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The Depths of Blackmire Keep - A Quest of Peril and Certain Demise

Consider me interested!

Witchhunters' Gambit

This is certainly something I'd be interested in!

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

I'm still here as well! Was absent for a while after moving in to a new place and all the fun that comes along with it, but definitely still here.

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

Mahaad Abshir and Cerys Shadowborne

A collab with @Nieszka

On the morning of their fourth day in the desert, the Arakkai made their way into the eastern most edge of the Claws, entering this much more familiar terrain with some relief after several painful days of open desert. Cerys Shadowborne had to admit that her people were simply not equipped for life on the sands, and she felt little better than they looked, dark circles standing out sharply beneath her eyes.

The priestess moved among the mountain tribes, offering a hand or an encouraging word to her followers, her stalwart guard behind her at every step. Even faced with a strange land, the perils of which were almost wholly unknown, these were a sturdy people. It would take more than four days of difficult marching to wear them down, though the priestess would do everything in her power to better prepare them in the future.

Sometime near midday a group of children ran up to tug at the priestess's hands and wrap their thin arms around her now well armored legs. Darksteel from the Hammersong Clan, though she'd have rather worn much less in the desert heat.

"Priestess," started one of the children, only to be interrupted by a friend.

"No you said I could tell her!"

"But I'm the oldest!' broke in a third voice.

"I saw it first!"

Cerys squatted down amongst them and conjured a flat arrow out of shadow in her right hand. They quieted to watch as she made a show of shutting her eyes tight and sending the thing spinning with the curled forefinger of her other hand. There was a happy little gasp when it stopped in the direction of a blue-eyed boy, no older than six if she had to guess.

"Priestess, one of the Roc scouts is coming, and they never come back so early!" He said in a rush, his soft fists clasping the edge of his tunic.

"Run along and tell the other chiefs," the priestess said kindly and stood, her eyebrows coming up as she spotted Rhys Blackwater giving her a strange look.

"Well? What is it?" she asked him, a little brusquely.

He hesitated, looking out over the army rather than her face. "Those kids never would have run up to Chief Blackwater."

Cerys looked at him a moment, then turned towards the south. "Come. Let's see just what the scouts have found."

---

The slow, but steady movement of Mahaad's carriage was soothing, if nothing else. If one was able to block out the vehicle's means of movement, or if one wasn't necessarily interested in the well-being of slaves, it had potential to become a popular mode of transportation. Save for the occasional moan or complaint, these particular slaves were quiet, whether that was because they were exhausted, or because they simply had nothing left to speak about, Mahaad did not know. Nor did he care, really. They were doing their job of bringing him to Zar Vorgul to receive his hefty payment, and that's all he cared about at this moment in time.

The group was travelling straight through the Red Desert, currently heading southeast from Zar Endal, hoping to get to Zar Vorgul as the crow flies, rather than waste time trekking toward the Dust Way for nothing other than a safer trip. Speed seemed more dire in this situation than safety, after all. Even so, Mahaad felt safe enough, as he had been deep in a fit of slumber for several hours now. Anyone who knew Mahaad well enough to see him sleep would know that he was a fairly light sleeper - any sort of disturbance had him jolting awake, no matter the severity of the situation. He attributed this to the dangerous lifestyle he often led, mixed with a less-than-favourable upbringing in the slums of Eyhwan. As a result of this, the Eyhwanian man getting more than five-hours of rest in one stretch was a rarity, and almost something of a luxury as far as he was concerned.

This time, however, such a luxury was not on the radar for him. The carriage coming to a sudden halt had the dark-skinned man jolting upwards from his sleeping chamber, his eyes wide and head darting back and forth around the room - always prepared for the worst. A wave of relief washed over him when he saw that he was still the only one in the room, but that did not explain why they had suddenly stopped in their tracks. With a deep sigh, Mahaad pulled himself out of the cot he was sleeping on and made his way outside. He was expecting to see one of the Nyr'Kiin collapsed in the sand, or perhaps some sort of desert creature off in the distance.

"Please," Mahaad began to speak as he stepped through the small doorway of the carriage, having not yet seen anything besides the stationary sand beneath him. He looked up to see all ten of the insectoids he'd assigned to carriage duty looking in his direction. Their static faces were not the easiest to read, with such a lack of real movement, save for their mandibles and eyes, so what they were thinking was anyone's guess.

