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Smok Taunter

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The cool refreshing air was the spark of life such a place needed. From around him many of the creatures who would flee and hide from the sun prowled the open expanse, finding food where humans and others could not. Silhouetted against the clear night sky stood packs of desert wolves and animals.
The Mamelukes traveled far faster than DeLoren and his comrades could. Their pace brisk and steady. It was as if the air was a shot of energy to them. Not once did they stop to rest. Not once did they slow down. They kept the same pace. Tackling each dune as it came. When the sun began to peek over the horizon they finally slowed. They found a place to camp and set down.
The riders dismounted their horses to pitch their tents. This left DeLoren and Millard tied unguarded to their horse. From behind him DeLoren could feel something shift. He turned as best he could. Millard had woken from unconsciousness. Drearily he said, “What’s this?” he said slowly in the soft orange fire of morning, “Are we still in this desert?”
“We are.” said DeLoren.
“Where are Lord Goswick and Chandler?”
After a moment’s hesitation DeLoren said, “Dead.”
From behind him he thought he could hear a low sigh of mourning and relief.
____________________________________________________________

27-Sep-2009 23:58:09 - Last edited on 21-Mar-2011 23:13:03 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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-In the Presence of Abu-Bakr-
As the sun sank below the horizon the men returned from their tents. As the camp sprung to life the wounds of DeLoren and Millard were once again cleaned. They were then sat upon a horse and escorted through the desert under the stars of night. This was routine, as deemed by these men of the desert.
However, a certain amount of chivalry was displayed by them in their travels. The Khardians gave to them a thin strip of cloth. This was tied to their head where it sat, spilling out along side and behind their head. It was seen fit when the two knights began to suffer from fatigue brought by the sun.
They recovered more of their tracks a night than the original four knights would have done in a day of progress. At one point in their journey both Millard and DeLoren thought they saw the bleached and cleaned skull of a horse poking out from beneath the sand. The cold of the night was more invigorating than that of day. It filled the horses and men with more energy and vigor.
Days passed in their travel, and many of the activities fell into routine. Their wounds were washed clean of sand, they were left outside to be guarded by day then they would travel at night. Their bodies bore the red kisses of the sun and moving was difficult from the pain and stiffness of being constantly bound in one position. One day though, the routine activities were broken. A scout rode hastily into camp, purpose forced into his horse’s strides.
The scout stopped outside a particular tent and dismounted from his ride. The chestnut horse on which he rode tethered to a pole outside of the tent. Moments later he emerged from the tent and made his way to the knights. The horse watched from the side of the cloth shelter as its owner walked away from it.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:14 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:13:49 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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He approached the guard first and said a few words with the guard. He nodded his head and the scout grabbed a line of rope. “Stand up!” he barked in authority, his English was distorted by his rolling accent. Taken back the two northerners aloud themselves to be pulled to their feet, despite the screams of their skin and the bones underneath.
“We’re go for walk.” he again ordered as they gained their feet.
He led them out over the dune and on to the top of a tall, neighboring mound of sand; already desert winds were moving it ever closer to where they were. As they crested it he moved his hand out to the desert. He asked them, “Do you see?*
Confused DeLoren asked, “What am I supposed to see?”
“There, to the direction I point.” he responded, again gesturing out into the sands.
It took the two knights several moments to register the sight, but they saw it. They saw the spectacle the man wanted them to see. Ahead in the desert the small metallic reflections of light could be seen clearly in the still air. Far ahead of them was an army marching parallel to their route.
“If you think not this to be real, we may go closer.” the man said again and tugged on the rope and led them to another dune, furthure from the camp but closer to the army.
From their new vantage point it was clearer to them. Banners – although small – were now visible flying over the ranks of men. And the faint pounding of the marching men could be heard as the sand beneath was compacted; a road soon to disappear after their passing. Right before them was a chance to go back to the life they once lived. But keeping them from returning to it was a length of rope and an obviously well fed man. And even if they could reach their distant hope of salvation their weakened state would not allow them to travel far.
“Now let us leave before they see us.” said the man and they were brought back. That night they pressed on as if the army had not paralleled them.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:19 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:11:20 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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Several nights after they began to near their destination, over the horizon a great silhouette of a mountain became visible to the travelers. About mid way up a small cluster of lights were visible on its surface. But it would take them another night to reach this beacon of desert life, once the sun had once again rose they made camp and rested. In the distance a large browned mountain rose over the horizon summoning the desert folk to it, the way an open flame will enchant a moth to go to its dancing body.
As the sun again fell they made way to and reached the mountain’s base. The ground slowly began to rise at a slight angle. But as they traveled on the slope steepened and grew rockier. Eventually it gave way to cliffs and steep vertical slopes impassable by any mere man.
At the base they were greeted by another band of cavalry men who unburdened the travelers of their supplies. The two prisoners were held back as the mamelukes who had accompanied them made their way up a mountain path. They turned to look at their new captors. They’re armor was made of unadorned splint mail. At their sides was a saber that hung readily at their sides. Helmets sat atop their heads with a solid metal plate punctured only twice for their eyes covered their face.
