Raharanor
~A Noble One Shall Rise~
The Journey of Temad
The winds of the northern lands cut through Temad as he made his way through the dusty and windswept hills. The sky above was crimson...which meant that a sandstorm was coming....soon. He carried with him scanty protection from such natural forces, as he had left the Watch Tower Hills with only the possessions he could gather in haste. Armour, clothes, a thin cloak and a small bag with provisions to last him as long as he needed with care. Temad paused while taking in his bearings, and then moved on quickly, the wind continuously cutting through him like a knife in the dark. Surely this wouldn't last forever...it was Calacous' fault for getting him into such trouble...he shouldn't have prevented him from being promoted to lieutenent in the might of the Frainian army...it was unjust...it was wrong!
Temad shook such thoughts from his head and focussed on his course ahead, which seemed rather ominous with thunder clouds also looming behind the mountains that were getting closer on the horizon. If only they keep themselves at bay...maybe then he'd have a decent chance of proving himself to Calacous that he erred when discrediting him! Only then...
Temad journeyed through the thick sandstorm during the dimness of the day, with the sun hidden from sight. He carried on until it was obvious that the darkness of the night was closing in around him, and he decided that it was time to rest his weary head. He unpacked his provisions, and ate heartily, as he had eaten little throughout the course of the day. After some wine, the tide of sleep overcame him, and he slept.
He awoke from his slumber...and could not move. He then heard snatches of conversation nearby, and came to the realization that he had indeed been captured. By whom he was captured by he did not know, but was almost certain that it was the raiders of the sands.
' How did I come to be captured by this nomadic scum?' Temad thought feircely to himself as he came to himself.
The raiders, seeing that Temad had come to, conversed quickly with the largest man of them all, and made their way towards him. They didn't seem to have any insidious intentions about them...so it seemed. They were mostly raiders who were intent on winning themselves a slave to tow along on their long nomadic journeys around the world.
The nomads closing on him paused in front of where he lay, and spoke.
" Southlander, you have been captured by my raiders to take service with us, " The large raider said slowly with an accent," and to also help serve meals and travel with us."
" Why have you captured me of all people? I am simply an innocent traveller journeying north."
" A traveller such as yourself travelling north is said to be suspicious," The raider replied," so that's why we captured you so."
Temad mulled over this quickly. Apparently he had fallen foul of the raiders of the northern regions. The situation had gone from bad to worse...first the sandstorm, then the thunderstorm...and then this!
" Furlakh you may call me, leader of the band of nomads who roam these parts."
" Furlakh!," Temad exclaimed," I've certainly heard tell of such as name..."
"Indeed you have! My name is heard...even in the Black Citidel to the far north of us."
At this they paused...listening to the banter of the group of nomads nearby. Then Furlakh came to himself and motioned to his men nearby who showed him his positions.
They had been trawling along for five days now, passing barren slopes and dunes as they travelled. The work to do for the raiders had not been as difficult as he anticipated...light work really. Temad had received a good ration of victuals for his troubles...which he enjoyed as heartily as he could, as meal times were few and far between. Still, goat meat, palm fruit and water went down well.
He had been treated quite well from Furlakh, despite his tendency to fly into a fit of rage when sand dunes blocked his path. Other than that, he was seemingly a competent desert nomad. Temad often trailed after him as the group of nomads set forth once more into the dunes and barren hills.
By the fifth day, the sandstorms arrived once more to lash the landscape. The desert men didn't seem to be too perturbed by the storm, but one unsuited to elements such as this, it was a tough experience to be sure. He simply put his forth into the wind, and followed the nomads into the desert landscape. Suddenly a heavy blow made the world black and he knew no more for some time to come.
Temad woke to find himself encased in a small mound of sand. As he burrowed his way out he noticed that the storm had cleared. How did he come to be here? He sat there dazzled momentarily by the sun high in the bluish sky. It seemed apparent that he had been lying in the sand for many hours....and his throat was very sore from a lack of moisture. His head felt as painful as a drunk having had too much ale the night before.
