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Al-Qarin: Into the Desert (3-1-24)
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<blockquote data-quote="EternalNewbie" data-source="post: 1247472" data-attributes="member: 6489"><p>Okay, here's the update I'm sure that most of you have been breathlessly awaiting. It's not as long as the others, as I'm currently mired in the middle of exams. Thanks to those who have posted replies for truly your kind words are the fuel for my creative spark. Heh. Might not be another update for a week or so, at which point I'll be finished my exams and will be writing furiously to catch up to where we are in the campaign. Alrighty, enough small talk, here's the update. Enjoy.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * *</p><p></p><p>Shayla felt the magic course through her veins as the arcane words rolled from her lips. She shivered slightly as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees and a thick mist coalesced around her. With one smooth motion she flipped open the latch on her shuttered windows and leapt into the alley behind her home. The mist spilled out of her bedroom and filled the narrow passage between the houses.</p><p></p><p>"That bitch," spat Hazal. "She's some sort of magi. Head around back and grab her if she flees"</p><p></p><p>Shayla gathered herself to run, then abruptly thought better of it, and slid in behind a pile of rotting crates left outside by the wine shop that shared the alley. She heard crashing from inside her bedroom and winced slightly as something shattered on the floor. Hazal's stream of muttered curses sounded distant and hollow, distorted by the mist. Shayla froze as she heard footsteps coming down the alley. Belil walked by close enough to make fog eddy and swirl in front of her but the thick shroud prevented him from spotting her. The footsteps slowly receded into the fog, and Shayla exhaled slowly, realizing that she had been holding her breath. In the distance she heard Hazal's voice. "Damn that cursed witch to the planes of Hell. She can't have got far. We'd better find her or Halaal will have our hides."</p><p> </p><p>Shayla waited a few seconds longer, then drew her shawl up around her head, covering her distinctive auburn locks, and walked out of the alley into the street. She patted the purse at her waist, thankful she'd had the foresight to pick it up when she was putting on her clothes. Humming softly to herself, Shayla turned and began heading towards the east gate, while behind her the afternoon sun burned away the last traces of her spell.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * * * * * * * * *</p><p></p><p>The trip to the encampment of Gorak's tribe had been long, hot and dusty, but then travelling anywhere outside the walls of Gem-Sharad seemed long, hot and dusty to Khalid. The sun had just begun to set when the two men crested a dune and were greeted by the flickering light of a half dozen campfires burning around a tiny oasis. Khalid loosed the end of his turban, which had been drawn up over his face and took a long pull of tepid water from his skin. He had only been out to the camp once before, and the experience had not been particularly enjoyable but for the moment, anywhere was better than Gem-Sharad. Khalid sighed heavily and hurried to catch up to Gorak who had already begun to walk down the dune.</p><p> </p><p>The camp was every bit as raucous and noisy as Khalid remembered it. Everywhere were half and full blood orcs, drinking and cursing and fighting. As the two men moved through the maze of tents, members of Gorak's extended family offered to them what Khalid assumed were greetings although to his untrained ears may have been threats of violence. Everywhere around him were the snarls and thick guttural sounds of the orc tongue. Gorak returned these greetings with a wave or a nod but didn't break his stride. "We've gotta go see my Da first, before we get something to eat. It's the way of things," he grumbled when he saw Khalid staring longingly at a bubbling stewpot.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah yes, quite." Khalid replied as he narrowly dodged a swarm of orcish children that tumbled out in front of him from between two tents. The children seemed to be playing some sort of game with a stick which, as near as Khalid could tell, involved the child with the stick beating everyone else around him with it until someone else knocked him down and took it away. "Ah, yes, always a pleasure to enjoy the hospitality of your tribe. Yes, quite."</p><p> </p><p>Gorak grunted and pushed his way through a circle of cheering orcs. Khalid moved quickly behind him to avoid having to jostle any of the men himself. Gorak stopped at the inner edge of the circle, and Khalid craned his neck to see over him. In the middle of the impromptu ring were two orcs locked in a titanic struggle. Khalid recognized Gorak's father, Magol as one of the combatants, although he didn't recognize the other. The two orcs, both full bloods as far as Khalid could tell, stood with their feet planted, gripping each other by the upper arms. They remained there, motionless as the seconds ticked by, the only hint of the enormous effort being expended coming in the sweat that poured down their faces and their sharp labored breaths.