Millard’s and DeLoren’s new company began to dismount them from their horses. As they brought them down to the ground they were forced on the ground to their knees. The rocky ground biting painfully into them as they came to a rest; the new guards began to talk in their rolling poetic language, clutching them by the head and shaking them around. Millard and DeLoren braced for whatever may come next. Millard uttered a prayer under his breath while DeLoren starred into the starry sky. There was a loud thump and again another as a hard, blunt object struck the back of their heads. Unconscious and limp the two fell face first onto the ground.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:23 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:11:38 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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DeLoren woke groggily from his state of unconsciousness, he opened his eyes. Alas, even with his eyes opened to the world no sight came in. Something was covering his face. He made to scream but all that he managed was a weak moan. Something was obscuring his mouth. Weakly he struggled to free himself of his handicaps but he could not bring his hands to do it. Behind him was a wooden post which he was secured to. He struggled to no avail and gave up. Weakly he began to notice the textures and aroma of the air around him.
The air around him was cool and smelled of exotic spices and tobacco smoke. He breathed the sweat aromas through the twine of the black hood he wore. The stillness and coolness of the air suggested to him he was not inside. And as the space he was kept in smelled of foreign exotics it suggested he was in someone’s home.
Moments passed before a bright and blinding light flooded the room. He flinched as the white spears teased and struck his eye through the cloth of his hood. He looked away from the source, saving his eyes from the pain of the light. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the light he turned back to it weakly. A rectangle of weak light shone through the darkness of the hood, the distorted and blurred figure of a man stood in the midst of this block of light.
There was a faint shuffling of feat and hushed voices. Something hard and of weight was dragged across the floor near to where DeLoren sat. Afterwards he felt hands handle and move about his head. The gag that had formally kept him quiet came off. “What is your name?” asked a voice. It was deep and rolling. But it was not threatening, it was generous and wise.
DeLoren hesitated before he spoke his name, “Louis DeLoren.” he said in a choppy frightened tone of voice.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:27 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:11:48 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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“And where are you from Louis?” said the voice as it continued its interrogation.
“The white city of Falador,” DeLoren replied
“Are you a knight?”
“White knight, squire and page to Sir. Montague. Knighted only a year ago.”
“So you are a new fallible mind in their order. Although trained weak and innocent. Would you say this is true?”
DeLoren paused, considering. Then uncertainly he replied, “No.*
*You are uncertain of this? Are you so naïve to take my words as truth the same way you took the words in your oath as being a truth? You are an innocent person Louis. Why join the knights and condemn yourself to the slaughter of friends?”
“I wanted to serve.” said DeLoren, his voice cracking.
“Service to whom? Your puppet king or is there a higher power involved in this decision?”
“My king and Saradomin.” The white knight responded
“Oh how confused you are Louis. Do you not know that your king is dead and a puppet to your very knight order? He is dead! Your leader just claims that he is carrying out his orders. Your order is unfortunately corrupted! But your sense of loyalty is something to praise. Rarely will someone say they’re serving for king or country. It’s common of me to hear such things regarding pay, glory and adventure. Why, if they wanted adventure I would think selling your self off as one of those lone bounty hunters or ‘errand boys’ would give you more thrills than the army. But, I do guess certain people lack discipline.”
DeLoren was silent. Something slid across the floor and the light plodding of shoes echoed through the room. A thin sliver of light manifested through the blind fold. “Wait!” DeLoren hollered, “Who are you?”
“I?” said the voice, “I am Abu-Bakr.”
DeLoren was momentarily blinded by a flash of light and Abu was gone.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:31 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:12:08 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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A day later Abu returned to DeLoren’s “cell”. His back was sore from the post and his arms had grown numb. Upon his return DeLoren was greeted to the usual flash of white light. Again DeLoren heard something being dragged across the floor and he looked up curiously, as if he had no blindfold.
“Do you know where you are?” asked Abu.
“In the Khardian.” DeLoren responded, *I don’t know where exactly.”
“And you should be right.” said Abu, “You are, in fact still in the desert. But high atop a mountain ridge in a small inconspicuous village that doesn’t show on the crusader’s maps. It is far from any commonly traveled route. The village’s name is Ashufar, no one outside of those living here and those who make their business up here knows he exists. Sure, a random traveler may come through but they can be easily paid off to keep silent if they are considered to be a threat.”
“But you’re so high up. Wouldn’t you get discovered in such an open position?”
“You would think but your commanders know little of the desert. And they are aware of this fact. They travel only the caravan routes. Such an out of the way, unmarked village is too much of a hassle to try and attack or reach. They are more concerned in investigating the big cities and defending those holy shrines of theirs.”
“But why do you tell me?” inquired DeLoren, “Why would you tell an enemy?”
“Because you are captive, you are in my custody and control. You are, in a way my property. And I don’t think I’ll be returning you”
“I am a slave?”
“Yes, to an effect.”
“And how long will you keep me here?” DeLoren hissed, the prospect of becoming a servant to a man he had fought against was below him. “My purpose isn’t to fetch water or food for someone. Nor to rub their feet and wash their robes!”
“You have fire on your tongue good man.” responded Abu, “But what makes me wonder is that if that same fire flows through your arms.*
*What are you talking about?” DeLoren again hissed

