Dark Seduction RPG

[Nerindel]

Thirty men and boys immediately stepped forward, Ghurdan grinned at Damodred, but Damodred was surprised at their apparent eagerness to follow strangers into battle, even if they spoke for the Eye. Ghurdan walked in between the volunteers weeding out the ones that would be of no use to them, Damodred did like wise, turning away most of the boys who didn't look old enough to carry a sword, never mind wield one in battle.

Most of the men were warriors of the village and had weapons of their own, and the few that didn't were armed from a store that was kept by the village elders. When the final twenty warriors stood before them, Ghurdan ordered them to make ready to leave within the hour. During this hour some of the women from the village brought them food and drink, Ghurdan ate the food but left the ale and drank water instead, he saw an opportunity here; he left Damodred and went among the warriors.

He offer each the promise of a job on the Fire spray after this mission was complete. He told them of the infidels of Gondor and Belfalas, and the threat they posed. He feed them the lies the Great Eye had shared with him, "These people think they can just walk into our lands and take what is ours! But together with the forces of the Great Eye we can take their lands as our own and show them that the Haradrim are not to be taken for granted." For most these words were enough to gain their service, but the others were finally hooked when Ghurdan told them of the riches they took from the Ships of Belfalas and of the six gold pieces he would pay each one that joined his crew. He gave each man who agreed to join his crew three gold pieces and promised them another three when they returned to Umbar, he could see that most of them had not seen one gold piece never mind Three.

Within the hour twenty warriors were gathered and ready to leave, "Move out!" Ghurdan ordered. He and Damodred lead them to were they believed the rest of their company would be camping for the night.

"So you paid them?" Damodred chuckled. "Indeed!" Ghurdan laughed "It is highly possible that not all of us will survive and I still need to crew my ship." Damodred nodded still chuckling under his breath. "There is space for two more should you survive, and your young friend can settle his differences" Ghurdan whispered as he walked past him. Damadred was stunned at Ghurdans offer, but he was almost certain that Sammael would not wish to take up the captains offer, so he did not answer and the pair lead the warriors towards were they estimated their companions would have made camp.

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[piosenniel]

The trackers – Husam

Jamílah scanned the rolling grasslands to the west, looking for signs of the returning scouts. The combined tribes had decided, after several days of unsuccessful pursuit of the young ones’ group, to move their main camp further west, to the head of a small valley between the arms of a lengthy outcropping of sandstone through which a small year round stream had cut and eroded the layers of rock. The tents had been set up at the eastern end of the valley, the grasslands and water supply plentiful enough for the horses of the painted sands, and the small, goat herds of the Baobab.

It was late afternoon, of the third day they had sent out their fresh teams of trackers. Scouts would return each evening from the lead group, always with the same story. They had seen recent signs that the young had stopped here or there, but never an actual sighting of the young ones themselves. Like ghosts, they kept vanishing.

The trackers had ranged out further and further west, two new teams of three each day – one team heading northwest, the other southwest. They wove back and forth across each other’s tracks in a serpentine fashion, as they moved westward looking for their prey. This day had brought them within range of an outlying, established settlement, on the outskirts of a small town that had sprawled along one of the east-west trade routes from the western coast.

One of the Baobab, Husam, had gone down to the nearest of the six furthest outlying farms – a goat farmer with whom the tribe had traded whenever their path brought them near. A pouch of silver coins hung round his neck, concealed beneath his shirt, as he walked in through the main gate to the holding, waving his hand to the children who played in the yard near the house.

‘Your father - is he here, little ones?’ he asked smiling. As was the custom, he stopped a distance from the house, in the shade afforded by a small tree and waited for the children to let their parents know a visitor had come. The wife was the one who came out from the house, and looking him over closely, she spoke to her eldest son, sending him running for his father. She sent a jar of cool water to Husam with the younger boy, bidding him wait until her husband would come to speak with him. Husam smiled at the boy as he thanked him for the water, and nodded at the woman, noting her eyes darted constantly to the road behind him, scanning the distance beyond. And noting also the three large herd dogs that stood near the entrance to the house, their watchful gaze following his every movement.

Soon the goat farmer, Bemah, came in from the fields, wiping the sweat from his brow with his pocket rag. He bore a spear in one hand, and his eyes narrowed as he approached, looking closely at Husam. His shoulders seemed to relax as he recognized the man beneath the tree. He gave the spear into the keeping of the son who had come back with him, and wiping his hands on his breeches, he drew nearer, and clasped Husam’s hand.

The pleasantries and rituals of greeting done, Husam ventured to comment on how unusual it was to see the man carry a spear. ‘Has there been trouble?’ he asked, motioning to the young man standing a little way off who still held the spear. ‘Not that has come to my door as yet, friend,’ said Bemah, leading Husam to his house. ‘But others have come back from trading in the town, and there are reports of a body of rough, armed men moving our way.’ Husam nodded his head at these rumors, saying that Latif had come back from the town a little further west than this settlement’s town, and that there he had witnessed a sacrifice done at the behest of the priestess who traveled with the army. ‘We had heard that rumour, too, and thought it was just some tale picked up and grown larger than it really was.’ Bemah shook his head at the confirmation that it was, indeed, true, then listened carefully as Husam told him of the strange flight of many of the young from the tribe toward this army. Husam was careful not to say he was tracking the youngsters, and made no mention of the Painted Sands’ tribe.

Bemah was thoughtful as Husam spoke. If this were true, then the neighboring farmers needed to be made aware of it. He would speak to them as soon as his business with Husam was finished.

Trading was always done at a leisurely pace, and today proved no different, though both men had other pressing matters on their minds. More news was shared. What each had seen and heard since last they met, who was married, who had new babies, who had died. Finally the talk narrowed down to the business at hand. Bemah’s herd had several pregnant nannies, and they had been bred with his neighbor’s two billies who produced rugged, healthy goats, the females of which were excellent milk producers.

‘When will the kids be here do you think?’ asked Husam, knowing that it would be several months after that before they would be ready to join the tribe’s bands. Bemah gave his estimated date, and Husam asked that three females and two males be set aside for him. They discussed the price of the goats, and after a few moments of haggling, came to a mutually acceptable sum. Husam fished for the pouch beneath his shirt and took out half the agreed on price. ‘Nasr and I will come when they are ready and bring them back to our herd. Until then, this should hold them for us.’

The better part of an hour was then spent drinking homemade spirits and toasting the continued health of each other’s family. Husam took leave of Bemah when he could and hurried back to the other two trackers who awaited him. ‘We must get back to the main camp,’ he told them. The priestess and her army are quite near, and none have seen the youngsters in this area. I think it most likely they have already joined their forces with that of the priestess.’

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

Later that evening, Bemah took one of his dogs and his eldest son with him to call on their nearest neighbor. He passed on the news that Husam had brought - to this neighboring family, who in turn passed it on the following morning to several others in the vicinity. And so on, until the families in the outlying holdings had all been made aware of what was happening.

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

[Durelin]

Sevora's patience was growing thin, as was the other's. She could practically feel the tension among them. They yearned so much to kill, while she grew sick of their ignorance and impudence. Even Dristi could not control herself. It was pathetic. Blood would flow when the time came, but not before. Couldn't they see? All had to be planned, and carefully, or their efforts would fail. And failure was not an option. Now she wondered just how careful of planning she had to do. If there truly were a split, as was rumored…perhaps this would all be quite simple. Or, perhaps their arrival would be just the thing to reunite the tribesmen, against the Army of the Eye.

Army? Sevora snorted so loud that a nearby crewman jumped to stand at attention. Sevora ignored him as she walked past, but it took quite a few minutes for the man to stop staring and get back to his position in the line of march. The tribeman is the worst, she thought. He is up to something... Soon Rahvin was striding next to her. "And what have you been up to, my dear?" she asked.

Rahvin chuckled dryly, and Sevora started. The man hadn't done that in years. She said so, and the man almost smiled at her. "Well," he began in a dry tone, "much has been occuring that is, in fact, quite amusing."

It was Sevora's turn to laugh. "The tribesman?"

She was answered with a smile.

"What else did he say, besides his comment concerning myself."

"He is sure that these people will not convert. He also seems to think that we will not be able to stand against their proud warriors."

Sevora threw back her head and laughed, startling a number of crewmen again. "We will just have to be cautious, won't we?"

The man laughed again; it seemed this was doing him some good. She had missed his sense of humor, so much like her own.

Dropping back, Sevora went to walk beside the cart, eyeing Sammael and Zasfal. Zasfal was managing to make a great amount of noise, while Sammael kept a little dignity, at least. They did look horrible, and they did not smell very nicely, but Sevora knew that this pain certainly wasn't enough to break them. It had better not be, she thought, smirking. Still, she did not wish to break them yet; she needed to use them before that. In a way, that old tribesman, Thorgom, was right. They were warriors; they were not going to be simple to kill. And she already knew that, for the most part, these tribesmen were not going to see where the true path to greatness and pleasure lie.

And there he was, talking to Sammael, who looked...too happy. The man smiled at Thorgom as he said something. Zasfal was quiet for a moment; he must be listening. Sammael and Thorgom were getting along all too nicely. And Zasfal...she was sure Zasfal was just a fool. To think she had actually thought Sammael was perhaps blessed by the Eye. Ghurdan was. Sevora shook her head, partially at the fact that she had been so plainly mistaken, and partially at the irony.

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[piosenniel]

The trackers return to the valley encampment

It was late in the evening when the outriders had come galloping home. The heaving flanks of the horses were covered in sweat, and their legs trembled from the exertion of so great a distance at so great a speed. Report had been given to the clan leaders of both tribes – the young had not been found, and the Army of the Eye was little more than a half day’s journey from the valley.

Jamílah and Nasr had taken Husam away as soon as he had finished with his report. Nasr, seeing his brother in law, to Jamílah’s tent, went back to take care of his mount, leaving the two of them to talk as she fussed over him and fixed him a plate of food.

‘Tell me what you saw,’ she said, stirring the field beans and onions over the small cooking fire before the tent. Husam sat on a mat near the fire, watching the embers fly up around the edges of the pot. He sipped on the mug of sweet tea she had given him, and watched her as she moved, wondering if Qirfah would grow into her older years as gracefully as had her mother.

The sound of her voice, repeating the question once again, drew him from his reverie, and he gathered his thoughts back around him and told her of the fruitless search for the youngsters. ‘They went steadily west, is all we know. We were always too late to see them. They are with the army that approaches, I am sure of that.’

‘And Bemah,’ she prodded him, handing him a plate of fragrant grains over which the beans and onions had been ladled, ‘What news from him?’ Between bites, he answered her questions. The army had been rumored to be near their holdings. No, they had not seen them yet, nor had they any new of the young ones. She eked out from him news of the other five families who lived in that outlying area.

All were well, he told her. Their families, he had been told, were all in good health. Even Bemah’s old mother still lived, though now her days were spent mostly before the fire in a chair padded for the comfort of her old bones. The six men who owned the lands would be busy soon with the birthings in their goat herds. Luckily their sons would be able to take the rest of the flocks out to pasture. She frowned, wondering out loud what might happen if the young ones were to bother the women when the men were away, but he laughed and shook his head, telling her of the great dogs he had encountered on his visit to Bemah’s holding. ‘Big enough to drive away the great cats, should they find themselves thinking the goats are easy prey.’ There were three about Bemah’s house,’ he told her, ‘and I’m certain the others are just as cautious.’

He wiped the plate clean with a chunk of bread she had given him, then handed the dish and spoon to her. She offered him a slice of melon and refilled his mug, pouring one for herself. Nasr had come back by then, and helped himself to the melon as well. They sat in companionable silence for a space of time.

‘I wonder where they are now?’ Nasr asked, breaking the quiet that surrounded them. He looked toward the stars on the eastern horizon. ‘Qamar must be settling the little ones in for sleep even as we speak.’ He smiled, thinking of Naar, and Ajdal, and little Ashum, seeing their mother sitting near them, singing quietly some old story to them, as she always did at home.

Husam said nothing, turning his face away from the fire’s light and into shadow as he, too, looked eastward.

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

Jamílah

It was later that night, when her daughters’ husbands had gone to the tent they shared, that Jamílah took out the small pouch from beneath her pillow, She had given her other casting bones to her daughters, but these were her oldest, the ones her mother had made for her when she was eleven summers old and on the cusp of womanhood. As it was night, she held them in her left hand, the one which bore the moon and star.

On the western rim of the world hung the bright evening star, a beacon of hope, or so the old tales said of it – it’s light steady and unwavering, unlike the winking, clustered stars about it. Restless and unable to sleep, she had sat watching it these last few nights. And had thrown the bones to see what their patterns would show beneath its light. An image held steady and became clearer, though what it meant in full she could not grasp as yet.

At first, there were the patterns for a star, and they had grown larger, pushing out the fearsome image the bones had shown her of the Eye when she cast them at the days’ dawnings. Five points it had, and it hung steady touching the quadrants of the north and west. And now the symbol for a man showed near it, small and well defined. What the images meant, she was unsure, they were new to her.

‘Still, they have the feeling of some assurance,’ she said to herself, as she moved her fingers over the bones that lay scattered in the dirt before her. Her hand lingered over them for a moment, then she scooped them up and placed them back in the worn pouch that housed them.

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

[Ealasaid]

As dusk fell over the tribesmen’s camp, Ahmad found himself looking more and more into the east, in the direction the women and children of the Baobab and Painted Sand tribes had taken in their flight to safety. His mother and sisters had gone with them as had Qirfah, Jamilah’s daughter and, he now knew, the mother of his son. He had been offered the chance to lead the Painted Sand contingent for his father, but had turned it down, preferring to prove himself in battle. Now, he found himself questioning his own judgment. Yet each time he rethought it, he always came to the same conclusion. He was where he should be. He sighed, pulling his eyes away from the darkness in the east, knowing he should be concerning himself now with the darkness that moved ever nearer from the west.

Earlier in the evening, he and his cousins, Adhem and Yusef, had pitched their tent and checked over their weapons, putting everything in readiness for the coming battle. They had eaten a light supper, talking companionably, but keeping the subject away from recent events and what they knew was soon to take place. They had talked aimlessly of horses and hunting, the weather, and anything else they could think of, carefully avoiding any talk of the fleeing women and children. Ahmad knew that Adhem had sent a wife and two small children into the east. And, although Adhem took his part in the conversation, Ahmad could tell Adhem’s thoughts lay with them. After dinner, Ahmad excused himself and walked around the perimeters of the encampment, locating the tents of Jamilah and her sons-in-law amongst those of the Baobab. Remembering his promise to Qirfah, he wanted to drop in and visit with them, to renew their acquaintance before the battle took place, but knew that he would not do it. He had no place with them. His presence would have been awkward at best. Even so, when Jamilah emerged from one of the tents as he passed, he nodded to her. She gave him a long, thoughtful stare, then nodded in return.

