Dark Seduction RPG

[piosenniel]

Ismat – leader of the Grey Parrot Clan

‘Duha! Wake up, little wife. I am going now’

The woman sat up on her mat, her face was drawn with worry and her eyes red from the tears that fled down her cheeks. ‘I am not asleep, Ismat. How could I be?’

The light from the small oil lamp that Ismat had lit threw sharp shadows on the walls of the tent. The tent was empty, except for them. The third mat, still laid out in hopes that Munir, their child, was a grim reminder of what must be done tonight. Duha put her hand on her husband’s arm, a pleading look in her eyes.

‘Is there no other way that what the Elders spoke of,’ she asked, her eyes wide with a mother’s fear. ‘He is our only child. How can they want to abandon them?’

Ismat leaned forward, taking his wife’s face in his hands. He kissed her lightly on the brow. ‘I will try as hard as I can to convince him to come home, Duha. But he is old enough now to make his own choices and to live with what he does choose. As for the others, I do not know what will happen. Jasara’s spirit has turned dark, and she holds great sway over them.’

Duha watched as he rose, tucking in his shirt as he did so. His thick ironwood stick was in his hand as he left the tent, closing the flap of it securely. She blew out the lamp, the smell of the smoky oil lingering in her nostrils until the night breezes pulled it up and out through the smoke hole at the tent’s crown.

*+*+*+*+*+*

He found them in a pack, like wild animals, huddled together in the open just beyond the edges of the camp. He had brought a hooded lantern with him, and now he opened its light full on them. They woke, their dark eyes glinting in the sudden light, silent, regarding him as a hunter would regard its prey.

Munir edged to the back of the group, his eyes not meeting those of his father, who sought him out with a smile. The other young ones closed in around Munir, shielding him.

Ismat stepped no closer to the group. His gaze now seeking Jasara’s as she stepped a little forward. His words to them were short – telling briefly what the Elders had decided. There would be a two day time period for the young ones to come back to their families and to the tribal ways. Then, the Elders would meet again, and those who had not come back would be set out on their own, cut off from the tribe in all ways.

‘You will be dead to us,’ he said. ‘Ghosts. The warriors will drive you from our camp and you cannot return.’ His eyes swept the ragged group in their thin clothes. The sound of hyenas came from a distance, their eerie laughter filling the silence between the man and the young ones, and fading as they ran after the promise of a kill.

‘You will be dead to us,’ he said again, his words hanging in the once again thick silence. ‘And we will mourn you.’

He shut the hood of the lantern abruptly, and turning quickly strode swiftly back to the tents of the tribe.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The statement made by the leader of the Grey Parrot clan sent up a fierce discussion between all of the young. Several children were struck with the grim reality that if they did not go home...they would never be able to go home. Others were still prepared to go out with their fellow young.

"What will we do?" spoke up little Rijal through the heated talks of the other young. It was a simple question, and a question that covered just about every single worry the young were now faced with.

"We will stay as a tribe. We have not needed the Elders for a long while," snapped Najah, eyeing the tents in the distance that housed the despised Elders. "We will not need them if they send us away. We have Jasara...they have old women and men who are stuck in the past. To them, the past will always be a shadow that follows them around. I would rather leave and let the memories fade."

"Things never go the way I want them to," murmured Nasir grimly. He always feared that the day would come when the rebellious group was shunned by the people the young didn't realize they needed. "But I cannot abandon you people, and my leader at such a time."

"At sunrise I fight to stay asleep because I can't bear to look at the faces of the elders, knowing that I am against everything they stand for," one little girl interjected from the back of the group, near Munir. "We will be dead."

Jasara listened to all of this, eyes wide. She alone stood over the group, taking in every child's words. This was her biggest fear. That perhaps the voice in her head was wrong...and that everything would come tumbling down on her. She could only take so much. Jasara's father would probably not take Jasara back...after all, Jasara was the cause of the rift in the tribes. Khasia may be accepted back, but certainly not Jasara.

"It only breaks my heart to see us seemingly stand in the shadow. To me it feels akin to the darkness spreading over the land recently," piped up Munir from behind several of his fellow children who had shielded him from his own father. That was how far it had gone between the young and old...that children had to hide from their parents in shame and fear.

"What should I do?" whispered Jasara nervously to the voice, hoping that no one had heard the hushed voice coming from above them.

The shadows are your friend. You do not need the elders...they will not stand long, answered the voice menacingly, though Jasara was used to the cold tone. Despite the little light from the night sky, Jasara blinked once or twice with a vision in her eyes of a great and lidless eye. Jasara quickly wiped this sight away from her mind, and focused again on the group.

"So the Elders' leniency has come to an end, as such things do," Jasara began, over the loud voices of the children and teenagers. "And now another threat has come, all prepared to hand us the worst. But tell me, can a tribe or community of old and aged folk survive for long without a great portion the young to continue the line?"

Jasara paused for a moment of tenative, absolute silence. Then she spoke three words that hushed everyone around her, hitting them like a harsh slap on the face.

"I think not."

"But my family!" cried a few children. There were few other choruses and variations of this, including repetitions of Ismat's words, "We will be dead to them."

"Silence!" roared Jasara, surprising the whole group. Jasara had let the voice in her head speak through her using the girl's voice to quiet the children. "All you who are scared of what the elders think and what they will do can roll up their sleep-bags tomorrow and leave. The rest of us will continue on our own, if need be. We will be our own tribe. We have everything and everyone we need."

"Lets go then, lets make our escape. We wait, and let the old come and shoo us away like rats," came a familiar voice, slightly shaky to begin with but continuing on to be more confident. Khasia stood, face filled with emotions that Jasara could not distinguish. "There is no other choice. For some it is too late."

In more ways than one, I'm afraid, Jasara! snickered the voice that beckoned to Jasara.

[ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Durelin]

Throwing back the huge black iron doors, Sevora emerged from the meeting hall, a broad grin looking quite out of place on her bloodied face. Her lips were a sickly dark red from the dried blood, and the lines still ran down her cheeks. Her teeth were also covered in blood, making her resemble a hyena just finished with its prey. The others followed her, both with bland expressions, though Naramarth had a ghost of a smile on his pale face, the dried blood on his cheeks only emphasized the paleness of his skin, giving him the gross appearance of a corpse.

"We will meet our escort now," she said to them without turning around, her voice strangely cheery. "Oh Rahvin, I'll need you to purchase me a new dress, I believe" she said, seemingly speaking to no one. "One for travel. You know what I need. And, of course, you must supply us." She paused, and a man emerged silently from the shadows by the door to the meeting hall behind the three members of the citadel. He came up to walk beside Sevora, the Eye tattooed on his forehead barely visible in the dim corridor. "I must meditate on this mission and make my personal offering soon."

"I will see that you are not disturbed."

"Why thank you, Rahvin, dear," Sevora said, looking at him with a most twisted grin, having the slightest resemblance of a fond look. The man's own lips twitched a bit, getting as close to a smile as he ever had.

As the group emerged from the Citadel, Sevora was prepared to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight, but, when the huge twisted metal doors were drawn back, the pale beams of a newly risen moon were the only sources of light. "I was not aware of the time that passed within that hall," she remarked to no one in particular.

Gliding down the great steps, the four went out into the courtyard toward the beginnings of a campsite, out of place on the black stone that covered the ground. Seven of those among the camp came up to meet them, leaving ten or fifteen men behind, all dressed the same. She studied those who stood before them for a moment. One was old, one a woman, one had an uncanny grin, and one… Sevora smiled. "Ghurdan! It warms my heart to see you and pleases me to see you well, Black Heart," she said with mock glee, her eyes glancing toward the long scar on his face. Her grin broadened and her eyes burned. "Though, I am not surprised by your presence, that the High One gave you these orders. He could not have you in the way of your mother's…work." She paused, giggling a bit. "And the outcome has been for the better, has it not? We do get along so well, after all." Her giggles grew louder and she doubled over for a moment, laughing.

In the midst of small laughs, Sevora had each one introduce themselves. She did not ask any questions until it came to the man named Thorgom. "You come from the tribal lands?"

"Yes, Wise One."

"Than you will know of the tribal ways. We will have good use for you." Without another word she moved onto the next man, the one with the uncanny grin. When all had told them who they were and preached their undying loyalty to the Eye, Sevora turned back to Ghurdan. "Why do you wear such?" she said sharply. Her grin had faded a while ago. "And your men -- they are yours aren't they? -- why are they clothed in such colors? We will be traveling through these lands. What colors do you see? What conditions?"

Her gaze went toward all of those before her. "I expect you all to have the proper supplies for the desert and southern grasslands when I return. I must speak to the Lidless Eye and offer him my prayers. The most noble members of the Order, Priest Naramarth and Priestess Dristi, will give you any further orders." Sevora gestured to the two, then looked over the seven warriors once more. They would have to be worked with. No, not with, she corrected herself, They will have to be the ones at the ends of my leashes.

[ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

A strange tremor went through Khasia at the old man’s words. She didn’t have Jasara’s confidence in their ability to survive alone. The cries went up around them, cries for caution and cries for action, she caught the cry of a small girl called Ralah. “I don’t want to die!” Khasia sent the girl a withering glance.

Jasara’s lips moved in the darkness, and suddenly her calm voice rang clear again above the sounds of the troubled group. "All you who are scared of what the elders think and what they will do can roll up their sleep-bags tomorrow and leave. The rest of us will continue on our own, if need be. We will be our own tribe. We have everything and everyone we need."

“Yes.” Khasia held her voice steady despite her fear. “There is no other choice. For some it is too late.” She moved across the camp decisively, gathering her few things together. The sound of the girl, Ralah, whimpering rung in Khasia’s ears. Stopping abruptly she jerked the girl upright by her arm. “Do you really believe that the curses of the old will kill you?” She spit on the ground. “Go back to your mother.” The girl’s eyes blazed for a moment and she stood taller. Khasia looked at her appraisingly. She’d always held near the back and not spoken much. “Are you going? Stay too much longer and your family will be weeping for you.”

“My mother is old.” Ralah said with venom, and turned away. Khasia’s eyes followed her as she went, but her head was swimming. Old. The old were useless, that was what she had always believed. What an old man could do a young man could do faster. But were there enough of them? Her heart rate quickened as she listed their numbers off on her fingers. They had Jasara. If nothing else she was a strong leader. Nasir, too cautious. Najah, arrogant but talented. She went through them one by one, they had a sword master, hunters, those who made trade objects. They had, Narisa who knew every edible plant. Her muscles relaxed slightly as she counted them in her mind. They would be alright they would be fine.

She moved to the large pot where she’d recently stashed the bundle of colored fibers that Jamilah had given her. Transferring all the materials into a large basket, she paused when she came to the bundle. She held it in one hand, looking at the bold colors, so much brighter than the ones she had been able to produce. She held it for a moment, then threw it back on the ground. Someone had gone to the elders. The old witch and her talk of healing. Khasia gritted her teeth as she tucked her sleeping things securely on top of the large basket and walked over to join Jasara, Najah, and Nasir at the edge of camp. “We should go now.” Jasara said, mechanically. Khasia glanced at her sister and then at Najah. The other girl shook her head and cast an arm toward Jasara’s sleep bag, crumpled on the ground where she’d yet to pack it. Khasia bent and rolled it, stuffing it into her sister’s arms.

“I will not stay and be driven out, Jasara. Morning is coming, and I mean to be gone.”

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Helkahothion]

As the priestess walked back, Thorgom spat on the ground.

"Good use of me? Some nerve for a woman. She'd better watch her steps." He mumbled to himself.

The group was now gathered and waiting for the woman to get back. Thorgom drank some water. The travel had made him very thirsty. As he looked around, he saw none of the man of the tribes around. Not that he cared anyway. He had been with a tribe for a while, but he could not stand them. He could not stand much of a group anyway. So instead, he just sat down and waited for the woman to return. Her comment on the clothing did not please Thorgom either. He just saw the priestess as an arrogant low-life. He hoped that she would not lead him into battle. She wouldn't anyway. He would go himself. But he needed a battlefield and she would guide him there.

He wiped the sweat of his head. With a piece of textile, he bound his hair together. As he was bored, he started to sharpen his axes. He got a repulsive look from the others. They had obviously never saw someone from around. Thorgom looked at one and gave him a foul look. He had the urge to kill them all. They were all getting on his nerve. But he controlled himself and went on sharpening the axe. When his big axe was done, he took out his throwing axes. With his pants, he wiped them clean, leaving a brown stain on the pants. Thorgom did not mind, the pants were brown before. Maybe because it was hardly ever washed. The citadel reminded him of something. He had the strange feeling he knew it from some place else. Like he had been there before. He sure remembered the way towards it. Thorgom wanted to close his eyes, but stopped himself.

"No, no flashing memories again Thorgom."

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Nerindel]

Zasfal

Zasfal listened to Sammael's tale intently. "out cold" he laughed looking to the older man for confirmation, grimacing Damodred nodded that it was true. He then turned back to Sammael and listened with interest to the rest of the tale.

"During the fight I hit Damodred's head on one of the walls a few times, which is why his brain is less developed than it should be." at this Zasfal laughed, he saw the older man cringing, obviously remembering the headache that had followed on regaining consciousness. Sammael had continued on regardless. Zasfal feigned awe at the man's recount of his battle, all the while his insides knotting with disdain. He could clearly see why Sammael had chosen this tale but to him the mans boasts were baseless and empty, These were farmers and traders he spoke of besting not seasoned warrior's and he hadn't even killed any of them.

His thoughts were disturbed by the rumbling of a cart loaded with large kegs of ale making its way to the centre of the courtyard. "Come, Zasfal. Shall we see which of us can eat more before we drink?" he heard Sammael say as he turned, not waiting for his reply. Zasfal smirked at the two men's back as he followed, Sammael's tale had told him much that his captain would be interested in hearing.

As he reached the table he watched Sammael cross his hands over his chest and bow, an older sign of respect but one none the less. seeing Sammael half turn and look in his direction he raised his eyebrow in askance. Before he could take something to eat he heard Ghurdan's loud commanding voice cry "To The Eye!" Zasfal turned to see his captain raising his ale and without thinking he joined in the reply snatching a mug from a passing crew member, who quickly scuttled away at his threatening glare.

As he turned to gauge his companions reaction to the presence of the notorious Sea Captain, he heard the screech of the huge twisted metal doors of the citadels main building open. Two Priestesses, one priest and another man.. A Bodyguard he assumed, glided down the great steps towards them. He walked over with the rest of the warriors to greet them respectfully.

As he waited he drop the smile knowing that it would not be appropriate. He cocked his eye at the mocking pleasantries the priestess afforded his captain, So this must be the Priestess Sevora! he thought to himself. But this was nothing compared to what she said next... "Though, I am not surprised by your presence, that the high one gave you these orders. He could not have you in the way of your mother's...work." Mother.... his mother is a priestess he thought his eyes widening in surprise.

