| Desert Peddler |
[Dec. 15th, 2008|06:14 pm] |
| [ | melodija |
| | Suede - Everything will flow | ] |
Habban al Duhan rode his camel calmly across the dunes. The times were harsh, but awkwardly beneficial to someone as himself. And why shouldn't they be. Though he was just a petty peddler roaming between close settements, he would be welcomed by officers of all factions for his observations. In his travels Habban would see the positions and directions of armies and, of course, didn't mind retelling this. For a proper payment, no doubt.
Three days ago Habban left the welcoming shades and walls of Mendai. The sun was pouring heat down as if it wanted the desert to turn to glass and the uneasy wind carried sands around attempting to rid every living thing of its flesh. Yes, just another typical day in the desert. Habban closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and began a meditative prayer to pass the time. In five days he would arrive at the Northern Oasis, sell his rolls of cloth and stock up on water, then he'd travel to nearby villages and... The merchant's thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the distance.
On the horizon a small shadow stood on the crest of a dune and waved at him. "Survive those, who help each other," Habban told himself and hurried his camel toward the wanderer. As he got closer, he saw the man to be a fellow arabian, tattered, exhausted, scarred and barely keeeping conscious from thirst. "Oh, my brother of the deserts, please extend a helping hand to a lost searcher. I beg for a drink of water." Habban couldn't refuse; before the desert are all inferior and only a savage would refuse such a simple act of kindness. "Aye, brother, i'll give you of my waters, but do tell me your name and what has befallen you!"
The man wearily clutched the waterskin and drank blissfully. "My name is Hassan ibn Marad, i am... was a warehouse keeper in Kaddock. I was until they came, the twisted hordes of man and beast. They took the western gates in silence and overnight had taken over the caravan quarter, my home included. They said the would bring peace and unity to the people of Araby, we'd just have to stop resisting. They said that many an arabian voice rang with them and more would soon do the same. They said that those, who would not join their brethren... those, who would not... they would be killed by the very brothers they thus betray. Not many of the people succumbed to their threats - we had the whole of Kaddock's garrison and defence force to rely on. They never came. In the morning a black knight of the Covenant presented the bodies of guards that were slain in the night. Seeing this, many saw the folly of resistance, yet i remained stubborn. The duke ordered knives be given to the new recruits. 'Kill them one by one until i tell you to stop,' he said. oh god, i saw neighbour kill neighbour right before me and my family. A man i had considered my friend slit the throat of my wife..." Hassan stopped took a deep breath and a drink to regain his wits before continuing, "He killed my wife and came for me when the Knight ordered him to stop. My daughter was given to the dark elves, my home and wares ransacked by hideous beasts and i myself was chained and dragged into tunnels of vile ratmen. For days they made me toil in inhuman labor, giving only the minimum of sleep and sustenance to keep me alive. Many would die each night from exhaustion or the endless flogging. They died by my side and i knew i'd soon follow. But then i found my chance. While working on a new tunnel we had moved unexpectedly close to the surface. The ground wasn't as strong here and the tunnel collapsed. Luckily it both sealed off the guards back in the tunnel and opened a hole for the few of us, who were not crushed by the falling debris. I scrambled out and found my self near the gate garrison, or at least what was left of it. From these ruins i collected what rags i could and drank whatever waters i could find and ran off to where i thought Mezdah should be. For... i don't know... many days i've been walking lost, barely surviving off of meagre waters i find under roots of grass in the night. I fear today would have been my last, had i not met you. There... that's my tragedy... I am glad you heard it out... a pain outspoken is a pain reduced."
"I help where i can," replied Habban, "and i will help you some more, for you have suffered quite enough. I will give you a cloak, to shield you from the desert better, as well as a full waterskin and the most valuable - directions. See those mountains? Get to them and head east, you shall reach Mendai in a few days." Habban gave Hassan the promised cloak, exchanged the half empty waterskin in his hands for a full one and drank to his well being. With words of gratitude and wishes of luck and prosperity they parted ways.