"Tell me we have a good reason for being stopped in the middle of a scorching desert, hm?" he finished, gesturing to the slaves in a questioning manner with his hands.

"We ... We are no longer alone, Lord Mahaad," one of the Nyr'Kiin spoke after a slight pause. The others looked about cautiously, as if they were expecting something to happen. "We saw people watching us from the north, then they disappeared behind the sand."

"And so you thought the best course of action would be to stand in the sand and wait for them to come back? Hm? Or were you going to chase them down and play hero? We have a place to be, and that place is Zar Vorgul," Mahaad said, at first with a demeaning tone but quickly shifting to a much more pleasant one. Patronizing the slaves would only make them hate him even more. "Please, gentlemen. Carry on with the task at hand."

Without waiting for a response, Mahaad turned back to enter the carriage once more, thinking the problem to be behind them. Before his gaze could turn to the opened door, however, they were caught on something of possibly much more importance. In the far distance was a large group of travellers - some looked like mercenaries, as the weapons attached to their hips would imply, while others looked to be about the height of children. They seemed to be travelling from the northeast - the Goldfang Mountains perhaps a two or three day's journey behind them.

A mountain tribe? Mahaad thought to himself. It was an odd sight, and unsettling in some ways. They were heading in his direction, and although there are plenty of reasons for them to be doing so, he couldn't help but feel as though it was he and the slaves the northmen's sights were set on.

"Move along now. Swiftly," he said to the Nyr'Kiin before calmly stepping back inside his carriage, closing the door behind him.

---

Cerys stood atop the crest of a hill, shading her eyes to stare across the strange, baked land that made up the red desert. The Roc scout had spotted some sort of caravan heading away from them across the rock. They seemed to pose no threat, but uncertainty stirred unfamiliar within the priestess's belly. She felt that she'd be a fool for letting them pass out of her reach, if only for the information they might be able to provide.

Turning back to the men and women grouped around her, she said, "Get me a roc, and as many scouts as we have within reach. Quickly, before they get any farther away."

As several of the mountain people rushed to follow her direction, Merrion gazed at her critically. "I'll take you up on my own beast, if that's what you want, Priestess, but I don't think we'll get much from such a small party."

"We'll get nothing from letting them go. Wanderer willing, this may prove to be just what we need."

In short order, Cerys sat clutching the rough feathers of one of the great birds, her stomach leaping as the beast tensed his muscles and flung itself into the sky.

"Relax, Priestess," Merrion chuckled, and Cerys was glad that seated behind her as he was, he could not see her eyes shut tight against dizziness. Shortly, however, they were once again landing, and she could cover her discomfort with an easy jump to solid ground. Merrion followed Rhys who had climbed down from another of the beasts and the three approached the small caravan from the front, the Rocs remaining in its path.

---

Following the loud thud of the Roc's landing and some scattering of sand, the Nyr'Kiin slaves at the forefront of Mahaad's travel carriage shrieked in fear, some attempting to flee the scene before realizing the ropes with which they pulled had been tied around their bodies, resulting in more, less threatening thuds as they hit the ground beneath them. With such a commotion outside, mixed with the shaking of the carriage as the slaves scramble, Mahaad could only imagine what situation they had gotten themselves in.

Slowly, he peered through the blinds of one of the carriages windows to see massive winged creatures sitting not far from the carriage, their talons digging deep into the hot sand of the Red Desert. Beside them were several pale skinned humans conversing with one another. Were they raiders, they likely would have attacked first and spoke later, or at least come up with a plan before making their presence so known. Their appearances suggested they were not natives of the Scarlet Plateau, or any other desertlands. No, these were northerners, to be sure, and likely the ones Mahaad had seen in the distance only moments prior. What they wanted was anyone's guess, but if it was slaves they were after, they'd have to look elsewhere, of that he was certain.

The newcomers' demeanours suggested they were, for the time being, non-violent. If only the Nyr'Kiin could see this as well, and cease their yelping and constant tugs at the ropes around them. Mahaad wasted little time exiting his carriage, approaching first his slaves, his hands raised slightly as if to gesture them to calm down.

"Silence, my friends," he said to the insects, loudly enough for the northerners to hear as well. "Relax yourselves, take the opportunity to rest. I'm sure our lovely visitors mean us no harm."

His gaze shifted from the aboriginals to the northmen. His characteristically sharp smile had been glued to his face since stepping through the carriage door, and his whitened teeth almost glistened in the light of the sun as he approached the visitors and their birds.