As the priestess turned to him he afforded her the customary greeting "My name is Zasfal and it is my honour to serve the all powerful Eye." he said bowing slightly. As he looked up he saw the woman looking disdainfully at his bright red sash then to the clothes of both Ghurdan and his crew, she then turned on the captain...

As she scolded the proud captain publicly about his choice in garments, Zasfal lowered his head, the choice of uniform had been his and he dreaded to think of what the vicious captain would do to him once the priestess left. But as he looked up he was surprised to see a satisfied smile on the usually scowling mans face, then it dawned on him, 'He knew the uniforms would annoy the Priestess' he thought grinning approvingly and as he looked around he saw a large chest on the back of the cart that had brought the ale. off course he thought, the captain had obviously made arrangements earlier in the day for the proper attire to be brought to the citadel.

As the priestess Sevora left he relaxed and waited respectfully for the other priest and priestess to either issue other orders or dismiss them.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ghurdan

After toasting the Eye Ghurdan moved to the back of the cart and grinned as he saw a large wooden trunk, he opened it slightly and peered inside, pleased with what he saw he closed the lid and drained the ale from his mug.

As he moved away he felt someone grip his arm tightly, he disdainfully glared at the hand holding him. "My name is..... Thorgom..... I would... like to..... speak with your...... eh .... leader... I hear you need people." he heard the man attached to the hand say, breathing deeply to catch his breath, 'A hand he will not have for long if he does not remove it!' Ghurdan thought maliciously, but before he could say anything he heard the great doors of the citadels main building open. Shrugging the mans grip from his arm he looked up and said "I seems she is coming to speak with us" a wicked grinned crossed his face as he indicated the priestess gliding down the citadel steps and without waiting to see the mans reaction he made his way over to the others that waited.

He watched as Sevora scanned the group, she is indeed beautiful he thought, showing no signs of any emotion as the woman's gaze finally fell on him. "Ghurdan! It warms my heart to see you and pleases me to see you well, Black Heart," she said with mock glee "Indeed" was his curt reply. As he noticed her glance towards the scar she herself had giving him, he saw her grin broaden and her eyes burned with pleasure. She went on "Though, I am not surprised by your presence, that the High One gave you these orders. He could not have you in the way of your mother's... work." the pause had caused the effect that she had desired, Ghurdan knew at once that his eyes had betrayed him, the priestess giggled at the flash of anger in his eyes not the implication itself. As she giggled she played with him further "And the outcome has been for the better, has it not? We do get along so well, after all." He Actually grinned sharing in her sarcastic humour. This would indeed be an interesting journey he thought as between laughs she turn to the others gathered.

After his first mate introduced himself to the priestess she turned on Ghurdan, as he knew she would and proceeded to publicly humiliate him on his choice of clothing, although the choice was not his he let her go on, "I thought we were to be your puppets, so we dressed for the occasion!" he whispered in the dark speech that all priests and priestesses of the citadel knew. His grin broadened as he saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes, but it showed not on her features as she went on "I expect you all to have the proper supplies for the desert and the southern grasslands when I return." Ghurdan nodded respectfully at her request.

He knew that his mother would be punished for teaching someone outside the order the black speech but he cared not, it would serve her right he thought licking at the fresh cut on his lip. "Priest Naramarth and priestess Dristi, will give you any further orders." he heard her say gesturing to them. Ghurdan had not even noticed their presence until now.

[ June 20, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[piosenniel]

Ealasaid's post

Leading his horse, Ahmad walked slowly through the sleeping Baobab encampment, his ears listening closely for the sound of Qirfah's windchime. It seemed so peaceful to him, so quiet there, without the sense of tension that embroiled his own camp. He hoped the Baobab had managed to evade whatever creeping poison was infecting the souls of his own tribe.

The east wind that had died a moment earlier picked up again, carrying with it the soft tinkle of chimes. He turned in that direction. A great Baobab tree stood directly ahead of him, the sound of the chimes coming from just beyond. Moving cautiously so as to make no sound, he left his horse in the shadows and edged past the tree. He recognized Qirfah's tent instantly. All was quiet save the singing of the chimes. The moonlight cast a long shadow behind him as Ahmad crossed to the very door of her tent, where he stopped and waited for a moment, listening. When he was certain that no one stirred inside, he reached up and touched the shining black stone shards with his fingertips. She was so close. He fought off the temptation to attempt a peek through the tent flap for a glimpse of her. Finally, knowing he must depart quickly or risk being seen, he touched the lowermost shard of obsidian to his lips and turned resolutely to go.

When he reached his horse, he mounted and rode out of the camp at a gallop, no longer caring who he awoke. What he did not see was the slim shape of a young woman, concealed in the shadows of the Baobab tree, watching him.

Pio's post

Lost in her thoughts, Qirfah did not hear him until he was almost upon her. The rhythmic sounds of his mount’s hooves, muffled in leather, broke in on her consciousness just as they passed the tree. Her senses swam to the surface of her dreaming mind, and she gasped as she recognized the horse and rider. The east wind was kind and swallowed the sound in a sudden gust.

So close he came that it seemed she might reach out her hand and touch him. She willed her breathing to slow, her hands to stay at her sides. But the sound of her quickening heart beat pounded in her ears, and she thought all the camp would wake to it.

There in the engulfing shadows she hid from him, her dark eyes following every move. The wind picked up his scent and brought it to her, and she breathed it in – a rich fragrance of leather and horse and spice.

She pressed her slight form against the trunk of the tree, watching as he dismounted, and stole quietly into camp. Her sharp eyes picked out his figure as it drew near her tent, pausing at the closed flap, his fingers touching it, as if he would go in.

‘Let him not enter,’ she murmured to the night. And indeed, he stayed his movement, his fingers rising instead to the wind chime that hung from her tent pole. She could scarce breathe as she saw him kiss it, remembering the touch of those lips on her own.

In a moment of clarity edged with recklessness, she ran the short distance to where he had left his horse beneath the tree. Untying the thin leather cord from about her neck that held a small, pierced shard of obsidian, her quick fingers tied it securely into the horse’s thick mane. Stepping back just as quickly, she pressed herself once again against the rough bark . . . watching as he mounted . . . watching as he rode boldly from the camp . . . watching as his figure grew small in the far darkness and was swallowed up by the night . . .

[ June 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Morning time/new day

‘Jamilah!’

The voice outside her tent flap was insistent. She woke from her strange dream of trees and stars, swimming up to consciousness through the images of light that played behind her eyes. On an ordinary morning she would have reached for the little basket beside her mat; the one that held her bones, the ones she used to check the patterns of her dreams. A long slow breath and then a quick flip of the wrist would send them arcing to the floor, falling into heaps and scatterings that spoke to her. But not today.

‘Jamilah!’ the voice called again. ‘Are you there?’

‘One moment,’ she called back, slipping on her blouse and wrapping her skirt about her. She pushed her mat to the side, and hurried to the front of the tent, drawing back the flap as soon as she got there. The dark head of Duha poked through, followed by her generous body.

‘So sorry, so sorry to wake you,’ she said, her hands fluttering nervously with the hem of her shirt. ‘Ismat has sent me out . . . to you and the other Elders. You're the last.’ Jamilah was silent, inclining her head toward the fidgety woman, urging her to go on. By now Duha’s fingers had twisted the fabric of the shirt into a tight wad, and a small tear trickled down one cheek.

‘What is it, Duha? What has got you into such a state?’ Jamilah’s face turned an ashy color, remembering that Ismat had planned to go out to the bush to speak to the young people last night. ‘Ismat, he is not injured is he,’ she said, alarmed. She drew near the other woman and placed her hand on Duha’s arm.

‘No, no, nothing like that. Ismat is fine. It is our son, Munir. He has come back.’ Duha’s voice quavered a little as she spoke.

‘But surely that is a cause for rejoicing, not this long face and tears that I see.’ Jamilah looked at the other woman with concern. She took Duha’s hands in hers and led her to the mat, bidding her to sit down. She poured a cup of cool water for her and waited patiently while she collected herself.

Duha sat the cup carefully on the ground beside her and began to tell how just before first light, she and Ismat had been awakened by the sound of someone scuffling through dirt outside their tent. Ismat had gone out, only to find Munir, ragged and dirty, his face a mask of bruises, crouched down behind the little stack of wooden crates that stood near the back wall of their tent. His nose was bloodied, his shirt torn. And he cringed in fear when his father called his name and reached for him.

They had beaten him, he told them, once he had been brought inside the tent. He could not stand the thought of being cut off forever from his family, and he had told them he wanted to go home. Five of them dragged him into the center of the circle the others had formed around him. They called him names, called him a traitor, and they beat him with their fists and sticks, and kicked him when he fell to the ground. The others stood round watching and calling out taunts of their own. Only Jasara had said nothing, he told them, just stood there silent, her eyes dark and glowing, a look of satisfaction on her face.

Then Khasia had called to them, telling them they must be away from the camp before the dawn. ‘Leave him! He is nothing to us.’ The others had swirled about her and Jasara, carrying them along, out of sight and into the darkness. And when they were gone, little Sama’ had crept up to him from behind a thick bush where she had hidden. ‘Take me home,’ she had told him, putting her little hand in his. ‘I want to see my mami!’ Munir brought the little one to her family’s tent, watching as she entered.

‘Then he came home to our tent, but he was so ashamed he could not enter and face us. It was only after his father reached down for him, and pulled him to his feet, drawing him close with his arm about his shoulders, that Munir came in.’ Duha looked up at Jamilah, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He’s only a little boy. Just ten this last new moon. They turned on him like animals. Save for the fact that Khasia called them away to do her bidding, they might have killed him.’

Duha’s hand strayed to knife she wore at her waist, the one she used for gathering roots, or skinning small game. She spoke in a low, clear voice.

‘I will kill the next one of them who comes near my son.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jamilah walked back to the tent with Duha. The other Elders were already there. Munir, his eyes ringed by haunted shadows, sat close to his father, answering their questions in a whisper. And often his voice was muffled as he turned his face into the folds of his father’s shirt, when the memories were too awful to say aloud.

As she entered, Munir’s words fell into the silent pool of the Elders’ attention. ‘She talks often to something,’ he said, ‘though we never heard another voice. And sometimes her face goes blank almost, and she cocks her head as if listening to a voice. Her eyes grow large and dark, and she nods her head as if to say she understands what she is told.’ He looked up fearfully at his father. ‘She knows things, too. Like when something is going to happen. She’ll say it, and then it will come true.’

Jamilah sat quietly down next to Asim, the head of the Wild Dog clan. His face was grim as he sorted out the boy’s words, then grimmer as Munir continued.

‘They hate everyone who isn’t young like they are.’ He raised his head and looked out at the gathered Elders with a fearful face. ‘And they hate you especially. Jasara says your time is over. She says that you should die.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The clan Elders, stepped outside the tent, leaving Munir to the loving arms and gentle ministrations of his mother, while they spoke of what they had learned. They took the boy’s words seriously, and a certain level of alarm grew from them.

Faruq, Elder of the Wind Scorpion clan, announced he was going again today to speak with Ishak ben Ishak. ‘He intimated there was some trouble among their youth also. He should know what we have learned now about ours. If it is the same sickness of spirit, then perhaps together we can find some way to take care of it.’ Jamilah approached him saying she wished to go with him. She would speak with Briellah. Perhaps it was not just their two tribes whose children had become infected. A time was set, when the sun had moved three finger widths above the rim of the world, they would go, accompanied by five warriors.

Jamilah walked slowly back to her tent, to get her herbs and medicines for trading. A little cool water splashed on her face refreshed her, and she pulled on a clean shirt – one that Briellah had embroidered round the cuffs and hem for her. She put the wooden chest that held her herbs and medicines into one of her carry baskets, and tucked the basket cradle she had finished last night beneath her arm. As a precaution, she found her husband’s knives, still sharp in their sheaths, and hung them round her waist with a slim leather belt. Ready, she hastened out the door and to the spot appointed for their departure.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Word was passed to all the tribe’s members of what had happened that morning, a shortened story of what the Elders had heard from Munir. The warriors of each clan were martialed into more frequent duty by their leaders, and the members of the tribe drew in together to protect themselves and their families. The tribe became more watchful, and their weapons, once hung on the poles of their tents as seldom used decoration, now hung from their belts. And their hands, so it seemed, strayed near them often . . .

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Sammael was raising his cup to his lips when he heard a shout from behind him.
"To The Eye!" cried the leader of the acrobats.
"To The Eye" echoed Zasfal, still standing beside Sammael.
So that's it, is it? Sammael thought with a grin. The old man was right all along, no doubt. No matter.

Sammael was unperturbed to learn that Zasfal was indeed not to be trusted. There were very few people he did trust, only Damodred. Still if Zasfal thought to play him for a fool, he would get no such opportunity. He stood in thought, considering the best way to deal with this new knowledge.

The doors of the citadel flew open as if pushed by some wind, but all that appeared were two priestesses of the Eye and one priest. Sammael had little regard for priests- women could quite easily deal with the work and that left men to do the other work that was necessary, like this journey. If this priest had wanted to dedicate himself to the Eye he could have become a Citadel guard.

One of the priestesses was obviously in charge; she had an aura of power about her which was only increased by the blood that spattered her clothes, hair and face. She was a beautiful woman, but for once that was not what Sammael noticed. He could feel nothing but respect for her. As she approached each person one by one, Sammael found his hands clenched. He could not tell why- fear, anticipation, or something else?

He watched her talk to a man he had not noticed before, a southern tribesman by his look. Sammael nodded approvingly, a little local knowledge could go a long way. It seemed she agreed with Sammael's own thoughts regarding the costume of the acrobats, as she spoke to their leader she doubled over with laughter. It was an eerie and rather unpleasant sound. This laughter seemed to fit in far better than Sammael's own to the atmosphere of the Citadel.

After talking to Zasfal she came to Damodred. The old man unemotionally pledged loyalty. He did not have the same respect for the dark religion that Sammael had, but he was not stupid enough to be anything but zealous here. Finally she came to Sammael. Quickly he made the sign of respect, then introduced himself. He gave his pledge with a far stronger oath than anyone else had, and she smiled coldly. It was only then that Sammael realised he was grinning himself. She must think...I know not what! he thought agonisedly. It was nothing but a relief when she moved on, and it was only then that Sammael noticed his palms were bleeding from the marks his nails had made.

[piosenniel]

It was a contrast in moods. The day was bright and clear, no clouds to hide the sun. The fragrance of the newly bloomed maryamiya bushes filling the air with their bittersweet odor. In the branches of the taller bushes small flocks of sunbirds, called out merrily to one another. Twitterings and chirps relayed a constant stream of information: I am here! Look! Fat insects on this limb! Move over, this place is mine! It was an altogether bright prospect of a day.