</p><p> </p><p>Khalid leaned in close to Gorak, "Ah, is this some sort of, ah, leadership challenge?"</p><p> </p><p>Gorak snorted, "Nah. Da just likes to work up an appetite."</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the deadlock in the ring was broken. Magol had slowly slid his hands down to his opponent's elbows and then flung his arms out wide, breaking the grip. The orc, unbalanced by the sudden lack of resistance, stumbled forward. Magol snapped his head forward and the two men's skulls met with a thunderous crack that sent a shiver down Khalid's spine. Quick as a serpent Magol slid around behind the stunned man and wrapped an arm around the orc's neck, locking it with his other hand. Magol slowly leaned back, lifting the other orc's feet off the ground. His arms bulging with exertion and thick cords standing out on his neck, Magol slowly tightened his grip, oblivious to the thrashing orc's attempts to shatter his knees. The orc's eyes began to bulge from his head and his struggles became more and more feeble until finally he stopped moving altogether. At that point, Magol dropped him to the ground and gave an earsplitting roar that was echoed by the gathered onlookers. As the crowd began to disperse, leaving the unconscious orc in a heap on the ground, someone tossed Magol a flagon. He took a long heavy pull, then wiped his lips lustily before noticing Gorak and Khalid. He barked out a few short words that Khalid didn't understand.</p><p> </p><p>"Speak the man's tongue, Da. You know Khalid don't speak ours." Gorak replied.</p><p> </p><p>"Bah, I hate trying to get my damned tongue around this cursed language. The words are all soft like a woman, nothing you can sink your fangs into. Well, Khalid, come to fatten our coffers to satisfy more of your book learnin'?" Magol said.</p><p> </p><p>Khalid studied Magol cautiously. He was a bit shorter and even thicker than Gorak, if such a thing were possible. His face was like a slab of rock, hard and broad. A thick ropey scar wound its way down the left side of his face, and Khalid couldn't figure out how the orc hadn't lost an eye getting it. The long ivory tusks that jutted up from his lower jaw had been inscribed with fanciful whorls and sigils, and capped with gleaming gold. His hair, like Gorak's, was a tangled mass of dreadlocks and his obsidian skin, slicked with sweat, shone in the flickering firelight. Khalid swallowed nervously and then replied, "Ah, yes, honor to your camp and your, ah tribe, Magol. Yes, quite."</p><p> </p><p>Gorak interrupted with his characteristic curtness, "I'm taking Khalid to Shalazar. We're leaving in the morning."</p><p> </p><p>Magol grunted, "How much is he paying ya to do that?"</p><p> </p><p>Gorak's human mother had moved up beside Magol. She was squat and fat, and the coarse black hair that covered her head and, Khalid noted with a shudder, the better part of her face, was akin to a horse's mane. She handed Magol a thick woolen robe.</p><p> </p><p>"Nothing," Gorak replied.</p><p></p><p>"Nothing?" Magol roared. Then he casually delivered a backhand to his wife that sent her sprawling to the ground.</p><p></p><p>"What was that for?" she wailed as she stood up, wiping blood from her nose.</p><p> </p><p>"For cheating on me, you faithless whore, because this bastard obviously ain't no son of mine," Magol snarled. "Come ta my tent later boy, your charity work is gonna have to wait. There's a stranger here in camp, an Easterner, and he's got hisself some interesting tales. Chance for some good profit in it."</p><p> </p><p>Gorak grunted noncommittally and turned away, "Now let's get something to eat."</p><p> </p><p>As the two moved away from Magol's tent, Khalid asked, "Ah, yes, do you think perhaps, you can find out where this Easterner has pitched his tent? I would be quite interested in speaking with him, yes quite, if only to practice the Eastern tongue a little."</p><p> </p><p>Gorak grunted his ascent as he ladled out two bowls of stew. "C'mon, you can stash your gear in my tent, there's enough room in there for both of us."</p><p> </p><p>After finishing his meal, Gorak wandered out into the camp to find some of his family members to beat on. At least that's what Khalid assumed he was doing, seeing as how casual conversation didn't seem to be a popular form of entertainment. Khalid finished the last of his stew, and then left Gorak's yurt in search of the Easterner. Khalid found him, sitting alone just beyond the edges of the tribe's camp. He had pitched a small tent and was roasting some type of meat over a small fire. The man's features were shrouded beneath a hooded cloak. Khalid hailed him in the eastern tongue, "Ah, well met my friend, and a blessing upon your camp."