Habban al Duhan rode his camel calmly across the dunes. Three days ago Habban left the welcoming shades and walls of Mendai. The sun was pouring heat down as if it wanted the desert to turn to glass and the uneasy wind carried sands around attempting to rid every living thing of its flesh. A typical day in the desert. Habban closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and felt an uneasy rumble in his bowels. He thought nothing of it, the clear waters of the Northern Oasis would surely cure this little inconveniance.
Habban al Duhan rode towards The Northern Oasis. Just a day of travel left, but it could not pass fast enough. His body was thrown completely off balance, no food would stay in his bowels longer than an hour, water passed through at an alarming rate. His supplies, which were packed for some days of delay, would barely last him this last day. But no matter, the healers of the Oasis would know how to aid him. If he could just keep conscious and not get lost.
In a state of half-dream half-delirium the peddler attempted his prayer. It came out twisted and garbled, yet managed to shorten the time. The dunes grew lower from past myriads of trampling feet as Habban drew closer to the Oasis. A low rumble came rolling from the front. The bustle of the city, the shout of the markets, the creaks of caravans and cranes and... the cries of the dying? The sound yanked Habban from his fiendish reverie. He scoured the expanse, looking for the source. Not far off his trail lay some men and camels, cut up and scattered. Ten or so. Habban rode his camel to them and stopped, raised his head with great effort and spoke:
-Good man... Where are you? Pray tell, are you surviving?
A body twitched and moaned in a fading voice. Habban rode up to it only to see the man draw his last breath and die. Through clouded eyes he examined the corpses. All of them had large wounds, probably made with a heavy and not quite sharp weapon. Habban noted down to send guardsmen for a burial. These honest men deserved an honorable burial. On a different day, he'd do it himself, but this was no job for one diseased, thirsted and delerious peddler. He checked his direction and continued on to The Northern Oasis.
He arrived at the walls by dusk. A grizzeled-faced guard peered from the walls.
- What da ye want?
- I... am a trader... here from... Mendai, - Habban forced the words from his lips, - There are men... outside... slaughtered.
- Yes, and there are men slaughtered inside. Orcs, a pox on tha beasts, attacked. They hold a few houses at tha north gates. Hold on, i'll let ye in.
The gates creaked open and closed after letting the trader inside. Habban asked for the directions to the nearest healer, who dealt in diseases. Unsurpirsingly the healer had a line at his door. Men, women, children, dwarves (who seemed to have only one gender - drunkard) and even some elves. The same at every other place he went - everywhere there were lines of injurees from the orc attacks. That was the surest way to tell a healers door. Frustrated, Habban rode his camel up to the water. He dismounted, washed his face in the warm water and drank his fill, letting the camel do the same. He then noticed an Inn with a welcoming warm light in the door. Habban put his will into his limbs, staggered in and rented a room. After a short talk the innkeeper told the way to a newly established and untrusted healer, who'd have no lines. A little search-and-stumble later, the rumor turned out to be true. Moments later Habban was in the caring arms of the young healer. Some more moments later he passed out.
Morning came with a dose of relief. His head didn't spin and his limbs followed his orders without lingering. He thanked the healer and paid him handsomely. The day went very well, Habban sold his cloth rolls, stocked up on water and as the they drew to a close, made a pretty coin off military surveillance. After a jolly eve at the tavern, Habban retired to his quarters at ease.
His rest was rudely interrupted by an alarm going off. A cry resounded through the city: "ORCS! TO ARMS MEN!" Habban rushed out of his bed and into his clothes. The rush made his head spin and a weakness to surge through his legs. A guard smashed the door open and hastily asked:
- Are you alive and well?
- Yes, what's...?
- Can you hold a sword? Are you a citizen?
- No i am...
- All who do not fight or help otherwise must leave the city, NOW! Orcs are raging and we can't afford civilians around.
Left with no choice, Habban packed up his belongings and left for Mezdah along with a line of refugees. The disturbing semi-delirious state returned to him. The healer must have fought the symptoms, not the ailment. When he glanced around, he saw that some of his refugee companions were suffering from similar symptoms.
Habban al Duhan rode towards Mezdah and saw his future grim. |
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