Not so to the group that moved east from the Baobab tree. Five warriors, armed and armored. Their dark, quick eyes alert for trouble as they scanned the way before and behind. In their midst walked Faruq and Jamílah, silent also as they thought on the events of the past night and the barely passed dawn.

Jamílah’s eyes were troubled as she looked out on her surroundings. For all its light and promise, the world about her seemed to have shifted, gone askew. And the shadows of things beneath the sun seemed darker and sharper, as if they welled up out of some deeper darkness and poured into the objects they touched.

She shivered in the warmth of the sun, drawing her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and quickened her pace.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tents of The Painted Sands camp were a welcome sight. Guards there had seen them approach in the distance, and now a small welcoming party came out to meet them.

Briellah was among them, and Jamílah’s spirit brightened at the sight of her old friend. ‘The warriors,’ asked Briellah, sensing the tension in the small group, ‘why have they come with you? There was a never a need before.’ Her face was filled with concern as she asked her question, her eyes taking in the troubled expression on the other woman’s face.

Jamílah took in a deep breath, wondering where to begin, but was cut off as Ishak bade them come into camp to share the hospitality of his tent. Briellah took the carry basket of herbs and medicines from Jamílah in one hand, and hooked her free arm through her friend’s. ‘Let us go to my little tent,’ she said, putting her head against Jamílah’s and speaking low. ‘My daughters can serve as hostess to the men, who will most likely shoo them away like sand-flies anyway. The men have some unpleasant things to discuss, I think. They will not want other ears about.’

She paused for a moment, and looked appraisingly at her friend. ‘And you, Jamílah - I think you have not just come to trade herbs and make small talk, either.’ She walked on drawing Jamílah along with her.

‘Come, we will have some sweetened qawah (coffee) from the far southern lands - thick and dark just as you like it. It will warm you. And then we will talk . . .’

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The previous evening had been like something out of a nightmare. Khasia had dragged an angry Nasir away from the circle of children. When this beating had started, she didn't know, but the limp figure of the boy, Munir, had been left on the ground where they had thrown him.

Nasir was still angry with her, now that morning had come. His eyes smouldered when he glanced her direction, but Khasia didn't care. If they had killed that boy, if he had died... She set her jaw. The elders would have no mercy with murderers. Khasia knew it. Nasir should have known it. She was not about to lose everything for the sport of beating a skinny little boy.

Fitfully Khasia adjusted the fabric shoulder straps on her basket. The group had been walking since a few hours before dawn and were a respectable distance from the Baobab tree and the old encampment. Sweat trickled down the back of Khasia's neck underneath her braided hair, and dampened the fabric of her shirt. She rolled her shoulders trying to unstick the clammy cloth from her skin, but it was no use. Narisa walked in front of her, her eyes fastened firmly to the ground, a bulging sleep bag tucked under one arm.

Khasia let her eyes stray over their little group, making sure that Ralah was keeping up with the others. Everyone was lagging a bit, and why shouldn't they? Hard walking in the heat was something the tribe avoided, nobody was accustomed to it Khasia broke into a quick jog, soon reaching the front of the group where Jasara and Najah were talking.

"Jasara, how much further?" Her sister shot her an icy glance, probably still upset about the way Khasia had interrupted the fun last night. Rolling her eyes, Khasia grabbed Jasara's arm. "Look. I know you trust something I don't understand. I know you have answers from someplace I don't have access to. But I know that if we had killed that boy, the tribe would have killed us. You know it too, Jasara."

Jasara smiled to herself, and Najah clutched her sword, as though Khasia were an attacker. "We will stop soon enough, Khasia." Jasara told her in a low voice. "Not too far from here is an old campsite. The stream flows close enough by there, and we will have all that the land can give us. There is no need to go farther from the old than that." Khasia nodded, glancing back at the faces behind them, from the still glowering Nasir to the ever-cheerful Rijal. She hoped Jasara was right.

[Ealasaid]

FOUAD

Fouad lay alone in the dust, bound hand and foot, waiting to die. He had committed the ultimate sin of the Painted Sand people in killing one of his own in cold blood. It was only right that he should die for it. He was actually surprised that he had not been executed on the spot by his own uncles, but Ishak bin Ishak had forbidden it, saying that the camp had been tainted enough already by bloodshed. Such a thing was an evil omen. The execution would have to take place later, at a location outside the camp, where Fouad's blood would only serve to nourish the prairie grasses. And, now, that time had come. The four elders had taken him at noon to the chosen location, where they now stood around him, their faces cowled and their eyes grim.

Fouad smiled to himself. Ishak bin Ishak was a foolish old man. He had no idea what evil was. Fouad thought longingly of the red stone. He did not know where it had come from, but it had come to him, and through it, he had felt the power of the Eye. Through the red stone, the Voice of the Eye had spoken to him, told him things about power and the great change that would soon be sweeping across the desert on the swords of emissaries from the north. Fouad remembered standing alone among the swaying grasses, holding the beautiful stone up to the light, letting its red shadow bleed across his face, thinking, yes! Change must come. The Elder Way must perish before the beauty and power of the Eye. He had made plans. He had spoken with many of the other young people of the tribe, brought them to the Eye.

But then that idiot Mahir had taken the stone from him. A notorious prankster, Mahir had thought it funny the way Fouad had treasured the stone. He had stolen it as a joke and, in doing so, dishonored the stone and, through it, the Eye. For that, Mahir had to die and Fouad had killed him.

Fouad looked up into the eyes of his elders as, one by one, they unsheathed their curved swords. Yes, kill me! he thought. My blood may spill today, but yours will flow tomorrow. And he smiled as the first sword descended toward his throat.

************************************************

BRIELLAH

Briellah Ishak bin Ishak greeted her old friend Jamilah of the Baobab Tribe with a feeling of apprehension. Jamilah's trading party had arrived under the guard of five warriors. While that might not have been unusual for her own warrior tribe, it was disturbing to see weapons worn so openly by the Baobab men. They had always been such peaceful people. As Briellah took the carry basket from Jamilah and led her away to her own tent for some sweetened qawah, her mind raced ahead. There was so much she wanted to discuss with Jamilah, not the least of which was the troubling execution of the young man from the Rain clan. She could tell Jamilah was eager to talk as well.

Once they had reached the privacy of Briellah's tent and the qawah had been served, Briellah swirled the rich liquid around in the bottom of her cup without drinking. Finally, deciding she must speak frankly, she smiled sadly and raised her eyes.

"It is so good to see you, my old friend," she said quietly. "I wish we could speak of nothing but trading and other happy matters like the impending wedding of my daughter, but I fear that the time for that has past. There is much unrest amongst the young people of my tribe. I can only say that I have been blessed in that my own children remain true to the old ways. The others frighten me. There is only contempt in their eyes when there is not blankness. They are like vipers, coiled and waiting to strike. I have seen the same look in the eyes of the young of the other tribes we have traded with as well, the Khalish, and the Fazad. Tell me your tribe has not been infected, as well."

She looked imploringly at Jamilah, hoping against hope that Jamilah would be able to deny it, but the look in Jamilah's eyes told her everything. The Baobab had not been spared. Briellah's heart sank. She did not understand what was happening to the young people, but it seemed to be happening everywhere, to every tribe.

[ June 24, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Ealasaid]

Having arrived back into the Painted Sand camp just as the first glimmer of sunrise appeared in the eastern sky, Ahmad slept well into the morning. When he awoke, the first thing he reached for was the obsidian shard on the twine around his neck. He turned it over between his fingers, a distant smile playing on the corners of his lips. He had not found the necklace, tied as it had been into the mane of his horse, until he had already arrived back into his own camp and was unsaddling the horse in preparation of returning him into the herd. His hand had struck the stone by chance. He had untied the necklace from the horse's mane and, holding its shiny blackness in his palm, stared at it in amazement. He wondered what kind of witchcraft had given it to him, but he took its presence as a sign from Qirfah. She had not forgotten him.

But the smile faded quickly. There was a sharp rap on the pole outside his tent flap, followed by the voice of Yusef. "Ahmad!" he called. "Get up! There is a delegation from the Baobab here to speak with your father and the elders. They have requested our presence."

"Our presence?" Ahmad called back. "Why? We are not elders."

"I didn't ask," Yusef answered grumpily. "They sent me to fetch you and here I am. We should make haste."

Ahmad dressed quickly and followed Yusef to the counsel ground where his father already sat, flanked by an assembly of elders from the five Painted Sand clans. A small Baobab group sat facing them. Ahmad and Yusef seated themselves on the ground behind the Painted Sand elders. One of the Baobab men had already begun to speak. Ahmad recognized him as Faruq of the Wind Scorpion clan. Faruq spoke long and earnestly of the problems among the Baobab, telling of the beating of a young boy the night before and the subsequent departure of many of the children and young people from the tribe. The young ones had established their own camp, his scouts had told him, in an old campsite not far from the stream.

Ahmad watched as the creased face of his father grew dark with worry. When the Baobab elder had finished, Ishak bin Ishak stroked his white beard. Then, he began to speak. He told of the way the young people, especially the young men of the Painted Sand tribe, had withdrawn from the rest of the tribe, refusing to work or care for the horses. He told of the murder several nights earlier of the Rain clan boy and of the execution of his murderer that was taking place as they spoke. At the mention of Fouad's execution, Ahmad turned to Yusef, who nodded gravely in confirmation.

So, Fouad is dead, Ahmad thought sadly. I had hoped to speak with him before his death. He might have been able to tell me what this sickness is, where it started.

As Ahmad's attention returned to cousel, he found that his father, Ishak bin Ishak, had continued to speak. "This execution," he said grimly. "Will lead to discord. This young man, Fouad, was one of the leaders of the young ones of our tribe. He was the first to turn away from us. There has been much grumbling with his arrest. So far, his death is not known to his followers as he was spirited out of our camp in secret, but the moment it becomes known, I fear there will be violence."

[ June 24, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rijal had turned away from the gruesome parts of the execution, burying his tiny face in the tuft of grass that hid him from the four elders that were killing Fouad. Jasara had asked Rijal to return to the outskirts of the Painted Sand tribe's camp, and did not say what to look for. However, Rijal immediately knew what she had meant once he saw Fouad and the four elders. Rijal knew that Jasara had communicated with Fouad once or twice, for Fouad was the leader of the young in the Painted Sand tribe. The way Jasara spoke of Fouad made Rijal think that she wanted the Painted Sand young to join their new tribe.

By the time the fourth blade had struck Fouad, Rijal could take it no longer. The look that was frozen on the dead boy's face haunted Rijal, for it seemed eerily similar to the expression that so often painted Jasara's face. Rijal turned away one last time, and ran. He sprinted, not thinking twice that the elders must have seen him dart off into the distance.

It did not take long for Rijal to make it to the camp the Baobob young had made. It was less than fifty paces away from the stream, which was made their new camp an excellent one. It also did not take long for Rijal to find Jasara, for the girl was almost always off by herself. This time she was alone by the stream.

"Jasara! Jasara! They killed him!" Rijal shouted when he was within earshot of Jasara. Then he continued up to the young woman, for she had not turned at his call.

Fouad is gone. whispered the familiar voice menacingly. He was killed by the elders. The young of the Painted Sand tribe are leaderless and defenseless against the disgusting elders.

Jasara grinned. She had known, thanks to the voice that haunted her, that it was only a matter of time before Fouad's downfall. There was power to be taken, and it would be taken by Jasara.

"There is no need, Rijal. I know. Thank you." she said shortly, causing Rijal to stop in his tracks and turn away.

Jasara stalked back towards her tribe's camp, letting the grass crunch beneath her feet. She walked up to Nasir, who was with Najah going over how many weapons they had and if it was enough for the new tribe. Nasir turned to face Jasara before she could get his attention, and he frowned.

"We only have enough to supply half the tribe," he said simply. "We have too many bows and not enough children who can wield a bow properly. We don't have enough swords and too many children who can only use those."

"First off, that is what we have you and Najah for. You are here to teach them how to use your weapons. Najah is excellent with a bow, and thus she will teach those who prefer swords to instead prefer bows. Second, I have something far more important to tell you. Fouad is dead, and there are young that are leaderless in the Painted Sand camp," said Jasara with a low, oily voice.

"I see. Well, we'll send Rijal to inform their second-in-command that we will come for them tonight. Then you and I can sneak them out while the elders are sleeping," suggested Nasir with little thought, and Jasara nodded approval.

Good. Our forces strengthen.

[piosenniel]

Jamílah and Briellah

Jamílah’s words to Briellah brought no comfort to the woman. Her hands were clasped tightly around her mug of hot drink, a vain hope that the warmth of it would warm, too, her spirit. She told her how the children were pulling away from the elders and from the traditions of the tribe. She spoke of Munir, and how he had been beaten when he returned to his family.

Briellah shook her head sadly, her eyes going wide when Jamílah told her that the Clan Elders had banished the young one’s group. ‘We cannot save them, or so it seems to us. And so we must look to the safety of the Tribe.’

Most disconcerting to both women was Jamílah’s recounting of Munir’s story. How the leader of the young ones’ group, Jasara, seemed to be entranced at times and listened to a voice unheard by others, and spoke with it.

‘Have you heard of this among the other tribes,’ Jamílah asked, searching her friend’s face. ‘Is there a leader among your young ones? Does some voice speak to them.’

__________________________________________________ _____________________

Qirfah and Qamar

Breakfast was done. Husam and the two children had eaten with Qamar’s family - Husam giving the excuse that Qirfah felt unwell. Qamar’s face had brightened at this news, and she whispered in his ear as she passed him the bowl of porridge.

‘Am I to be an auntie, again?!’

Husam looked away at her question, his face a carefully controlled mask, and said nothing. He had eaten hurriedly after that, thanking her briefly for the meal, then gone out to work in the small communal garden. Laylah and Ihab, unconcerned with their father’s abrupt departure, chattered on merrily with Qamar’s children, then followed in his wake to the clearing in the center of the camp, dragging their cousins out for a game of sticks and hoops.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

‘You look awful!’

Qamar’s voice cut through the heavy thoughts that ran through Qirfah’s mind that morning. She had had no sleep, but had lain awake what little of the night was left, replaying the image of Ahmad as he passed her in the darkness.

His presence had stirred her memories of him, which if truth be told, were never far from her. She felt caught in the trap of her little life. And she could not see her way free from it.

She looked up at her sister, her face ashy, eyelids red from lack of sleep and hastily wiped away tears. Qamar crouched down close to her, her hand sweeping a stray lock behind her sister’s ear. My sweet big sister. How I hate to see you sad. Qamar sighed at the question she saw in Qirfah’s eyes. Oh, do not ask me, heart of my heart. How can I deny you?