</p><p> </p><p>The man didn't look up as he prodded the small fire with a stick, causing sparks to flare up into the night sky.</p><p> </p><p>Khalid, a little taken aback by the man's lack of response, continued, "Ah, yes, my name is Khalid ibn Bahir. I had hoped to, ah, enjoin you in some conversation, yes quite. I have had little practice, yes, practice in the eastern tongue."</p><p> </p><p>The man looked up, "Me too, these days. Your accent is terrible." Khalid took the opportunity to study the man before he resumed tending the fire. His skin was dark brown but Khalid could tell it was from long hours spent in the sun and not natural color. His hair was the color of the desert sand, but his green eyes were hard and quick, seeming to look at nothing and take in everything. The man's hands were large and callused, and moved deftly as he shaved a strip of meat off the spit. Khalid was certain the sword resting beside him was not merely ornamental. "Well?" the man continued.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, well what?" Khalid stuttered.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand there all night," the man asked.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, yes of course, thank you for the invitation ah…" Khalid trailed off.</p><p> </p><p>"Name's Ronik."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, of course. Ronik. Well, ah I had hoped to question you about your homeland, yes, in addition to practicing my linguistic skills. Yes quite. I have never had the opportunity to yes, travel beyond the mountains, but I have heard quite a few strange tales from that land. Yes, quite. In fact, I hear that there is war there now, yes, war and that the mountain pass is closed."</p><p> </p><p>Ronik shrugged. "I dunno Westman, I haven't traveled that way in a long time."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah," Khalid tried hard to hide his disappointment, "I would still be interested in hearing tales from your homeland, nevertheless. Yes."</p><p> </p><p>Despite the man's taciturn nature, Khalid managed to engage him in idle conversation for a while before returning to the main camp. On his way back to Gorak's tent, he heard another loud commotion coming from the western side of the camp. As he headed over to investigate, he met up with Gorak who was heading in the same direction. "Ah, yes, what's going on Gorak?"</p><p> </p><p>"Dunno," Gorak muttered.</p><p> </p><p>Khalid felt an icy sliver of fear creep into his heart. "Ah, you don't suppose Halaal has tracked me here do you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Relax Khalid," Gorak rumbled, "you're safe here fer now."</p><p> </p><p>Khalid's fear settled into shock however when he heard a vindictive curse in a voice he recognized all to well. "Shayla? By the lost gods, what is she doing here?"</p><p> </p><p>Shayla pushed her way through the crowd of orcs, all male Khalid noticed, that were gathered around her. She looked a bit harried; probably more so from the attention lavished upon her now than the trip through the desert, but even so her beauty was undiminished. Deftly sidestepping a fat, hairy half-orc in a stained leather vest and breeches, she slapped away his lecherous hands and stood beside Gorak. Gorak snarled something in orcish and most of the crowd began to wander away. One of the men however, said something to Gorak, the meaning of which was made clear when he jingled the heavy coin purse on his belt. Shayla shot the orc such a withering glare that Khalid was certain that he would fade and wilt like the desert rose under the noontime sun. Gorak snarled again, and put his arm possessively around Shayla. The other orc laughed and spoke in crude Western, "Too skinny anyhow." Then he turned and vanished amid the maze of tents.</p><p> </p><p>"Hi boys," Shayla said brightly, "miss me?"</p><p> </p><p>Khalid was at a loss for words, so Gorak spoke first, "What're ya doing out here Shayla, the desert ain't no place to be wandering around alone at night."</p><p> </p><p>Shayla gave a little toss of her head that flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder, "Well those two friends of Khalid's from the White Tower didn't leave me a lot of choice."</p><p> </p><p>Khalid frequently interrupted her with apologies as she recounted her story, but was again struck speechless when she spoke of her escape from Hazal and Belil. As Gorak laughed loudly, Khalid whispered aloud to himself, "A sorceress, how remarkable. So the old bloodlines have held true even through the upheaval. Quite interesting, yes, quite."</p><p></p><p>Gorak, still chuckling slightly, rumbled, "Well c'mon then, and we'll find you a place to sleep for the night. Probably best if you stay in my tent with me and Khalid, if you don't mind?"</p><p></p><p>"It might be a little safer than out here with your cousins," Shayla replied with a wink.</p><p></p><p>Khalid quickly suppressed the spark of nervousness that flared up within him and spoke, "Ah, so Gorak, did you sort out that business, yes, business with your father?"