"Blessings to you, good folk of the north," he said, respectfully bowing before them. As he rose, his gaze caught that of a silver-haired woman, and he was certain she played an important role in whatever these people were doing. It was her he needed to impress if this was going to go smoothly. "If it be wine you're in search of, then you've come to the right place. I've plenty of it, but little of anything else, unfortunately. My friends and I are making our way to the great city of Zar Vorgul with hopes of changing that."

Mahaad had a silver tongue, and he knew how to use it. It was the silence, or lack thereof, of the Nyr'Kiin behind him that truly had the potential of spoiling the ruse. If they knew what was best for them, they'd either play along, or refrain from speaking at all.

The woman in the lead listened to this pretty speech silently, her eyes wandering from the man to the Nyr'kiin behind him, taking in the ragtag group. Her brows furrowed, face hardening.

"You're a slaver." It wasn't a question. A couple of the men behind her loosened their weapons in their sheaths.

With the woman's words, Mahaad felt the tension rise. Even the Nyr'Kiin behind him shuffled uncomfortably, and he could hear their feet digging into the sand as if they were bracing for heavy impact.

"I have been called many things in this life," Mahaad said with a smile, not letting the raised weapons intimidate him. Or, at least, not letting his visitors know they intimidated him. Clearly, they were not fans of the slave trade, so they likely would not be fans of him if he admitted it so freely. "I have been called 'criminal' in some lands, while they call me 'hero' in others. Some men call me 'fool' while their wives call me 'lover.'"

As he spoke, Mahaad paced slightly, creating a small circular pattern in the sand as he stepped. As he finished his sentence, his charismatic smile turned to a sly smirk and he eyed the group's leader once more.

"Now, to the Dratha, I am known as 'merchant.' Some mage-lords even know me as 'friend'," he said before letting any of the brutes behind her take too much of an insult from the playful tone of his spiel. "To you, I might be 'slaver,' but I assure you, that is far from all that I am."

The woman let him say this without any interuptions, then flicked two fingers towards the Nyr'kiin behind the dark-skinned man. A stern looking soldier and another of the beast handlers moved past him easily, heading towards the slaves beyond. "I am no friend to the mage-lords or their chattel mongers, whatever names you wish to give yourself."

With almost careless ease, she closed her right fist around a sword that materialized from shadow, flickering with some ancient, runic script, and raised it to the level of his throat. "Your slaves are slaves no longer, do you understand?"

Even Mahaad, who by now was a master of maintaining a calm composure, struggled slightly to remain unfazed by the quick turn of events. One moment, he was dreaming of sleeping on sacks of gold, while the next he was being held at the sharpened end of a magical blade, with the Nyr'Kiin he worked so hard to capture being released from the constraints of their ropes.

Still, he did not feel hopeless.

"And what, may I ask, would you do with me at this point, hm?" he asked the silver-haired woman, as the stubble on his chin danced along the cool edge of the sword. His eyes followed some strands of shadow that emanated from it, before reverting back to the face of the woman who was currently threatening to end his life. "You will free these creatures from their fates, and slit my throat. The you will fly back to the mountains on your Roc, feeling accomplished for another day, and then what? Surely, life has more to offer a beautiful woman such as yourself, no?"

Mahaad paused briefly, letting his words sink in. Still, he knew his best option was to speak to this woman now, while her lackeys were busy, rather than later when the rest of the northerners were around to sway her opinion.

The silver-haired woman smiled slowly, a grin that did not reach her dark eyes. "You certainly talk a lot, slaver. You presume quite a bit as well. All these words, and so far, nothing of use."

"I come from Eyhwan, northwoman. There, they kill you if you stay quiet for too long. Sometimes, they also kill you for talking too much, but I've managed to survive this long," Mahaad replied, still somehow managing to maintain his rogueish smirk despite feeling as though death was just around the corner.

"If you see no use in a well-travelled, handsome man such as myself to a group of mountainfolk wandering through the desert, then by all means, cut my throat and leave me to the beasts of the sands," he went on, already seeing some of the Nyr'Kiin fleeing in several directions with his peripheral vision. "But you and I both know I'm much more useful to you alive than dead. Spare me, as you have with these aboriginal folk, and I will aid you in whatever goal you and your kin are seeking in this wasteland. I know it better than even some of the mage-lords, and certainly better than any of your companions."