Then his memory flooded back to him...someone had hit him hard over the head...that was obvious. Apparently he had been bludgeoned and left to die in the harsh desert lands of the north. It was a good thing indeed that he had come to.
Temad determinedly staggered to his feet and checked his bearings once more. The sandstorm had cleared and left the landscape more windswept and different than before. How in the gods could he find his way through this labyrinth of shifting sand dunes and barren hillsides? He glanced towards the north...
" How could I be such a fool!," Temad cursed," the mountains to the north abide near my line of sight....the blow must have made my sense of perception soft!"
Temad looked around him and noticed that he still had his provisions...however scanty they were...and some water. He calculated the distance to the nearby mountains. It would take no more than a day to reach them if he took no rest at all.
At this, he hefted his few provisions and began the arduous task of wading through the shifted sand dunes and hills. He would make it yet....he will.. providing the god of elements didn't strike him down with his sometimes vengeful hand. At the first ridge, Temad turned and faced the south.
" May the god of the elements make your days of travel difficult and wearisome Furlakh! It's as much as you deserve!"
He turned once more and journeyed on through the barreness of the lands before him. Yet...the mountains loomed up before him and knew that he would soon be among them.
. It had taken a great deal longer than he had previously thought. The mountain slopes were quite rocky but vegetation still clung desperately to the mountainsides though. Temad had rationed his remaining provisions well...but the waterskin was becoming quite light...soon he would have to refill lest he die of thirst.
Yet he tarried up the mountain slope with an eagerness unbefitting of a man so weary with travel and hardship. The base of the mountain beckoned to him.
In time his weary legs reached the high base of the enormous mountain of granite and scarce vegetation. Temad looked around and to him seemed like a good place to rest. He ate some goat's meat sparingly, and drank a little water.
He would travel further up the mountain...but now he would rest. With his hand stroking the hilt of his sword, he embraced the warmth of the rising sun as it gleamed over the mountainside.
The winds of the northern lands cut through Temad as he made his way through the dusty and windswept hills. The sky above was crimson...which meant that a sandstorm was coming....soon. He carried with him scanty protection from such natural forces, as he had left the Watch Tower Hills with only the possessions he could gather in haste. Armour, clothes, a thin cloak and a small bag with provisions to last him as long as he needed with care. Temad paused while taking in his bearings, and then moved on quickly, the wind continuously cutting through him like a knife in the dark. Surely this wouldn't last forever...it was Calacous' fault for getting him into such trouble...he shouldn't have prevented him from being promoted to lieutenent in the might of the Frainian army...it was unjust...it was wrong!
Temad shook such thoughts from his head and focussed on his course ahead, which seemed rather ominous with thunder clouds also looming behind the mountains that were getting closer on the horizon. If only they keep themselves at bay...maybe then he'd have a decent chance of proving himself to Calacous that he erred when discrediting him! Only then...
Temad journeyed through the thick sandstorm during the dimness of the day, with the sun hidden from sight. He carried on until it was obvious that the darkness of the night was closing in around him, and he decided that it was time to rest his weary head. He unpacked his provisions, and ate heartily, as he had eaten little throughout the course of the day. After some wine, the tide of sleep overcame him, and he slept.
He awoke from his slumber...and could not move. He then heard snatches of conversation nearby, and came to the realization that he had indeed been captured. By whom he was captured by he did not know, but was almost certain that it was the raiders of the sands.
' How did I come to be captured by this nomadic scum?' Temad thought feircely to himself as he came to himself.
The raiders, seeing that Temad had come to, conversed quickly with the largest man of them all, and made their way towards him. They didn't seem to have any insidious intentions about them...so it seemed. They were mostly raiders who were intent on winning themselves a slave to tow along on their long nomadic journeys around the world.
The nomads closing on him paused in front of where he lay, and spoke.