27-Sep-2009 23:58:35 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:12:42 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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“You’re my enemy and thus your goal should be to kill me. You wish to do so don’t you?”
DeLoren was silent. Abu talked to someone else in the room in the rolling language of the desert. A few moments later there was a tugging at the binds on his hands.
“I have requested that your hands be unbound. I sit in front of you, open to attack. Strike me down if you do so please.”
DeLoren’s hand came free and slowly crept slowly up to his face. He was stopped by a cold hand. “Do not remove your blindfold,” said Abu, “It will be a disadvantage, much the same as my handicap of being unarmed.”
DeLoren’s hands hovered in the air. In the same spot that Abu had stopped them in their tracks. The minute’s dragged out as he thought it out. It would all be over, but how could he strike out against a man who was showing so much hospitality. Although he had not been fed his wounds had been tended to, and he was in doors. Now in front of him sat the man he fought. And he was inviting him to kill him! It just did*’t feel right. DeLoren’s hands dropped.
“Do not feel weak Louis,” said Abu, “for I pose no threat. See it as a test of your own code of honor, of chivalry. Even though I am your enemy, would you strike me down coldly and without warning? You do not; Johnson Millard is unfortunately the opposite.”
DeLoren sat up. Millard was here too and alive? “Millard’s here? He’s alive?” said DeLoren enthusiastically.
“He breathes.” said Abu flatly, but there was a subtle resonance of bitterness in his voice. Bitterness directed at John Millard, “He fights everything we do. He’s very aggressive and not at all humble to his new hosts. And he rarely eats; he believes we are trying to poison him.”
“If you’re not going to kill us,” asked DeLoren, “What are you going to do with us?*
*That is a secret to be told on a later date. For now be content with being alive. You may be able to walk free shortly. Until then, do you care to eat?”

27-Sep-2009 23:58:39 - Last edited on 30-Nov-2009 02:40:34 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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Again astonished DeLoren hesitantly and quietly said, “Yes.”

The hood was only removed up to his nose when he was fed. And as to insure that the hood would not be removed a length of twine was tied about his head and under his nose to prevent it from being removed easily. Although he could not see his food it tasted of a complex blend of spices. Never before had he tasted such a complex meal that danced, burned and blessed the tongue than the meal before him.
He guessed it contained flour and some kind of lean meat. And on occasion he would find what he thought to be a vegetable of some form. These held their own distinct texture that meats and breads do not have. And again, there were the spices; a saucy coating that smothered and suffocated the meal.
He finished it in seconds. As he placed the plate down he could hear the light clatter of it being taken away. He wanted more, but he was not given any. But his sense of hunger had significantly lessened during the meal. He felt drowsy now and he began to doze off, closing his eyes slowly and fell to the ground.

27-Sep-2009 23:58:44 - Last edited on 26-Nov-2009 18:13:10 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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res

27-Sep-2009 23:58:48

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