Going back to his own tent, Ahmad found it empty, Adhem and Yusef having gone off on walks or errands of their own. Taking advantage of the solitude, Ahmad reached for the vial his mother had given him as a parting gift, the one that contained the poison. He weighed it carefully in his hand, deciding what to do with it. Surely a poison like that was of better use to an archer, or to one of the Baobab hunters with their darts. He wouldn’t dare coat his sword with it for fear that a mistake with the blade would injure himself or one of his own kinsmen. Besides, he doubted there would be enough poison in the little vial to cover such a blade. Instead, he took his dagger from its sheath and, following his mother’s instructions, soaked the blade in the viscous liquid, letting it dry completely before returning the dagger to its sheath.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Durelin]

Lyra's Post

“ . . . I never saw her again”

Sammael laughed loudly at the Thorgom’s story- perhaps louder than it deserved. The man was, to say the least, odd but certainly better company than Zasfal who was currently looking daggers at the pair of them. Essenia had not spoken a word for hours, maybe worn out by her uncharacteristic whole sentences earlier. The man sitting perched on the cart in front of him had helped to make the journey slightly more bearable, but now Sammael was ready to drop. His laughs were forced now, and came out in rasping gasps. It had been three hours since he himself told a story, and even Zasfal had stopped moaning as breath became more and more laboured.

With a jerk that knocked Sammael off his feet the cart stopped. Struggling to regain his feet Sammael felt himself pulled up by Thorgom. He smiled thanks at the tribesman, who grinned back then turned to Zasfal who was still trying to stand. Sammael panted quietly, hoping against hope that they had reached the end of the day’s march. Rahvin approached the cart, and instinctively Sammael tried to breathe quieter and more evenly, straightening his back and trying to look calm and collected. He did not know if he fooled the man- likely not- but the pretence made him feel better. Rahvin cut first his, then Zasfal’s ropes silently, sheathed his knife and began to walk away. Resisting the temptation to rub his sore wrists as Zasfal was, Sammael called out.

“Will the punishment continue tomorrow?”

The faintest vestige of a sardonic smile crossed Rahvin’s face as he turned back to face Sammael, but not a word passed his lips. Muttering, Sammael kicked the cart, unsettling Thorgom as he did so. Smiling he offered the man his hand, but winced as he grabbed it. Pain shot through his fingers to his neck. Gingerly he picked up his bags from the wagon and walked to a suitable tent site.

With a grimace he saw Thorgom follow him, but then felt ungrateful and welcomed him with a smile. Over his shoulder he saw Zasfal watching him malevolently, obviously still blaming him for being punished. As some sort of defiance- although he knew not what, unless it was to make Zasfal jealous of his contentment- he began talking loudly and cheerfully to Throgom.

Without the distraction of being dragged along by a cart, he began for the first time to wonder seriously where Damodred was. He hoped they had not chosen him for punishment, because he suddenly realised that that would upset him. It was far easier to appreciate the old man when he was not around looking sourly at him.

No wonder these people think I’m soft,
Sammael thought with a sigh.

Thorgom looked at him quizzically. The story he was in the middle of telling obviously had no need of a sigh. With a grunt of apology Sammael collapsed on the ground, where a sort of sleep washed over him.

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Jasara and the young edged ever closer to the Army of the Eye, but the scouts were hot on their tail and the whole band of tribal warriors was not far behind. It did not worry Jasara anymore, however, for she knew that somehow the Eye would get her through everything. She was too deep in her own hole to dig herself out or stop digging, and there was no way but down. That was all right, though, the Eye had told Jasara so. It would all be over soon, and she would be the victor against the elders. Jasara had originally had little faith in her plans, but with the Eye and it’s voice and visions encouraging her every move, Jasara knew she could not fail.

Nasir sometimes joked about what the thing inside of Jasara was doing to her. She was not the same Jasara he had once known, but he said that her physical form was only a barrier leashing whatever evil was inside of her. If it was killing her and emptying her soul slowly, Jasara did not know it. There was nothing she could do about it either way. Najah did not care either, for it only suited her wicked nature that their leader reflect the horrid things they had done. Uri had followed Fouad and forever had he turned his path. Only Khasia knew her own true and dark intentions, but it mattered not to Jasara anymore. The power was in her, not in Khasia.

The sun was lowering over the eastern skies as the front line of young first spotted the camp of the Eye’s Army. Blood red and orange rays of light flickered against the backs of the young as they marched on, knowing in the back of their hearts that this was the end for most and that their frantic flee from the elders was done for the moment. Jasara smiled evilly as she stood atop the small hill that overlooked the medium-sized encampment. It didn’t look like much, hardly more or less than what the young had with them. However, the Voice had confided with Jasara that with the young along, the forces would be just enough to overpower those of the Painted Sand and Baobab.

Before the young could even reach the Army, they were met by warriors going to the valley just east of their position. The group of young stopped entirely, and Jasara raced to the front lines to speak with the warriors. They looked normal enough, but Jasara continued to shove children out of her way until she made it to the front to speak with the warriors. The warriors seemed confused as they realized that all of the persons in the group were young and under twenty or thirty. Jasara grinned, and motioned for Khasia to follow her to the front. Najah and Nasir were already there, and one of the children had gone and retrieved Uri from the back.

“Where is your leader?” Jasara asked in a strong voice that made her feel and sound more important than she actually was. One of the men stepped forward and away from his troop, holding a sword ready and pointed at Jasara’s stomach. The others in the front of the warrior’s group stuck their weapons out at the other children leaders, but none moved until Jasara spoke again. “We come as an addition to the Army of the Eye. Not only do we outnumber you, but we also seek no trouble from you so I ask that you lower your weapons and tell me what you are doing out here away from your camp.”

The captain of the little group frowned slightly, and jerked his head as a gesture to his men to stand down. The weapons lowered, and the leaders of the young breathed with relief. The leader of the little emissary knitted his brows together in deep thought, as if contemplating whether to lie or to tell truthfully, or whether to ignore Jasara’s request completely and attack their way through the young’s regiment. The man looked up at Jasara after his lapse of momentary hesitation, and held out a hand to shake. Jasara took it, albeit impatiently as she waited for an answer to her question.

“We come this way as an envoy to the tribes of the east. They are camped nearby, or so our scouts say,” the man began; nodding towards the sun and the direction he had been traveling. “We wish to speak and negotiate with them…peacefully…of matters which our mistress the Priestess Sevora has sent us. Who are you? Might you be the tribe that we seek? Why are there no elders among you?”

“I am Jasara, leader of the Baobab and Painted Sand young,” Jasara replied, repeating word for word everything the Eye had told her to say. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but the rest of her expression was calm and serene. “I would advise against going in search of the elders, for they are certainly not interested in anything Lady Sevora has to bribe or offer. The Eye has split our tribes apart. We, the young, believe we can come to an agreement with the Lady Sevora. The elders may not be trusted, and all who share our beliefs are here now. I ask that you take me, as leader, and my sister Khasia to the Lady Sevora. We must speak with her.”

The man hesitated, contemplating Jasara’s words and weighing her worth. Eventually, with all eyes on him and glares from both sides, the man agreed and began to lead the host of the young back to the Army’s camp.

[Durelin]

Sevora sat in a rickety wooden chair within her personal tent, which Rahvin shared with her, of course. Dristi sat nearby, her beautiful face carved from stone. No. Ice. Sevora almost laughed. The woman had seemed cowed by her punishment, but, then, she had only seemed, ready to murder whenever she thought Sevora wasn't looking. She knew Dristi was hard to break, and had a certain respect for the woman because of that. She respected her, respected her as a person just below. And second in command must be kept in his or her place. There was no room for anything but acceptance. Sevora really didn't want to break Dristi. Just as with Sammael and Zasfal, broken, the woman would never be as useful then. Why couldn't the fool just learn to accept?

Sevora let out a long sigh, rising from her chair. For a split second, she was sure she had seen surprise manifest on Dristi's icy face. Of course, the sigh. She hadn't done that in quite a long time, had she… This time Sevora did laugh, throwing back her head and howling. Dristi continued to sit watching her with eyes as icicles, trying to pierce. Most likely trying to determine why in the Great Lord of the Dark's radiance was Sevora laughing. The laughter was cut off abruptly, and Sevora's face was as cold and languid as ever, but with eyes all but burning with a light of something…perhaps mischief, of all things.

"Do you believe the old tribesman spoke truth?" she asked Dristi.

"I do. Only a fool would speak as if attempting to frighten servants of the Eye, and not speak truth. And he is no fool. He is ignorant." The word 'frighten' rolled off her tongue in a most disgusted manner.

"Yes. And we must not underestimate this old man, ignorant or fool. We must be cautious…ignorance can spread" It seemed Dristi caught her hint. Yes, to be respected…

"Do you propose a sort of…mutiny occurring?"

"It is a possibility, however small it would be. It can be quelled easily, if we are careful. I am sure that the majority of our…forces, if they can be called that, are loyal. Ghurdan actually goes as far to be blessed by the Great Lord. And that means his crew will stand behind him."

"I know," Drist said with a scowl, probably because Sevora questioned her of what she was aware of. "So you would expect it from only two or three would reveal themselves as treacherous?"

"Yes, though they could prove to be a problem, considering the fact that our numbers really are not all that large. But, again, they will not be, if we are careful."

Dristi opened her mouth to reply, but she was stopped as one of Ghurdan's crew entered the tent. With a low, formal bow, hand to heart, he waited for Sevora to motion for him to speak. With a nod and a gesture from her, the man began to speak, receiving a quick sour look from Dristi. "Priestess Sevora…Priestess Dristi," he began, bowing again toward each. So he decided to include Dristi…a smart man. "The scouts have returned and --"

"Alrady?" Sevora and Dristi asked together, both in the same bored, incredulous tone.

"Yes. They were intercepted by some of the tribesmen. Their apparent leaders wish to speak with you…m'lady." He looked uncertain at this title for Sevora, but she would except almost any title. They were unimportant as long as there were said, out of respect.

"We meant to give them the courtesy of meeting on their own ground and their own terms, but if they refuse…" Rahvin slipped in the tent at that moment to stand behind Sevora's chair. Naramarth followed close behind and took a seat in the third chair, near Sevora's but far from where Dristi was seated. Sevora's eyes ran over them for a moment before she continued. "Bid them enter."

Sevora had barely reached her chair to stand in front of it before the tribesmen entered. Dristi had risen, too, and luckily. But of course the woman knew all the proprieties of…negotiation. Naramarth glanced around before he rose and Sevora suppressed a scowl. The tribesmen leaders emerged from the boiling sun into the dim tent, the violent switch seeming to barely effect them. There were two women and a man, all hardly deserving of being called 'man' or 'woman'. They were more like a boy and two girls! What had that lout of Ghurdan's not told her? Leaders were always considered the wisest of the group, and even though wisdom came at varying ages, never did it come till long past grey hairs among infidels. Even if the tribes did pass on the rite of leaders through heirs, the tribal infidels lived a long time, and none of these children could have lost a parent as of yet. The split. The thought ran through her mind, but she knew it was not hers. She smiled. The Eye was kind to her. Still, some questions needed answering. Either this side of the tribe consisted of fools, or they were all of such young ages. And why had this side come to her? She suspected that crewman had forgotten something…or left it out deliberately.

"I am Priestess Sevora of the Order of the Eye. This is Priestess Dristi and Priest Naramarth, both also of the Order. We come to your land in order to spread the word, truth, and knowledge of the Great Lord of the Dark." Sevora said incongruously, with a slight, respectful decline of her head.

One of the young women stepped forward. "And I am Jasara, leader of the Baobab and Painted Sand young."

There it was…something in her eyes. Sevora had seen it before, all too many times. That cold flame that burnt with a fervent, macabre light, full of undying knowledge. Oh, yes, this one was wise. For the second time in minutes, Sevora howled with laughter. Yes, the Great Lord is kind to me.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“This is Uri,” Jasara continued, after a moment of seemingly impenetrable silence. She motioned to Uri, who bowed shortly and put up a momentary fight with Jasara to stand in the forefront of their small group. Jasara sneered in Uri’s general direction. “He is…was…the second in command of the Painted Sand young, until the leader was cruelly murdered by the elders for worshipping the Eye. I’m sure you would have enjoyed Fouad’s company much more than you will Uri’s.”

Uri glared at Jasara evilly and menacingly, but Jasara shrugged it off. It was true…Fouad was as much a believer as Jasara was. He knew the Eye and its power personally like Jasara had. Only his curse could be disposed of, and Jasara’s was a permanent scar of what would never disappear. The ghastly voice did not bother Jasara as it once had; it had made her stronger than those who did not understand it. Jasara was jostled from her thoughts when Khasia elbowed her in the ribs, urging her sister for an introduction.

“And this is my sister Khasia,” Jasara added simply as an afterthought, which made Uri snicker at Khasia and led Khasia to kick her sister in the shin. Jasara rolled her eyes dramatically, embarrassed that her sister and one of the other leaders were acting in such vile and childish ways. “We come to offer ourselves to the forces of the Eye, and to warn you that you will find no success in the camp of the elders. They have become vicious and adamant in their repulsion and disagreement to the beliefs of the Eye. They cannot be trusted and if possible must be destroyed, for though they pose little threat to the forces of the Eye, they will never bend to the will of the Great Eye or comprehend it’s meanings.”

The Priestess Sevora smirked wickedly and nodded in response to Jasara’s words. The leader of the young noticed something in the dark lady’s eyes…something Jasara had never seen before other than in her own reflection in a pool of water. A distant look, one of simplistic connotation, one that could only be required by the extensive act of grasping for something dark and evil that no one should ever be exposed to. Jasara knew that look, and knew that anyone who looked upon both she and Sevora in equal glances would realize the resemblance.

“I need not suffer in silence when I can still hear you moan, whimper, and complain about everything, Naramarth,” Jasara heard vaguely as she snapped out of her reverie. Sevora had snapped haughtily at the Priest, who lifted a brow dully before quelling his expression at Sevora’s glare. She then jerked her head to the entryway flap of the tent, which snapped innocently with the wind. Naramarth moved for the door, but momentarily hesitated as if he were actually waiting for further orders from Sevora.

“Why don’t you take our friends here,” Sevora continued, gesturing wispily to Uri and Khasia. Uri’s dark eyes widened, and he pointed to himself as if to make certain that Sevora meant him. Khasia stamped her foot. Sevora nodded impatiently. “Take our friends here out while I speak to the leader of the willing young.”

“Oh, right! Don’t worry. I forgot your name too! Jasara, just because I don't care about whatever killed Fouad doesn't mean I don't understand!” Uri shouted at Sevora and Jasara angrily as Naramarth moved to restrain and take the boy outside. Khasia was grabbed by the priest too until Jasara pulled her sister away from the man, remembering that the Eye had told her to let Khasia tag along for a while. Uri was led outside, so Khasia and Jasara were left alone with Sevora and Dristi.

“Having control over myself is nearly as good as having control over others,” Sevora murmured, her voice soft but sickeningly slow as if the air she exhaled contained deadly poison or venom. It did not bother Jasara in the least, however. It was a feminine counterpart to the beautiful but deadly voice that haunted Jasara. The tone was soothing after so many years, and Jasara loathed and hated the voices’ tone as much as she loved and appreciated it.

