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Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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Honor
DeLoren’s luck had improved ten-fold over the passed few days. Despite being bed-ridden by Imal shortly after Millard’s escape. He had been moved from the dingy and depressed jail and its stiff uncomfortable cot to a more proper house and soft bed (although he found it difficult and painful to roll over). The bright afternoon sun flowing through the windows likes a golden stream, illuminating his new place of rest. Not just a faint sliver and the dull flicker of a candle.
He had been moved to the village’s apothecary for observation and care. He was fed more regularly from the pantry of his host and work had stopped. His health had begun to improve. The sores and aches from his passed slave enrollment slowly sapping away.
But, despite the comforts he began to wonder. What was to come of him next? It felt strange being tended to so generously by the enemy. Like he in the house, these thoughts took up being a guest in his conscious mind. An unwanted one. An uneasy guest, a kind of sad parasite. Always nagging. Always there.
The man he was staying with was named Mustafa abin Nasir. He lived alone in his combination office and homestead. It was set up mostly for minor-ailments like fever and cough. So there were few beds. DeLoren took up one; the guest bed. Mustaffa claims he had studied medicine in the colleges of Sophenom. His years of experience had given him a wide-range of knowledge about human injury. He had access to the teachings of the North and of the desert south. In essence he was – in himself – a walking medical encyclopedia. And he prided himself on it.

18-Jan-2011 15:10:59 - Last edited on 04-Feb-2011 02:18:40 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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Mustafa was an aged man. Passing over the Cli<c>max of his years in the late forties going on fifty. He was balding, with a few mule-stubborn strands of muddy-brown hair on his head. His beard was trimmed and groomed to the point of being as sharp as a knife. His eyes were much the same. Sharp and piercing, they measured up each man who walked through his door. Yet at the same time there was a kind of pity and sadness in them, especially when he saw the northerner in his house.
“Before the war,” he told him one day as he gave the Crusader his medicine, “I would make trips to Varrock every three years. There I would meet with the Cardinal’s School of Medicine and hear of any new advancements. In these times anyone could pass between the borders of north and south. They were open and friendly.
“But everything good comes to an end. Once Aeonisig Raispher became the Patriarch of the Misthalin Church of Saradomin the borders began closing up. You probably would’ve been young then.”
“I remember some of the things he did.” DeLoren said taking a gulp of water to wash down the bitter mix he had given him to ease the pain. He knew well of Aeonisig. Over the course of his child-hood he had rapidly became a man of much respect in the kingdoms. The man was very highly regarded for purging the lands of the heretical Zammarokian movement and bringing the Misthalenese, Kandarian, and Asgarnian churches under one banner – his – and establishing the Consulate of the Holy Star (which essentially brought together all the bishops and cardinals of the other churches to make one holy group). He was a powerful man. And as all great men had great influence over the kingdoms of men. “But I was unaware of a lot of what he did. I witnessed and heard of a lot, but I was never aware of any of these people he put to trail and death.”

19-Jan-2011 22:29:45 - Last edited on 04-Feb-2011 02:19:57 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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“Well, he cracked down on the School of Medicine.” Mustafa added. There was a glimmer of nostalgic sadness in his eyes. Mourner’s eyes. The same looks one gets when recounting the death of a dear lover, a wife, a son. Like the thought was enough to make him cry. “He tightened up on it after his predecessor had loosened it. He condemned much of its teachings as heresy, a blasphemy to God!” he paused long enough for a deep sigh and to stop himself from making a vengeance-filled speech, “The practitioners were jailed on counts of grave-robbing, spreading heretical thoughts, and possession of contraband. He made so many of the ingredients to make pain-killers illegal it was better to cut off limbs. But more importantly, he banned that which many loyal bishops seen as a crime; destroying the body of a man, as to prevent his complete ascension to heaven. Usage of bodies for medical purposes was banned and the notes destroyed. He did so many other things to pull back the study of medicine to hundreds of years before.”
“I had heard of the mass arrests.” DeLoren said, “I was still a boy then. But it was all very major. Many of the accused were publically executed as their works were dismissed. It was a scary time, and I wondered why everyone seemed to cheer. Hell, I came to cheer, but only because I thought we were killing the bad guys.” DeLoren paused then added with sickened memory: “The streets were rotten for days after, days after the finished the burnings.”
Mustaffa let out a defeated sigh, “What’s done is done. It is not good to linger on the past. Perhaps once the time comes I may show you the books I managed to save before the burnings happened. They might be a little out-dated, even by those day’s standards.”
With that, he had left the room.

03-Feb-2011 19:55:07 - Last edited on 04-Feb-2011 02:19:06 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,110 Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Rarely did he ever see of any of Abu’s men. Imal, Asuf, or of Irabah (whom seems to never be around, only existing now in shadowy memory) never made an appearance nor any man claiming to be a representative. He could hear the passing of day-to-day life outside of his window but nothing exciting seemed to stir.
Days passed. The routine of his stay was beginning to drag on. He was becoming accustomed to the regular meals. He no longer felt as thankful for them as before. Their pleasure was receding and his strength returning. “Do you think you could do me a favor?” he asked as he received yet another meal.
“I guess, what is it?”
“I wonder what’s going on outside. I’ve not yet heard of anything going on outside your home. I don’t even know my fate. That bit there scares me. At least before I was doing something that I felt it was keeping me alive. But it’s gone now. So could you keep an ear open for me?”

“I’ll try. Tomorrow I’ll need to go to the bazaar. I should be able to pick up news there. Anything in particular you’re listening for?”
“A comrade of mine escaped the day I received my injuries. In a way it was kind of his fault I guess. If anything could you listen for anything about him? Such as his recapture?”
“That Millard man? Sure, I’ll see.”
Mustafa again left DeLoren alone to his silence.

The monotony dragged on for several more days. No word came of Millard or of Benni. In an unpleasant way he began to fear they had died in the desert. A new guest to accompany his growing sense of un-ease. Doubt of him self soon followed as he wondered if he could have convinced Millard to stay. A heavy stone resting on his heart, telling him he could’ve done different. He could have kept his friend from running from the relative safety of the village.

04-Feb-2011 02:20:27

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