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Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

Miria recognized the voice at once; the jinni at the market that morning had been very well-spoken. Of all the coincidences to occur, he had to be the one to choose to take refuge in her cart of all places. Anger spiked through her. Miria took a step forward, seething, gripping the dagger's hilt so tightly that the leather groaned a little beneath her grip. "I know exactly who you are!" she hissed in a low voice, taking a quick glance around to ensure she was not within earshot of anyone. "How dare you choose to hide here after the commotion you caused! I ought to raise my voice right now and let the guards find you!" So, why didn't she? Miria could see a guard pace down a nearby alleyway, well out of ear shot, and there were several in the inn. She knew they were still looking for this jinni, and it was a wonder that the guards hadn't found him here yet, but it would only be a matter of time. If they found him in her cart, they could arrest her and accuse her of aiding a fugitive. She needed to get him out of her cart as quickly as possible and ensure his arrest if she wanted to catch the caravan out of this place in the morning, yet experience taught her that the authorities were as mistrustful as the jinni. Social protection thrived on bribes, and her family had not thought to buy it. The authorities had done little in wake of the tragedy that left Miria the only survivor, and there had been several times throughout her travels alone when she had been forced, or nearly forced, to pay them to ensure tragedy did not also befall her. Miria knew that not every guard was so corrupted, but enough of them were that it was simply easier to to mistrust the authorities and be proven wrong than to give them the benefit of the doubt and be betrayed. She had no intentions on paying these guards, one way or another, to ensure that they tell the truth about her not harboring a fugitive. Was the risk of rape or financial ruin worse than a possible death sentence? If she didn't play her cards right, all three of these things could happen to her. Then again, she did not know this jinni at all or what he was capable of. The only thing she knew for certain was that he absolutely was not leaving this city with her under any circumstance. Miria licked her lips, glancing about her anxiously as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The guard at the alley was still preoccupied and none of the others had shown up yet. The jinni was right that she shouldn't be seen talking to her cart, but she did not trust her stowaway enough to come closer. Quietly, she hooked her arms through the straps of her bags and moved around the cart, her grip on her dagger relentless, and set them down by Raha's side. Eyeing the large lump beneath her canvas, she stroked the creature's fur. She hoped that if any guards did look her way, they would see a weary woman comforting her donkey and nothing more. "What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" she hissed. "Are you a mere runaway, or is it something worse? Tell me now and tell me quickly." She had no idea how to gauge how truthful his answer would be, if he answered at all, but she felt it foolish to give him the clearance to leave without at least asking the question.

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

*nod* Hiring a guide could be cheaper than the purchase and upkeep of multiple pack animals, especially if the cost is split among a larger party of merchants. Plus, a caravan leader, with his slave's power, can protect merchants from bandits, prevent them from getting lost in the desert, and keep them hydrated throughout the trip. I would imagine that unless one knows the desert, it would be very dangerous to travel without hiring someone who knows what they're doing. That, in turn, could give our characters a stronger element of urgency should we end up making them travel alone. I felt like I was grasping at straws a little to make this recent post plausible. I absolutely want to keep Miria in the story; now it's just weaving a believable way to do so :)

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

I assumed there would be cart-friendly roads through the desert, though that was probably a poorly-researched assumption on my part. I don't think I described the wheels in detail, though, so maybe it could be more like a sleigh. Or maybe, as you say, it can move over the sand by magic. OR perhaps to be part of a caravan you must pay the caravan leader, who has a jinni with the magical ability to harden sand just long enough for carts to travel on. I suspect it would be quite the profitable business.

Vanish Into Light

First of all, I never get tired of your "woosh!" in your responses :) And YES, the vagueness of that prophecy is DIVINE! Allow me to spout off some ideas. You don't have to agree with 'em, this is just initial stuff popping into my mind after reading that bit of awesome. I must read up on the Tel'Teukiira: their "We'll do anything for our cause" intrigues me. I have a character who could play this role as one of them. Also, as a bit of backstory: I intended that young Maura was about to be recruited by a mysterious group (it could be these guys!) because her magic was pretty slick before things went Horribly Wrong(TM). They could have been keeping tabs on Jeron without his knowing due to reasons even he doesn't know about (mainly due to who his father is). Because Chamera is part of the Harpers, they could be keeping tabs on her as well because of Reasons (of your choosing). The Three Threats (dun dun duuuun). What could they be? Perhaps ourselves, darkness, and prefects are the three threats? Ourselves: One or both of our characters could have some inner conflict that could prove to be a real threat, mwahaha. Jeron wants to learn how to use magic so that he could do some not-so-pleasant things with it, or so he believes. Whether or not he actually has it in him to do dastardly things is another matter. The Darkness: A more obvious threat? Monsters, baddies, evil-do'ers? Prefects: Perhaps a betrayal of some sort is in the works. How much can we trust Pan, for instance? Bwahaha! And yes, great that we have a bit of game time cushion to hash this out :D