“It is not enough to simply succeed. Others must fail and the elders must die in the process,” Jasara spoke, nodding to Khasia. It was the simplest way to state the young’s current position with the elders. It was win or lose, live or die. Jasara wanted to win and live.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Khasia listened to Jasara's first exchange with the priestess. The expression on her face was skeptical, as was her usual habit when anything was new or strange. Best they think she was bored. Khasia knew better than to show fear. Her dark eyes lingered on the Priestesses' faces-- the one proud and self contained, the other finely sculpted and beatiful-- then wandered across that of the Priest, Naramarth. But they finally came back to rest on Sevora's face. The woman was powerful and it radiated from her, nearly palpable in the small tent. Her face fascinated Khasia, from the opacity of her eyes to the sneer on her lips.

Jasara's introduction of her was brief and dismissive. Khasia reacted with a swift kick to her sister's leg. Jasara's obvious embarrassment pleased her, and she smirked to herself as Uri was taken struggling from the tent. When the women were alone again Jasara spoke quietly. "It is not enough to simply succeed." Sevora nodded, her movements slow and considered, the twisted crown of wire on her head catching Khasia's eye again. The girl straightened her white tunic, conscious of the humility of her clothing.

In Sevora's bearing and voice Khasia caught a glimpse of the vision her sister followed. The malice and dignity of the Eye she served, and the power. Power such as Khasia had never tasted of or dreamed. This Priestess weilded the power of life and death over everyone in the camp. Khasia licked her lips. Such a life was beyond her, beyond her training and her reach. Yet Jasara's Eye had sent her an opportunity, and opportunity was not to be wasted. The Priestess Dristi caught her eye, a slow ironic smile twisted her lips, almost a sneer.

Jasara continued to speak, their strength, their numbers, the hatred that fueled them. Her words drifted over Khasia with little effect; her mind was racing, fascinated with the morbid splendour of the Priestesses' garb, with the indifference in their eyes and their easy self-possession. One thought repeated itself louder and louder in the back of Khasia's mind. Displace Jasara. Make her power your own.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Nerindel]

Ghurdan, Damodred and the newly recruited warriors caught up with the others shortly before nightfall, they were camped at the edge of the grasslands. As they approached Ghurdan could see about forty smaller figures gathered together in the midst of the camp, as they got nearer he could she that they were children, ranging from the ages of twelve to twenty five and everyone armed with sword or bow. Ghurdan looked at Damodred who just shrugged, they watched the children with mild interest as they passed.

They also saw that Sammael and Zasfal had been freed from their punishment, Zasfal rubbed at his wrists obviously burnt by the pulling of the rope, but Sammael on the other hand seemed his cheerful self and spoke loudly with Thorgom, "It looks like he has found a new friend, in your absence!" Ghurdan laughed inclining his head towards Sammael and Thorgom, but Damodred just shrugged and made his way towards his young friend, "remember my warning, regarding that one" he whispered to the mans back, in a voice that was not entirely his own.

He then turned to the warriors and told them to join the camp and to be ready to leave when the Priestesses gave the order. He then turned and headed to Sevora's tent, two of his crew stood guard at the entrance, and nodded respectfully as he approached. once inside he saw that the Priestess had company, Rahvin who he expected to be there stood in his usual place at Sevora's right shoulder and Dristi sat at her left side and across from them stood a young girl, around the age of nineteen he guessed, her silk black curly hair shone in the light of the lantern that hung above her head, at her side stood a younger girl, they all turned to look at him as he entered, he made the customary gesture of respect then talked directly to Sevora, " Twenty, of the villages warriors answered the Eyes call." he told her not sure how much the priestesses wanted said infront of the child.

Sevora nodded then gesturing to the youngster she said "this is Jasara, The leader of the Baobab and Painted sand young and her sister Khasia" she said grinning at him "And this is Ghurdan, one of our captains" she informed the girls. Ghurdan inclined his head to them, but as his eyes meet with Jasara's he saw the cold light that he saw burn in Sevora's eye's on more than one occasion and he knew this one held the favour of their lord.

"Take a seat Ghurdan some of what Jasara has told us may interest you?" he nodded respectfully then took a seat and listened intently to what the young woman had to say.

[ August 01, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Arien]

Dristi crossed her legs and watched the two girls and the boy with some amazement, of course she did not show this on her face. Like always she listened but kept the same solid expression on her face.

"I am Priestess Sevora of the Order of the Eye. This is Priestess Dristi and Priest Naramarth, both also of the Order. We come to your land in order to spread the word, truth, and knowledge of the Great Lord of the Dark." Sevora introduced them to the newcomers. Dristi’s eyes gazed over them as they introduced themselves. Jasara seemed to be the most mature out of all of them but Dristi liked Khasia out of all of them. She looked a little doubtful about the whole affair, and Dristi thought this was good. She was wary of what she was doing, she was clever. At least she did not run into things blinded, without examining it at first. It was a strength over her sister, who seemed to be too over confident or scared. She could not tell but Jasara gave the impression of an attitude much like Sevora’s.

She continued to listen intently to the two converse, and then the boy was sent out. A mild bit of amusement for the day she thought, maybe the first useful thing that Naramarth had done thus far on this trip. She knew very well she too had done nothing of any sort to help, but she wasn’t about to admit that to herself. Her eyes crossed over Khasia’s face and she gave her a twisted sort of smile. Her sister now talked about the numbers that perused them and those that they had. Dristi listened carefully, this information could be vital in any tactical strike they were going to use. If they were going to use any. If they did she had better be included in the agreement, she may not look like a tactician but she was one of the Citadel’s best, in fact the best. She doubted Sevora would tell their company this, so she made a point to tell them herself.

As she carefully added numbers in her head Ghurdan entered the tent. Sevora welcomed him with his information that they had obtained twenty more fighters from the village. The would certainly give them a slight advantage, but only if the enemy did not have skilled fighters. Dristi doubted this, it would be close but she was sure that they would prevail.

“It will be close….” she spoke up from her seat.

“What?” asked Sevora, attempting to keep her dislike for her undercover.

“It will be close…”

“What will be…explain yourself!” she replied exasperatedly.

“If we fight…”she continued, “we will only just prevail..there will be heavy deaths received by both sides...”

“What!” exclaimed Ghurdan, “ we will crush them!”

“Oh really,” Dristi replied Slyly, “ care to wager…?”

“Dristi..” smiled Sevora, “what makes you think I want to fight them?”

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Thanks for not embarrassing me half as much as you usually do, Khasia,” Jasara murmured to her sister as the Priestesses and the newcomer spoke to each other about the numbers of the young. Khasia glowered back at Jasara with an evil sparkle in her eyes and bit her lip. Jasara smiled in mock sweetness. “Those of you who think you know everything are very annoying to those of us who actually do, dear sister.”

“You might think that hatred makes you stronger, it also makes you seem blind and stupid. Do not order me around; I don’t need you. You’re acting just like the elders,” Khasia spat out the last word, and it made Jasara cringe inwardly. Jasara knew her sister better than anyone else did, but she still didn’t know what Khasia wanted from this meeting. Why did she want to be there?

Your sister wants to impress the Priestesses. It fascinates her. Khasia wants what you have, she wants to take the place of Dristi or Sevora. Don't let her usurp your power. Don't let your sisterly bonds get in the way of what you are destined for, Jasara. Khasia must not get in the way.

The voice was right. It shed new light on what Khasia had wanted all along. Khasia was jealous, Khasia wanted to have the power Jasara had. Jasara glared at her sister suddenly with new venom and hatred, and Khasia moved back ever so slightly. Then Khasia glared back with anger and impatience that mirrored Jasara's own.

"I'll start acting nicer when you start making sense and stop trying to take advantage of the generous opportunity I have given you. I didn't have to let you come along! All you want is the chance to take what I have and leave me to die!" Jasara hissed shrilly at Khasia. Not that Jasara wouldn't have done the same thing had she been in Khasia's position, but it didn't matter at that moment. What mattered to Jasara was that Khasia leave and stop trying to steal the glory that belonged to Jasara.

"I won't let you take this chance away from me! Sister or no, I won't have you holding me back!" Khasia muttered back, calm and cool as she hid her true emotions. The two girls had a staredown for a few moments, but then turned away from each other to face the three older people that were still talking across the tent.

“What makes you think I want to fight them?” Jasara heard Sevora say moments after her fued with Khasia. Jasara stifled a slight gasp. What did that mean? Were they not going to attack the elders? They had to! They had to get revenge! All Jasara really wanted was revenge, but was that so wrong? A battle certainly would kill a lot of people, but all the elders would have died soon anyway, and anyone else would die sooner or later!

Jasara looked up at Sevora and Dristi, staring momentarily at their matching crimson and ebony robes and their crowns of thorns. Sevora's eyes were deep and knowledgable; they matched Jasara's eyes, which had taken in much since the beginning days of the rebellion. Dristi's eyes were just a shade or two lighter than black, but they were full of wonderment and rapture. When Jasara turned her gaze over to Ghurdan, the first thing Jasara noticed was the long scar that spread from his left eye to the bottom of his stubborn chin. Ghurdan's dark skin and dark hair were only contrasted against the three gold rings in his right ear as he smiled evilly at Jasara and Khasia.

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[piosenniel]

Nerindel's post

"What!" exclaimed Ghurdan, " we will crush them!" his eyes burned with silent rage, he and his men had fought the infidels of the north and survived time and time again, he thought this foray to be no different.

"Oh really," Dristi replied Slyly, " care to wager…?" Ghurdans lips twisted into a wry grin and his dark eyes twinkled letting Dristi know that he would take her wager and that he understood that she had indeed heard the wager that his young first mate had made with him at the start of their journey. But before he could answer Sevora intervened.

"Dristi.." smiled Sevora, "what makes you think I want to fight them?"

They both turned and looked to Sevora, Ghurdan did not understand, they had just been told that the Elders would not be converted and he had orders to Annihilate those who would not follow the path of the Dark Lord.

"We are here to Teach them the true path and we cannot do that if they are dead" her voice honeyed as she spoke. "But they will not turn! these girls have already said as much!" Ghurdan exclaimed indicating both Jasara and Khasia, "Yes, but they have not yet heard what we have to offer!" Dristi put in, nodding her head in understanding of what Sevora meant to do. Ghurdan turned and looked at the pair, his brow knitted in frustration, "Do not worry my friend, there may yet be the battle you crave, If what they say is true then not all will convert and if none convert We Will Crush Them!" But Sevora seemed to look as if she was sure that they would convert.

Ghurdan then saw Sevora's blindness, in her arrogance she really believed she had the power to convert these heathens, but he believed that they would not yield and if she was not going to be prepared then he would be. "We should at least scout out their camp, I will lead the scouting party myself !" Sevora scowled at him, but then something flickered in her ebony eyes and she granted the sea captains request.

"One of them should come with me, if my assumptions are right then they will know were the tribe might move their camp." Sevora's patience was growing thin, "Very well take the younger girl and the boy named Uri, Naramath will point him out for you." she hissed at him. Ghurdan bowed, ever his eye on the priestesses and bade for Khasia to follow him, she seemed reluctant to leave and glowered at her sister as if this was some how her doing.

Ghurdan did not ask the priest which of the children was Uri instead the told Khasia to call him. Ghurdan had seen enough in the meeting to know that his dark lord was both cunning and wise, he knew that if anything were to happen to Sevora or Dristi these sisters would be trained to take their place in the Citadel, they were already much alike the two priestesses and as the boy approached he wondered if this one was Naramath's replacement, 'And who is to be my replacement' he thought, laughing out loud and scanning the group of converts that sat together, never once thinking that any within his own group would be worthy of taking his place.

He then went to the Cart and started to unhitch the two sand coloured horses, "Can you ride" he asked Khasia and Uri as he heard them approach, "Of course" the boy scoffed, Ghurdan turned slowly to regard him, his young eyes flashed with malice and he stood tall with his chest puffed out in defiance. Ghurdan grinned at his defiance then turned to Khasia, "And you are...." "I am capable!" she put in before he could finish. "Here! you will have to ride together until we acquire more," he said passing the reigns to Khasia, he then mounted the second horse and looked eastward.

"They are horse riders then, your kinsmen" he asked Uri as they trotted eastward through the camp, "Yes, there is a village and a few farmsteads not far east from here that they trade with." Uri answered seeing were his line of questioning was leading, "the farmsteads are mostly goat farms and of little use to us, unless you plan to ride goats into battle" Khasia scoffed at Uri. "But there is a horse breeder that lives a little south of the village," he spat back at Khasia, "my Father took me there several times, he has at least twenty horses if my memory serves me well. He will not welcome us!" Uri continued turning back to Ghurdan. "Yes! it is likely that the elders have warned the farmsteads of your coming and of our rebellion." Khasia added. Ghurdan watch the pair , before him he saw children but hearing them speak he heard small warriors planning and contriving. He put up his hand to silence them, "First we will scout out the camp and on the return we will see if we can acquire some horses, ok!" He was a little relieved when they both nodded, and offered no more defiance.

They were just leaving the camp when a large and muscular man stood in Ghurdans path, "So where are you off to now Sandworm?" Thorgom hissed, "I am off to do something that you and the others should have done long ere I returned." he spat maliciously at the man that blocked his path, some of his pent up anger starting to escape. "But it was you that had two of our company tied up" he spat back venomously, "but that would not stop you from taking their place or did you fear running into one of your kinsmen" Thorgom reached for his axe, but Ghurdan just laughed and rode on with the two youngsters looking at him incredulously.

They rode in silence for some time. Uri was the first to break the silence "He could have killed you !" he whispered "Yes and I believe he would have if he believed that we did not need every man" "and woman," he put in seeing Khasia's cold look, "to crush the tribes warriors, he like you does not believe they will submit to the teachings of the eye."

"He is one of them, and I for one could never trust him" Khasia spat "I too have my doubt regarding him, but it is not my place to question who the eye deems fit to travel in our company, but you are wise not to trust people you have just met!" "even you!" Khasia hissed. "Yes, even me!" he laughed.

They carefully avoided the village and farmsteads as they swiftly made there way to where the two tribes had camped. As Ghurdan had expected the camp described by Jasara was deserted and from what he could see it had been for sometime, Ghurdan found many horse tracks heading back the way they had just come, "So where would they go!" he said aloud to the night air, not really expecting an answer. "The valley!" Khasia and Uri exclaimed together. "it is not far back the way we came" Khasia put in, "Yes I remember seeing it, but I saw no scouts " he said thoughtfully. They mounted their horses and headed towards the valley.

Hiding their horses some distance off, they climbed the rocky ridge to get a better look. They had narrowly avoided a few of the tribes scouts, but from the ridge Ghurdan could see the tents below on the eastern side of the stream, the numbers tallied with what Jasara and Khasia had all ready told them, they watch scouts coming and going and Uri even named a few he thought he could make out.

As they returned silently to their horses he took in the surrounding area for possible attack and defensive positions, of the latter their was not much, the Tribesmen were clever in moving to this location, he thought to himself.