"Useful indeed," the silver-haired woman muttered thoughtfully and let the sword in her hand disappear into the desert sun. The men had finished untying the Nyr'kiin, and while a couple had disappeared immediately, most seemed unsure of just what to do with their newfound freedom. These she turned to address, leaving Mahaad to be watched over by her followers.

"Nyr'kiin, you are slaves no longer. Go if you wish, but if you would like a place among us, you will never wear ropes again and you will likely have the opportunity to help free others."

Rather than waiting for a response the woman motioned to one of the beast handlers. "Go, take word to the tribes. The rest of us will stay to escort our new... friends."

"Cerys..." the stern faced man made to protest, but was silenced by a short shake of his leader's head. His lips thinned, but he merely took a watchful position to Mahaad's left.

"Come, man-from-Eyhwan. I wish to know more about the city my scouts have seen west of here."

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

There it is, finally! I tried to make sure I had the lore as accurate as possible, but if there are any inconsistencies or anything, just give me a shout. Hahahah

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

Mahaad Abshir

The Dust Way was characteristically empty on this day. A few merchants had passed by, all heading in the opposite direction and far too parched and exhausted to speak to any other travellers as a result of the merciless heat of the sun beating into their sweat-stained skin with each minute that passed. The trail of footsteps they left behind indicated a trek beginning at Zar Endal, but the end goal of their journey was anyone's guess. The vast emptiness of the Red Desert, save for the longstanding settlements that dotted the map, provided plenty of turns one could take, but whether or not they would lead anywhere was a different story entirely. Whether or not these travellers would even survive long enough to see an end to their routes was, also, an entirely different story as well. The dangers of travelling in the Red Desert was something Mahaad Abshir was all too familiar with, as he had seen his fair share over the last decade or so since docking on the shores of the Avanagashan Wastes.

Mahaad truly knew only part of the perils of travelling across the Desert, though. When he first arrived here, he travelled by foot much like these poor merchants he saw from the window of his carriage. Now, however, his profession as a slaver had provided him with riches enough to find ways around the more difficult aspects of the gruelling expeditions from one Drathan city-state to the next, and back through the lands to track down more of the Nyr'Kiin. Mahaad was not born a slaver - he was born a poor boy in a land of murderers and thieves, and in fact had only fallen into the business by chance over the past few years, after migrating to the Avanagashan Wastes. Neither did he have any experience as a slave, thankfully, but the slave trade was particularly popular among the Dratha, and they paid well for any and all of these insectfolk that Mahaad could track down. At the expense of these creatures' lives, Mahaad Abshir found himself wealthier than he had ever been, and saw little to no reason why he should not feel proud of what he had accomplished. Some of the aboriginals in the travel cell behind him may think otherwise, but he suspected their lives would be short enough that their opinions on his lifestyle would matter none.

As the night grew darker, the Nyr'Kiin who pulled the carriages through the sand with ropes over their hardened green shoulders were given an opportunity to rest - a dead slave is hardly any use to anyone, after all. One of Mahaad's travelling companions and fellow slave trader, Ta'Bat Aaab, loosened the rope's grip from around the creature's hands to allow them enough freedom to bring some food to their inhuman mouths before sleeping through the cold desert night. The third of the group - a burly fellow in charge of rounding up the Nyr'Kiin, known simply as Khan - inspected the carriage and slave cart before the blackness of nightfall completely enveloped the group's environment. Mahaad remained inside the carriage, pouring red wine into three silver goblets for he and his companions, though Mahaad's love of alcohol seemed to vastly overpower that of Ta'Bat and Khan. Still, with such a successful journey thus far, and a cart full of insectoids ready for sale, he figured it was as good a time as any to celebrate. To help Khan and Ta'Bat truly appreciate the moment, Mahaad slipped something extra into their cups - a few droplets of an Eyhwanian mixture known simply as 'Molii,' or, 'Lullaby' in his native tongue.

The first to step back into the carriage was Ta'Bat, whose face was scrunched in disgust. His curly moustache hairs tickled the corners of his wide mouth as he did so, and his second chin pressed against what Mahaad could see of his neck. Without even closing the door behind him, he wiped his hands in a nearby cloth, inspecting them once before grabbing again for the rag. Meticulously, he wrapped it around each finger, giving each one as thorough a cleaning as a small rag could offer.

"One of them touched me," Ta'Bat said as an answer to the question he knew was about to escape Mahaad's lips. "I explicitly tell these cretins to avoid touching me every time I handle them, and, without fail, one of them always manages to do it anyway. Vermin."