" Southlander, you have been captured by my raiders to take service with us, " The large raider said slowly with an accent," and to also help serve meals and travel with us."
" Why have you captured me of all people? I am simply an innocent traveller journeying north."
" A traveller such as yourself travelling north is said to be suspicious," The raider replied," so that's why we captured you so."
Temad mulled over this quickly. Apparently he had fallen foul of the raiders of the northern regions. The situation had gone from bad to worse...first the sandstorm, then the thunderstorm...and then this!
" Furlakh you may call me, leader of the band of nomads who roam these parts."
" Furlakh!," Temad exclaimed," I've certainly heard tell of such as name..."
"Indeed you have! My name is heard...even in the Black Citidel to the far north of us."
At this they paused...listening to the banter of the group of nomads nearby. Then Furlakh came to himself and motioned to his men nearby who showed him his positions.
They had been trawling along for five days now, passing barren slopes and dunes as they travelled. The work to do for the raiders had not been as difficult as he anticipated...light work really. Temad had received a good ration of victuals for his troubles...which he enjoyed as heartily as he could, as meal times were few and far between. Still, goat meat, palm fruit and water went down well.
He had been treated quite well from Furlakh, despite his tendency to fly into a fit of rage when sand dunes blocked his path. Other than that, he was seemingly a competent desert nomad. Temad often trailed after him as the group of nomads set forth once more into the dunes and barren hills.
By the fifth day, the sandstorms arrived once more to lash the landscape. The desert men didn't seem to be too perturbed by the storm, but one unsuited to elements such as this, it was a tough experience to be sure. He simply put his forth into the wind, and followed the nomads into the desert landscape. Suddenly a heavy blow made the world black and he knew no more for some time to come.
Temad woke to find himself encased in a small mound of sand. As he burrowed his way out he noticed that the storm had cleared. How did he come to be here? He sat there dazzled momentarily by the sun high in the bluish sky. It seemed apparent that he had been lying in the sand for many hours....and his throat was very sore from a lack of moisture. His head felt as painful as a drunk having had too much ale the night before.
Then his memory flooded back to him...someone had hit him hard over the head...that was obvious. Apparently he had been bludgeoned and left to die in the harsh desert lands of the north. It was a good thing indeed that he had come to.
Temad determinedly staggered to his feet and checked his bearings once more. The sandstorm had cleared and left the landscape more windswept and different than before. How in the gods could he find his way through this labyrinth of shifting sand dunes and barren hillsides? He glanced towards the north...
" How could I be such a fool!," Temad cursed," the mountains to the north abide near my line of sight....the blow must have made my sense of perception soft!"
Temad looked around him and noticed that he still had his provisions...however scanty they were...and some water. He calculated the distance to the nearby mountains. It would take no more than a day to reach them if he took no rest at all.
At this, he hefted his few provisions and began the arduous task of wading through the shifted sand dunes and hills. He would make it yet....he will.. providing the god of elements didn't strike him down with his sometimes vengeful hand. At the first ridge, Temad turned and faced the south.
" May the god of the elements make your days of travel difficult and wearisome Furlakh! It's as much as you deserve!"
He turned once more and journeyed on through the barreness of the lands before him. Yet...the mountains loomed up before him and knew that he would soon be among them.
. It had taken a great deal longer than he had previously thought. The mountain slopes were quite rocky but vegetation still clung desperately to the mountainsides though. Temad had rationed his remaining provisions well...but the waterskin was becoming quite light...soon he would have to refill lest he die of thirst.
Yet he tarried up the mountain slope with an eagerness unbefitting of a man so weary with travel and hardship. The base of the mountain beckoned to him.
In time his weary legs reached the high base of the enormous mountain of granite and scarce vegetation. Temad looked around and to him seemed like a good place to rest. He ate some goat's meat sparingly, and drank a little water.
He would travel further up the mountain...but now he would rest. With his hand stroking the hilt of his sword, he embraced the warmth of the rising sun as it gleamed over the mountainside.