They rode swiftly to the farm that Uri had told him they could acquire horses, he halted them a short distance from the farm, it was late and all the lights in the farmstead where out, "we must do this quietly" he told the other two "do you know were the horses are kept?" he whispered to Uri, the lad nodded "they are not stabled but penned to the rear of the building" "Good, then all we have to do is open the gate and lead them quietly out, do you think you can do that?" the pair nodded and like two small shadows they slopped off into the darkness. Ghurdan went to the door of the homestead in case the owners decided to awaken and interrupt them, he stood with his sword drawn and watched as Khasia and Uri successfully freed and lead the horses from the farm, without sheathing his sword he went to join them.

"Ten" Khasia said triumphantly, but Uri did not hear her he was staring raptly at the red stone that was the pommel of Ghurdans sword "Foaud" he whispered, Khasia turned and followed his gaze to the red stone shaped like an fiery eye that sat atop the hilt of Ghurdan's sword, she shrugged not knowing what Uri was getting at and turned to choose one of the horses for herself. Ghurdan too followed Uri's gaze to the hilt of his sword, "A gift from the great eye for services rendered" he grinned as he slipped the sword into it's sheath.

"Come, I wish to be back before daybreak!" It was just after daybreak when they returned, for the journey back was slowed with ten horses in tow and their efforts to avoid being seen. The company was awake and the camp was being broken and packed up. Ghurdan dismounted and headed for Sevora's tent, he heard the other two follow behind him. Sevora and Dristi were waiting for him when he entered the tent, "What kept you, my friend" Sevora asked sardonically, Ghurdan grinned and told them all that they had learnt, not omitting that together Khasia and Uri had acquired horses for them, "Ten no less" Ghurdan laughed.

He noted that Dristi eyed Khasia with a satisfied glint in her near black eyes, Ghurdan laughed internally 'if only she knew' he thought to himself. "Good" was Sevora's only reply, Ghurdan could she that she was working a plan. "go and eat" she ordered Khasia and Uri, who both started to protest, "you will be sent for when needed," Dristi assured them, though to Ghurdan it seemed that she spoke only to Khasia.

"We will camp just inside the valley then I will take an envoy to the tribe and spread the word of our great and illustrious lord" Sevora said as soon as the youngsters had left, "And who shall be part of this convoy?" Ghurdan asked.

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Durelin's post

Sevora adjusted her black robes, which she, Dristi, and Naramarth had changed back into as soon as they had reached the tribes. She felt much more at ease in the familiar red and black garb, but, then, the frustration and anger were all too familiar, too. She was suddenly aware of the twisted metal around her head; a metal thorn was digging into her skin. There had always been one that scratched, hadn't there… She had been gone from the Citadel for too long. She was beginning to seem absent minded, of all things! She really couldn't keep her head straight for too long, especially in silence. Silence. No, it was not silent. There was the buzz of low conversation coming from just over there, and the occasional creak of one of those rickety chairs that could be folded up. But inside… No! she screamed inside. She gripped the arms of her chair till her knuckles were white, and her fingernails dug into the wood. She shook her head once, hoping to clear it. Clear it of what? The voice was cold and harsh, sounding so much like her grating fingernails she could have laughed, if she were not busy basking in it. But the bliss was gone as soon as it had come, and she cried out in her mind. But there was no more. It was silent. So silent.

A sharp cracking noise and a stinging pain made her jump. Which only made her angrier. Barely holding back a snarl, Sevora looked toward the source of the pain. She had broken a fingernail. Now she laughed out loud, a cold, mirthless laugh, hoarse with rage. That her finger could ever be a source of pain. Pain. But that was not the kind of pain she wanted, not how she wanted to receive pain, not where she wished it to be from. Memories haunted her, memories of a cold stone floor, of hot blood running down her arm, of the Eye…of him stroking her very being, mind and soul. She would swear before the High Priest that he had touched her as if petting a cat that had been good. But he had not touched her body. He had touched her. He had! But she knew, and knew that she was avoiding it. It made her wish to weep. He had. Ghurdan, and this Jasara, but not her. Not anymore. The Great Lord had almost entirely abandoned her. He neglected her of his presence, of even a few words. Except for a fiery reminder of the truth. Since they had left the Citadel, Sevora had been talked to…once. And she had received only a planted thought, after that. It seemed she was not worth sparing effort. Was she not a good cat?

Sevora barely stopped her hands from clutching at her heart. That had been her thought. She actually thought of herself as… Well, she did belong to the Great Lord, but…scraping and begging for little favors from him was far from…her. Dristi and Ghurdan were looking at her strangely. And who shall be part of this convoy? A voice floated across her mind. Of course…he had asked. For the love of darkness, she had lost so much! No! She would not let him take it all! She pushed away any other thoughts, getting a firm hold on herself. "I hope that Dristi would be willing to lead the envoy…" She paused slightly to give Dristi a polite look, but one that said she really did not have a choice, then continued in a much lighter tone. She was feeling better already. A cat…perhaps she did like that. And a cat that was quite capable of taking care of herself. "I also hope we can spare five of your men, Ghurdan…" Again, she made sure he was well aware that they could spare five of his crewmen. "And…Rahvin, to accompany you." She said Rahvin's name as if as an after thought, though she would never have considered sending Dristi without Rahvin to oversee. He would not step in at any time, but he always brought back excellent reports. The man had a good memory, and a very good eye.

"I considered sending Khasia and some of those young, but I belive, as the situation stands…it would provoke insolence from the start. They cannot refuse the Eye, but we must do everything cautiously, all the same. Human error is the downfall for too many of the Great Lord's plans." They cannot refuse the Eye… Those words, they had had nothing of her usual fervor and certainty in them. And the thought had been anything but certain. The Eye had abandoned her, after all. But it was with Ghurdan…and Jasara. Her hands tightened into fists, and she was vaguely aware of her nails digging into her palm. All but one nail. Ghurdan must have seen the anger in her eyes, and he rose, bowing slightly to both priestesses. "As you say, so it will be. I will choose five of my men and prepare." With that he left. Dristi was frowning slightly at his retreating back. At least Dristi was not blessed. Oh how that would have rubbed salt in the wound! "You will be…polite with the infidels…?" It was not truly a question. "We must hope they will see sense. But if they do not, I expect you will keep your eyes open?" Again, not any question about it. "The…scouting party was helpful in some respects, but not so in others. Also, I know you will not mention our little tribesmen allies. We will need every advantage still within our grasp. You were absolutely right, Dristi, it will be close. Very close, with heavy losses, if we are forced to action. And unless, of course, we make sure it is not." The cat can take care of itself. It must.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Early morning of the day of the Envoy’s arrival

The feeling of hope the bones had shown her last night stayed with her until the sun crested the eastern rim of the world. Up early, she had watched for the light to break, glad that she had cached that hope for the new day. The sky grew red as the sun rose, and the old rhyme of those who sailed the Eastern Sea came back to her.

Red sky at night,
Sailors’ delight.
Red sky in the morning,
Sailors take warning.

There was a certain, underlying feeling of agitation and high expectancy about the camp. Most of the warriors were up already, that charged air of imminent battle putting them on the alert. The enemy was near, and there was a certain thrill that ran through the men as they waited for some movement on the part of their foe to happen that would free them for action.

She, herself, was untouched by the energy that flowed around her. In the calm eye of the coming storm is where she moved, all her steps leading where they must . . .

[ August 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Nasr crouched down by the cooking fire and stirred the pot of thick mush that would be their breakfast. Qamar, even in the haste of packing herself and her three children up, had managed to provision him with dried fruits and pouches of nuts, and dried meats. He smiled as he stirred dried dates into the gruel, thinking of his wife and sweet children.

Husam watched from the doorway of the tent as Nasr made their breakfast. He envied the man, but not in a bitter way. Such happiness was not for him, through no fault of his own. And he laid no blame at Qirfah’s feet, either. He loved her and he knew she could never return his feelings for her.

Lost in his thoughts, Nasr did not hear the other man’s approach. Husam crouched beside him, and clasped him on the shoulder. ‘Smells good, brother! It will get us through this long day.’ He stood and started toward Jamílah’s tent. He could see her standing beyond it a way, to the east. ‘Let me fetch little-mother to come eat with us.’

‘Brother,’ thought Nasr, ‘I have never heard that from him. And “little-mother”, that’s how one speaks of one’s own mother.’ He shook his head, watching Husam as he walked away.

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

A certain quality of unruffled repose settled about him as he walked to where Jamílah stood. As if he had fallen into a deep pool of still water; its surface, undisturbed by his entry, closing over him without a trace.

‘Little-mother,’ he called softly to her, his teeth flashing in a smile as she turned to him. ‘Come, Nasr is waiting . . . break your fast with us.’

‘The day is upon us,’ she said, taking his offered hand. Her face was grave as she regarded his. But he only smiled again, drawing her on toward the promise of a simple meal in the company of loved ones.

[Ealasaid]

Ahmad and Adhem

Ahmad awoke early, just as the sun’s rays broke over the eastern horizon. He felt restless and oddly impatient for the day to begin, for the group of them to get moving again, to do what they had ridden so far to do. Usually a patient man, this time he found the waiting to be wearing on his nerves. He rose quietly and went out of the tent to check his weapons again or to fuss with his saddle… anything to keep himself occupied. He had not been outside more than a few minutes before he was joined by Adhem, who had an odd, haunted look about him.

Ahmad wished him a good morning and went on checking the straps and buckles on his saddle. He knew that if Adhem had something he wished to talk about, he would get to it in his own time. Adhem simply nodded his greeting and walked past Ahmad to look into the now brightening western sky. After a long moment, he turned and strode back to where Ahmad still stood. He held out a small leather pouch.

“I was hoping you would take this for me,” he said quietly. “Give it to my wife should I be slain here.”

Ahmad took the pouch. It felt very light, almost empty. “Why me?”

Adhem smiled. “Because I trust you. And, besides, you have the luck of the jackrabbit who stole the merchant’s grain,” he added, referring to an old fable they had all heard as children. “I, on the other hand, seem to have the luck of the merchant.”

Ahmad grinned. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not enough to quibble over. “What if I am the one to die?”

“Then a very personal letter to my wife falls into the hands of the enemy.”

“Ah!” Ahmad nodded and tucked the pouch away. “Your love letters are safe with me.”

Adhem gave him a sideways glance, but, for a moment or so, said nothing more. When he did speak, it was quietly, as if he feared being overheard.

“Did you dream last night?” he asked.

Ahmad stopped what he was doing. “No. I slept like a stone. Did you?”

Adhem nodded. “It was probably the most vivid dream I have ever had. And I have never been much for dreaming.” The haunted look that had vanished as they talked had crept back into his eyes. “It was the Eye. I saw it.”

“And it saw me,” he finished. “Something is very wrong here.”

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

Yusef

Yusef watched first Ahmad, then Adhem, leave the tent shortly after dawn. When he was sure that they were gone, he reached into his bedding and pulled forth a leather pouch of his own. Opening it, he dropped a small stone into the palm of his hand. About the size of a gold coin, it was nearly perfectly round and of such a dark shade of red that it looked nearly black until he held it up toward the light. Then, it shone a vibrant crimson.

After admiring it for an moment against the morning light that filtered through the fabric of the tent, Yusef closed his fist around it. The stone had been weighing heavily on his mind lately. Now that they had gotten so near to the camp of the priestesses, it had become nearly an obsession. There was no voice or presence that spoke to him through the stone the way it had spoken to Fouad before, but he was constantly aware of it. He knew he had to bring it, to deliver it somehow, to the priestess. She would reward him. She would reward him handsomely. He smiled to himself.

Had it been merely luck that he, and he alone, had been the one to see the stone fall when Fouad had been seized? Had it been merely luck that no one had seen him retrieve the stone from where it lay, half-concealed, in the dust? He thought not. The Eye had willed the stone to come to him. It had a plan for him. A purpose. Yusef knew it, and he waited.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Arien]

“……You were absolutely right, Dristi, it will be close. Very close, with heavy losses, if we are forced to action. And unless, of course, we make sure it is not." Dristi nodded and left the tent with a smug smile on her face. She watched as Ghurdan gathered a few of his men. She made her way to the her own private tent, and to her annoyance found she was being tailed by none other that Sevora’s babysitter. She turned on her heels and rolled her eyes as she came face to face with him. He was far taller than she, and he held so much power in his hands he could break her two in an instant. But Dristi was quicker than he and he would also dare not to touch one of the Order of The Eye. So Dristi was fully able to annoy and humiliate him at her discretion.

“Yes?” she questioned her voice full of annoyance , her hands placed firmly on her hips, “ I know she asked you to watch me, but not until we leave…..are you that stupid?.” It was a rhetorical question, not meant for his answer. But under his breath she could swear she heard the words: Yes, but not as stupid as you. Dristi decided to let it pass as she was in quite a good mood for some strange reason, she turned again leaving Rahvin standing in the middle of the camp his eyes burning with the anger that he could not tear that pretty smile from her face. Dristi, however, was quite pleased. When she reached her tent, which was situated the other side of the camp from the main one she slipped in past the hangings at the front.

Dristi made her way, firstly to her weapons. A safety precaution, you never knew what was going to happen in a situation like this. She laid out her two curved knives, encrusted with rubies for a symbol of The Eye. And the two smaller knives, the blades not even three inches long. She placed these on a table and then changed into more heat friendly clothing. She discarded the heavy garb of the priesthood. And instead wore a shouldered, black leather jacket, which underneath was concealed iron mail. It was heavy, but not so heavy that she would rather risk her life. She placed on her bottom half a light black skirt that reached just above her knees. Somehow she knew Sevora would disapprove of what she now wore, but she would still wear her priestess cloak just to please her.

Dristi also placed black leather boots that reached halfway up her calf and inside them were the small knives. The larger knives were worn upon her belt which was around her waste. It also carried a vial poison and a flask of water. She left her hair to flow by her sides, which wasn’t very wise as the heat scorched it, but she could find nothing really to tie it with. As she left she donned her crimson and black cloak and fastened it at the top. She stepped out into the heat of the day and made her way to the rest of the envoy.

She looked at them, Rahvin and Gurdhan stood nearest to her and Gurdhan’s five men were a little behind.

“So,” she spoke softly, “if you are all ready let us take our leave….”

[Nerindel]

Ghurdan gathered five of his most loyal men, then went to his tent to prepare. He changed into dark brown trousers and a sleeveless dark red tunic with gold trim, under which he wore a light vest of silver rings. The emblem of the great eye sat on the left breast of the tunic He lifted his sword belt and fastened it comfortably about his waist, the red eye of the pommel glinting in the sunlight streaming though the tent opening, he then lifted the two red hilted throwing daggers and slipped them into his belt, finally he pulled back his black shoulder length hair and tailed it at the nape of his neck.

Ghurdan then knelt down, closed his eyes and placed his hands on the stone eye in the pommel of his sword, "What is you orders oh! Great one!" "If they refuse, kill them all!" the cold voice venomously hissed in his thoughts. " Yes, Master" he replied bowing his head slightly. "The child Jasara is your sole charge, no harm is to come to her!" the voice echoed in his mind. He was grinning as he opened his eyes and removed his hand from the stone, he got up and left the tent still grinning. "Zasfal!" he shouted, "Ready the men for battle while I'm gone" "yes captain " he nodded, Ghurdan watched him as he hurried towards the men and started to issue orders.