</p><p></p><p>Gorak grunted. "Ya. He wants me to go out on a hunt tomorrow. That Easterner picked up some good spoor a day ago. Might be a good idea. We'd be heading south through the desert for a few days, and then after we finish up we could just keep moving southwest to Shalazar. Keeps us off the road for a while."</p><p> </p><p>Khalid nodded, "Yes, that sounds reasonable. Of course, it's up to Shayla as well now, since she can't go back to Gem-Sharad, yes. At least, not right away."</p><p> </p><p>Shayla shrugged, "Sounds like fun."</p><p> </p><p>Khalid marveled at the girl. A six day hike through the desert, and she considered that fun? "Maybe the innate magic has unbalanced her mind. Yes, that must be it," he muttered to himself as they entered Gorak's yurt and settled in for the night.</p><p> </p><p>The morning dawned bright and hot, as most mornings do in Al-Qarin. Khalid was shaken awake by Gorak, who handed him a small loaf of bread and some goat cheese. "Let's go," Gorak rumbled, "the others are waiting."</p><p> </p><p>Khalid hastily gathered up his meager possessions as he noticed with some chagrin that even Shayla seemed packed up and ready to go. As he crawled out of the tent, Khalid saw the hunting party assembled outside. The Easterner, Ronik was there, wearing dune colored leathers and holding an enormous eastern longbow. He was talking quietly to Gormo, Gorak's brother. Gormo looked as he always did, large and imposing in his piecemeal leathers. Unlike his father and brother, Gormo had shaved most of his hair off, save for a strip down the center of his scalp that he tied back with a rawhide cord. He too was carrying a bow, one of the short, tribal hunting bows. Shayla had forgone her normal city attire and was wearing a long desert robe that was somewhat more practical but no less alluring on her curvaceous form.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright, let's go," Gorak rumbled.</p><p> </p><p>Khalid struggled into his pack as he hurried to catch up with the rest of them. As near as he could tell it was just after sunup but the camp was already teeming with activity. He tore a hunk of bread off the loaf Gorak had given him and chewed it regretfully as he walked past cook fires where eggs and fresh ham sizzled in skillets. He thought of something then, and hurried to the front of the group to keep pace with Gorak. "Ah Gorak, what exactly are we hunting?" Khalid asked.</p><p> </p><p>"Hatori."</p><p></p><p>"Hatori, hatori, hatori…" Khalid muttered to himself, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. Realization dawned on him suddenly, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Ah, Gorak, do you mean, ah Hatori as in the giant fifty foot lizards they pit dozens of slaves against in the arena?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yup, that's the one. Now keep up Khalid, we've got a long way to go today." Gorak growled.</p><p></p><p>Khalid sighed heavily and fell into step at the back of the group. Things just kept getting better and better.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="EternalNewbie, post: 1247472, member: 6489"] Okay, here's the update I'm sure that most of you have been breathlessly awaiting. It's not as long as the others, as I'm currently mired in the middle of exams. Thanks to those who have posted replies for truly your kind words are the fuel for my creative spark. Heh. Might not be another update for a week or so, at which point I'll be finished my exams and will be writing furiously to catch up to where we are in the campaign. Alrighty, enough small talk, here's the update. Enjoy. [CENTER]* * * * * * * *[/CENTER] Shayla felt the magic course through her veins as the arcane words rolled from her lips. She shivered slightly as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees and a thick mist coalesced around her. With one smooth motion she flipped open the latch on her shuttered windows and leapt into the alley behind her home. The mist spilled out of her bedroom and filled the narrow passage between the houses. "That bitch," spat Hazal. "She's some sort of magi. Head around back and grab her if she flees" Shayla gathered herself to run, then abruptly thought better of it, and slid in behind a pile of rotting crates left outside by the wine shop that shared the alley. She heard crashing from inside her bedroom and winced slightly as something shattered on the floor. Hazal's stream of muttered curses sounded distant and hollow, distorted by the mist. Shayla froze as she heard footsteps coming down the alley. Belil walked by close enough to make fog eddy and swirl in front of her but the thick shroud prevented him from spotting her. The footsteps slowly receded into the fog, and Shayla exhaled slowly, realizing that she had been holding her breath. In the distance she heard Hazal's voice. "Damn that cursed witch to the planes of Hell. She can't have got far. We'd better find her or Halaal will have our