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

Fiiiiiinalllyyyyyyyyyy! Soooo sorry for the delay! Finally done with school for a little while. I'll try my best not to let this lapse so long again; Miria was getting quite agitated with me for neglecting her. And Raha... oh man, a cranky, stubborn donkey is not a pleasant one :p Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

Miria was shocked, but not surprised, when the jinni burst into a run. It was not the first time she had seen jinn run from guards, jinn captured by guards, jinn beaten by guards in front of villagers due to their indiscretions. Besides, this jinni's presence had been suspicious from the start. Despite this common occurrence, other merchants still yelled and shook their fists at the guards as they streaked by, irritated about having their customers spooked or protesting just because they could get away with it. Mothers hugged their children to their legs to give the guards more room to move without mowing their children over. Market browsers staggered out of the way and many craned their necks to see what all the fuss was about. Miria watched the jinni run down an alley, out of sight, surprised that he could still move that fast at such an old age. She grumbled like the rest of them, not wanting to seem out of place, then carried on with her day, all the while wondering what that jinni was being chased for. Within the hour, the market operated as though nothing had happened. Guards would pass by every so often, their eyes scanning every crevice, corner, and dark space in the square, but no one, including Miria, paid any mind. She had wares to sell; she could not afford to waste her time gossiping about the latest runaway. The day was long and predictably slow; the last day at a village or town often was. Miria smiled at customers through her growling belly, conversed warmly with passerby through a parched mouth, distracting herself with thoughts of what she would weave while on her way to the next town and how many tapestries she could sell at her next destination. She had no one to relieve her to take a brief break or grab a bite to eat, and the last time she left her stall alone, even for a moment, some of her tapestries had been stolen. Finally, when the setting sun melted into the horizon line of the western hills and the sky began to darken, Miria began to pack up her things. Her typical routine was to secure her things in her cart, tend to Raha, then eat at the inn. If she was feeling particularly energetic, she would do a little weaving at her cart. Today was not one of those days. With a yawn, she approached her cart, the many bags slung across her shoulders feeling much heavier than they did that morning even though she carried less. Her mind mulled over lost comforts such as a warm bath, preparing her own meal in her own kitchen, and lounging on a chair to listen to the music of traveling musicians. She lifted her gaze to the cart as she prepared to sling her bags inside, pausing with a startling realization that something, or someone, was in it. Shock and fear gripped Miria first, though she held the urge to run or scream in check with rigid silence. Her gaze locked onto the bulk beneath her canvas, then flickered over to Raha. He glanced over his shoulder at her, casually munching on some hay, not the slightest bit of apprehension in his brown eyes. Raha typically was not so relaxed around strangers. This did not convince Miria. She shifted her gaze back to the bulk in her cart with a narrowed gaze, crouching slowly to set her bags down as quietly as she could. Then she straightened, slowly lifting one side of her trousers to grab the small dagger strapped to her calf as she did so. Miria did not go anywhere unarmed, though this dagger was her only weapon. She made a point to keep it hidden; potential female customers found a visible weapon intimidating, and male customers saw it as a threat to their masculinity simply because she was a woman. Therefore, she always kept it hidden beneath her clothes, but always within reach. She wasn't an expert wielder -- before tragedy befell her family, she never had reason to learn how to use one, but she had learned the life-saving fundamentals of its use with at least some confidence after years of being a traveling merchant on her own. Now she held the dagger tight in her grip but kept her hands down at her sides. She would rather not use the dagger if she didn't need to, and holding it forward without knowing the situation typically created more tension than necessary. "Whoever you are, if you leave right now without incident, I will not chase you or send guards after you," Miria announced in a low, firm voice. She assumed another beggar or some kid had taken refuge in her cart. "Make any trouble, and you will find trouble."

Vanish Into Light

At long last, an update! Thank you so much for your patience! To be honest, I haven't brainstormed too many ideas for the scroll as of yet. Now is a good time to brainstorm: I have a few vague ideas, but I don't mind changing any or all of it up: The scroll is obviously magical in nature. There is definitely text on it, one just has to figure out how to access it. Me thinks only one person is able to read it -- either Jeron or Chamera. Perhaps the scroll is made to specifically be found and read by that person. Perhaps some sort of magical group or cult is trying to contact one of them. But why, I'm not sure yet (dun dun duuuuun).