Ghurdan and Rahvin took their places either side of Dristi, with the five crew men following behind. "So," she spoke softly, "If you are all ready let us take our leave...." Ghurdan nodded and they moved off.

They walked confidently through the valley, Ghurdan taking in everything around him, they saw several riders in the distance. "scouts" he whispered to Dristi, nodding in their direction.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[piosenniel]

Nerindel's post

Zasfal

After the envoy had left, Zasfal had joined the crew and set about making ready for battle, he had no need to make any orders as the crew were well trained and had already started making preparations. He and three of the others went to the cart and removed the large oak trunk that had come from the Fire Spray. A cloud of dust rose up from the ground as they let it down with a heavy thud, Zasfal wiped the dust from the lock and taking a small brass key from around his neck he quickly opened the chest.

Zasfal pulled out four black bows, each one bearing a fiery red ship at the top end. The three men that had helped get the chest each took one of these bows, then Zasfal gave each of them a bottle of strong smelling oils and a handful of back arrows whose tips were covered with white rags. He took the fourth nocked one of the arrows and lovingly pulled back on it's sting, closing one eye he checked the balance and sight line, once satisfied he eased the string and removed the arrow.

He went back to the chest and removed two Flags, one black and one blue. He carefully unfurled the Blue one first and tied it to the top of one of the spears that lined the camp, as it waved in the breeze the Black ship, the Emblem of Umbar could visibly be seen against the blue background. He then carefully unfurled the other and tied it to a spear at the other end of the camp, The Great Red Eye winking as it swayed in the breeze. A cheer and a waving of swords went up from the crew at the sight of the flags that usually flew at the topmost mast on the Fire spray.

With this done Zasfal put the bow on his back tucked the arrows in his belt and set about sharpening his curved sword ready for battle and his chance to prove that he was more than just a sneak and a cut throat pirate.

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

[piosenniel]

And now the storm’s first whispers were upon them. Late in the afternoon, scouts had ridden in to say there were eight armed warriors approaching the camp. ‘Seven men,’ she heard one of the scouts say who had crept in close to the advancing party, ‘and one woman, dressed as a warrior beneath a great red and black cloak.’

‘Where were they when last you saw them?’ she heard Ishak ask his men. ‘Maybe two finger widths from us,’ came the reply, measuring two hours distance for the sun to move westward in its course.

‘Do the others of their company follow close behind them?’ asked Faruq. ‘No, no,’ came the assurance. ‘They come alone as if they own the very air they pass through,’ said one. ‘Arrogant, and over sure of themselves,’ said another, thumping the butt of his spear against the ground for emphasis. ‘They paid no heed to the boundary poles we set up at the opening to the valley, in fact, we watched as two of the warriors knocked one down and broke it, laughing all the while.’

The two tribes took in the information and made ready to receive the advancing group. ‘They will present their demands,’ Faruq said, his eyes sweeping to the west, ‘and we will listen closely to them. Then we will send them slinking back to their Mistress with our reply.’

Jamílah dressed in the long brown skirt with cream colored stripes and white blouse of the Bush Lizard clan. A bright blue sash was wrapped about her waist, and round her neck she placed the copper chain of running lizards that held the silver medallion with the image of the Great Tree etched on it. On her wrists were her many silvered bracelets, some with tiny bells, and they clinked and tinkled as she moved, shimmering in the afternoon sun as she walked to meet the other Elders, throwing out their light and sound as she passed.

[piosenniel]

Aylwen's post

Jasara watched as the envoy left the premises of the encampment, knowing exactly how they would fare against the elders. The girl smirked and bit her lip, turning back to face the young before her. They were all bunched up in one group on the edge of the Eye’s camp, preparing their weapons for the inevitable skirmish that would occur. There was nothing anyone could do to save the situation and turn it into some negotiation, and Jasara knew this from her years living with the elders. They would be stubborn, and they would refuse.

“I heard they tie people to that cart by the wrists and let them starve if they disobey orders,” Jasara could overhear Rijal speaking fretfully to Najah. Jasara had found espionage use in the boy before the real troubles with the elders had began, but now it was beyond her why Rijal was still alive. They should have killed him with the other young and he should have been left hanging upon the tree with the rest of them. Rijal was lucky that Nasir was willing to stand up for him.

“We should have thought of that sooner. I would have enjoyed carrying out such punishment,” Najah replied, grinning wickedly. Najah was pulling out weapon after weapon from her pack, and it seemed that there was no end to the amount of blades she carried when Rijal began dropping the ones Najah had handed to him. Of course Najah would have enjoyed such a clever punishment, but then again there probably wouldn’t be a chance for that if the young and the Eye failed against the elders.

You will not fail. The Eye is with you.

Jasara’s lips turned upward in the slightest of smiles when she recognized the chilling voice. Jasara no longer feared it as she once had. It was with her always, and Jasara had come to enjoy its advice and help. When it told her something, she believed it. Jasara knew the Eye would never lead her astray. Jasara continued to meander throughout the crowds of young, and came to sit next to Uri and across from Nasir. Both were preparing their weapons and readying themselves for battle.

“Here. You almost left this at the last camp. You need to take better care of your weapons,” Nasir grumbled as he handed Jasara a long, curved knife. Jasara rolled her eyes at Nasir and snatched the knife, running her left index finger along its sharpened edge. Jasara smiled at the vision suddenly sent to her by the Eye: the blood of an elder dripping from the blade, and a momentary flash of a crumpled old body just between her and Nasir upon the ground.

“So what are the odds here? How many of us are going to be left, do you think?” Nasir questioned as he stood and began to practice with his sword.

“You of all people won’t need to be worrying about that, trust me,” Jasara murmured lowly, with a knowing look in her dark eyes. Nasir would not be around to see who survived. At least, he would not be among them. Nasir lifted a brow and stopped his practice with worry glistening in his eyes slightly. “Najah, Uri, Khasia, and me. Most of the leaders, no?”

Uri’s eyes lit with amusement as he looked at the suddenly anxious Nasir. Uri chuckled softly before taking his leave to find Najah to arrange a last minute practice for the children if there was time. Jasara continued to fiddle with her knife under the hot sun, feeling just a little sorry for Nasir and whoever else would not live to see another day. Then she shrugged off the notion and left Nasir to go find Khasia.

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

[piosenniel]

The main body of warriors was pulled from the camp, hidden from the prying eyes of those who approached. Left to greet the eight who came were the Elders of the Baobab tribe and seven of their warriors. Three who knelt on one knee before the Elders in their ceremonial garb, and four who stood just behind them. To their left were the mounted Painted Sands warriors accompanying the representatives of their clans.

Jamílah stood just to the right of Faruq as the small group approached. Her eyes were drawn to the woman who seemed to lead them. A woman of some power, she thought. The same height as herself, she noted. Slender, like a reed. And like a reed, bendable when the strong wind blows, not breakable. This one would bear watching, she nodded to herself. The men with her were typical warriors she thought, of the sort that are bought for a price. Their eyes were cold and hard, and the long rays of the westering sun lit their hands with blood red tints where it shone on them.

What the woman spoke was not as important to Jamílah as was the manner in which it was spoken. ‘Honey on the lips cannot hide the rotten heart within.’ The old saying came to her mind more than once as the woman told of the glories of the Eye and the rewards for service. And yet, behind the silken words lay the steeled threat of destruction. ‘Better to be slain,’ Jamílah murmured to herself, as she watched the long-haired woman weave her web of words, ‘than to die piece by piece under the tutelage of the Eye.’

She looked closely into the woman’s eyes when she glanced her way. A dark sullen fire burned there that brought no warmth to the spirit. Much like the eyes of the young who had been drawn away by the promises of this false master. Dead spirits . . . ghosts . . . husks of men whose life had been consumed.

There was silence from the listeners when the woman finished with her speech. Then, the rustling of a slight breeze could be heard through the tall grass. The tribesmen of the painted Sands drew back a little, the sound of their low voices drifting in the air, just on the edge of perception. The woman, a cold smile, on her lips, cocked her head as if she were listening.

The Elders of the Baobab only looked at the priestess, and turning slightly to nod at Faruq for a brief moment, brought their gazes once more to bear on her.

‘Your foul master has already taken much of our precious treasure,’ he said, stepping forward, the Speaker’s stick clasped firmly in his hands. ‘We will not give him more.’

‘There is no need for us to consider your terms . . . your demands. We reject them utterly.’

‘Be gone, dark, faithless spirit. Your accursed message is given and death is near you. Return to your slave-master! Let him listen to your words. We will listen no more.’

There came a bristling of spears and the rattling of swords as the men who accompanied the priestess grew angry at the words spoken to her. But the warriors of the tribe now stood tall about the Elders. And the mounted warriors of the Painted Sands moved forward, blades drawn, their faces filled with a fell light, their eyes deadly.

Then fear, or a wiser caution, overcame their wrath and they turned in haste making their way back to where Sevora, and the Eye, awaited them.

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

His face was grim when returned to the camp. Husam and a party of Baobab had tracked the priestess and her group until they’d left the arms of hills that held the valley. He nodded to Nasr and Jamílah as they ran to meet him, and after a few words, they walked with him to Faruq’s tent. A number of men were meeting with Faruq, leaders of various warrior groupings from both the Baobab and the Painted Sands. They turned as he entered, noting his air of disquiet, and bade him speak.

‘One of the trackers,’ he said. ‘Young Khaliq, the one who saw the warrior of the Eye throw down the boundary pole and laugh . . . he came close enough to hear them talking when they paused. He heard that man boast that they would crush us like so much dirt beneath their boot heels.’ He paused, drawing a great breath in to collect himself, warding off with a shake of his head the hand that Nasr placed on his shoulder in comfort. ‘We could not get to him in time. His anger took him and he rushed down upon the ignorant, heartless man, killing him with his spear.’

There was a collective gasp as the weight of this action sank in.

‘We could not get to him,’ he said again, his voice carrying over the rising storm of words that had begun. ‘They cut him down with their swords, and killed him savagely as he lay on the ground at their feet. And even the woman laughed as if it were mere sport as she ordered them away from their game and back to their journey.’

[Durelin]

Click click thud click Sevora's fingers fell one by one, her fingernails tapping on the arm of her chair on all but one finger. How long had she been sitting here, staring at the brown canvas of her tent rippling against the wind outside? Staring at nothing; she had never been so distracted before! She was letting too much get beneath her skin, causing herself to think about everything in a worried way. And she knew why. With a strong shake of her head she stood, moving around her small table toward the tent flap. Sevora squinted in the sun, adjusting to the bright light. Surveying the camp around her, it looked busy, but Sevora knew it was all for show. They were doing nothing, twiddling their thumbs, awaiting the return of Dristi's envoy. Dristi's envoy! O, how that stung! Suddenly she realized someone was watching her, and her gaze fell onto the old tribesmen, Thorgom. Now there was a strange man, and quite unpredictable…in some respects.

"And what do you wish of me, Thorgom?"

"You are making a mistake."

"Am I?" the words were an icy whisper.

"They will never join you."

"We will know soon enough. Will we not, old man?"

"You will not like what you hear."

Sevora let out a barking laugh, harsh and grating with anger. "I have grown accustomed to that, my friend."

"You should be preparing for battle, now."

"We will if we must."

"Then you will be soon enough. Will you not?"

The priestess smiled at Thorgom. The man was mocking her. Well, he was making a foolish attempt at it.

"You amuse me, Thorgom. For that reason, I listen to you now." Her grin widened at the man's own dark smile.

"I am glad that the mighty priestess finds enjoyment in speaking with me. But, I must say that I grow tired of bandying words with a dull-minded fool."

Sevora's smile became tighter and tighter, more and more forced. "Ah, you are quite exciting. May I ask why you think so of me?"

"Yes, you may. You are blind, Sevora."

The smile was gone. "You will not address me in that way."

"You are blind. You will fail your Master to the destruction of us all." The man said the word 'Master' with such contempt that Sevora twisted her mouth in disgust, holding back a snarl.

"Your attempt to speak in words of meaning makes you seem all the more foolish."

"My words have much meaning, dear."

This time, Sevora did snarl, and she took slow steps up to him. "My words have their own meaning, too," she said, grinning at him once again. "But so do many things I do." Reaching out, Sevora grabbed Thorgom by the face, pinching her fingernails into his skin to draw blood. Then she drew down her four fingers on each side, leaving four bloody slashes on the left side, three on the right. Sevora opened her mouth to call Rahvin, but stopped, remembering he was keeping an eye on Dristi's envoy. She snarled again. This time when she opened her mouth, she called over two men of Ghurdan's crew. "He is in need of more punishment, I'm afraid. Tie him to the cart." The men bowed to Sevora, murmuring variations of 'Yes, Mistress.' They gave Thorgom nasty smiles, dragging him bodily away, using much more force than was necessary. Sevora smiled too, glad that she had picked out men apt for the job. She decided to take a walk around the camp, looking as if she was inspecting the workings of it, but she could not get Thorgom's voice out of her head. You are blind. You will fail your Master to the destruction of us all.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[piosenniel]

Nerindel's post

Ghurdan barely registered Dristi's words, he was looking at the camp before him, which the night before had been populated with much more than what was before them now. Very clever, hiding their numbers and strength all be it to late! he thought to himself, glad that he had persuaded Sevora to let him scout the camp the night before.

Ghurdan then looked over the tribes elders and the warriors that were there to protect them, The mounted warriors all wore head scarf's so only their eyes showed, Ghurdan saw the burn of contempt in their eyes, as they listened to Dristi's words. He could see that they were all well armed and some of them wore bows, something that he knew they did not have enough of. He then thought of the trunk that he knew Zasfal would have already opened. Ghurdan had only four Archers among his crew but all of them had keen eyes and rarely missed their mark.

'There is no need for us to consider your terms . . . your demands. We reject them utterly.'

'Be gone, dark, faithless spirit. Your accursed message is given and death is near you.

Return to your slave-master! Let him listen to your words. We will listen no more.'

Ghurdan heard one of their leaders say, There came a bristling of spears and the rattling of swords as his men grew angry at the words spoken to the priestess. Ghurdan's eyes burned with silent rage at their stupidity. As the warriors of the tribe stood tall about the Elders and the mounted warriors of the Painted Sands moved forward, blades drawn, their faces filled with a fell light, their eyes deadly, Ghurdan raised his hand to silence his men then with a final evil glare at his new enemies he retreated with the others.

As they marched back through the valley he felt that they were being watched, he laughed out loud,Dristi might be right! he thought to himself. "They are smart" he said between laughs. "Yes, keeping their true numbers from us, was a wise move" Dristi laughed sardonically, "And they still watch us" Rahvin put in looking behind him.

"We will crush them like so much dirt beneath our boot heels." one of Ghurdans men scoffed and the other four men laughed at his words, but suddenly from out of no where one of the tribal warriors came rushing towards them. His eyes burning with rage he buried his spear into the heart of the man who had just spoken, Ghurdan instinctively unsheathed his sword and with both hands on the hilt he cut the warrior down, he did not deliver a second blow as his men recovered from their initial surprise now took care of the infidel.

