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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Joshua Randall" data-source="post: 1147904" data-attributes="member: 7737">Interlude: NasirNasir al-Faraj turned his head and spat. He watched the spittle descend in a perfect arc from his position atop his horse to the dusty plain below. Taking the spear from those so-called Kestrels has been easier than he’d thought. Of course, that idiot Heysek had to go and get himself killed, but Nasir didn’t mind. He’d never liked Heysek much, anyway. Besides, this way Nasir could claim to have done it all himself. The boss would be happy with him – might even grant him a boon. Nasir scowled. He should’ve been there in Bellhold. What a foul up: everyone dead or driven off; the Dragonstone destroyed; the Kestrels triumphant. But not so triumphant now – not when Nasir had plucked the prize from that Herbalish scout’s hands like picking a flower. The whole damn organization was nuts for this spear. Nasir contemplated it for the hundredth time. It was pretty to look at, he had to admit, but so light that it seemed unfit as a weapon. And Nasir couldn’t figure out why the tree-creature had been so enamored of it; dryads were normally pacifists. He spat again. The horse puffed out its flanks, then sighed, the air rustling its lips. Nasir sneered and dug in his heels: time to make haste. = = = Nasir’s horse died outside of Kadan. One minute he was riding along; the next, the stupid animal had collapsed to the ground, sending its rider sprawling away in alarm. Nasir berated the creature for several minutes before realizing it was dead. “Pestilence take your soul!” he cursed. He had to walk – walk! – into Kadan carrying the spear, wrapped in his horse blanket. Always had to be on guard in these Cloeasian cities. But no one seemed to care about a single badly sunburned ranger keeping to the shade of the buildings while working his way through the city. About half a day outside of Vakar, at the unnamed oasis that served as a meeting place for those on the road to Casiorn, Nasir came upon a roadside archery contest. He handily beat the bumbling farmers and hunters who were taking part, but declined the prize – some dumb bow – instead opting for one of the contest organizer’s horses. Mounting up, Nasir galloped westwards. = = = It was dry. Dry as a gods-damned bone. The whole place was called the <a href="http://www.projectaon.org/xhtml/lw/04tcod/maplarge.htm" target="_blank"> Dry Main</a>. So why the hell did Nasir have to wake up every morning surrounded by scrub-brush and tangly grasses? He couldn’t figure that out. Maybe that Herbalish scout had put some kind of curse on him during the battle. Nasir shrugged. At least the horse would have something to eat. = = = Finally: Casiorn. Nasir hated the city. Emerald of the desert, my ass, he thought to himself. More like costume jewelry. The hulking Sharnazim at the gate gave him some lip, and started to make real trouble when he foolishly tried to bribe them. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The Sharnazim were all religious fanatics and ascetics. They made perfect guards: single-minded to the point of obsession. Fortunately for Nasir, however, they weren’t too interested in a lengthy discussion – not when half of Magnamund was lined up outside the gates, waiting to get in for the games. Finding the boss wasn’t easy in a city as big as Casiorn. It actually took Nasir two-and-a-half days before he could safely make contact. Of course, the boss wasn’t exactly advertising his presence; not with the chance that the Kestrels would find out. Nasir assured the boss that he hadn’t been followed, but the boss laughed and told him your feeble herbcraft is hardly enough to deter a determined tracker. Nasir shrugged. He didn’t care. The boss needed him around, and that was enough. He’d cool his heels in this stinking city for as long as it took. He hoped the Kestrels did show up. Because this time he wouldn’t be charged with taking something from them. This time he’d kill them.</blockquote>

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