debating about getting ready even though she was quite tired. She finally decided to go to the source, Bruno or more preferable to Thomahal. She walked along the caravans that were sitting there, she found one that did seem to be a higher class kind of a wagon. She pounded not knocked for she wanted to be heard by more than just the man inside. And for sure she was not going to go inside.

"Excuse me! This is Ixonia and I would like a definitive answer as to when we will be traveling through the Sand pass. Whether it will be here very soon or in a couple days when it opens. If you have decided to go through this passing then I need to get my steeds hooked up so that I will be able to go."

Ixonia stood there waiting at the door of the caravan.......

[Cadvin]

Caldrin set down the second and last bag. He would unpack on the road (So to speak- a man that could build a road in sand would be an impressive man indeed), where there was little else to do. But at the moment there was plenty of things to do and people to speak to, so it was not time to dawdle in a wagon. He made to the exit and then stopped- he had almost forgotten something. Caldrin went back to his bag and pulled out a small green book, undecorated except for the beltlike strap that held it closed. It was his notebook, his textbook of life, his modus operandi written down. A very important and irreplaceable document, holding all the tips and tricks taught to him by his father, and many others that he had learned himself. The first page was, perhaps, the most important. A simple list of three steps, titled "How to Tame a Lion". Step one: Feed the lion. If he hadn't done that already, he hoped to do it very soon.

Caldrin stuffed the book in a pocket and stepped outside. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat and a canvas coat, both fairly well suited for moderate amounts of sand and sun. Ah, and there he was, talking to the bar bo- err, girl. Even knowing, it was a reflexive acknowledgement of her disguise, and one that Caldrin didn't like. He liked to know people underneath their disguises, underneath even their own skin.
"Hello there, Bruno!" He called, waving. "Bags packed and ready to go, so you needn't worry about me any longer." He turned from him and to the girl- time to strip away a few layers of costume. "And I don't believe I've yet caught your name, Mister..?" He looked straight into her eyes with an intense gaze. Would she coolly correct him? Would her eyes avoid his as she blushed and stammered out something incoherent? Would she meet his stare and lie with practice? It was a forced situation that could tell you a lot about a person- of course, unless they were deliberately trying to obfuscate it. But he doubted that someone still tied to an abusive father would be much like himself.

[RyuChi]

Chi hadn't even received an answer when someone else interrupted her, he was an Ezrastani Ashareen by the looks of him. Chi frowned upon his approach, someone as well looked after has him should at least have manners. She let her thoughts go, she had learnt not to hold grudges or it would just get in the way of your judgement.

She bowed her head in greeting and gave a very small smile, he had said Mister so she replied, "Minami" it was her surname and by that being her reply she did not lie. She was always as honest as possible though she often replied honestly by bending the truth or not telling the whole of it. Her eyes were lowered from eye contact, respect was something she learnt early in life.

"And yourself?" she asked, not rudely but it was only fair to ask his name in return, if he gave it then he was likely not a bad person, if her did not the she would probably have problems with him further on as it seemed her was also to join the journey. She wondered how he had found his way here, she wondered what he did for a living and what his habits were. She always wondered, never answered. She herself had made a habit of in her spare time, sitting by the bar and making up the live of those who sat at the tables, who they were and what journeys they had been on.

[Rulaan]

Bruno was tired as the two recruits made their way to his banner, his eyes bored and exhausted. A dusty wind made its way across the Sand Gate’s immense shadow, causing the diamonds beads to take flight and return with a low clink. The air was growing cooler as the sun made its descent, beyond the sandstone plateaus and the wooden city along the cliffs. The boy from the Sapphire Dragon rallied to him first, saying something that went through one ear and came out the other. The young nobleman came after him, some lad from Ezrashe. He said something as well, which barely scratched the surface. The taeve named Riddick was resting and ready and the southron smith had turned up as well. Atvor, he recalled. Both were quite useful. He was yet to discern the rest of the party.

A young blonde woman in airy blue stood at the door of Abagail’s wheelhouse. Ixonia, if the ithuri told it right. Ordinarily, he would watch her for amusement, observing as her patience weaned. To Bruno Portell, women were just as good as his ithuri employer when they were mad. Cheeks flushed, eyes afire, breasts lightly bouncing as they screamed and shouted. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Yet time was short, and the sky above was a myriad of pink and gold and red, the colours of sunset. “Girl,” he beckoned to her, “we’ll be off in an hour or so, soon as the night falls.” He turned to the others who had rallied to the banner. A few were yet to turn up. The stormsinger girl, for one, the giant and the desert man with the freakish eye. “The ithuri be here soon, fret not. Best secure ye selves a seat some ‘er, else ye’ll be dragging your feet across the sand.”