Ghurdan and Rahvin with swords in hand scanned the valley for others that may try to ambush them as Dristi and the others enjoyed their kill. Satisfied that no other attacker were present they moved out, quickening their pace back to the camp.

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

[piosenniel]

Ealasaid's post

Ahmad and Adhem, both with their faces concealed behind their head shawls but for the eyes, rode among the mounted escort for the Painted Sand elders as they went to meet the priestess and her soldiers. Faruq of the Baobab tribe, it had been decided, was to do the talking for the combined tribes, but the Painted Sand elders, Ishak bin Ishak at their front, stood beside him, their faces fully revealed. They wished the Priestess to see who it was that rejected her and the deceit and death offered to them by service to her and the Eye. The warriors’ faces did not need to be seen. That they were warriors was enough.

Ahmad watched his father. He stood at Faruq’s right hand, his sword drawn, its point buried in the sand at his feet. It looked like a resting stance, but Ahmad knew that if a single move was made by the any of the priestess’ men toward Faruq, the blade would flash out like lightning. Ishak’s face remained imperturbable as Faruq and the priestess exchanged words. Ahmad held his own sword drawn and resting, idly it seemed, across the front of his saddle, yet the muscles of his forearm clinched every time the priestess spoke. Her voice was the sound of a corpse‘s breath, and her promises, the promises of death. He had to fight the temptation to spur his horse forward into the lot of them, to smite her down as she spoke, but he knew by the look of the large, black-haired warrior to her right, that he would never have made it so far. He would have been sliced in two. Just as his father was braced to protect Faruq, this man was there to guard the priestess.

His time would come. Ahmad cut quick glance at Adhem, but Adhem’s eyes were fixed on the priestess’ face with a look of black hatred. He wondered if Adhem had been having the same thought about charging the priestess as he had had. He also wondered if that might not have been the work of the Eye, goading them all into foolish action. Adhem’s horse danced a step forward. Ahmad pulled up on the reins of his own mount. He would not charge unless his father gave the signal. Ishak remained still as a stone monolith, his sword gleaming in the bright sunlight.

“Return to your slave-master!” ordered Faruq. “Let him listen to your words. We will listen no more.”

The warrior at the side of the priestess raised his hand to silence the rattling of swords that rose behind him at the sound of Faruq’s words. Ahmad and the other mounted warriors moved slowly forward, their swords at the ready, waiting only for the sign from Ishak, who remained motionless and silent. There was a tense moment in which the two sides opposed each other, each silently daring the other to strike the first blow. Then, the moment passed.

The priestess and her soldiers turned to depart. A party of Baobab hunters that included Husam trailed the group out of the valley, followed at a distance by Ahmad and a host of five horsemen. Ahmad felt a chill race down his spine as he saw the young Baobab tracker leap from his place of concealment and charge the departing group only to be brought down by a single blow from the black-haired warrior. It might have been himself or Adhem or any of them. He had a feeling they had all felt the same horrible impulse. Only this young man had not had the strength to resist it. Ahmad felt a darkness close around his heart as the soulless laughter of the priestess echoed across the valley to them as she watched her men desecrate the tribesman’s body with their spears. Frowning, Ahmad nudged his horse forward with his heels. The time for vengeance was coming.

They followed the departing group only as far as the mouth of the valley, then turned back toward the camp of the combined tribes. The ride back was swift and silent but for the pounding of the horses‘ hooves in the dust.

[ August 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Late night of the day of the envoy’s arrival


‘That was a dangerous crossing for you! Come in! Come in!’ Husam pulled the black clad man into the tent, two large dark shadows crowding their way in behind him.

‘Not so dangerous,’ said Bemah, unwrapping the dark scarf that hid all but his eyes. ‘The hounds were with me, and they sniffed the presence of the Eye’s men out. We gave them wide berth.’ He sat down on the mat in the middle of the tent, his dogs resting at the entryway. ‘We saw the army as it passed through our lands. Rough looking men. He flashed his hands, fingers spread out, four times. ‘That many for the warriors. And we saw the young ones, too. Baobab and Painted Sands – just as many.’ He shook his head. ‘Bad men, well armed.’

There was still some tea left in the copper kettle. Nasr poured the three of them a small cup of the strong beverage. ‘We drove our flocks out to the far, summer pasture and the women and children went with them, along with Malik’s two sons and five of the dogs. We did not want the army anywhere near them.’

Husam clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Surely you did not come to give us news of the dark army.’ He looked his friend in the eye. Bemah laughed, throwing his hands in the air as if he had been found out. ‘You know we like to insure our investments.’ His face creased into a wide smile and his eyes glimmered in the soft light of the little lantern. ‘I want to make sure there is someone to receive the goats and I intend to collect the rest of the agreed on price.’ He turned and winked at Nasr, and all three broke into soft laughter, a welcome sound after a grim evening.

The laughter died down, and Husam grew thoughtful. Turning to Nasr he said, ‘Go wake Faruq, and tell him to meet us at Ishak’s tent. They should know what Bemah has told us. We’ll meet you there.’

Nasr slipped out between the two dogs and went quickly toward Faruq’s tent. Husam, his hand resting on Bemah’s shoulder walked with him to where the Painted Sands’ leader had his tent. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly, the two dogs loping behind them, ‘did you come alone . . .’

[Lyra Greenleaf]

During the dead of night the desert was cold, and quiet. Only the muted sounds of the camp reached Sammael's ears- lowered voices, shuffling steps and nearer the tossing of the sleeping Damodred. Sammael couldn't sleep. There was a feeling at the pit of his stomach, not of fear but a weight like undigested food.

It wasn't a feeling he'd ever had before and it was uncomfortable. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to fighting- on the contrary a steady feeling of frustration had been building since he began this journey, and finally doing battle might finally relieve it. He was conscious of a cold ball of anger inside that needed dispersing.

It was very strange to feel so remote from his anger. Normally it was white hot and bubbled up like beserking in a battle, then drained away as quickly.

Restlessly Sammael threw off his coverings and stood, pacing in a half crouch the few steps of the tent. Briefly he considered waking the old man and moaning at him for a while, but common sense forbade it. He could sleep like the dead, could Damodred, and waking was not his best time.

From the noises outside the tent Sammael could hear that some of the men- villagers or Ghurdan's crew- were still awake, but Sammael could not fix his mind to join card games or drinking games any more than he could relax it enough to sleep. Pulling back the tent flaps he stuck his head through, breathing the flat desert air.
How I will rejoice to leave here, he thought grimly gazing into endless miles of blackness. No towns, no villages, no inns, no people except heathen savages.

With a grunt he decided to give up thoughts of rest for the time being and resort to something he hadn't done for years- mindless runnning for an hour or more. In the morningthings would be different.

[Nerindel]

It was late when the Envoy returned, Ghurdan dismissed his men and followed Dristi and Rahvin to Sevora's tent. She was standing outside waiting for their return, as they walked towards her, Ghurdan could see that she was not looking at them but into the endless darkness of the desert. She turned to them a twisted smile playing on her lips.

"Eight I sent out, but only seven now returns, What happened?" she snapped her smile dissipating into an angry scowl.

"The infidels refused to see the true path!" Dristi seethed

"On our return we were attacked. We killed the foolish infidel, but not before he killed one of our men." Ghurdan informed her.

Dristi and Rahvin told Sevora all that was said and then the three of them gave detailed descriptions of the valley, the elders and the warriors that they saw, "They kept their main forces hidden from us and they followed us as far as the mouth of the valley, but they did not come beyond!" Ghurdan continued, his voice even and unconcerned.

"It is late! rest the men and at first light we will hold councils of our own" Sevora finally said after some thought. Ghurdan realising that this was a dismissal , bowed slightly and went to find Zasfal.

He found the younger man sat by the fire with a few of the crew and some of the new warriors, Ghurdan was pleased to see that he had indeed already taken out the bows. He stood for a minute watching Zasfal, there was a battle ready gleam in his eyes as he polished the black arc of his bow. Ghurdan thought about how Zasfal had come to be part of his crew, he had bought him from a slave trader in Umbar, with the intent of training the young lad to be his heir, but the young mans deceitful and sneaky nature had lead to the crews dislike and distrust of him, He would have to prove himself well in battle if he hoped to gain any respect or trust from the crew." "Are we to fight!" one of the crew men nearby asked him eagerly, pulling him violently from his thoughts. "Yes!" he grinned feverantly, then he went to sit next to Zasfal.

"Are the men ready!" Ghurdan asked nonchalantly, "Yes! I think they have been ready since we left Umbar " Zasfal laughed, Ghurdan nodded his agreement to the young mans statement, then stared thoughtfully into the flames of the camp fire, after a moment of silence Zasfal turned to Ghurdan "You have a plan, I assume?" he asked, Ghurdan chuckled and looked at his first mate "Yes, indeed I do my young friend, but I wish to keep them until council, needless to say that I see you and your archers playing a prominent roll!"

"Friend??" Zasfal looked at Ghurdan wondering what he meant by that, he had never seen them as such, but now when he thought on it the sea captain was the one who always got him out of trouble, gave him task that would allow him to prove himself and on occasion even stuck up for him, albeit in a cold and ruthless way. Ghurdan seeing the way that Zasfal was now looking at him, scowled and rose to leave, "come to Sevora's tent at first light" he spat before stomping away into the darkness.

Zasfal watched Ghurdan disappear into the night, then began to curse himself, realising that if he had only followed Ghurdans advice from the beginning, it would be likely that the sea captain would have willingly named him his heir. The irony stung like a sharp blade in his chest. Sighing he got up and went back to his own tent to get some much needed rest.

As Ghurdan stomped back towards his tent he saw that Thorgom was bound to the back of the Cart, his sour mood lifted as the tribesman looked his way, "What are you looking at!" Thorgom spat viciously, but Ghurdan just shook with cold heartless laughter and moved on. He had just reached his tent when he saw Sammael poking his head from his, seeing as the man was awake he went over and told him that his and Damodred's presence would be required at council, first thing in the morning in Sevora's tent. "Could you tell Essenia that her presence will also be required?" Ghurdan asked with a slight mischievous grin playing on his lips. He then gave Sammael a curt nod and returned to his tent.

Inside he unsheathed his sword and began practising, offensive and defensive strokes and the many feints he had masters over the years, exhausted he re-sheathed his sword and lay down on his bed roll, he looked up at the blank canvas of his tent thinking on strategies and was just about asleep, when he heard a commotion outside.........

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Ealasaid]

Having managed to elude the watchful eyes of his cousins for most of the afternoon, Yusef watched as the two of them rode away to join the escort that would accompany the Painted Sand elders to the meeting with the priestess' envoy.

Sighing with relief, Yusef closed his hand around the pouch that held the red stone. It was now or never. Taking his horse by the reins he led it to a spot well outside and to the west of the combined camp, where he left it until he could complete his last preparations. From there, he crept back into the camp and on to the tent of Ishak bin Ishak. He moved toward the tent nonchalantly, a cover story ready on his tongue should anyone approach him or ask him what he was about. He would tell them that he had hoped to speak with his uncle before the meeting with the Priestess that there was something of great consequence that he must impart. But no one saw him. Yusef was able to slip into the tent unseen. Most of the camp had already been deserted.

Once inside Ishak‘s tent, Yusef moved directly to the chieftain’s saddle. He only worked for a moment, then, satisfied, edged out of the tent and back to where his horse waited in the hollow west of the camp. Mounting quickly, he rode south for a ways before turning west again and finally north. He knew that many of the Baobabs and some of his own tribesmen were concealed amongst the slopes and crevices of the valley. Escaping them would be the real challenge. Following a preplanned route, he skirted the hollows where he knew the other tribesmen to be concealed, eventually reaching the northern end of the valley. There he waited just outside the boundaries of the valley until the priestess and her men passed him on their return journey to their own encampment. Allowing them to get what he considered a safe distance ahead of him, Yusef fell into pace behind them. He would follow them to their camp. There he would see the priestess and - his smile broadened - there he would find his fortune.

As the fires of the priestess’ camp came into view, Yusef slowed his pace, allowing himself to fall well behind the progress of the returning envoy. Dismounting, he decided to wait awhile. He needed to give them time enough to get back to their tents and make their reports to the priestess. When he thought enough time had passed, he remounted and rode boldly into the priestess’ camp. A cry went up from the sentries and Yusef found himself instantly surrounded by an angry mob brandishing spears and swords. Archers appeared in a few of the tent mouths, arrows already nocked to their bows. Rough hands dragged him from his saddle.

[ August 16, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[piosenniel]

‘Tell me,’ Husam said quietly, the two dogs loping behind them, ‘did you come alone . . .’

Bemah whistled softly to the dogs walking behind with Nasr. They trotted up, one to each side, their great heads looking up at him expectantly. His hands went down to scratch their ears, and they fell in beside him as he walked along, their stride matching his.

‘Nay. We’ve not come alone. The others are out there, keeping watch. Same as we do for our flocks. Looking out for any beasts two legged or four who dare come after them.’

They reached the flap to Faruq’s tent, and Husam called in to him. ‘Come in, come in,’ came the older man’s voice. Ishak was there also drinking tea with him, and it was obvious from the way small rocks were arranged on a rug placed between them, that they had been going over some strategy for the defense of the two tribes. There were several others there with them, a mixture of warriors who would take the lead against the foe.

Silence fell on the gathered group when Bemah entered behind Husam, along with his two large dogs. Their dark eyes watched his every move and one of the warriors bent quickly over the rug, scattering the pattern of the stones. Husam took great pains to assure them that Bemah was no spy caught sneaking about the camp, but had come a good distance to bring news of the Army of the Eye, and to offer his assistance.

It was Ishak who first offered the villager a cup of tea then bade him sit down with them. The dogs settled in near the opening of the tent where the night breezes would bring them any passing scents - their heads resting on their paws, their eyes watchful of the men in the room. Bemah told of how he and his boys had hidden along the path the Army took from their outlying farms to the valley. They had counted the number of them and the types of weapons they had. And they had marked the leaders of the groups of men as they passed. They are not an overwhelming number for such a combined force as you have, but they are well armed. And many of them seem to be the sort who do not care if they should live or die. But only are drawn toward danger and bloodshed for the sake of the kill itself.

‘I think, having seen them,’ he said quietly to the hushed room, ‘they would not care which side they fought on. Only give them a full belly, ale, and somewhere to sleep, and that will be enough until the bloodshed begins. ‘There is no loyalty in them, except for what is paid for in coin.

It was hard for the tribesmen to understand this attitude. Tied to a deep faith in the way the world unfolded for them; tied to their families and clans and tribes; and even tied to the land and streams that gave them life they could not fathom how a man’s pride could be bought for the promise of gold.

Bemah picked up the stones that had been scattered at his entrance and gave them to Ishak and Faruq. ‘We have come to aid you as we can,’ he said, bidding them show him how they would meet the challenge of the Eye. He picked up a handful of stones for himself, watching where they positioned theirs. When the two tribal leaders were satisfied they had placed them in strategic places, Bemah bent over them and parceled out his few stones, some large and some small, but greater in number. ‘These are the men who have come with me and these, their dogs. ‘Here, here, and here is where we are right now,’ he pointed out, his fingers moving from stone to stone. ‘We will be best used for stealthier work than head-on battle. It is how we hunt the beasts that inflict themselves on our herds. Coming upon them when it is least expected, dividing them, drawing them away from their intended goal.’