Mahaad shook his head with a wide grin, baring his teeth. The locks of his hair brushed against the back of his neck with each sweeping movement, and he reached out with one of his hands to offer his fellow slaver one of the drinks.

"Here, my friend," he said, deciding against any mention of the incident. "There are no free women about, but wine and song will get us through our last night in this desert. Zar Endal is but half a day's journey, and we should celebrate yet another successful endeavour together."

Mahaad's inviting smile followed each of his words, acting as the final piece to the puzzle of convincing Ta'Bat to let loose for a night. The shorter slaver's fat fingers wrapped around the goblet Mahaad offered, clinking it against Mahaad's in cheers. Before the two could carry out any further conversation, Khan's daunting figure stepped through the open door of the trio's carriage. Khan was not much of a speaker, and the oversized human man hunched slightly when attempting to stand at his full height in the relatively small vehicle. Upon the sight of his two companions drinking from their goblets, the third slaver wasted no time taking his own and downing the liquid that filled the cup, which looked about ready to break under the pressure of his grasp.

The sight of his two comrades drinking excitedly from their goblets had Mahaad grinning devilishly from behind his own. The liquid cooled the inside of his mouth, and he knew that the three of them would be deep into the wine bottle before the end of the night - some more than others. He took the opportunity to give the group a proper moment to congratulate themselves, while his words were still coherent, and while his fellows could still speak at all.

"To the bags of endless coin that will load this carriage come tomorrow's night, to the endless women I will waste it on, and to the endless days to come where we will continue to do the same!" Mahaad exclaimed, his Eyhwanian accent still strong despite living amongst the people of the Avanagashan Wastes for a number of years at this point. His toast was followed by a loud applause from both Ta'Bat and Khan, and though his spiel was short and sweet, it served its purpose.

Like many things in this life, he thought to himself. Life itself, too, is all too often short and sweet.

The three ne'er-do-wells sat round a small lounging area in the wagon, taking turns regaling stories of their escapades together, sharing laughs, and drinking the containments of the large bottle that had sat in the carriage for, as far as Mahaad was concerned, far too long.

Ta'Bat and Khan had been successful slavers in the Red Desert for a number of years. Upon the discovery of the popularity that Nyr'Kiin slaves held among the Drathan population for a number of reasons, the duo had seemingly struck a goldmine. Ta'Bat was a businessman at heart, and with the physical help of Khan, rounding up aboriginals for the pale abhuman mage-lords of the local city-states soon became their area of expertise. Mahaad's role came a year or two later, when Ta'Bat realized his operation had become bigger than he originally anticipated. It became difficult for him to manage so many slaves at once, while transporting them and selling them all on his own. Khan, while a proper brute of a man, lacked significantly in areas of mercantile and trade, so Mahaad acting as an extra set of hands went a long way for the operation. At first, he simply did as he was told, with the promise of his fair share of the profit. As the months passed, however, the newfound slave trader proved himself to be much more proficient as the face of the business, despite being a foreigner of this land. Since then, the Eyhwanian man has handled the majority of trade deals and the more intricate social aspects of slave trading. This is the structure the group has stuck with over the years, with Mahaad slowly gaining more of a leadership role amongst them, and actively filling his own pockets with a little more of each trip's profits than the last. It was a healthy relationship he shared with the two, and his seemingly unending lust for wealth and all the fine things that come along with it was being sated with each group of Nyr'Kiin they dropped off.

Mahaad had grown to respect the two men significantly, as they all seemed to have similar interests. They led their lives in similar ways, and indulged in similar things. It was a shame, though, that the partnership had to come to such an abrupt end.

Just as Khan was getting ready to down another glass of wine and compliment the haul of slaves they'd pulled this time around, a lump began to form in his throat. At first, he attempted to clear his airway as one would do to clear a build-up of mucus. It failed, and a confused expression soon formed on the large man's face. His thick hands began to caress his throat, massaging the sides that were hidden away behind his thick beard. His brow furrowed as he found himself struggling to breathe as the seconds passed, almost as though he were having an allergic reaction. The man's eyes began to quickly dart from left to right as he realized just how much his throat had started to close, and the panic set in even more when he saw the normally flush skin on Ta'Bat's face shift from reddish pink to a pale white, and then take on a more blueish tone - an indication that Khan was not the only one struggling to breathe.