hides." Shayla waited a few seconds longer, then drew her shawl up around her head, covering her distinctive auburn locks, and walked out of the alley into the street. She patted the purse at her waist, thankful she'd had the foresight to pick it up when she was putting on her clothes. Humming softly to herself, Shayla turned and began heading towards the east gate, while behind her the afternoon sun burned away the last traces of her spell. [CENTER]* * * * * * * * * *[/CENTER] The trip to the encampment of Gorak's tribe had been long, hot and dusty, but then travelling anywhere outside the walls of Gem-Sharad seemed long, hot and dusty to Khalid. The sun had just begun to set when the two men crested a dune and were greeted by the flickering light of a half dozen campfires burning around a tiny oasis. Khalid loosed the end of his turban, which had been drawn up over his face and took a long pull of tepid water from his skin. He had only been out to the camp once before, and the experience had not been particularly enjoyable but for the moment, anywhere was better than Gem-Sharad. Khalid sighed heavily and hurried to catch up to Gorak who had already begun to walk down the dune. The camp was every bit as raucous and noisy as Khalid remembered it. Everywhere were half and full blood orcs, drinking and cursing and fighting. As the two men moved through the maze of tents, members of Gorak's extended family offered to them what Khalid assumed were greetings although to his untrained ears may have been threats of violence. Everywhere around him were the snarls and thick guttural sounds of the orc tongue. Gorak returned these greetings with a wave or a nod but didn't break his stride. "We've gotta go see my Da first, before we get something to eat. It's the way of things," he grumbled when he saw Khalid staring longingly at a bubbling stewpot. "Ah yes, quite." Khalid replied as he narrowly dodged a swarm of orcish children that tumbled out in front of him from between two tents. The children seemed to be playing some sort of game with a stick which, as near as Khalid could tell, involved the child with the stick beating everyone else around him with it until someone else knocked him down and took it away. "Ah, yes, always a pleasure to enjoy the hospitality of your tribe. Yes, quite." Gorak grunted and pushed his way through a circle of cheering orcs. Khalid moved quickly behind him to avoid having to jostle any of the men himself. Gorak stopped at the inner edge of the circle, and Khalid craned his neck to see over him. In the middle of the impromptu ring were two orcs locked in a titanic struggle. Khalid recognized Gorak's father, Magol as one of the combatants, although he didn't recognize the other. The two orcs, both full bloods as far as Khalid could tell, stood with their feet planted, gripping each other by the upper arms. They remained there, motionless as the seconds ticked by, the only hint of the enormous effort being expended coming in the sweat that poured down their faces and their sharp labored breaths. Khalid leaned in close to Gorak, "Ah, is this some sort of, ah, leadership challenge?" Gorak snorted, "Nah. Da just likes to work up an appetite." Suddenly the deadlock in the ring was broken. Magol had slowly slid his hands down to his opponent's elbows and then flung his arms out wide, breaking the grip. The orc, unbalanced by the sudden lack of resistance, stumbled forward. Magol snapped his head forward and the two men's skulls met with a thunderous crack that sent a shiver down Khalid's spine. Quick as a serpent Magol slid around behind the stunned man and wrapped an arm around the orc's neck, locking it with his other hand. Magol slowly leaned back, lifting the other orc's feet off the ground. His arms bulging with exertion and thick cords standing out on his neck, Magol slowly tightened his grip, oblivious to the thrashing orc's attempts to shatter his knees. The orc's eyes began to bulge from his head and his struggles became more and more feeble until finally he stopped moving altogether. At that point, Magol dropped him to the ground and gave an earsplitting roar that was echoed by the gathered onlookers. As the crowd began to disperse, leaving the unconscious orc in a heap on the ground, someone tossed Magol a flagon. He took a long heavy pull, then wiped his lips lustily before noticing Gorak and Khalid. He barked out a few short words that Khalid didn't understand. "Speak the man's tongue, Da. You know Khalid don't speak ours." Gorak replied. "Bah, I hate trying to get my damned tongue around this cursed language. The words are all soft like a woman, nothing you can sink your fangs into. Well, Khalid, come to fatten our coffers to satisfy more of your book learnin'?" Magol said. Khalid studied Magol cautiously. He was a bit shorter and even thicker than Gorak, if such a thing were possible. His face was like a slab of rock, hard and broad. A thick ropey scar wound its way down the left side of his face, and Khalid couldn't figure out how