‘Qamar,’ her sister began, her voice ragged with sadness, ‘please, will you help me?’

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Durelin]

It is around noon in the game.

The cold, damp feeling pressing against her skin was distant, almost the sense of another person completely. Any pain from the pressure or sting from the chill existed outside the mind, outside of her existence. The stones she lay on were barely visible to her, though her eyes were wide, and she did not look for them. Emotions and thoughts hovered beyond reach, and she did not try to touch them. It all felt so wonderful, the freedom of floating in nothingness, the separation from all worldly disadvantages, all worldly troubles.

Her body took in the air on its own accord, for its own survival, though she had no connection with it. She was mindful only of the flames that surrounded her, her self - being, her soul. They were flames, they caressed her with a soft, searing chill, but they were black as the starless sky, blacker even than the darkness that surrounded her mind, cutting off the thoughts and feelings and life of the world. She lay there for what seemed ages passing by, ages of such pleasure. She was scarecly aware of thoughts crawling through the darkness, penetrating the seal over her. But her thoughts continued to hover outside, cut away from her.

These thoughts had no connection to her, but they came to her, were able to pass into her. She cherished them, for all they were not hers, they were thoughts at least, and from somewhere she had always wished to go. They felt as life giving as a breath of air, though they stung her mind as gasious air would sting her lungs. One by one they came and left. Then, with the passing of another into non-existence, they stopped seething through the dark shell.

She screamed in agony at the loss and reached out, groping through the black flames, searching for those thoughts, the air she breathed that gave her life. She couldn't see her arm or hand, couldn't feel them lifting, yet she knew that she was getting closer to those thoughts. All at once she felt the very tips of her fingers, and in an eruption of loss, the flames and darkness left her, the seal vanished, and all thoughts, feelings, emotions rushed back into her head, all in a moments time. The returning of awareness of her flesh brought a slam of pressure upon her like a ton of stone. She cried out a long howling note of pure anguish at her loss of freedom, pleasure, ecstasy.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Sevora lay prostrate on the black stones of a small rectangular chamber in the Citadel, her long robes flowing about her. The chill of the cold stones on her flesh was not near as strong as when she had been surrounded by the dark void. The Void! She had been taken into the Void by her Lord, by the Great Eye, the lidless flame! He had spoken to her in the Void, bringing great honor to her. Now she was sure that the Eye would be with them on this mission, with them in their very hearts and minds. He could pull her into the Void of His own accord. He was getting stronger, and Sevora along with him. Her laughter bubbled with cold mirth. She was getting stronger and stronger. This mission would bring much reward and power.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Her newly adorned light brown robes swished around her soft - booted feet as she glided down the black stone steps once more out to the courtyard of the Dark Citadel, Rahvin at her side, Naramarth and Dristi behind her, all three also wearing rugged brown. Sevora actually smiled at the sight of her warriors, but not because of their presence. She pulled her dark brown veil over her face to hide her smile, covering all but a small slit where her dark eyes peered out of, burning with a fierce light, cold without a trace of the mirth she felt. Those eyes moved to look above her at the bright sun at its highest point in the sky, burning rays beating down on the stone and Haradrim without relent. She brought her gaze back to trail lazily across the people standing before her.

"We move southeast, the noon sun searing our bodies. Do you know why its rays scorch us? Because the Eye looks down on us, His burning gaze speeding us on our mission, giving us hope and strength! I have been into the Void, and He has shown me what it is like to be in His presence. We now are held in His praise for our devotion. Open yourself to the Great Lord and do His will, and perhaps He will bring you to stand before Him, giving you much pleasure." She stood still before them, showing no signs of her great emotion except the heat in her voice. Suddenly she let out a laugh, a wheezing, strangled chuckle that sounded painful, wrenching out of her throat as if she had been holding it in too long.

"We will bring the life everlasting to the tribes people, and bring the everlasting, tormented death to those who will not bow to the Lord. There screams will sing to us till our death, singing us to sleep in the arms of the Lidless Eye, where we will be given life eternal."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The short shadows of noon left no freedom from the scorching of the sun, the gaze of the Eye, as the servants left the Citadel to do their lord's will with pleasure.

[Helkahothion]

"Open yourself to the Great Lord and do His will, and perhaps He will bring you to stand before Him, giving you much pleasure."

"What, he is going to tickle us? Great pleasure my nose."

Thorgom loaded the cart with the supplies in quit. These people seemed not to like him. It was a good thing, he didn't like them too. The supplies were in the cart. The priestess came towards the cart and took place. The man next to him bowed. Thorgom raised his eyebrow instead. One of the priestess' looked at him in disbelieve. For some reason, Thorgom felt the heat increasing. He went to his own bag and took out his water. He drank some and threw some across his face. He glanced at one of the priestess'. She was beautiful in Thorgom's opinion.

His eyes followed her around. It made her feel unpleasant, Thorgom could see that. But he did not care. She was easy on the eye [mod edit], and it was a long time since Thorgom saw a woman as pretty as this one.

The caravan started moving and Thorgom jumped on the back of one of the carts. He just sat back and enjoyed the weather.

Although it was mostly hot, he still enjoyed it. His skin was brown all the time and the colour only grew darker as time passed.

They rode down the streets. Thorgom looked around and saw few people. He did not care either. He jumped of the cart and started to walk alongside the pretty priestess. She looked dead ahead of her and did not look at the man running alongside of her. Thorgom got depressed and one of his throwing axes flew away. Six feet later they found it sticking in a three. While running past, Thorgom pulled it out. Still she was not looking. He went back and sat on the back of the cart again. Pouting.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ealasaid]

CHANI -- Ahmad's Sister

Chani pulled her robes closer around herself and walked quickly out of camp. She had seen her mother disappear into her tent with Jamilah, her friend from the Baobab tribe. She had also noticed that Jamilah carried a baby basket. The sight of it, though it was a truly beautiful thing, made Chani ill. She knew it was intended for her as an important part of her wedding trousseau, but she wanted no part of it. Let Shushila marry Yusef! she thought bitterly. She seems to fancy him. As for herself, Chani found her future husband angry and irritable, contemptuous of her all of the time, as though she had offended him somehow. He frightened her. The last thing in the world she wanted was to have a child with him. She quickened her step as she moved through the tall prairie grasses.

In the distance, she could hear the noises of the tribe's grazing horses. If only there were a way for her to take a horse -- just one -- she could get away. She would ride north to one of the great northern cities she had heard about and lose herself there, Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. No one would find her there. She smiled to herself, envisioning herself astride one of the sleek horses, riding like a goddess ahead of the wind. She laughed out loud. If only, if only... She was being childish, and she knew it, but the stubborn side of her refused to release the dream. If her parents couldn't make Ahmad take a wife, then how could they force her to take a husband? It wasn't right.

She walked along through the grasses, thinking hard, when suddenly she burst forth into a clearing. She stopped short and looked around. The clearing was full of young people and children, Baobabs by the look of them, and they seemed to be building a camp. Looking around for adults, she saw none. A tall young woman with a distant look about her eyes seemed to be the one in charge, and she was attended by a small boy. Chani stared at her curiously. It was the same young woman who had accosted her and her sister the previous day on the border of her tribe's encampment. While Chani had been interested to discover what the girl had wanted, Shushu had been a goose, as usual, and pulled her away, whimpering about something. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Chani stepped forward into the camp. As she did so, all the activity of the Baobab young people stopped.

[Nerindel]

The noon sun was now beating down heating their backs and the black stone of the citadel courtyard as Ghurdan reflected the events of the previous night. After Sevora, Dristi and Naramath had issued their orders and left, he had brought out the chest and gathered his men together, "Desert wear any one!" he had laughed as he throw open the trunk. The fifteen men had also burst out laughing as they saw their own clothes. they had grabbed at the pale browns, greens and sand colours of light trousers and shirts. "You are free to go, but be back here at first light and make ready to leave, Dismissed!" he had told them.

Once his men had left he had went to find Zasfal. He found The younger man packing his gear. "Where's your friends" he had scoffed looking around, "Packing I should think " he had replied off handily shrugging his shoulders. "And!" Ghurdan had urged him impatiently, Zasfal didn't stop packing but answered "They have worked for the eye before" "Ah! but who hasn't" Ghurdan had laughed, "But did be brag, like so many of his kind usually do." Zasfal nodded and proceeded to tell the captain all that had passed between them. "So do you think he was embellishing?" Ghurdan had asked, "No!" was Zasfal's only reply.


Just then Ghurdan had seen Sammael and Damodred cross the courtyard looking in their direction. "It looks like your cover is blown" he had said nodding in the direction of the pair. Zasfal had looked up and looking at the two men he smiled, then nodded to them. "Not at all, they will no doubt have their suspicions but as yet nothing I have told them has been a lie and they were fool enough not to ask anything about me, if they had asked I would have told them, for it would be impossible to hide our...er...relationship for very long!" he told the captain returning to his packing. " Good" Ghurdan had replied approvingly.

As Ghurdan had made to leave, Zasfal 's gruff attempt at an apologetic voice had reached his ears "I apologise for the uniforms" Ghurdan had burst out laughing, he had totally forgotten that they were Zasfal's idea, "Don't worry about that, they served their purpose all be it not the same purpose you had in mind." " Make sure you are dressed appropriately tomorrow. I have dismissed the crew and ordered them to be back here at first light to make ready, that order applies to you too!"

Ghurdan had then left Zasfal and went to the city to get a room for the night. Nothing much had happened that morning, the crew were waiting for him when he had arrived back at the citadel, Zasfal with them. Ghurdan had been pleased to see that all of them where now dressed appropriately. They spent the entire morning packing and preparing for the journey, Ghurdan issuing orders here and there and the crew following them without question.

As the sun beat on his back he surveyed his crew, Each man now carried a heavy pack and was ready to leave. He himself was dressed in light airy sand coloured trousers, brown boots and a tunic of light greens and browns, in his pack was a cloak of the same light sand colouring, his head and face was covered, so that only his dark eyes showed. As he turned he saw the priestesses group gliding down the steps once more, they too had changed their black and red robes for the browns of the desert. He listened intently as she spoke, Nothing she said surprised him in the least.

As the priestesses party lead the way Ghurdan, Zasfal and the Fifteen men of his crew followed silently at first, but as they left the main part of the city they started to talk quietly amongst themselves.

Zasfal nudged Ghurdan in the side, he scowled at the young man then followed his gaze. He saw the old man that had grabbed his arm the night before, he was practically leering at the Priestess Dristi, both he and Zasfal burst out laughing "One hour! before she puts the old man in his place" Zasfal spluttered out between laughs, "Nay, I say longer , she is of the order and she should have more restraint than most" he said raising his eye brow at the young man. "Fifty silver" he replied. Ghurdan laughed again but took up Zasfals wager. "And what say you" Zasfal asked Sammael and Damodred, who he had heard coming up behind them.

[Helkahothion]

Thorgom sat easily on the back of the cart. The man behind him were laughing and placing bets over something. He betted it was stupid. He saw the man which arm had had clinched on. He was a lot younger than himself. Thorgom now stared laughing. The caravan looked at him with raised eyebrows. They knew the tribesmen were crazy, but this man must have been the biggest fool of them all. Thorgom did not mind. He just noticed the clothes they were wearing. Thorgom was not. He had clothes of his own and never had any others. They would have to do a lot if they wanted him to wear such an outfit. They all looked like a bunch of lunatics. The sight amazed people in the streets. A cart with the high priestess' and a big man on the back laughing. The stupid look of the man and women in the street only made Thorgom's laughing louder.

Still the priestess did not look back. Thorgom got annoyed by this and started walking alongside the cart again. He did not look at her. He decided to ignore her as much as she did him. Thorgom just walked and looked in front of him. But the strong look of the woman that was pinned down on the horizon gave the man another laughing fit. He stopped dead and laughed again. It was a happy day. Normally he hardly laughed, but being on your own does not give you much to laugh about. The group passed him and they all looked as if they saw some sort of insect. The looks they gave him was a huge nuisance to the man. All of the men were carrying packs. Not Thorgom though. He just carried his own things and refused to take anything else. Ghurdan was annoyed by this fact.


"Why don't you carry something just like everyone else?" Zasfal said

"I'm not everyone else. I have my own stuff and am not causing you any trouble. I'm not going to carry other people's supplies."

"Not even the supplies of that pretty priestess you are stalking?" Zasfal said taunting.

In an immediate reaction Thorgom took out an axe and whacked Zasfal in the face with the backside. The boy fell on the ground and was pulled up by Ghurdan. Zasfal's eyes shot fire at Thorgom, the big man was imcredebly mad.

"You be lucky that axe is not double sided. It would have done a lot of damage to that face of yours. Be careful with what you say to me. I might be old, but I am still more then enough to rip you in pieces."

With these words, Thorgom went back to the cart and started to walk alongside of it once more. It appeared that the women on the cart had not noticed the little incident. But Thorgom could be mistaking. There was something about them he could not describe. Something mysterious.

[ June 28, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Arien]

Dristi walked at a steady pace behind Sevora. Her hood cast over her face, shadowing her appearance from the rest. As they walked the dust from the ground slowly rose into the humid are. Minute sweat beads clung to her perfect complexion, the heat of her cloak was suffocating her as the hot sun beat down, but she did not take it off. Instead she kept walking in a steady beat her eyes gazing straight ahead past Sevora.

As the day lengthened the sun beat down her rays even more. Punishing them with her light. Dristi did not believe as Sevora did, the sun was not the Eye. The sun was a far too feeble form for someone of such greatness to take. No, the sun was a maiden, Arien, who could not be tempted to evil, a weak pathetic fool she was. Dristi had learned of her in her studies cursing her and vowing her life to darkness. She gazed up into the sun, burnt by her heat. She then lifted her hand to her hood and removed it, her hair flowing down to her back.

As she did this she noticed a man walking beside her, but her sight did not sway from its position. She did not care from tribesmen, she could tell it was a tribesman from what her wore. Pathetic really. Trying to impress her. She then heard laughing and faint whispers caught her ears.

"One hour! before she puts the old man in his place"

Ha, one hour. He would have no place if here persisted to annoy her. Dristi’s hand slowly moved towards the dagger, clenching her fist around it. Mind you she did like to play with them, men that was. Always fools, being subdued by her then ending up killed, it was just funny.

She laughed in her head, and kept walking on.

[ July 08, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jasara was snapped back out of her thoughts by the sudden silence that had enveloped the young. Jasara looked around, searching for the cause of the absolute hush. Then she saw what it was: the Painted Sand girl from the evening before. The girl stood there, looking around the encampment.