Ishak’s eyes glinted at the possibilities. His own warriors would be on horse, the Baobab would be afoot. This small band could tip the favor of the gods their way. He looked up, in time to catch Faruq’s pleased half smile as he surveyed the stones. His eyes caught those of the Baobab leader and he nodded at him.

‘We are glad you will be by our side, so to speak, in this, Bemah,’ he said, offering the other man another cup of steaming tea. ‘Yes, fortunate, indeed, are we to have such friends as you,’ added Faruq. ‘It brings me some measure of hope in these grim days . . .’

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

[Arien]

"The infidels refused to see the true path!" she spat as she took her place next to Sevora. She slouched in to the large wooden chair cushioned with various pillows and such. She placed her right elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her chin on her fist, her hair swung covering the right side of her face. She looked towards the others through her hair. This did not surprise Dristi one bit, she had never really expected the elders to concur to their wishes , but still this meant a fight. A fight where they would escape, just.

"On our return we were attacked. We killed the foolish infidel, but not before he killed one of our men." Ghurdan informed Sevora, answering her earlier question. Dristi sighed and shook her head, if the elders knew any better they would stop this stupidity and face up to their destiny, but instead they would rather die. Dristi could not understand it, she could not bring herself to comprehend it. She, Ghurdan and Rahvin told Sevora of all that they had encountered.

“They kept their main forces hidden from us and they followed us as far as the mouth of the valley, but they did not come beyond!" Ghurdan spoke up, Sevora nodded her face held no expression save for the twisted smile that started to form at the corners of her mouth, and she laugh slightly. Dristi rolled her eyes, she hated when Sevora did that, laughing for no apparent reason. Maybe she was mad, or truly evil. Sevora sat silent again and then she eventually dismissed them.

"It is late! Rest the men and at first light we will hold councils of our own" Ghurdan and Rahvin left the tent, leaving the two priestesses alone together. At first it was silent and the two just simply stared into the fire at the centre of the tent. Dristi thought of the day to come, if they were to fight the would loose many, but so would the other side. And Dristi was [I]almost[I] certain that The army of The Eye would prevail, that is only if the Elders had no more support, and the numbers were calculated correctly……… Dristi’s mind buzzed with anticipation for the next day.

“We will triumph…..?”

“What?” Dristi said, suddenly jolted from her trail of thought by Sevora’s latest comment. “oh… I have told you…just…”

“Just…” Sevora murmured to herself. She repeated it a couple of times and then sat up in her seat. “well then I must rest now….” Dristi nodded and left the tent. She made her way towards her own and entered it to find a medium sized fire burning, waiting for her. She smiled, it was always cold during the night and unlucky souls had frozen to death out in the deserts of this world. She warmed her self and placed her weapons from her person on the floor and lay down on the sheets that she had lain out earlier. In her mind she went over various manoeuvres and combinations in her head. Slowly she found her self drifting off to sleep. Till she was woken up by the noise from the camp.

[Nerindel]

Ghurdan fumed as he got up, he lifted his sword and opened the flaps to see what was going on. He saw a ring of armed men on the edge of the camp. Fastening his sword belt about his waist he strode over to the angry mob. "What is going on here!" he bellowed, push those in front of him out of his way.

One of his crew a swarthy looking man, pushed Yusef forward. Ghurdan drew his sword and held it dangerously close to the mans throat, "Speak quickly! What is your name and what are you doing here!" he commanded. "My name is Yusef al Rahman of the painted sands tribe and I wish to speak with your priestess" the man answered evenly. Ghurdan eyed him suspiciously, he slowly lowered his sword. "Wait here!" he ordered, turning to go to Sevora's tent, "I strongly suggest you don't move" he said turning back and indicating the archers who now had their arrows fixed on him.

Ghurdan took no notice of the two men that saluted him as the entered Sevora's tent, Rahvin glared at him as he entered unbidden, "Sevora" he bowed," One of the heathens is outside wishing an audience" he said shortly. "Then bade him enter, it is not polite to keep our guests waiting" she grinned, unspoken interest gleaming in her dark eyes. Ghurdan nodded curtly and went back to the tribes man. "It seems the priestess is also interest in what brings you to our little camp and has granted you an audience at once." he said disdain dripping from his every word. He dismissed the two men that held Yusef and pushed him roughly forwards toward Sevora's tent.

Sevora now stood Rahvin perched to her right as always. Ghurdan kept his place just behind Yusef, his eyes burning with distrust for the tribes man. Yusef bowed low "My name is Yusef al Rahman of the tribe of the painted sands" he introduced himself to the others, "Well Yusef of the painted sands what brings you to the camp of your enemy" Sevora pointedly asked him. "For many years now the elders have failed to acknowledge the need for change, stubborn and set in their ways, they have oppressed the idea's of our young, I do not hold with these beliefs and see the great lord as the bringer of this much needed change! therefore I offer my services willingly to the great eye" he finished making another sweeping low bow. Ghurdan surpressed a sneer as the man's words filled him with a strong feeling of contempt and loathing.

"And what do you have to offer our Great Lord" Sevora hissed, the same distrust Ghurdan felt reflected in her eyes. "I am the nephew of Ishak bin Ishak, the leader of the painted sands and as such I am in a position to offer much," he grinned with a wicked gleam in his eyes,. 'Ha! there it was!' Ghurdan thought, 'as nephew he would never hold any power, but if the elders were disposed of... a new leader would be needed, smart!' Ghurdan grinned suddenly impressed by the mans way of thinking. As he looked up he saw a smile playing on the lips of the Priestess, Surely she was not yet taken in by this mans words, he had yet to offer anything useful. "Who are your leaders and what are their warriors numbers!" he barked at Yusef drawing seething looks from the others. he already knew the latter and thought to trap the young man into revealing himself as the spy that Ghurdan believed he was.

But he was denied, Yusef merely nodded, as he began to describe the elders and the numbers of warriors each tribe held. Ghurdan did not miss that each time the conversation swayed towards deployment or strategies Yusef became cagey and revealed very little. But as he looked towards Sevora he could see that she seemed satisfied, even pleased by the mans apparent desire to aid them in destroying his kinsmen. "And what is it that you really what!" Ghurdan spat in his ear. "I do not know what you imply but as I said I wish only to serve the eye, it was as Yusef turned to face him that he notice the dark red stone that he palmed in his hand, Ghurdans rage finally took over as he grab the mans wrist holding it up to reveal the stone that matched the one in he sword, the one that was given to him for service render to the all powerful eye! "Where did you get this!" Ghurdan yelled the rage bubbling within, "It is mine Yusef protested, throwing a pleading glance to Sevora. 'So, you think to replace me with this treacherous piece of desert scum I think not!!!' he screamed in his head and he plunged his still drawn knife straight into Yusefs heart, "You shall not have what is rightfully mine!" he seethed as the stunned Yusef fell to the ground, unaware of what had just transpired.

A cold laughter filled Ghurdans mind and his voice echoed it, as he turned to face the livid face of Sevora, Rahvin had instantly drawn his sword and now pointed it a Ghurdans chest, "You don't know" he laughed coldly at her, she made to slap him across the face for his impudence but he grabbed her wrist and prevented her blow from making contact, "He was not worthy his usefulness had ended, he served himself, not the Eye!" he hissed pulling her closer. "Let go, Ghurdan!" Rahvin Threatened pushing his blade onto the sea captains chest so that a small trickle of blood appeared. Ghurdan looked at Rahvin. "I will not be punished for following the dark lords orders." he lied convincingly, calm returning to his voice, he pushed Sevora away and waited for her to order Rahvin to stand down, "we have a battle to prepare for!" he reminded her as she hesitated.

_____________________________________________

Durelin's post

"We have a battle to prepare for!"

Who did this man think he was? Yes, he was blessed, but it gave him no right to even touch her. Sevora still stood higher than him, and she...she had been blessed. Her teeth ground as she collected herself, staring at the ground. After a moment, she placed a hand on Rahvin's arm. He took a step back, but did not relax, nor take his hand of his sword hilt. Staring at the ground for a few more moments, Sevora slowly drew in breath, then let it out, finding it a very calming thing. She thought about nothing in particular, but jumped from happy memory to happy memory, stopping at Dristi's punishment. Now she was able to smile. Looking up at Ghurdan, she grinned at him, mocking warmness and kindness, but their was happiness upon her lips if not in her eyes. She was defeated, she knew it well -- Ghurdan was blessed, Jasara was blessed, and she had been abandoned. But, she had just won two battles she had never won before. She had both controlled her rage...and she had accepted defeat. Defeat, of all things! It was something she had never been able to handle, and it had happened to her so few times. Besides, those few times had been so long ago, when she had just begun her life as a priestess to the Eye. And after she was blessed...she felt -- no, she knew that she could never be defeated. Then she was forgotten by her Master. Sevora did not understand it, but she accepted it. And that was an overwhelming victory for any of these people who now stood at least equal to her. They stood equal to her, and she would let them. Perhaps, after a time, she could let them stand above her. Yes, and then, when they thought...

"Indeed we do, my dear," she said almost cheerfully, taking a step toward Ghurdan to stand where he had pulled her only seconds before. "A very bloody battle, which you will enjoy, will you not?" Her hand moved forward to cup his chin in her hand, and Sevora received a pleasing flinch from him. "Please, darling, I wonder if you show more manners than that. You should be courteous toward a woman, should you not? You are quite an intelligent man, Ghurdan, and I know I do not need to instruct you in your etiquette." She paused for a moment, still beaming at him, but did not wait long enough for him to speak before continuing. "Now, after this interruption, we must all get as much sleep as we can. We have a busy day ahead of us. We rise early to give and hear wise counsel." She patted him slightly on the cheek, whispering "Good night," then she turned around and walked slowly back into the other side of her tent. It was divided into a sort of 'study' and sleeping quarters. Sitting on the ground, covered with finely woven rugs, Sevora began humming a tune. She remembered it from her early childhood and thought it might have been a lullaby, of all things. No, now she remembered: it was a song sung at marriages. She would have laughed if she hadn't been deep in thought.

…when they thought she was defeated, broken, ready to follow them humbly, then she would be in a wonderful position. The best position she could ever be in. Manipulation had always been among her greatest and most useful skills. Sevora could make sure they were not even aware of her manipulating; it was one of the ways she had worked her way up in the ranks of the Servants. Ghurdan would be one she would be able to manipulate. All she needed to do was shrewdly tell the High Priest that the man was blessed, and then he would rise in the ranks. She would bear his child if that were what it took to bring the man into her hands, while she remained invisible…low. And this Jasara, she would definitely be brought into the Order, and she would be an excellent one, for the most part. She would rise in the ranks just as Sevora herself did. But would she also be abandoned? For some reason, Sevora could not wish that upon the girl. No, woman. Young, but a woman. Perhaps it was because Jasara was so much like Sevora, in many ways, that the priestess actually liked the young woman. She could hardly be called an acquaintance, but there was a connection, and what Sevora knew of the tribeswoman…she was one to be respected. Perhaps she would not have to manipulate her. She did not wish to, at any rate. Perhaps she could be brought into her confidences, and Sevora could give her advice. Still, it seemed the woman thought much like Sevora. With luck and skill, they would get along well and, with Ghurdan's involuntary aid and perhaps Jasara's voluntary, Sevora would remain powerful. So many 'perhaps.'

Sevora looked up as Rahvin entered the 'bedroom' of the tent, looking down at her, showing as much emotion in his eyes as he ever had. He was concerned. "Why do you worry, Rahvin?"

"I-I just do not understand it, Sevora." The man sounded hesitant. He had never sounded hesitant.

"I do not either, Rahvin, most of it."

"Then why did you sound…happy."

"I have won several victories."

"Against…Ghurdan?" Rahvin filled the name with disgust, and Sevora smiled again.

"Yes. And I have just realized another," she said, almost excitedly, her smile growing. "He has shown me how tightly he holds on to his position. Too tightly, and the more power slips through his fingers because of it." Now Rahvin was smiling too. The man had changed so much in so little time. There was so much she did not understand. Sevora was surprised that realization had not effected her in the least. "Acceptance," she whispered, and Rahvin surprised her by nodding. Suddenly, words flew through her mind, almost too quickly for her to realize them. It was because, at them, her heart skipped a beat. You do not know! At first thought, it made her believe Ghurdan knew she had been…abandoned, but, after thought…she did not know. "You do not know," she said quietly, looking up at Rahvin again. "He said that."

"And you do not, do you?" he said quietly, sounding a bit sad and…was it sympathetic? The man was being compassionate!

"Do not soften at the coming of hardships, Rahvin. You soften."

"Forgive me, Sevora, but I--"

"Worry."

"Yes."

Sevora sighed heavily, then, arranging her bed made of various sheets and blankets, mostly woolen, and she lay down in her blood red robes. Rahvin only sat down, and Sevora could see his shadowed form on the edge of the tent long into the night.

[ August 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Khasia sat near the edge of camp, holding a Haradrim short sword in her right hand. She looked at the weapon with pleasure. One of the Corsair soldiers had given it to her that afternoon, and after a few test swings, Khasia had found it much to her liking. She ran her fingertips over the curved and sharpened blade, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood, but not quite. The broadswords of the Baobab tribe had always been too heavy for her, and she hefted this one carefully, finding its balance just right for her slender arm. Oh, this blade would taste blood, and soon. Khasia smiled in the darkness.

The sun had fallen behind the horizon several hours ago, and the camp had stilled. Khasia sat alert on the side watching it settle into a vigilant calm. The red moon spoke of the blood the rising sun would bring, and Khasia was exhilarated. So much opportunity, so close she could nearly taste it, and the priestesses would lead them. Khasia closed her eyes reverently, picturing Dristi in her red and black robes, with the dramatic thorns slashing across her forehead. How would it feel to place those thorns on her own head? To feel that authority? To be touched by a dark god... Khasia shivered all over. She would follow those priestesses, follow them to their citadel and further, and then scratch and claw her way over them until she alone stood at the top, crowned with blood and wire. Power had come to her, and Khasia knew she would take it.

"Khasia..." Narisa's timid voice spoke from beside her. The girl's brown eyes snapped open, resting on the herbalist's face. Narisa pulled two long knives from a sheath at her side. Clumsy, the girl handed them to Khasia, an apologetic look on her face. "They need sharpening," she explained, holding the notched edge up to a patch of bronze moonlight for Khasia's inspection. Khasia accepted them resignedly, placing them on the ground beside her, a look of disgust twisting her features. This girl was hopeless.

"Why didn't you bring them before?" She questioned, her voice businesslike and angry. "The timid will die, Narisa." She could see the other girl's silhouette shaking. "I will sharpen them for you in the morning." She said, the edge in her voice growing more distinct. Her own long knife flashed out of its sheath and came to rest with the point an inch below Narisa's chin. "Go sleep now." She ordered. "You will need your full strength tomorrow, if you are to provide a proper distraction for the elders." Narisa blanched and turned away, her head hanging between her shoulder blades. She knew. Knew her life was over. All Khasia cared about was that she lived long enough to occupy some warrior's time so she, Khasia, could do her own work.