---

Abagail Manoras despised the city. Angarak’s Fall was all wood and dust and darkness, with its close-quartered shanty towns and makeshift communities along the cliffs. It smelt of fiery spices and queer foods, mixed with shit, piss and sweat. It was cool in the cleft the city was built in, but it was so incredibly dark that Abagail did not dare venture by herself without her blade beside her. She wondered what went wrong with Angarak’s Fall, when all of the other cities in Ashara she had visited were so ornate and beautiful. Erossi watched over the green bay in the north and the blue ocean in the south, with a spectrum of arbours and vineyards dotted across the coastal plains. Marekhan was a city in the shape of a wheel, with eight granite roads elevated four feet above the earth that went to all kinds of places. Even Vultorro was wonderful, with its grim eyrie watching over the city that was carved in the likeness of a vulture ascending heavenward.

Even so, she endured. The swordmaiden made her way across the gate’s shadow. The locals called this place the Hitch. It was a large dusty oval, littered with hitching posts and ringed by wooden two-storey buildings. The Hitch was where people coming and going would stop for a drink, a meal and a whore. Many of the buildings were brothels, she examined, identifiable by the red curtains that marked their doors. Wheelhouses, carts, wagons and wayns crowded different corners of the Hitch, with horses and oxen occupying the hitching posts. Camels were present too, but rarer since the sandstorms hit. And slaves too, though their posts were their masters and their leashes fear. She almost bumped into one, a hollow-eyed man with pointed shoulders with naught but a brown sash to hide his privates. He apologised fitfully before fleeing. Poor man she said to herself. That could’ve been me, long ago. Though my manacles would have been marriage and duty.

She found the stormsinger beside a stall selling apples from his barrels. She had seen her before, but never cared to look. But now, she noticed how beautiful she was. She was not the homely kind of beautiful, not even the pretty sort. She had a quality about her that appealed to a man’s second mind, the one that drove them to do stupid things. She might have been a whore or perhaps a dancer for one of the Merchant Princes. There was also something wicked about her, by the way she leered at others, and the way her lips curved. Abagail disliked wicked people. Thomahal needs her. Even if she doesn’t prove to be a stormsinger, there is something there. Something profitable.

The swordmaiden gave her a light tap on the shoulder, as delicate as a butterfly, and cleared her throat. “Thomahal requests your presence. Now.”

[Metronome]

Zinzie was a man of habit. Every morning it was the same routine: wake up at the crack of dawn, watch the sun rise over a new city, go back into whatever shithole him and his companion were lodged at, help Orren get ready, and head out. The only drawback that Zinzie could name about traveling with Orren was the lack of places to say. No inn owner wanted a leper sleeping in their rooms. The day before, Zinzie had managed to convince a man to let them sleep in his barn, for the same amount of money that a regular room would have cost. The barn was comfortable enough for him; it was a roof over his head, anyways. Orren didn't seem to mind either, as he preferred just about anything over sleeping in the streets.

Zinzie hummed quietly as he walked into the barn. He was met by the sight of bandages fluttering lightly in the breeze, hung from every rafter to dry. Every three days, Zinzie would help Orren pull off all of his disease ridden bandages and clothes, throw them in a pot of boiling water and peppermint oil, and then hang them up to dry. If he didn't, the younger man would run everyone off with the smell of his rotting flesh. The first day after the wash, he would smell like a sweet candy shop, the second day, he smelled like a candy shop with a dead rat inside, on the third day, it was clear that it was time to start the process over again. Zinzie had grown used to the smell of death, but most other people shunning his friend for it.

Zinzie gathered up the bandages and laid them in a pile. He glanced over at Orren, wrapped up snugly in a blanket on the ground. The potion maker bent over to shook his friend awake. "We have to get going if we want to make it on time," Zinzie said with a smile. He was met by an array of grumbles, but Orren slowly sat up. He was certainly a sight for sore eyes: skin pulled a bit too tightly over his bones, open, leaking lesions all over his small body. Zinzie did his best to keep them from getting infected by cleaning them out with very strong alcohol. Orren never minded; he couldn't feel it anyway. As the leper slowly wiggled out of the blanket, Zinzie gathered the dried clothes that belonged to him. He had to help the man get dressed, as Orren's fingers had long since been gone. It wasn't the actual disease that took them, but rats and injury had slowly taken them away, bit by bit. When sleeping in the streets, he couldn't feel the rats gnawing on him. It was gruesome to think about, and always made Zinzie that much happier that he had taken Orren in.

After re-wrapping and dressing, Orren went over to their wagon and began poking and prodding around for something to eat. He found a jar of preserved strawberries that Zinzie had bought a couple days ago and brought them over. Zinzie, who was busy getting his horse ready to go, smiled down at the jar as it was silently thrusted at him. He opened it for Orren and went back to work, still humming happily. It wasn't long before they were heading off, Zinzie steering the one horse wagon, Orren sitting in the back while munching on strawberries. Today, Zinzie planned to join a caravan going out into the desert. He'd never been out there before, but neither had any other potion maker. It was a rare profession that meant a lack of competition. Zinzie knew that if he traveled with this caravan, he was likely to make more sells there than he had in a week on the more traveled roads. He only hoped that they wouldn't mind Orren coming along.

The two only stopped once to have a nice lunch. Zinzie went into a tavern and bought them both a couple bowls of stew. Orren had to drink his from the bowl, as he couldn't hold a spoon, but enjoyed it nonetheless. They were off again in less than half an hour, Zinzie keeping a tight watch on time. When they finally made it to the recruitment stand, they had only an hour to spare. Zinzie hopped down from his driver's seat and strode up to the man in charge.