Chani, said the voice. Jasara nodded, and her movement brought everyone else in the tribe back to life. Children who were hardly taller than their bows notched an arrow and pointed towards Chani. Najah drew her sword with skill and grace, but Nasir was still. Chani looked suddenly frightened to the bone, but seemed frozen in place by something.

"Shoot on my command," ordered Najah in a hoarse whisper so that Chani would not hear.

No! She can be used! Bait, ransom, trade, this girl has many uses if you capture her! Don't kill her! Tie her up!

The voice roared at Jasara, making the leader of the young wince. But Jasara knew better than to disobey the power inside of her. So she lifted a hand to Najah, and Najah ordered her bowmen...bowchildren...to stand down. Jasara walked slowly over the hot terrain that seperated her from Chani. On her way, Jasara discreetly picked up a few lengths of rope that Khasia had woven.

"Chani, is it not?" asked Jasara, shattering the silence. Chani nodded, and backed away a few steps as Jasara neared her.

Smart girl. But not smart enough.

Jasara snickered inwardly at the voice's words. "Now, now, Chani. There is no need to be frightened. The Elders are meeting in your tribe, and they will not find out if you feast with us tonight."

"I best be getting home," mumbled Chani. Without another word the girl broke out into a sprint away from the camp. Jasara was quicker, however. Najah grinned evilly and joined Jasara in tying Chani up to the nearest tree.

"This will be your new home," said Jasara wickedly, using one of Nasir's old gloves to gag Chani and keep her quiet. Jasara turned, clapped once, and the young returned to work. Nasir glared at Jasara unapprovingly, but then got to work teaching a few children how to use the bow.

"Rijal! Go now and tell the second-in-command of the Painted Sand young to prepare. We will save them from the cursed elders soon," Jasara ordered, spitting once on Chani before walking off to the stream.

[piosenniel]

Qirfah and Qamar

‘Qamar,’ her sister began, her voice ragged with sadness, ‘please, will you help me?’

So, here it was, the request she dreaded. Qamar sat down next to her sister, and taking her cold hand in cupped it to her own cheek. ‘Heart of my heart, I suppose there is no way of talking you out of this, is there?’

Qirfah shook her head ‘no’. She looked not at her sister but out toward the baobab tree. Qamar waited, and her sister’s next words fell heavily into the silence between them. ‘He was here last night. In the darkness as I stood lost in thought in the shadows of the tree, he passed me by. So close I could have reached out to touch him. He went to my tent and stood there for a space of time. I half feared he would enter in to find me and would wake Husam. But he only touched the flap and then departed.’

She drew her knees up under her chin and clasped her arms around them tightly. ‘These two years that we have kept apart have not diminished my memories of him. Now they have all come back, and I would go to him. But I cannot see my way to do it.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Husam is a good man, and a good father. But that is not enough for me.’ Qirfah rocked slowly back and forth, her gaze still fixed on some distant object. ‘I wish him no harm or sadness. What shall I do?’

‘You cannot shield him from sadness. That will come naturally.’ And in fact, already has, if I read his mood aright this morning. she thought to herself. ‘I’ll think of something. Let me see what I can do.’ She pulled her sister to her feet and pushed her toward her tent. ‘Go! Get some sleep. There is the rest of the day to get through. Your children will need the full presence of their mother.’

*+*+*+*+*+*

While Qirfah slept, Qamar sorted through the baskets she had made, and put on the finishing touches to several that were nearly done. As her quick fingers laced the edgings round their rims, her thoughts fell into place with each tight pull on the final strand. ‘There!’ she murmured to herself in a satisfied manner, pulling the last inch through and hiding the end beneath the others.

Tomorrow she would go to the little trading fair set up in the Painted Sands encampment. She would see her old friends, and they would play the game of bargaining for goods that she so enjoyed. And she would seek out Ahmad, and speak with him.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Sammael walked quietly in the heat of the sunlight. He could feel Damodred’s presence just behind his left shoulder but felt no need for conversation. He was thinking deeply about the coming journey. Currents ran deep and strong between the members of the party and he had no wish to drown in the parched desert. He grinned to himself at the thought. Even my serious thoughts do not remain serious overlong! he thought lightly.

He realised that many thought him a fool. Zasfal, for example, and the charming sea captain. Zasfal had been planted to discover any secrets which Sammael would be foolish enough to blurt out- well he was welcome to what he had got and more if he wished. There was history between the sea captain and the Priestess, although that display yesterday had been as baffling as it was enlightening. As if that was not enough the tribesman they were taking along was apparently trying to catch the attention of the other priestesses. Now there’s a fool if any man is one, Sammael pondered.
I just hope that it does not go too far. A Priestess of the Eye, her clothes still bearing traces of blood is a truly foolish target no matter how beauteous she is, and we could do with as little killing as possible on our own side.

The team of acrobats had changed from their ridiculous attire into more normal desert wear. Another interesting development had been that the Priestess Sevora had put him in joint charge of the troops with the sea captain. Perhaps someone had been watching his sign of devotion to the Eye, perhaps she had seen better than most that Sammael was no man’s fool, or perhaps it was simply to annoy the sea captain. Whatever the reason it was a golden opportunity. A slow grin spread over Sammael’s face. It had not escaped his attention that this set him over Zasfal.

"One hour! before she puts the old man in his place" Zasfal said in front of him. Following the man’s gaze Sammael saw that the strange tribesman had continued his efforts.
"Nay, I say longer , she is of the order and she should have more restraint than most" the sea captain answered.
"And what say you?" Zasfal asked, turning to Sammael with a smile that was as false as ever.
Sammael put his hand to his head as if to consider. “I say that you should not talk so of your- employers. ” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Especially if they may be listening to you” he whispered with a nod towards the priestess whose hand tightened visibly on her dagger at the sound of their wager. “And Zasfal, I must say your acrobats look far better out of uniform”

With a laugh Sammael tipped his head to the two men and increased his pace. The woman with big eyes and delusions of fighting was ahead, walking alone. And she had none of the power of the priestess. What she did have was secrets.
Wouldn’t it be amusing to find out what? Sammael considered. I wonder how I should approach it? She seems immune to my smile but who knows, many a woman has fallen for it before!

--------------------------------

Essenia heard the sound of quickening footsteps behind her with little emotion. She still felt detached from what was in her head and body. The beating sun barely registered and neither did the hand on her shoulder. Turning she saw the man with no hair. It would have made little difference if it was the man with curly hair. All men were fools. Essenia was grateful that there were women on this journey. The priestesses had power, influence and respect. They were lucky, no man would follow them. They would need no man. She thought exultantly of the life she would lead in such a position. She had seen the dried blood on their hands and faces and wondered if they had done the killing themselves.

It had been a while since she felt the power of taking life, watching as blood left the body and light faded from its eyes. Too long, in fact. Hopefully this would give her the chance. They were supposed to convert the tribes to the Dark Religion, she had been told, and only kill those who resisted. Her blood boiled at the order. If they converted, they would keep their land. This was supposed to be about getting more territory, more influence for the Haradrim. They were not going to deny her the chance. They would not.

“-that”
The word floated dimly into Essenia’s consciousness. The man walking beside her had stopped talking and was looking at her, clearly expecting a response. Essenia didn’t know or care what he had said. He could wait forever. She would get her chance to kill again, for the glory of Umbar. She breathed deeply, almost catching the tang of fresh spilt blood. Almost. They would not deny her.

[Nerindel]

"I say that you should not talk so of your- employers. "
"Especially if they may be listening to you"

Ghurdan smirked, but said nothing, So this young man is not as foolish as Zasfal believes him to be he thought as he followed Sammael's nod to the priestess Dristi.

Zasfal's mouth went dry as he saw the priestess tighten her grip on her dagger, a million thoughts rushed through his head, did she hear them, would she kill them..... but before he could sort any of them out he heard Sammael again,

"And Zasfal, I must say your acrobats look far better out of uniform."

He could feel the fear and doubt leave him instantly, as the anger welled inside him, he gritted his teeth and felt his hand tighten about his own sword. He slowly turned to Sammael to see him tip his head, laugh and walk off. His cheeks flush with rage he stalked off to the rear or the cart.

Ghurdan watched the encounter with feigned interest. The taunt did not affect him in the slightest, but he had been a little annoyed when Sevora had ordered that he share command of his crew with the young man, but the annoyance was fleeting, he thought it would be interesting to see how his crew would react under the leadership of another.

Meanwhile Zasfal's heavy pack was weighing him down and the heat of the blazing sun searing his flesh made him more irritable, he nearly walked into the old tribesman as he stopped dead and burst out laughing. Crazy old coot! he thought to himself, then he noticed that Thorgom's pack was lighter than his.

"Why don't you carry something just like everyone else?" he said irritably.

"I'm not everyone else. I have my own stuff and am not causing you any trouble. I'm not going to carry other people's supplies." was the mans only reply.

Zasfal's face reddened, "Not even the supplies of that pretty priestess you are stalking?" he spat venomously.

Zasfal didn't know what hit him his eyes blurred and he found himself on the ground, the side of his face throbbing. As his eyes readjusted he saw the large tribesman towering over him, he then felt someone pull him to his feet. His eyes burned with rage when he saw the axe in Thorgoms hand and realised what had happened.

"You be lucky that axe is not double sided. It would have done a lot of damage to that face of yours. Be careful with what you say to me. I might be old, but I am still more than enough to rip you to pieces."

As the old man turned away, Zasfal's hand went to the black hammer that was tucked in his belt, but before he could pull it out he felt Ghurdan's heavy hand on his shoulder. "Take up with the rear guard" Ghurdan whispered in the agitated man's ear, but Zasfal continued to stare at the olds man's back, "That's an order!" Ghurdan growled impatiently. Letting go of his hammer and affording the sea captain a curt nod he reluctantly made his way to the rear of the caravan.

Ghurdan wiped the sweat from his brow, At this rate I will be needing a new first mate before we get back, he thought to himself. He intended to keep the young man there until he calmed down and thought on how foolish he had been.

He looked around, they were now on the outskirts of the city, there was a scattering of small wooden huts and a small herd of scruffy looking goats watched their passing nervously. Raising his hand to shield his eyes he looked up, the sky was cloudless and he could see that the sun had risen higher. As he looked back down he could see the hazy outline of the desert just ahead.

"You, You, You and You, follow me" he barked picking out Four of his fittest men. picking up the pace he and the four men, passed Thorgom, then Sammael, Damodred and Essenia. He then positioned two men either side of the front of the cart, then he turned to Sevora and asked "In what direction do you wish us to travel ma'lady?" he asked affording the priestess a short nod, but he did not lower his eyes, no! he would not make that mistake again.

[ June 28, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

A small village on the route to the tribes. The day before.

“My lord father?” asked the young woman kneeling before him.

Abdul-Shihab frowned at his eldest daughter, Falia. As usual, she was dressed in the loose caftan of a boy, without the veil of modesty unmarried women wore. Her hair was braided to keep it out of the way, and her only concession to her gender was in the colorful embroidery on her caftan, though even that was little enough. Frankly, it amazed him that his first wife, docile as she had been, had produced this… this… hoyden. Falia was strong-willed, defiant, everything her mother had not been. Whether this was due to something in her blood, from her mother’s side naturally, or something to do with the women who’d raised her when her mother died, Abdul-Shihab knew not. What he did know was that she was blight to the honor of his family name, and somehow, he would have to be rid of her.

Falia looked up at her father, and moaned inwardly. He was frowning, which likely meant a beating. Not that that was unusual. She was used to it and in fact would have been surprised if a day had gone by when he didn’t beat her. She smiled a little, hoping to appease him, and perhaps he would not beat her too severely, though that was a faint hope at best. Sometimes she wished that she’d died in the raid that took her mother. Surely d*ath was preferable to the scorn and torment she suffered each day. But there were good things as well. The goats she tended for instance. They at least judged her for what she did for them, not out of any preconceived notions about how she should behave, or what was “proper.”

“My lord father?” she asked again. Anaya (she refused to call her father’s second wife ‘Mother’) had sent her to bring him for dinner, and that was what she’d do. Even if he beat her for it. It was ridiculous, really. Anaya was twenty, only two years older than Falia herself, though she was aged beyond her years by the number of children and the amount of work Abdul-Shihab had laid upon her. They’d been married seven years and already Falia had three half-brothers and two half-sisters.

****

The village of Budur was small, out of the way, and precisely fit the idiom, “Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it.” Indeed, one could almost think that the saying had actually come from Budur, silly as that may be. Everyone knew everyone else, which partially explained why Falia was so hard for her father to be rid of. She had frightened away all of the young men with her wild (for a g*rl, anyway) ways, and her unfeminine ideas. Why, the g*rl actually thought that she could protect her father’s flocks as well as any boy. Actually, Falia did a better job through having to prove her right to be out in the fields to begin with than most of the boys did with their fathers’ herds.

There was a perfunctory shrine to the Eye in the middle of the town by the well, but no one really paid any mind to it. After all, the Eye didn’t really have anything to do with the business of raising goats. Did it? If anyone ever did worship the Eye with more fervor than usual, he or she was promptly sent to Umbar to join the priesthood, and the family was usually thought to incur blessing that way. Other than that, religion had very little to do with life in that sleepy little town.

[Ealasaid]

JAMILAH & BRIELLAH

Jamilah's eyes scanned the face of her friend. "Is there a leader among your young ones? Does some voice speak to them?"

Briellah's face darkened. She had heard something along those lines from her husband. Yes... the boy who was to be executed. She nodded gravely. "They had a leader, a boy from the Rain clan. His name was Fouad. They say he heard a voice in a stone that told him things, told him what to do. We thought it was a kind of madness that took him, that is until the other children and young people began to follow him." She raised her intricately tattooed hands in despair. "The boy killed his cousin in cold blood, not three nights past. They will execute him today."

She glanced out the opening of the tent at the bright sunlight. Was it yet noon? If so, the boy was already dead. "My husband believes there will be violence as a result. The young ones already wear their weapons already like a challenge. They are like dry tinder. All they need is a spark to set them into flame."

Deeply troubled, Jamilah nodded. A spark like Jasara, perhaps?

************************************************** ****************

CHANI

Finding herself securely bound to the tree in the camp of the young ones of the Baobab tribe, Chani looked around herself with wide eyes. Perhaps Shushila had not been such a goose after all to have been afraid of these people. For the first time, Chani feared for her life. The tall girl, Jasara, she thought she had heard the others call her, had actually spit on her as she passed. Why they had not killed her already, she was not sure, but she had a feeling that unless she managed to find a way to escape, she would never have to worry again about her unwanted marriage. She would not be alive. Her captors had crammed an old glove in her mouth to keep her from screaming or calling out, and it tasted like salt and old sweat. She worked it around between her teeth and, finally, managed to spit it out, but she did not speak or even make a sound. Bound as she was, that would be the quickest way to get the nasty thing pushed right back in.