the orc hadn't lost an eye getting it. The long ivory tusks that jutted up from his lower jaw had been inscribed with fanciful whorls and sigils, and capped with gleaming gold. His hair, like Gorak's, was a tangled mass of dreadlocks and his obsidian skin, slicked with sweat, shone in the flickering firelight. Khalid swallowed nervously and then replied, "Ah, yes, honor to your camp and your, ah tribe, Magol. Yes, quite." Gorak interrupted with his characteristic curtness, "I'm taking Khalid to Shalazar. We're leaving in the morning." Magol grunted, "How much is he paying ya to do that?" Gorak's human mother had moved up beside Magol. She was squat and fat, and the coarse black hair that covered her head and, Khalid noted with a shudder, the better part of her face, was akin to a horse's mane. She handed Magol a thick woolen robe. "Nothing," Gorak replied. "Nothing?" Magol roared. Then he casually delivered a backhand to his wife that sent her sprawling to the ground. "What was that for?" she wailed as she stood up, wiping blood from her nose. "For cheating on me, you faithless whore, because this bastard obviously ain't no son of mine," Magol snarled. "Come ta my tent later boy, your charity work is gonna have to wait. There's a stranger here in camp, an Easterner, and he's got hisself some interesting tales. Chance for some good profit in it." Gorak grunted noncommittally and turned away, "Now let's get something to eat." As the two moved away from Magol's tent, Khalid asked, "Ah, yes, do you think perhaps, you can find out where this Easterner has pitched his tent? I would be quite interested in speaking with him, yes quite, if only to practice the Eastern tongue a little." Gorak grunted his ascent as he ladled out two bowls of stew. "C'mon, you can stash your gear in my tent, there's enough room in there for both of us." After finishing his meal, Gorak wandered out into the camp to find some of his family members to beat on. At least that's what Khalid assumed he was doing, seeing as how casual conversation didn't seem to be a popular form of entertainment. Khalid finished the last of his stew, and then left Gorak's yurt in search of the Easterner. Khalid found him, sitting alone just beyond the edges of the tribe's camp. He had pitched a small tent and was roasting some type of meat over a small fire. The man's features were shrouded beneath a hooded cloak. Khalid hailed him in the eastern tongue, "Ah, well met my friend, and a blessing upon your camp." The man didn't look up as he prodded the small fire with a stick, causing sparks to flare up into the night sky. Khalid, a little taken aback by the man's lack of response, continued, "Ah, yes, my name is Khalid ibn Bahir. I had hoped to, ah, enjoin you in some conversation, yes quite. I have had little practice, yes, practice in the eastern tongue." The man looked up, "Me too, these days. Your accent is terrible." Khalid took the opportunity to study the man before he resumed tending the fire. His skin was dark brown but Khalid could tell it was from long hours spent in the sun and not natural color. His hair was the color of the desert sand, but his green eyes were hard and quick, seeming to look at nothing and take in everything. The man's hands were large and callused, and moved deftly as he shaved a strip of meat off the spit. Khalid was certain the sword resting beside him was not merely ornamental. "Well?" the man continued. "Ah, well what?" Khalid stuttered. "Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand there all night," the man asked. "Ah, yes of course, thank you for the invitation ah…" Khalid trailed off. "Name's Ronik." "Yes, of course. Ronik. Well, ah I had hoped to question you about your homeland, yes, in addition to practicing my linguistic skills. Yes quite. I have never had the opportunity to yes, travel beyond the mountains, but I have heard quite a few strange tales from that land. Yes, quite. In fact, I hear that there is war there now, yes, war and that the mountain pass is closed." Ronik shrugged. "I dunno Westman, I haven't traveled that way in a long time." "Ah," Khalid tried hard to hide his disappointment, "I would still be interested in hearing tales from your homeland, nevertheless. Yes." Despite the man's taciturn nature, Khalid managed to engage him in idle conversation for a while before returning to the main camp. On his way back to Gorak's tent, he heard another loud commotion coming from the western side of the camp. As he headed over to investigate, he met up with Gorak who was heading in the same direction. "Ah, yes, what's going on Gorak?" "Dunno," Gorak muttered. Khalid felt an icy sliver of fear creep into his heart. "Ah, you don't suppose Halaal has tracked me here do you?" "Relax Khalid," Gorak rumbled, "you're safe here fer now." Khalid's fear settled into shock however when he heard a vindictive curse in a voice he recognized all to well. "Shayla? By the lost gods, what is she doing here?" Shayla pushed her way through the crowd of orcs, all male