Mahaad's breathing, however, was perfectly fine. He sat quietly, smiling behind his cup as he watched the two struggle for air, gripping anything they could as though their firm grasp on the edge of a chair would be enough to pull them back from the afterlife that was sucking them from one realm to another. Cups fell as the two men flailed their arms, and spilled wine seeped into the tan rug that lay across the floor beneath them. Finishing the remnants of his own goblet, Mahaad stood up, now towering over Khan and Ta'Bat who had fallen to the floor in agony. Small gasps of breath occasionally popped through their closed airways, but at this point, all three men knew that only one of them would be waking up in the morning. The molii Mahaad had slipped into their drinks earlier in the night was far too large a dosage, and the liquid had gone from a simple enhancer for those who like to overindulge in alcohol, to a deadly poison that would numb a man's entire body and cease some of his vital organs from cooperating with the rest of their body. Mahaad had used the last remaining drops of molii he had left on the two, and was pleasantly surprised to see the toxin working its magic in such a short amount of time.

"We did some great things together, you and I," Mahaad said, as though either of the dying men could respond. "But nothing lasts forever, my friends. You know this as well as I.

"Plus," Mahaad spoke again when he heard the last struggle of life leave Khan's muscular body, indicating that he had finally given up the fight for life. Ta'Bat, unsurprisingly, had succumbed to the molii's grasp much quicker. "It will be much easier to steal your coin now that you are not alive to fight for it."

Mahaad was not a malicious man. He was an ambitious man - a man who took risks to ensure the future he lusted for. At least, that's what he told himself. Were Ta'Bat or Khan capable of speaking after death, they may have other words they would use to describe their former friend, but while Mahaad was the only one capable of thought or speech in the room, 'ambitious' was the word he settled on. With these two unable to claim their reward for these Nyr'Kiin slaves, Mahaad would be more than happy to accept it on their behalf - tripling his own profit. When the time came that he'd need more money, perhaps he would seek out more slavers to work with. Perhaps he would make his rounds back to Eyhwan for a while. The possibilities were endless, and that's the way he liked it.

---

The Nyr'Kiin slaves had done a good job of carrying Mahaad to Zar Endal, he had to admit. They had managed to get him to the city by midday, almost as if they were excited to move on to the next phase of their enslavement. That being said, Mahaad suspected that with the absence of Khan and Ta'Bat's weight, the carriage was significantly easier to pull through the Dust Way. If anything, these were an eager batch of slaves, which would only increase the number of coins that would have lined Mahaad's pockets upon their sale.

'Would have' was the key part of that thought, however. Mahaad had little energy left to think about the prowess of his slaves, as upon entering Zar Endal, he was told that the mage-lord Alkhazar had up and left, his sights set on Zar Vorgul - a city that sat a several days' journey if one were to travel straight through the Red Desert. This would likely have been valuable information for Mahaad to have prior to murdering his coworkers and leaving their bodies as a meal for the beasts of the Desert.

Frustrated by the unexpected turn of events, the slaver wasted no time preparing for yet another journey, the only reassurance he felt from the situation being the fact that this trek would be significantly shorter than the last. With the score of Nyr'Kiin locked away in their mobile cell, Mahaad weaved through the busy marketplace of Zar Endal to collect what he'd need for the next couple of days. There was a small relief in knowing that he was only buying for one slaver now, rather than three - two of which could eat enough to satisfy another two. Still, Mahaad left the market district with more than he paid for, which was often the outcome of his shopping sprees. Surely, the merchants would not miss what they did not even know was gone.

---

The Nyr'Kiin spoke little to Mahaad. He suspected they knew of his treachery, given the obvious absence of Khan and Ta'Bat, but also suspected his actions ultimately mattered very little to creatures whose lives were either going to be miserable in the coming years, or come to an end in the coming days.

They had been pulling his carriage, as well as their own holding container, for about a day now since leaving Zar Endal. The group was making some good time, all things considered, and so far they had run into nothing that would pose any proper threat. Perhaps the creatures of the sand weren't fond of the taste of aboriginals, or perhaps they had just been lucky. If it were the latter, Mahaad could only hope that this luck would not run dry before reaching Zar Vorgul. He figured they were not too far from their destination at this point, and hopefully he'd be able to drop off these insectfolk with one of the Drathan mage-lords - whether that was Alkhazar, Qazr, or some other pale-faced 'nobleman,' and call it a job well done. He had worked hard for this, and eagerly anticipated the chance to relax and toss golden coins at naked women in some sleezy hole-in-the-wall tavern - his favourite way to waste time.