Blindly, she tested the rope that bound her wrists with her fingers. The knot was tight, but the woven fiber of the rope itself seemed loose in one place. Perhaps if she picked at the fibers, she could work her way through it. She was lucky... the weaving was not the work of an expert hand. Careful not to move a muscle other than those of her dextrous fingers, she watched the activities of the camp unfold before her. The children seemed surprisingly well-organized. Having been divided into groups, some worked at setting up the camp, while others prepared food for the camp's midday meal. The rest of them, to Chani's horror, worked at their skills with weapons, with a special emphasis, she noticed, on the kill. Behind her, the tips of her fingers had already grown raw from the roughness of the rope. Soon, they would begin to bleed, but still she worked stubbornly away at the fibers.

Near her, a young girl of about ten, tended one of the cooking fires. Chani noticed that every now and again the girl would toss her a glance over her shoulder, her expression one of both nervousness and sympathy. Chani decided to press her luck and speak to the girl.

"What is your name?" she asked softly.

The girl looked up quickly, alarm in her face. "You mustn't speak!" she whispered. "Jasara will hear you."

Ignoring the girl's warning, Chani tilted her head in the direction of the tall girl who had spit on her dress. "Is that Jasara?" she asked. "Is she your leader?"

Wide-eyed, the girl nodded. "She is the voice of the Eye."

Inwardly, Chani frowned. The Eye. Fouad, before he had stabbed his cousin, had spoken to her once of a lidless eye in the North country, one that possessed great power and would foment great change, change that would wash in on a current of blood. She had laughed it off at the time, thinking Fouad had gone a bit loopy from the heat, but to hear that the same influence had seized control of the Baobab young, sent a chill down her spine. Knitting her brows, Chani tried to recall the rest of the conversation. He had said much, but she remembered clearly that Fouad had also told her that the day of the Elders was over. The young would decide the way of the future. Thinking of Yusef, Chani suddenly smiled at the girl.

"I know of the Eye," she said quietly, a new light glittering behind her dark eyes. "My good friend Fouad told me of its power. Tell your Jasara that I wish to join your band. Tell her that I have skill with a sword."

The girl got up from her crouch before the fire and stood for a moment before Chani, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

[Arien]

She pulled the loose hair from her face, as the harsh, sand filled wind whipped it across her face again. They were now near the out skirts of the city, she looked back to it. The dark Citadel loomed over the narrow streets, casting along shadow over the city. A permanent reminder that the Dark Lord was always present, and that he always watched the city. They came out of the city gates, which were surrounded by small hut, animals and such things. It was untidy, the people there living in squalor. The sun still burnt bright in the sky, and clouds were all but gone. It was going to be a cold night.

"In what direction do you wish us to travel ma'lady?" asked one of the men as he nodded to Sevora. She looked at him for a few moments as the company halted. Then put her hand against her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun and looked around.

“I shall travel south,” she replied the man nodded, and obviously had no indication of what Sevora had answered him. As he began to walk back to his position Dristi spoke softly.

“And in which direction do wish us to travel in Sevora?” Dristi was irate by the fact Sevora thought she was the only one with power. Ha! ‘I shall travel south!’. The man stopped, shocked at Dristi. “Maybe stay here? While you do all the work, oh high priestess.” she continued in a mocking tone, “Or did you not realise the little circus you have travelling behind you?”

“You dare!” hissed Sevora. Yes, she did dare. She wasn’t scared of her, she wasn’t the high priest and she never would be. Just because she was chosen to lead, did not mean she neglected her fellows, and discard them as a piece of useless baggage. She would not last a day against those animals in the tribes without their help. She would need the rest of them. So no doubt she would have to respect them. “Dristi I will deal with you soon.” she continued. The solider still stood there gazing at the two. Dristi turned to him sharply.

“Yes?” she snarled, “May I help you?” Her eyes burned, and the wind continued to blow across her beautiful , but evil face.

“No…” he said and walked back.

“We continue south!” Sevora shouted and they continued onwards.

[piosenniel]

A spark . . .

Jamílah rose from her mat and closed the tent flap, throwing the interior into a half-light from the small opening at the top where the smoke of the cooking fire could drift out. There was no fire lit now, and motioned Briellah to sit close to her.

‘For several months now, there have been growing signs of unrest in the north. Our tribe does not travel that far north to trade, but often we meet with others who bring back herbs and other goods that we desire. Trade has grown scarce over these months with the north, or so they have told me. Fewer groups come south down the Harad Road from the cities of the pale skinned men, and fewer come in by way of the Great Sea, from Umbar.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘And I have been told many times now that there are none that come south over the Mountains of Shadow. That is a dark, uneasy land now, and the shadows surrounding it grow thicker and obscure the sight.’

She fumbled at her waistband, untying the small leather pouch that hung there. ‘Over the last month, as I throw the bones each morning, there has been a darkness that hovers over them.’ She poured the small polished pieces of old, yellowed bone into her cupped hand, blew gently on them once, her lips moving in silence, then dropped them on the ground in front of her. They skittered on the rug, and she leaned over them, looking closely at the pattern.

‘The first throw is for ‘who’ or ‘what’ weaves the pattern for the day. Look here,’ she pointed out, her first finger ringing the larger cluster of bones. ‘This is a pattern which has been growing larger this last month. It is the pattern for ‘seeing’, like an eye, and these three bones near it indicate a burning fire.’

She picked up the bones and threw them once more. ‘And this throw is for ‘where’. See how they concentrate here and trail here? Something comes from the north and east toward us. I get no good feelings from it, only unrest and darkness. It pulls at us, and some have the strength to resist it, and some do not.’

Briellah’s face held worry and concern as she looked up at her friend. ‘There is no hope you see? How can we fight something we cannot see clearly?’ She shook her head. ‘We cannot fix this by killing off our own young. Is there a way to escape from this?’

Jamílah picked up the bones a last time. ‘I thought as I watched this pattern grow that we approached our end of days.’ She looked thoughtfully at Briellah. ‘We have a story of that time to come, but I thought it would not come in my lifetime.’ She scattered the bones again. ‘And perhaps it won’t. The third throw is for the 'outcome'. Look here.’ Her finger traced a ring around a tightly clustered grouping. ‘This is small now, but a little larger than it has been.’

‘What is it?’ asked Briellah quietly, trying to make some sense of the pointy looking pattern.

Her friend held up her left hand, pointing with her right to the tattoo there between her thumb and first finger. ‘It is a star, five-pointed, like this one. Shining out of the darkness.’

There was sound of footsteps approaching outside the door to the tent, and a discreet cough. ‘Jamílah! Faruq requests that you come now. We should leave soon and return to our camp. The warriors will return later in the evening to escort the rest of the trading party.’

‘A moment,’ she called back, ‘and I will be there.’ She gathered up the bones and secured the pouch once again at her waist. Briellah had given her a number of packets of herbs and she stored them in her carry basket. ‘May your daughter have many fine babies, Briellah. Give her my best wishes when you give her the cradle.’

Briellah rose to tie back the tent flap once again. The warm bright sun streamed in, dispelling the pall of fear and gloom their previous discussion had brought on. Jamílah paused, looking over the packets she had traded to her friend. A frown creased her brow. ‘Ah, I knew I had forgotten something. Here,’ she handed Briellah a small pottery bottle sealed tightly with a cork. It had been carefully wrapped in layers of cloth and lay at the bottom of her carry basket. ‘From the far south, where the sandy plains meet the area of dense trees. One of the tribes there gets this from a tree toad.’

‘Careful now,’ she cautioned as the other woman removed the cork and sniffed the acrid, heavy scent. ‘Do not let it touch your skin. Mix it carefully with the sticky resin from the tree I brought you. Then dip your arrows and blades lightly in it. It is a poison they use to paralyze and kill their foe.’

Briellah replaced the cork on the bottle and wrapped it securely, placing it safely out of the way. She rose and saw her guest to her traveling companions. She watched them as they headed west, and in the distance she could see Jamílah turn a last time and wave to her . . .

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ealasaid]

As the counsel between the Painted Sand elders and the elders of the Baobab tribe broke up, Ahmad felt a light touch on his wrist. Looking down, he saw the dainty brown hand of his youngest sister Shushila. As usual, she was completely veiled except for her kohl-lined eyes, but there was fear in her eyes. She gave his wrist a second, more insistant tug.

"Ahmad," she whispered. "You must come with me."

Ahmad hesitated, glancing in the direction of his father. "Shushu," he answered her gently. "Our father summoned me to this counsel. I am assuming it was for a reason. It might be wise to find out what that reason is."

"No." Shushila's slender fingers closed around her brother's wrist. "You must come with me now."

He allowed her to lead him a short way off from the other men. "What is it, Shushila?"

"I can't find Chani."

Ahmad laughed. "So what else is new? You know how she is, always wandering off with her head in the clouds and her foot in a gopher hole."

"No, Ahmad, you must listen to me," insisted Shushila. "Our mother told us to attend to the men at the counsel, Chani and myself, but she saw Jamilah arrive with a baby basket for her wedding and took off instead into the grasses. She hasn't come back."

Ahmad's face grew serious. "How long has it been?"

Shushila shook her veiled head. "I don't know. Hours? How long have you been at counsel?"

"Have you searched the camp for her?"

She nodded. "As much as I can, but, Ahmad, I'm afraid! What if something has happened to her? How can I face our parents and tell them that I let her go. I was angry at her --" she paused lowering her voice "-- for how she treats Yusef."

Ahmad hid a half-smile at that. Shushila had had an eye for Yusef since she was six years old. Ahmad,himself, on the other hand, was more on Chani's side on that one. He neither liked nor trusted Yusef, yet found himself constantly in the man's company. He slipped a brotherly arm around Shushila's slim shoulders. "I'm sure nothing has happened to Chani. Let me have a quick word with our father, then I will go search for her. Which way did she go?"

"She went west, toward the Baobab camp."

[Nerindel]

Ghurdan

"I shall travel south" Sevora said Sharply. He nodded, choosing to ignore the fact that she had said I instead of we. He had come to expect such things from the self-assured priestess. He began to walk back to his position, but as he heard the younger priestess's whisper her disapproval, he stopped and looked back. As Drisi's voice rose, Ghurdan looked on in shock, not at the younger priestesses mocking tones but at the fact that Sevora had not instantly punished Dristi for her insolence.

Just then Dristi turned on him sharply. "YES?" she snarled, "May I help you?" her eyes burned with anger. "No..." he replied nonchalantly, but as he walked back to his position,making sure that he was well hid from the Priestesses view, an evil grin curled cruelly at his lips. An interesting journey indeed he thought.

He revelled in the various conflicts about him and the chaos they could inevitably bring. His dark thoughts once again turned to the two priestesses as he watched their silhouetted forms in the haze of the bright late afternoon sun, he wondered what Sevora had meant when she had told Dristi that she would deal with her later, What punishment would she exact on another of her order he thought stroking his scar thoughtfully.


*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Zasfal

Zasfal still fumed at the back of the caravan. The two men either side of him watched him suspiciously from the corner of their eyes, the crew of the fire spray did not think highly of their first mate, infact they thought him no more than a stinking, treacherous, worm. "How can you be watching for danger if you are watching me!" he snapped angrily. The two men shot him a dangerous look then went back to their guard.

A searing hot wind picked up, Zasfal pulled his scarf across his face and shielded his eyes with his hands to protect them from the whipping sands, as he looked out he could just make out the form of Ghurdan approaching the cart and addressing the Priestess, the caravan halted momentarily. "We continue south!" he heard the priestess Sevora shout. then they were moving again.

Zasfal frowned as he strained to see what was going on ahead, he hated rear guard, they were always the last to know what was going on and the first to be killed if attacked from behind, that was exactly why Ghurdan had put him there, a fit punishment for the ambitious man.

As Zasfal gave up, he saw Sammael grinning at him, his grin burn at Zasfal like a hot flame, but he forced himself to return a pleasant grin and nod of his own. "Oh, how I would love to wipe that grin from his face" he thought turning again to face forwards. He then laughed at his own thoughts "and get myself killed most like" he reconsidered as he again gained some self-control of his emotions. No, I shall just take the mans unspoken insults, after all we will need all the warriors we have to defeat any resistors he thought. He remembered the force the old tribesman had exacted on him, and he was old the young would surely be stronger he surmised.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Ralah clapped small hands over her mouth as she realized her error. Turning her back on the tied girl resolutely she prodded at the fire with a long stick. How could she? How could she have told this girl, this captive the name of their leader. Jasara would be so angry if she knew. Ralah looked up nervously, scanning the area for any who might have seen her slip. She shrunk back in terror as Khasia approached.

The older girl's eyes glittered as she looked at Ralah. Though she was barely any taller, Khasia was much stronger and faster than she, and Ralah held her ground under her angry stare.

"Be careful, Ralah. Those who betray us will be sent back to their mothers." Every word was barbed, as though Khasia knew how Ralah shivered at night in her bedroll. As though she heard her whispered doubts.

"I believe Jasara." Ralah said timidly, and then with more confidence in her voice, "And as I am dead to my mother, my mother is dead to me." She spit on the ground, and turned her back to Khasia. Khasia's eyes lit up with satisfaction. Ralah's doubts were leaving her, her commitment and her fear were growing. Khasia relished her fear. It was power, power that may someday bind Ralah to her and not Jasara. Knowing now that she would not be disturbed, Khasia stalked over to the tree where Chani was tied.

"Tell me, do the old keep you prisoner where you come from?" she asked, in little more than a whisper. Chani's eyes were narrowed with fear, but her mouth remained tightly closed. "Do they tell you lies? Do they force you to come and go as they please? Would they run your lives?" Uncertainty flickered through the girl's eyes and Khasia knew she'd struck a nerve. "Your life is yours alone to live." She said softly, a small smile hovering around the corners of your lips.

Her eyes fell on an old glove at Chani's feet, stained with dirt and saliva. She reached down to pick it up and turned it in one hand. "I think you lost this." she said, looking back at the captive girl. Though she still didn't speak, her face mirrored revulsion. Khasia smiled. "You'd better have it back then." She stuffed the glove into Chani's mouth, smiled again, and left to rejoin the others. She wanted to catch Najah, she could use a few lessons with the bow.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Sammael grinned at the scowling Zasfal. He looked as if he had had a fight with his captain and been sent to the back of the party like a naughty child. With a nonchalant whistle Sammael quickened his pace, leaving Zasfal and his rear guard behind.

Currently they were travelling through desert land, full of patches of pale, wiry grass and parched looking shrubs. It was an inhospitable place, not to mention boring.