Khalid noticed, that were gathered around her. She looked a bit harried; probably more so from the attention lavished upon her now than the trip through the desert, but even so her beauty was undiminished. Deftly sidestepping a fat, hairy half-orc in a stained leather vest and breeches, she slapped away his lecherous hands and stood beside Gorak. Gorak snarled something in orcish and most of the crowd began to wander away. One of the men however, said something to Gorak, the meaning of which was made clear when he jingled the heavy coin purse on his belt. Shayla shot the orc such a withering glare that Khalid was certain that he would fade and wilt like the desert rose under the noontime sun. Gorak snarled again, and put his arm possessively around Shayla. The other orc laughed and spoke in crude Western, "Too skinny anyhow." Then he turned and vanished amid the maze of tents. "Hi boys," Shayla said brightly, "miss me?" Khalid was at a loss for words, so Gorak spoke first, "What're ya doing out here Shayla, the desert ain't no place to be wandering around alone at night." Shayla gave a little toss of her head that flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder, "Well those two friends of Khalid's from the White Tower didn't leave me a lot of choice." Khalid frequently interrupted her with apologies as she recounted her story, but was again struck speechless when she spoke of her escape from Hazal and Belil. As Gorak laughed loudly, Khalid whispered aloud to himself, "A sorceress, how remarkable. So the old bloodlines have held true even through the upheaval. Quite interesting, yes, quite." Gorak, still chuckling slightly, rumbled, "Well c'mon then, and we'll find you a place to sleep for the night. Probably best if you stay in my tent with me and Khalid, if you don't mind?" "It might be a little safer than out here with your cousins," Shayla replied with a wink. Khalid quickly suppressed the spark of nervousness that flared up within him and spoke, "Ah, so Gorak, did you sort out that business, yes, business with your father?" Gorak grunted. "Ya. He wants me to go out on a hunt tomorrow. That Easterner picked up some good spoor a day ago. Might be a good idea. We'd be heading south through the desert for a few days, and then after we finish up we could just keep moving southwest to Shalazar. Keeps us off the road for a while." Khalid nodded, "Yes, that sounds reasonable. Of course, it's up to Shayla as well now, since she can't go back to Gem-Sharad, yes. At least, not right away." Shayla shrugged, "Sounds like fun." Khalid marveled at the girl. A six day hike through the desert, and she considered that fun? "Maybe the innate magic has unbalanced her mind. Yes, that must be it," he muttered to himself as they entered Gorak's yurt and settled in for the night. The morning dawned bright and hot, as most mornings do in Al-Qarin. Khalid was shaken awake by Gorak, who handed him a small loaf of bread and some goat cheese. "Let's go," Gorak rumbled, "the others are waiting." Khalid hastily gathered up his meager possessions as he noticed with some chagrin that even Shayla seemed packed up and ready to go. As he crawled out of the tent, Khalid saw the hunting party assembled outside. The Easterner, Ronik was there, wearing dune colored leathers and holding an enormous eastern longbow. He was talking quietly to Gormo, Gorak's brother. Gormo looked as he always did, large and imposing in his piecemeal leathers. Unlike his father and brother, Gormo had shaved most of his hair off, save for a strip down the center of his scalp that he tied back with a rawhide cord. He too was carrying a bow, one of the short, tribal hunting bows. Shayla had forgone her normal city attire and was wearing a long desert robe that was somewhat more practical but no less alluring on her curvaceous form. "Alright, let's go," Gorak rumbled. Khalid struggled into his pack as he hurried to catch up with the rest of them. As near as he could tell it was just after sunup but the camp was already teeming with activity. He tore a hunk of bread off the loaf Gorak had given him and chewed it regretfully as he walked past cook fires where eggs and fresh ham sizzled in skillets. He thought of something then, and hurried to the front of the group to keep pace with Gorak. "Ah Gorak, what exactly are we hunting?" Khalid asked. "Hatori." "Hatori, hatori, hatori…" Khalid muttered to himself, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. Realization dawned on him suddenly, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Ah, Gorak, do you mean, ah Hatori as in the giant fifty foot lizards they pit dozens of slaves against in the arena?" "Yup, that's the one. Now keep up Khalid, we've got a long way to go today." Gorak growled. Khalid sighed heavily and fell into step at the back of the group. Things just kept getting better and better. [/QUOTE]
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Al-Qarin: Into the Desert (3-1-24)
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