"Hello there, good sir. I would be willing to bet that you don't have a potion maker in your bunch. Would you be willing to let one join?" Zinzie had his best salesman face on: a pair of shining eyes and a cheerful smile.

[Cadvin]

A surname, if he wasn't mistaken, and gender neutral at that. But still, she certainly hadn't corrected him. She had averted her eyes as well, and spoken with a single, yet soft word-she was subservient, respectful, quiet, but still struggling to be herself in any way she could. Perhaps not as easy to fool as one who was honest, but it was almost moreso an indication of a genuinely good person. She would likely go to surprising lengths just to avoid offending someone. He thought of all of this because... why, exactly? Did he intend to use this girl like some pawn? Were his tests academic, habit, or was he merely a manipulative bastard? He hoped it was one of the first two, because he honestly didn't know.
"And yourself?" She asked. Not in a confrontational way, but merely a purely inquisitive one. It was only fair, after all. He raised his eyebrows in mostly genuine surprise. While he had forgotten entirely to introduce himself, he tended to slightly exaggerate emotions. Even strangers could be well-liked if they were personable.
"Oh, of course! Excuse my manners-it seems traveling makes me forget them. I am Caldrin, son of Potter Delinier. Perhaps you've heard...? Ah, but probably not. He didn't like to make himself public." He swept his hat off and made an extravagant bow. "At your service..." Still stooped low, he looked up, again staring into her eyes.
"M'lady."

[Aisling]

Ixonia was finally relieved that they were going. She nodded and turned heel to leave. She almost turned back to see if he was still there and she was not dreaming this. A lone female who had joined up with the caravan. Perhaps dreams do come true. She walked quickly away to hitch her beast. She would not allow herself to slow them down. It may be days before the next caravan would be in then most likely a few more days of what they call relaxation. Most of it while be more than just just sleep and rest in her opinion. But it was not her place to correct grown men that diseases came from over drinking, over eating and whoring about not including producing unwanted children or ones that were conveniently disposed of yet to be born. The world was full of unpleasant things.....

Ixonia walked over to where her beast was peacefully snoozing and gave the brute a hard shove.
"Wake up Lamox. Tis time to go. Now move it or lose it." This was a command that the not so bright beast knew. He simply started walking to the colorful wagon. He maneuvered himself in place then went back to his second favorite past time- sleeping. Which enabled Ixonia to hitch him up with out much problems. Once she had pulled the long poles out, she began the process of placing the straps. Within an half hour Lomax was ready to go. She went inside double checked all of the windows and doors to make sure they were locked- which of course they were but it is always good to double check in case anyways. She took a flask of strong berry tea and some biscuits for nibbles as well as her old cloak. She placed the food and drink into the box next to her and the cloak around her. Picked up the whip and gave it a snap over Lomx's head who start to move forward in his sleep. Now she was ready to leave and seems to have time to spare so she did what she called gawking.

[Rulaan]

Bruno was barking orders at the workers. Abagail was yet to be seen, so it was up to him to ensure that they were ready before the gates closed shut. Already he could see the gatekeeper at the wheel, impatiently waiting behind a few doorslaves. On the other side of the Hitch, the royal wagon was starting, and the Sunsworn were getting into formation.

He heard a voice then, sharp and almost bard-like. He turned on him with dull eyes. Late, and with a wagon of his own… more cooks. “Aye, we have a lady who likes to stir a pot ‘n think good things’ll come from it. What good will you bring us besides a few pans and herbs, boy?” One minute he would give him, like all prospective employees. He counted the seconds down in his head.

------

Two rides were left for the remainder of the caravan. One was laden with ornate blue and red pots and vases sealed with wax, with enough room left for three to sit comfortably. Bruno’s wheelhouse, packed with various weapons and supplies for the trip, had room left in the seat for one more. The last were a pair of horse, one saddled and bridled with shining maroon leather and steel bolts. The horse itself was a sunburned red, with a mane of sandy hair that fell to the side of its gullet. The second horse was a spotted creature of brown and white fur, poorly saddled but sufficient for the trip. Unlike its kin, this horse was a crossbreed of some desert steed and grassland stallion.

At the back of the procession, Riddick laid down on the roof of Bruno's wheelhouse. The remainder of the party were yet to find places of their own.

Departure: 00:25:00

[Aisling]

Ixonia was a bit excited as she snapped the whip over Lomax's head to wake him then gave him the simple command with the reins to fall in. She knew that once the coomand was given and his mind was set on a task, it would take quite of bit of muscle to stop him. Which she could do at a cost to herself and to her wagon. She had a stomp brake system where all she had to do was to stomp on the brake after opening the floor panel. The metal bar would drop down in front of the wheels. She could drop up to 5 metal bars which would be 2 and a half feet high. The biggest problem was resetting the bars.

Ixonia stood up and watched over her beast to see how to guide him into the line. She only hoped to get somewhere in the middle.