"Damodred" he said slowly, barely turning his head "How far is it until we get to where we are going? Much more of this blasted desert and I might end up like that weak minded tribesman, turning to the Priestesses for fun!"
The old man had grown up somewhere in this area. Sammael's geography was pretty hazy but he thought it had to be close.

"There's a village we'll get to in a while" Damodred answered. "Then depending on where the tribes are camped this year, I reckon it'd be two days journey. Perhaps less."

Sammael nodded distractedly, absent mindedly swiping at a bush. Then, with a muffled curse he put his hand to his mouth, where blood had appeared from a number of small cuts.
"It's enough to make you believe something doesn't want us around!" Sammael said, with a faint laugh. Somehow it seemed more forced than it had.

"How big is this village?" he asked Damodred. "Is there an inn? And most importantly how are the serving wenches?"
"Aye" Damodred said disparagingly. "There's an inn, with about three rooms. So unless you want to share with your friend Zasfal and his minions...?"

Listlessly Sammael returned to deadheading the meagre vegetation, this time with his belt knife. He took a certain vindictive pleasure watching branches fall to the ground. Time passed slowly in the desert, there was little conversation, or perhaps the oppressive air of the place made people talk quietly.

Sammael walked in a sort of a daze, little realising what went on around him until Damodred placed a hand on his arm to stop him. Eyes focussing, he saw the outskirts of a small village distantly through the heat haze. They looked to be about 4 miles distant, an hour's walk for every member of the party. He supposed safety meant they could not camp closer, for the sea captain was running around giving orders to prepare the area.

With a smile, Sammael let him. His heavy mood had all but disappeared now they were in sight of civilisation.

After having set up camp, the Priestess Sevora called the sea captain and Sammael to talk about what they would do now. It was agreed that the village would be a convenient place to get supplies and information, especially about the location of the tribes.

"The danger is that we may find it hard to get information from these country people. We need to be discreet." Ghurdan said. Sammael nodded consideringly.
"I know just the way" he said with a mischevious grin.

********

"No" Essenia shook her head violently, calm gone in a matter of seconds.
The man in front of her smiled wolfishly.
"It is your duty" he answered.

Essenia sighed, it was true that she had done this before, with success. It was also true that there was little she would not do for the sake of Umbar- but this? The idea sickened her. Flirting with men in return for help, information... she hated it with a passion. And the thought that they might actually touch her? Her skin crawled. Still she must do as she must. Reluctantly she nodded assent.

"Good" answered the man with the irritating grin, rubbing his hands briskly.
"Now I will go with her, as her brother of course, not a husband or our plan would have litle success"
"Zasfal" interrupted the older man Essenia had heard called Ghurdan.
"What?" asked the smiling man, smile fading. Essenia felt immense satisfaction at the sight.
"You look nothing like her. It should be Zasfal"

There was a heated exchange between the two men, which Essenia did not bother to listen to. She was led away by the man who seved the Priestess Sevora and given a dress from a bundle. Soon she was joined by a young curly haired man.
"I am Zasfal" he told her with a grin that as nearly as annoying as the other man's. "I am your brother. Your name is Zareena. We are travelling to seek the tribes to trade."

Essenia nodded again, loathing in her eyes.
"I am ready" she said quietly.

[Ealasaid]

CHANI

Chani spat the glove out as soon as Khasia turned to walk away. "You're very brave when your victim is bound to a tree," she sneered at the girl's retreating back. Her tribe was a warrior tribe, not basketweavers like the Baobab. She had been raised to use a sword since she was a small child and her pride had not been merely wounded by the other girl's insults... it had been outraged. The impulse she had felt a moment earlier to see if she might be allowed to join the group and escape her planned marriage to Yusef evaporated like a raindrop on hot stone. She knew that she could never follow these people, never join them. Where was their honor? If they planned to kill her, at least she could honor her family and die with dignity like a true Painted Sand woman. She raised her chin in defiance.

"How are you with a sword, basketweaver?" she demanded.

Silence fell across the camp as Khasia stopped in her tracks. Her back stiffened.

"You may scare these children, but you don't scare me," Chani finished calmly. All of the uncertainty she had felt earlier vanished in the face of the anger she felt at the dishonor these two girls, Jasara and Khasia, had dared to inflict upon her with their spitting and their dirty gloves. She was the daughter of Ishak bin Ishak, chief of the Painted Sand tribe. Who were they? And what had she done to incur their disdain? Nothing. Nothing but happen upon them by mistake. Their arrogance would have been comical if it weren't so infuriating.

Khasia turned back to face her, her eyes blazing. Chani met her gaze, eye to eye, her dark eyes smouldering with anger.

"How dare you speak to me with such disdain when you are the one tied to the tree," Khasia hissed, conscious of the eyes of all the camp watching her. "You should watch your mouth."

"You should behave more civilly to your guests," Chani answered. "Not like a coward and a bully. Yes, I am the one tied to a tree, but I would die before I inflicted a stranger, who had committed no sin against me, with such insults." Behind her back, Chani's fingers continued to work at the shredding fiber of the rope. She didn't trust any of them. The same madness that had taken Fouad had obviously taken hold of them. The sooner she freed her hands, the better.

[ July 05, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Ealasaid]

AHMAD

Walking away from the counsel between the elders of his own tribe and those of the Baobab tribe, Ahmad felt heavy in his heart, as though the weight of a granite boulder had been laid across his shoulders. Once he had seen his little sister on her way back to their mother's tent, he had spoken with his father and learned why he and Yusef had been summoned to the counsel of elders. They had been chosen to be the delegates who would approach the rebellious young of the Painted Sand tribe, to talk to them, find out what they wanted. Ahmad had accepted the assignment without protest, just as he had accepted the abortive chore of taking the five gift horses north a few days earlier. At this stage, he doubted he would be able to accomplish anything. It was already too late, just as it had been with the horses. Whatever was going to happen, he had a feeling it had already begun. Maybe, if he had been given the chance to speak with Fouad, he might have been able to do something...but now? Now it was too late.

And there was this thing with Chani. While it was perfectly like her to wander off, she had never done it before when the tribe was in a time of crisis. Nor had she stayed gone for long. Usually, she turned up within an hour or so, having been to the stream to bathe, or to the place where the horses were kept. She was fond of the horses and often went to visit them. He would be sure to look for her there. Shushila would not have strayed that far in her search. Absently, he fingered the shard of obsidian that hung on the cord around his neck.

Why was all of this happening now, when Qirfah was so near?

Buried in thought, Ahmad cut through the market ground on his way to where the Painted Sand horses were set to graze. A lot of the Baobabs were there with their baskets and handcrafts on display for trade with members of his tribe. Ordinarily, he would have taken the time to look as the craftmanship of the Baobab tribe was legendary, but this time he hurried through, scarcely looking to one side or the other. It was only when the figure of a woman stepped out and barred his path that he stopped. For a fleeting instant his breath caught in his throat... Qirfah! But the thrill of the encounter vanished quickly. It was not she, but her sister Qamar, who blocked his passage. Remembering her well, Ahmad gave her a smile and a short bow.

"Qamar!" he said pleasantly. He was glad to see her, but the timing was bad. A sense of urgency haunted him over Chani's disappearance. Even so, an opportunity to gain news of, or even to speak of, Qirfah was a rarity. He couldn't tary and chat with Qamar as he would have liked, but he would not pass her by completely, either. "You are as beautiful as ever. How is your husband, Nasr?" He cast a quick glance around, only half looking for Nasr. His real hope was that Qirfah might be there as well. He may have promised not to seek her out, but a chance encounter in his own camp could hardly be held against him. "Did he accompany you?"

[piosenniel]

‘Qamar!’ Ahmad said pleasantly. ‘You are as beautiful as ever. How is your husband, Nasr?’ She watched him as his eyes darted quickly about the market area. ‘Did he accompany you?’

‘No, Nasr has not come with me today, Ahmad. He and Husam have gone hunting,’ she said drawing his attention back to her. ‘Nor has Qirfah come.’

She watched as his shoulders sagged for a brief moment at the reminder of Qirfah’s husband and then again at the confirmation that Qirfah was not here. Though he was polite to her, Qamar could tell he had something on his mind which drew his attention elsewhere and made him restless. Perhaps he would excuse himself and move on, she thought, leaving her the opportunity to tell Qirfah that he had not spoken about her . . . that perhaps last night’s visit had simply been some passing thing he’d done, to remind him that she was not his. Hope sprung in her at this thought. And was quenched when his robes shifted as he turned back to her and she caught a glimpse of the obsidian shard which hung about his neck.

Her hand reached out to touch the translucent splinter, eyes narrowing for a moment. With a sigh, she gave up her wishes for how this might end, and spoke in a low voice to him. ‘I can see that some other business presses on you, Ahmad. We will be here in the market place until early evening. Come see me then, if you wish . . . when you have time to listen and to give an answer.’ He looked at her, a frown creasing his face.

‘Qirfah dared not come. She has sent me . . . to speak with you. To let you know her wishes, to bring her yours.’

At that moment, a woman of the Painted Sands signalled to her. Holding up a flat, woven round tray and a carry basket, she called out the offer of a price for them, jingling the silver bracelets on her arms she had for trade. Qamar waved at her and smiled, ‘A moment, good lady. Our trade is almost finished here!’ She placed a small woven box she held into his hands. ‘Enjoy, good sir!’ she said loudly enough for others about to hear. Waving him off, she turned back to bargain with the woman.

[ July 06, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Nerindel]

Ghurdan marched on, his gaze never wandering far from the horizon ahead. His lips were dried and cracked under his scarf, but his eyes showed nothing of his discomfort. He glanced up shielding his eyes from the orange glare of the sun, as it now started to sink lower in the sky.

As he lowered his eyes again, he saw the dark form of the two priestesses and the priest in deep conversation. He looked out again over the horizon, in the hazy distance he could make out a small oasis village, Budur he thought. He had poured over maps of this area before he had left his ship, he remembered seeing an eye next to this village signifying that it was already under the eyes watchful gaze.

Just then he saw Rahvin jump down from the cart and head towards him. Rahvin was taller and lighter skinned than himself, but they were equally matched in strength. Rahvin's cold eye's locked with his as he approached. "Our Dark Mistress requires that you prepare the men to make camp" he informed him coldly. Ghurdan grinned under his scarf , he knew that Rohvin loathed him. He thought Ghurdan no more than a bounty hunter, but he was wrong Ghurdan knew more of their dark lord than any of them could imagine. "As she wishes" he nodded mockingly. Rahvin snorted and made his way back to his mistress.

The minute Rahvin had walked away Ghurdan spun around and started issuing various orders to his crew. within an hour the desert camp was set, sand coloured tent openings flapping in the gentle breeze.

"Ghurdan, Sammael" The cool but honeyed voice of Sevora called to them. As he drew closer he saw them (the priestesses group) pointing to the village on a large dark coloured map and nodding in agreement to something that himself and Sammael had clearly missed.

It was soon agreed that this village would be the ideal place to get supplies and information regarding the present location of the tribes. "The danger is that we may find it hard to get information from these desert people. We need to be discreet." Ghurdan cautioned. Sammael nodded considerimgly, "I know just the way" he said grinning mischievously, looking in Essenia's direction.

Servora called the stern looking female warrior over and they all listened as Sammael informed them of what they required of her. Ghurdan noted the woman's instant distain at the mere suggestion. " No" had been her initial response but after some thought she reluctantly nodded her assent.

"Good!" Sammael exclaimed grinning broadly and rubbing his hands briskly, "Now, I will go with her , as her brother of course, not husband or our plan would have little success"

"Zasfal" Ghurdan interrupted calmly, "What!" Sammael cried, his smile fading abruptly as he turned to face Ghurdan.

"You look nothing like her. It should be Zasfal " he retorted looking him up and down.

A heated exchange erupted between the two, neither one willing to back down. "ENOUGH" Sevora shouted impatiently, "Zasfal will go" she went on calmly. Ghurdan nodded respectfully and went to find Zasfal.

He found the young man sparing with one of the crew, a tall muscular lad that Ghurdan had seen Zasfal sparing with on more than one occasion, So not all the crew loath him then, he thought as he walk closer to the pair. "Zasfal" he called. As Zasfal turned, the other man swiftly disarmed him and sent him sprawling into the sand, " well done" he laughed, as he got up and dusted the sand from his clothes, he picked up his sword and walked towards Ghurdan.

"I have a mission for you " Ghurdan grinned. Zasfal stopped and eyed the sea captain suspiciously. "Sorry my mistake, we have a mission for you" he laughed coldly. He then told Zasfal what had happened at the meeting. Zasfal was grinning from ear to ear, as Ghurdan finished speaking. The thought that it would annoy Sammael that he would be accompanying the young female warrior on this mission satisfied him immensely. Not that he thought he stood a better chance with her, he had meet her type before and knew that no man would break through her cold exterior.

Zasfal quickly changed in to the attire more suiting of a desert trader. As he approached he saw Essenia, he blinked twice making sure he was looking apon the same woman, her sun-dark shoulder length hair now sat seductively about her shoulders, the dress she now wore hugged her small framed, she also wore a silk veil so that only her large dark eyes showed making her look even more mysterious. Zasfal grinned approvingly, "I am Zasfal, I am your brother. Your name is Zareena. We are travelling to seek the tribes to trade." Essenia nodded and Zasfal did not miss the loathing in her eyes. "I am ready" she said quietly.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
Zasfal and Zareena (Essenia)

After a few instructions from the others they were ready to leave. They walked for sometime in complete silence, but as they reached the outskirts of the village Zasfal put a firm hand on her arm to stop her. She spun round and glared at him viciously. He quickly withdrew his hand and raised them in the air "Woah ..." he cried "We are on the same side remember" he chided.
"I was merely going to ask if you were ready, but I see that you are" he said as another scowl crossed the woman's face.

It was now dark and the lights in the tiny houses lit their way down the sandy road until they came to the centre of the village, they could just make out a stone alter and a large well at its centre, they then heard hearty laughter coming form a small inn that sat on the far side of the road.

Zasfal pushed open the door "After you sister" he smiled warmly. Essenia scowled at him briefly as she passed in to the brightly lit inn. Every eye in the inn was on them as they walked slowly to the bar. "can I help you" the barman asked "yes indeed you may, I would like an ale and something to eat if you have it ." he then looked to Essenia to see if she wished to partake in some food and drink, but he saw her smiling disarmingly at a group of young men that sat at a far table gawking at her, Herders he thought looking at their drab attire.

"And something for my sister when she is ready to order" he laughed heartily, the barman laughed with him seeing the young men at the table fumbling with their mugs as Essenia flashed her beautiful dark eyes at them. "A red wine if you have one," she smile without looking away from the men. She then looked to Zasfal pretending to be looking for permission from her older sibling to leave his company and join the younger men at their table. "On you go" he laughed.