She gave her new sword another twirl, her white teeth sparkling in the greyness of the desert air. Who needed sleep when they had destiny? Who needed luck when they had strength? Her grin widened, but her eyes remained flat, emotionless. It had begun.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Arien]

Dristi rolled over on to her back as she was woken up by raised voices from the camp. She rolled her eyes and yawned. It was probably another scuffle between those warriors that sat around the fire. She threw the cover from upon her and crawled to the tents door flap, she peered out through the small flap. Dristi could see Ghurdan out from his tent in a rage. She saw him draw his sword and put it to someone throat. Although she could not make out their features she laughed inside. Probably one of those stupid tribesmen. She watched as he was lead into Sevora’s tent. Dristi thought about going but she reassured herself that she would hear all about it in the morning. So she lay her head back down on the hard floor and slowly fell asleep.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Dristi woke before the sun rose, she opened her eyes slowly to find herself face to face with the roof of the tent. Dristi stretched her arms upwards and yawned. Ah! Today there would, without a doubt be a battle, excellent! She got up quickly and dressed in the same things she had worn the previous day, and made sure her weapons were with her. It was still somewhat cold outside and the embers of he fire quickly faded so she slung on her cloak and made her way to Sevora’s tent. Around the camp smoke rose from burnt out fires and the men were scattered in small huddles, some sleeping and others murmuring quietly to each other in the new morning silence. As Dristi arrived at the tent she could hear voices, good Sevora was already awake. She drew the tent flap and stepped in. The people in the tent turned round to see who the new visitor was.

“Dristi!” Sevora said, “how nice of you to join us…” She smiled sarcastically and motioned for Dristi to be seated on her chair. I’d cut that smile of her face right now! Dristi fumed. She was going to reply with a comeback but she noted that two of the young ones were present too, so instead Dristi nodded and made her way to it while the others in the tent continued.

“So…” Sevora started again.

“If you don’t mind me interrupting?” Dristi queried.

“If you must,” Sevora sighed.

“What was all the commotion about last night?”

“ That,” smiled Sevora, “ Dristi you missed a little visit from one of the tribes men.”

“And where is it now? We could use it…” Dristi said in thought.

“He,” said Ghurdan, “ Is dead.”

“Oh,” said Dristi a little shocked, “ I trust you got no information out of it then?”

“No Dristi nothing that we didn’t already know, now Ghurdan, are all your men ready to fight?” Sevora asked leaning back in her chair. Ghurdan nodded in reply.

“How shall I send them? In two groups or a full on hit?” Ghurdan questioned.

“Before we do anything we need position archers..” cut in Dristi.

“Is done,” said Ghurdan wearily, “They are positioned on the rocky out crops either side of the tribes camp.”

Well at least he isn’t an idiot, thought Dristi. Though she couldn’t wait for the fight, she felt like a little child, a little child who could hack a grown adult to pieces at any rate. She ran her hands along her blade that was now in her hand. Not long now…

[Durelin]

“Before we do anything we need position archers…”

"Is done."

Sevora let out her breath in a long sigh. Dristi just could not remain respected by Sevora for very long. Just when she gave the girl some credit, Dristi acted the fool. She came out and ask what had happened last night? Did she truly expect to receive a real answer? Sevora's eyes moved around the tent, glancing at each person sitting before her. Besides Ghurdan and Dristi, Jasara, Khashia, and Uri sat off to the side, and Sammael sat near the middle and close to nobody. It was strange how people came to automatically separate themselves. But it was plain and simple how these people came to purposefully and thoughtfully separate themselves. Sevora was interested in seeing if these separations would continue even when they were neck deep in blood. This battle was going to be interesting. The problem was, Sevora was no strategist. Ghurdan was. Or, it was just that he was blessed. The Eye aids a person in many ways. Ghurdan was needed to lead his crew, and he had done most of the strategizing, which, even to Sevora's untrained eyes and ears, actually seemed to be very little. Mainly Ghurdan was certain of victory. No one could resist the Eye. But these elder tribesmen had to the fullest extent, in Sevora's mind. So, it was more proper to say 'no one could resist the Eye and live.' Those words were truth itself.

"Jasara," she said suddenly, turning to the young tribeswoman. All the other conversation that Sevora had not been listening to ceased. "What do you think of this smidgen of strategy that Ghurdan here has…devised?" Sevora smiled at Ghurdan as she gestured to him, but then her eyes went back to Jasara. Still, she smiled. It felt good.

"It will work well. As it is simple, we cannot make a mistake. No one resists the Eye."

"And lives," Sevora finished with a wider grin. "I ask, though, how do we discern the whereabouts of our enemy? We plan to march, but if we do, I do not wish to enter the valley to find them at our rear, already beginning to attack, correct?"

Ghurdan nodded impatiently, like at a pupil who learns all too slowly. "Yes, we have dealt with that. Or, truly, we have decided how to deal with that. We will not be caught unawares, I promise you that."

There was a hint of using her name at the end of his speaking, but Sevora ignored it. "Yes, and how is it to be dealt with? I expect to know this plan. As Jasara said, it is simple, and so we will not have human error. But I must know the plan so that I may not error. And it should be easy to explain, as it is so effortless. Or is it not as effortless as you say?"

Ghurdan was silent for a moment, and Sevora expected he was collecting his thoughts. Yes, he should be circumspect about what he says to me… "It is as effortless as it appears to be. But, there can still be mistakes. There most likely will not be, but I warn you not to be…overly disappointed." He smiled slightly at that, but only for a second, and his face was cold and blank when he continued. "We will send out scouts, as we always do," he said a bit icily, seemingly offended. Perhaps he was sick of scouts, but did he just want to barge in there unawares?

"Good," Sevora said simply. "We move when the sun reaches its height." Let the battle end in darkness!

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Durelin]

Nerindel's post

Zasfal had woken early, before even the sun had risen above the horizon. He was restless so he strapped on his weapons and picked up his bow and went to take a walk in the cool breezes before the sun rose. But before he had reached the flap of his tent, Ghurdan barged in the three other archers in tow. "You will leave at once and take up positions to the east and west of the infidels camp" Ghurdan ordered, not giving the young man a chance to protest the intrusion. "But there is only four of us" he said recovering from the initial shock of the request and not liking the odds if they were discovered. "do not fret my friend you are to take the teenage girl Najah and any she deems skilled in archery.
Ghurdan then drew a small layout of the camp from his previous scouting mission and pointed out the rocky outcroppings and how to get to them unseen, "You will take the east side and set light to the camp, hopefully that will be enough to spook their horses and disorient their riders enough for our charge, but if not then we have Najah and her archers fire volley after volley in their midst. the five of them laughed wickedly as they thought about the chaos and carnage they would inflicted upon their enemies.

Once Ghurdan had left, the Four archers went to Find the girl named Najah. As Zasfal approached the young ones camp he came face to face with Jasara "Can I help you!" she said staring at him suspiciously, "Yes the one named Najah is to come with us, she is also asked to bring those archers she deems ready for battle!" he answered evenly, looking about the youngsters to see which she was.

"Najah!" Jasara called without removing her gaze from the four archers before her. "Yes, Jasara" one of the youngsters answered, Zasfal watched as the girl no older than seventeen years walk confidently up to Jasara's side and waited patiently to be spoken to.

"Gather together the best archers we have!" Najah nodded then hurried off to gather those she deemed among their best. Time passed slowly as they waited for Najah's return, Jasara just stood staring at them, no not staring at them but through them! Zasfal shivered at the thought, bringing a slight satisfactory smile to the young girls lips, he returned her smile with a deep scowl. Just then Najah returned with fifteen archers most of them Zasfal was pleased to note looked over their fourtenth year. "we leave at once!" he told them nodding approvingly at the young archers before him. "And just where are we going?" Najah asked, "I will explain while we march, but the battle begins with us!" he grinned evilly. Najah matched his grin then they all set out together.

As they marched Zasfal explained, to Najah what was required of her and her archers. "My group will take the east ridge and await the arrival of our main forces, before the charge we will fire our arrows into the camp and among the horsemen starting fires, " "in the hope to spook the horses" she grinned finishing his sentence, "But I must warn you that the horses of the painted sands do not spook easily" she went on. Zasfal grinned, nodding as though anticipating her words and said "That is were you and your group come in, while their archers try to locate us, you will fire volleys from the west ridge taking down as many of their horses as you can, with their riders horse-less our army will have the advantage." there was a wicked gleam in her eyes as she perceived her role in the upcoming battle.

Before they reach the outer limits of the Tribes scouting parties they split up, Zasfal taking five of Najah's archers with him and one last time making sure that Najah knew what was expected of her. Then He and the other three archers from the Fire Spray along with five smaller figures silently climbed into the rocky ridge they had not gone far when the heard a soft growling, and the pad, pad of feet, "Shh!" Zasfal said raising his hand to halt the men, they listened intently, "Dogs???" one whispered uncertainly, "Three!" another said his ear pressed against the cool ground. Zasfal raised his index finger in the air to feel the direction of the breeze it was coming from, behind them! he thought. "Get ready!" He yelled but his words were lost to the loud barking and snarling of the Large dogs as they came Charging round the corner.

Zasfal was knocked to the ground by the first dog, he rolled on the ground trying to wrestling the great beast off, dodging his head to stop it's huge jaws from ripping off his face. After a few minutes struggle he managed to tuck his legs under the mutts underbelly and kick out sending it flying, he heard a crack as it impacted with the rocky wall. He slowly stood up breathing deeply, Sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and down the ridge of his nose. "It must have broke it's ribs" he sighed. But as he drew his sword to finish it off, he heard a snarl he looked up just in time to see its huge jaws coming towards his throat, he quickly banked right and raised his curved sword. The blade slide right through the dogs under belly, but not before it had clamped it's huge jaws around his left shoulder. He fell to the ground under the weight of the dead beast.

After a few seconds struggle he managed to heave the beasts corpse off, as he got up he saw two of the youngsters finish off another of the dogs, as he turned he saw that one of his men had not fared so well, Zasfal almost bulked as he saw the beast rip out the mans throat, the dog turn, blood dripping from it's maws, it growled at him then seeing it's dead companions it turned to flee. "We can't let it get away!" Ghurdan cried lifting his bow and taking aim, The others must have done the same, as a barage of arrows struck the beast, it gave a loud howl then fell, never to tend its herds again.

"Quickly!" Zasfal called to the other's "we have been waylaid far too long." They reached the high outcropping just in time to see the Tribes men fall back, now one archer short they began their attack. Zasfal Quickly lit the torch they carried and stuck it in the ground. Together they soaked their specially prepared arrows and fired into the camp setting the line of folded canvas tents alight, with their second volley they fired at the archers, who now rose from their hiding place and fired on them as predicted. Zasfal grinned as he heard the whistling of arrows from the youngsters on the opposite ridge and Ghurdan's cry as he signalled the Charge.

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

[Durelin]

The Servants of the Eye left their desert camp much the same as they had left Umbar. Even the noon sun was a twin to the one so many days before. But now, a tremor ran through the ranks quite unlike the excitement at the departure from the Citadel on their mission. Because now they were marching to battle the infidels. They awaited eagerly to deal out death and to be covered in their enemies' blood. They fingered their weapons, yearning to bring steel upon steel, iron upon iron, and iron and steel upon flesh. The lusting and thirsting was strong, seeming to glimmer around them like the waves of desert heat, seeming to flash between them like the glinting of spears in the bright sunlight. Death was singley on all of their minds, but all of those thoughts were welcomed and many were cherished. For each and every one of them, the death of others was a great splendor of excitement, bringing them happiness and immense enjoyment. Their own deaths were not things that diminished the joyful anticipation at the fact that the infidels were less then a mile away. Their own deaths were of little importance. For them all, it was in service to the Great Eye, the Dark Lord Sauron, and so it was a gift. To die in the service of their lord brought them greatness in their afterlife, for Sauron was the Lord of the Dead, or so they believed. It was this way naturally for all of them...except for the man tied up and being hauled by one of Ghurdan's crewmen.

There was less than half a mile to the infidels encampment, and they could be seen on the horizon across the flat savanna. The tribesmen waited, seemingly patiently, for their attackers, standing still and calm, but with weapons at the ready. For those of the Eye it was a simple matter: if the tribesmen were foolish enough to stand against the Eye in such a way, then so be it. As the Servants drew closer, they could see that these men were driven by hatred almost as deep as that which their enemies held for them. But, what the Army of the Eye could not see was what else those tribesmen were driven by. Love. Love for their families and friends, for their tribes and for their entire way of life. They fought for their tradition and ancesttry, their freedom and their lives. All of these things were worth fighting for far more than what the Servants held weapons for, and they had never known and would never know it. This ultimately was a battle between darkness and light, good and evil, standing as an earthly example of this supernatural battle. But, for those that fought under the blazing sun, it was simply a fight for their lives or a fight against their enemies. And so they collided, emotions driving them all toward their own types of victories, leaving their lives in their hands, and giving them into the mercy of their enemies' steel.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[piosenniel]

The tribesmen watched as the Army of the Eye moved further into the valley. A contingent of warriors – those of the Painted Sands, mounted and with swords drawn stood silent where the valley broadened out in front of where the encampment had been. Tents had been pulled down during the night and piled to one side. To the sides of the mounted troops and in a thin line across their front stood a number of the warriors from the Baobab, arrows knocked on their short bows, spears at the ready. Scattered among them were the Elders of the Baobab, their weapons drawn.

As the Eye’s troops advanced, they withdrew several hundred yards, as if hesitant in the face of such armed cruelty.

When they did so, the Eye’s army advanced further to meet them and prepared to engage the Resister’s front lines. At that time two flaming arrows arced up into the clear midday sky, from two archers positioned on small rises behind the tribesmen’s position.

Baobab tribesmen rose up from their hiding places on the ridges on either side of the valley and working their way quickly to the positions on the ridges of the Eye’s archers, began firing arrows tipped with poison at them. From the west, behind the Army of the Eye the nine men brought by Bemah with their eleven dogs moved down from their positions near the entrance to the valley - spears, and bows, and the darting slashing teeth of the great herd dogs, their yellowed eyes set on the two legged foe before them.

Jamílah stood on the frontlines with the other Elders of her Tribe. Her mace was in her right hand, a long knife in the other. At her side stood Husam, his spear in hand. Nasr had been sent by her to lead a small group of archers on the southern ridges. She saw from the corner of her eye the twin trail of flames go up from the south and north.

Fixing the memory of the man and star in her mind, and givng a brief thanks to the spirit of the Baobab Tree for this day of life, she raised her club and with a wild ululation, taken up by the other members of the Baobab, she rushed forward, swinging it down in a crushing blow on the sword arm of a very surprised Eye warrior. His gasp of amazement at the old lady was short lived, as she swung it round and crushed in the side of his head.

Then stepping over his twitching form, she advanced to meet the next one . . .

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]