Vanish Into Light

Jeron stared in silence as Chamera unpacked for camp, astonished at the almost-impossibility of pulling out so many things from such a small bag. He had seen infinite bags of holding before but never this close, and there was just something about this blatant defiance of the natural laws of physics that never got old to watch. Watching her work reminded him of his own preparations for the night. His routine was typically to sets snares for the next day's food, eat the rations he prepared that morning, wash up, and spend the night on a tree. In the morning, he would collect what his traps had caught, cook it, ration it for the day along with whatever nuts, berries, and edible foliage he could find, then set out. The presence of Chamera and that human threw off everything. Jeron's body ached; that potion he had drank wasn't nearly enough to make him feel good as new. He knew he needed to clean up, but it was getting too dark to risk roaming the woods for a nearby stream, if there even was one. He needed to take off his clothes -- his shirt, at least, inspect his wounds, and treat them the way he had treated Chamera's. Not doing this would be foolish; he could not risk infection in a place like this. He would need every ounce of energy to heal and escape this forest. But to do all of this in front of Chamera, to have her watch him.... With a scowl, he rummaged in his bag as a distraction from the tasks he had to do, doubting that he even had the strength to climb a tree. Tenderly, he removed his worn journal, the item he had gone back for after Chamera had freed him. Setting it on his lap, Jeron gingerly opened it, inspecting it more closely than he had at the jail cell to make sure it hadn't been damaged. None of the pages were torn or bent. Obviously, the Zhentarim didn't think his notes important enough to even bother to tamper with. He was a very good artist, his sketches meticulous, almost life-like. Maura had insisted he make a career of his work, something he had considered before.... Now, he doubted he could ever sell anything, not that he even wanted to. Besides, he no longer had the proper tools to sketch properly. He paused on one page, the section of the book where the spine was cracked. On it was a portrait of Maura, what he could remember of her. He had drawn it days after her death, while learning to live in this world alone. She was twelve in that picture, vibrant and smiling, frizzy hair peeking out of from underneath her headscarf, squinting against an invisible sunlight. Jeron's expression softened to melancholy, his lips twitching in an almost smile. This page, the only picture he drew of his friend, was the sole reason he had returned to that jail cell in the middle of complete chaos. Everything else in the journal he could more-or-less remember, much of it he already knew by heart, but to lose this page.... Jeron snapped the journal closed and shoved it back into his pack, not in any mood to drift away in his memories tonight, not with company about. Instead, he pulled out the item that had gotten him in trouble with the Zhentarim in the first place, the scroll he had found in Elminster's old place. He turned it around in his fingers, studying it carefully. The parchment edges were perfectly smooth, not nicked or bent, the paper white and crisp without so much as a smudge of dirt on it. The seal hadn't been tampered with; the scroll looked brand-new. Jeron found this unusual. The remains of Elminster's home was nothing but a giant heap rubble, and anything of value had been picked through. However, he had found this scroll beneath a bit of dirt and debris that looked like it had not been disturbed for some time; the brightness of the flawlessly-clean paper had drawn his attention to it. After all of that, and the rough-and-tumble it went through in his escape, how could it look so fresh and new? Why hadn't the Zhentarim broken the wax seal? Jeron broke through the wax seal himself, not thinking that perhaps doing such a thing to such an unusual item would be dangerous. Fortunately, he was not assaulted by an explosion, or a curse, or a bit of poison, or anything else magically harmful. The scroll unrolled to his ministrations like any other. Jeron's scowl deepened as he held the flattened parchment up to the firelight. The scroll was blank. Not a single ink mark, smudge, or spot could be seen anywhere on its surface. What was something like this doing here? Why would anyone bother to seal up blank parchment and hide it in some rubble? He knew there had to be a magical reason to this mystery, but he hadn't the slightest idea what it could be, and frankly he felt disappointed that he could not simply read the scroll. Jeron let go of one side of the scroll to readjust his cowl. As soon as his fingers left the parchment, the scroll rolled itself up on its own, the two edges of the broken wax seal meeting up... and melding together to re-seal itself.... Jeron gasped and dropped the scroll, his eyes wide with astonishment. It looked like an ordinary scroll against the dirt, aside from its cleanliness, but it definitely was not. Scrolls did not simply roll up on their own and reseal themselves like that. Jeron's gaze flickered upward, finding Chamera. "Did you... did you see that?"

Rising Winds and Shifting Sands

Hi :) Just letting you know that I haven't forgotten about the RP (that's sorta impossible, haha). Finals for this term in school are around the corner, so I've been crazy-swamped. But I promise to get something out within a few days. Thanks so much for your patience!

Vanish Into Light

Hi :) Just letting you know that I haven't forgotten about the RP (that's sorta impossible, haha). Finals for this term in school are around the corner, so I've been crazy-swamped. But I promise to get something out within a few days. Thanks so much for your patience!