In the meantime, Mahaad had some peace and quiet to enjoy. Though he could have been partaking in semi-legal activities with an empty bottle of wine in one hand and the garments of an Avanagashan woman in the other by now, his natural optimism told him to enjoy what time he had to himself, no matter how it came about. Though travelling through a sandy wasteland with a bunch of malnourished Nyr'Kiin may not be his favourite way to spend a day or two, it was all he had at the moment, and he intended to make the best of it.

The Eyhwanian lay back, closing his eyes and letting the sway of the carriage soothe his mind. His muscles relaxed, and the stresses of the previous day whisked away into the faint winds of the Red Desert. He felt peace, for the first time in a while.

Perhaps he should have killed his comrades sooner rather than later.

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

I've got the majority of my intro post written up, and was hoping to have it up by tonight. Sorry for the delay, it's been a busy week at work (I'm the only one in my department in the office for a while), so I haven't had much free time. That won't be an issue in the coming days, though, so no worries lol.

This initial post won't reflect any preparation for the attack, but myself and @Nieszka have a little something in the works for our characters to join forces, so I assume everything else will sort of come together there!

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

I'll have an introductory post done up for Mahaad later today - work has me swamped these last couple days. Thank god (or someone, at least) for weekends!

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

Mahaad Abshir

Name: Mahaad Abshir

Description: Mahaad Abshir was born and raised in the southern country of Eyhwan, where greedy tyrants rule over the poor citizens of the nation, who often resort to crime and otherwise unfavourable lifestyles in order to survive. Murder and theft are rampant, and the growing and sale of mind-altering substances is one of the biggest and most viable industries. As a result, Mahaad learned from an early age that crime does in fact pay, as long as you can get away with it. His entire life, the Eyhwanian has survived by carrying out tasks that many common folk or nobles in other more well-to-do countries would never dream of - piracy, assassination, and slave-trading, the latter of which is what brought him to the Red Desert. Specifically, the various city-states that make up the Drathan Union. It is here where he's made a living by tracking down and kidnapping Aboriginals - the Nyr'Kiin - to be transported to the Drathan mage-lords as slaves, or whatever else the pale abhumans would do with the bugpeople. Mahaad cared little, as long as he was paid well for his work.

Race: Human

Faction/Unit: Independent/Slaver

Location: The Red Desert

Synopsis of Role: As a professional criminal, Mahaad has developed quite a silver tongue and sharp wit. His prowess on the battlefield is as good as any other thief's, but it's his charismatic personality and natural charm that's gotten him out of most predicaments unscathed. His oddly optimistic attitude and relaxing aura are his strongest weapons, and have proven to be a valuable asset over the years, especially since coming to Azoth. While he is only one man, his personality alone has helped him develop some interesting relationships with powerful people throughout the Drathan Union. In such a harsh and hostile country, his skills in diplomacy and speechcraft are something of a rarity, and certainly ones that could prove to be useful in the face of war.

Eyhwan

Name: Eyhwan

Type: Country

Faction/Unit: Independent. Not associated with the Avanagashan Wastes, save for the occasional Drathan lord who finds himself seated as the nation's ruler for any period of time.

Description: Eyhwan is an island country located a week's journey south of the Smouldering Coast, accessible only via ship, or any other means of traversing the oceans. It is governed by tyrannical slavelords, pirates, murderers, or whatever other evil soul manages to climb his or her way to the top at any given time. As a result, the common rabble of Eyhwan have lost faith in any ruling party, and instead fend for themselves, surviving by any means possible. Crime is rampant throughout the country, though with ever-changing sets of laws being put in place, the word crime has something of a malleable definition in Eyhwan. Regardless, the people who inhabit the country have learned to survive by any means possible, whether that be fleeing the country, or staying and fighting their way through life.

Blood on the Sands: Azoth at War (Open!)

<Snipped quote by ECDN>

Accepted. One thing- Azoth is just a name for the world- as in, Earth. The area where the action is taking place = the Avanagashan Wastes aka the Red Desert and to a more limited extent the Ashlands (heartland of the Drathan Union).

Eyhwan works perfectly, and may occasionally be 'ruled' by a Drathan lord before he or she gets themselves murdered. Many Eyhwan emigrees would live and work in the Union.

@Flagg

Ah, my bad. I'll make a few edits to the post to fix up the location names and shoot it over to the character sheet section!