She delicately picked up her glass and walked seductively to the table were the young men now , straightened their shirts and tried to fix their untidy hair as she approached, Zasfal had to turn back to his drink and the hot plate of roasted meats that sat before him to try and stifle the laughter that threatened to erupt from his mouth at the sight of the young men, She will eat them alive he though as he pushed a mouthful of meat into his mouth.

"So what brings you and your sister to our small village?" The barman asked him, the barman was still smiling but Zasfal noted a slight tone of suspicion in his voice. "We are on our way to trade with the tribes" he he said not looking up from his plate "We found your village by mere chance" he continued taking a long drew of his ale, "And it was lucky that we did, for we are running low on supplies" he looked up from his plate "I don't suppose you could tell me were I could replenish our supplies" he asked hopefully. "You have arrived right on time, for tomorrow is market day and you should be able to get what ever you require from the market square." he smiled rubbing the mug in his hand for the up tenth time.

"Shall you and your sister be requiring a room for the night" the barman inquired. Not wishing to draw suspicion to himself and Essenia , he nodded, "Yes, Two rooms please" "that will be fifteen gold per night per room," the barman said smiling mischievously. Zasfal almost choked on his ale "fifteen" he eyed the barman in disbelief, "Yes fifteen ," the barman repeated warningly as he looked to a big man the stood by the door. "I think we shall be staying only the one night at that price" he laughed taking the required gold pieces from his pouch and handing them to the barman, who in turned handed him two small brass keys, "through the door, second and third on the right" he smiled pointing to the door at the other end of the bar. "Thank you" Zasfal said returning to his meal.

He finished his food then turned to watch how things unfolded between the stern warrior and the naive young men. It looked as though things were going well. " what is it you trade." Zasfal was surprised by the sudden question that came for a man that sat two stools down from him staring blankly into his drink . Zasfal quickly regained his composer "The very best herb's and spices from Umbar," he lied quickly. The man looked up from his drink and eyed him suspiciously, " I could show you if you like" he bluffed taking his pack from his back. "No I'm not interested in herb's and spices, but I'm sure the tribal woman will be" he said coolly returning to his drink.

Zasfal eyed him for a bit over the rim of his mug, a tribesman he thought to himself, but before he could question the man further a disturbance broke out behind him, As he whirled round he saw Essenia sanding facing off with one of the young men, It seems that one of the young men had upset her and she had smacked him in the face breaking his nose. Then the other three men stood up intending to back up their surprised friend.

Zasfal shook his head and strode up grabbing Essenia roughly by the arm, "I must apologise for my sisters outburst, " he said smiling apologetically and pulling on the fuming Essenia's arm "Come Zareena " he scolded dragging her quickly through the door to their rooms. He quickly unlocked the first door and pushed Essenia through.

She shrugged herself free and slapped him hard across the face, Zasfal stumbled back in surprise "I did not need your help" she spat at him. "And you would not have got it" he spat back wiping a dribble of blood that ran down his chin from his lip, "But in case you had forgotten we are supposed to be gathering information not brawling in bars" he said casting her an accusing look. She glared at him angrily "And I got all we needed" she huffed. "Then I think it is time we where leaving he snapped, quietly sliding open the dusty window and looking about to see if anyone was watching.

"So what did he do?" Zasfal asked grinning mischievously as she cross the room to climb out the window he held open for her, "He slighted the great city " she spat disgustingly. "Did he indeed" Zasfal replied nonchalantly, but Essenia did not miss the flash of rage in the young mans dark green eyes as she sat on the ledge in front of him. Zasfal did not see the hardened woman's surprised as he had returned to watching the street below to make sure no one would spot their leaving, once he heard the soft thud of Essenia's feet landing on the sparse grass below he too silently slipped out the window.

They silently made their way though the village making sure they were not spotted as they left. Once out of the village and walking the four or so miles back to the camp they exchanged what information they had found, it seemed that the Tribal camps were less than two days march from this village.

As they entered the camp the others where waiting for them , "What did you do!" Sevora screeched, grabbing him viciously by the arm examining his bruised face. "One of the locals got rowdy" he smiled mischievously turning to Essenia, which was a mistake, as he found out to late, Sevora hit him hard across the face causing his lip to bleed once more, Zasfal turned back to her his eyes livid with rage, But the priestess pushed her face against the side of his face, "I will suffer no more of your stupidity" she hissed sharply in his ear.

"So did you manage to find out anything" Sevora scowled stepping back and deliberately addressing only Essenia. Essenia continued to calmly tell the rest of the group what they had found out,Zasfal sat silently wreathing, that was the third time he had been hit in the face and he silently swore there would not be a fourth.

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Lyra Greenleaf's post

“Curse him! Curse him!”
Sammael paced restlessly in the murky twilight, far to one side of the camp.
“If you want to curse him” Damodred interrupted “please wait until we no longer have to travel with him”

Sammael turned irritably.
“He knew I wanted to go to the village Damodred. That’s the only reason he sent that snivelling rat. No-one would care that I don’t look like her! I don’t look like my brother Silen, but he’s still my brother!”
“You know that you show your wishes too readily. You cannot hide your emotions. That is your greatest fault, and you have been told so a thousand times. You have no-one to blame but yourself.”

Sammael sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right. You’ve been so long in this world there must be little you don’t know”
With a forced grin he turned to walk back to the camp, clapping his hand on Damodred’s shoulder as he passed.

***************

Essenia fumed silently as she followed Zasfal back to the camp. Inwardly she cursed this eel, the fat, piggish merchant, and all men.

"What did you do!"
The piercing shriek entered Essenia’s consciousness and she glanced up. Lost in angry contemplation she hadn’t noticed that they had reached back to the camp. The priestess Sevora was in front of her examining Zasfal’s face

The foolish snake answered with a grin and turned to Essenia to back him up. Essenia smiled despite herself to see Sevora's arm lash out like a whip to strike him in the face. Then she whispered in his ear. Essenia hoped it was unpleasant.

"So did you manage to find out anything?" Sevora asked Essenia, pointedly excluding Zasfal.

Coldly, but with the respect that might have earned Zasfal a less painful punishment, Essenia told what she had learned. The tribes were gathering. The merchants had told her names that meant nothing to her- Painted Sand, Baobab, Wind Scorpion and more.

Furthermore, he had heard from someone who had returned from trading a few days ago that there was some trouble. The tribes kept their problms secret from outsiders but there were ripples of tension, it seemed, visible to all. Neither the piggy man nor his source knew what the division was about, or who it was between, but it would be useful to their cause. The Priestess' eyes lit up at the news, as Essenia had known they would. Good news always softened every blow, Sevora seemed to barely register that it was, in fact, Essenia who had been at the heart of the fight.

The merchant had told her their location happily, numbers of people, how long it was expected they would stay (as much as it was possible to know with nomads) and much more besides before he began to ask his own questions. Unwillingly Essenia had told him where she was from, hoping to get more information. The disparaging of Umbar had been given with a hand sneaking around her neck, pulling her head closer. For Sevora, Essenia added disrespect to the dark religion as the man’s true crime.

With disdain, Sevora turned to Zasfal.
"Have you anything to add?" she asked coldly.
"I talked to a tribesman..."
"WHAT?" Sevora shrieked, grabbing his shoulders.

"Goodnight" Essenia said to her back, then walked off. That boy truly was stupid. He had what was coming to him

[ July 09, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Helkahothion]

Thorgom laughed at the orders of Ghurdan and pitched his tent a bit away from the camp. To the annoyance of Sammael. In his tent he felt right at home. The chair he carried was soon in the corner and he went outside to see what was going on. It seemed they had a plan to send of two people to gather information about the camps. Stupid people, they take along a man of the outskirts of the land and don't bother to ask if he knows about the camps.

"Ohw well, better if they don't bother me with questions. They are annoying enough as it is." Thorgom said to himself.

The priestess' where about being important in their own way and Thorgom went for a walk. The "brother and sister" were already off to the village, so it was best not to go there. It would get in the way of their ridiculous plan. The people here are stupid, they would soon be back. The biggest fool could do gathering information without trouble. Curious of the outcome, Thorgom went back to the camp to see what happened.

At the arrival of the scene he saw that Zasfal was bleeding a bit and the priestess slapped him across the face. Thorgom felt sorry for the man, he had been whacked three times in two days. He pulled out a clean bit of texture and gave it to him. Zasfal looked at him with disbelieve and a view to kill.

"I'm fine thank you." He said calmly.

He heard the priestess mutter something about fools. Thorgom figured that something had gone wrong in the village, the priestess' never slapped without reason. And flirting was not a reason for punishment. He had experienced that himself. So the two stupid children had messed up in the town.

"It must have been the girl. She is a fiery spirit." Thorgom reasoned with himself.

The thought of Zasfal taking a blow for a girl he did not even want to get hit for was deadly amusing. Thorgom went to his tent with cramps of laughing. Again the group looked as if they saw water burn and a rat running trough the food. Thorgom went out again; he found a rat running around and caught it. It appeared to be some sort of mating season or something, because the place was crawling with rats. Thorgom managed to catch about six fat ones. Satisfied with the rats he went to the tent and set up a roast with some branches. He got a lot of looks of the women and men standing a bit further. He raised the roasted rats that he was eating.

"Anyone want a bite?" Thorgom shouted.

One of the men took a dive behind the cart and started throwing up. Thorgom laughed on his stool and munched on the rats.

[ July 10, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Durelin]

A hot wind rising from the east, little more than a breeze, brought no relief from the baking of the sun, beating down from a cloudless sky, scorching the already harsh wasteland of the desert. It had only just risen, but its beams were in no way cooler or calmer. Still, it would grow hotter.

Waves of heat danced on the horizon, backed by nothing but blue sky. The breeze carried with it grains of sand, stinging the skin, what little skin that showed. The people of the desert, the Haradrim, had long learned to cover their bodies, and most things, fully, to give reprieve from the sun and sand. And to easily conceal what they wished.

The hot wind ruffled the brown robes and loose skirt around Sevora as she gazed from atop a small ridge. Less than a mile away, ripples of heat danced above a clump of small buildings, most little more than huts, some much like tents. The only building with an actual thatch roof was the lone inn, which only contained three rooms.

Sevora turned to Dristi and Naramarth, also scanning the village below. Her dark brown veil hid a smile, but left her eyes visible, which burned with a cold light of anticipation and the desire of something just beyond. "I believe this will be a worthy place to supply us. The dark Lord grows weary of waiting for blood. We will shed some here…"

Abruptly she turned to Sammael and Ghurdan, who she had summoned. "Get the men moving. We will move into town with our entire…forces. I have a little business to take care of which I believe all should be present for." She paused to give a little trill of laughter. "And I see little reason to move today. We will take rest and supplies. Tonight, you will camp just outside the city…a yard or so from the last house should do nicely… Those of the Order will stay in the inn, for there are three rooms…correct?" Without waiting for a reply she continued. "Now, get the men ready. Notify me when we can move." Her eyes moved to each of them as she spoke those words, reminding them that they both were in charge.

They each gave Sevora a small bow, but neither pair of eyes left her for a moment. She watched them turn and leave, and was disappointed to find that they did not flinch or seem uncomfortable at all with her gaze at their backs. But, still, she was also a bit pleased. Sammael and Ghurdan had many traits that a member of the Order needed.

Without removing her eyes from the backs of the two men, Sevora spoke again. "Priestess Dristi," she said, playing at a singsong voice. "I hope you can join me in my quarters this evening for a bit of…amusement." She let out a long trilling laugh, sounding quite fake, before turning to Rahvin, who was by her side, as at most times. "We will leave a mark," she whispered. Smiling to herself, Sevora went over to where Sammael and Ghurdan were assembling the men, Rahvin behind her, almost smiling.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen's post

Very Early Morning, Before Dawn...

"Guard her," Jasara whispered hoarsly to her sister. Khasia glared at Jasara, face set and determined against this order. The younger sibling shook her head and looked back and forth from the prisoner Chani and her sister Jasara. Then she shook her head violently in a resounding no.

"That's duty for the weaklings! I will not stand by while you get to go and have all the fun and excitement!" Khasia complained, but Jasara suspected her sister's true reasons had been stretched far too thin.

"Have your fun and excitement torturing her, if you please. Najah! Nasir! We go," said Jasara abruptly, ending the sibling fued with a call to her aids. Najah was cranky with the exhaust of lack of sleep, while if Nasir was tired he decided not to show it. The three jogged off silently into the night, leaving a pouting, angry Khasia behind with a troop of young.

_____________________________________________

Sophia's post

Khasia had sat sullenly beside Chani's tree. Long hours crept by while the Painted Sand girl taunted her. Khasia didn't move, didn't speak, just silently turned the dagger over in her hand. She was so angry she could not. Jasara wanted to keep her weak, keep her powerless. Jasara wanted to keep her out of the action and away from any who might someday follow her. She was as powerless here as she had been with the old.

"Don't you even hear me?" came Chani's voice from above her. "Do you have no pride in your people?" Khasia rose, eyes blazing. It was more than she could handle, being insulted by this prisoner, this girl tied to a tree. Moving quickly she thrust the dagger into the tree trunk only a few inches from Chani's face.

"My people have never given me what I wanted. My people will never give me what I want." Chani's eyes were fixed on the dagger quivering in the wood beside her cheek. "I bear little loyalty to my sister today, and you would be wise to remember it." She pulled the dagger back out of the wood and returned to her seat at the foot of the tree. For a time, Chani was silent.

_____________________________________________

Aylwen's post

Creeping into the outskirts of the Painted Sand tribe's camp Jasara, Nasir, and Najah said naught and stepped silently with bare feet. They slunk around the tented area of the camp like snakes, disturbing only the sand that they walked on. They soon found themselves in a small clearing where a few blankets had been laid and children slept.

"I thought you'd never come," whispered a strong voice from behind one nearby tent. It was Uri, the second-in-command of the Painted Sand young. Behind him were about ten children and young ranging in age from seven to twenty. He shook hands with Jasara, then proceeded to soundlessly wake the fifteen young who slept on blankets in the clearing.

A few hours before dawn the company made it back to the camp of the Baobab Young. Most of the Baobob were sleeping, save for Khasia. She sat next to Chani's tree, a dagger in hand and an evil grin on her face. The Painted Sand young took places to sleep among the Baobab, and quietly drifted off into sleep.

"Chani? What is she doing here?" Uri asked Jasara, who smirked in an expression all too akin to her sister's.

"She intruded. We could not have her betraying our secrets, can we? Ransom is always a good way to use her as well," replied Jasara, and Uri simply nodded in return. Then he went off to talk with Nasir and Najah quickly before finding a place to sleep.

An army of young. Strong youth against weak elders. Wise new tactics against ageless superstitions. You will not fail Jasara. I will help you...

[ July 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]