Part 1
Late Suan
The Run had nearly drained the life completely out of Gangui and his men. So tired and ragged they were from the black journey, they could afford no energy to do anything other than rest and recover. Crawling from their ruinous boat that had washed ashore, they dragged their gold and armor up the beach and made camp on the outskirts of the harbor. Not being part of the city-proper, they were not harassed by any of the native authority.
Travelers and passerbyers yelled at the razzled and exhausted soldiers, but did not get much in return except for the name their name: Turkey Company of Etzos. The mustachio knew that they would get harassed or questioned eventually, but until then the warriors would rest. Sending a couple sword-brothers to the port, they bought flagons of wine and cheese and bread. They ate humbly and took turns taking watch as the others slept long and deep.
They would need all their energy before venturing to negotiate with the great mercenary companies of Yaralorn.
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On the third day of their rest, the glorious mustache began to quiver again.
Life was returning to their souls, you could see it in their eyes. Vitality was returning to their bodies, already they were stretching and playing swords with each other. Illuminated by the campfire, they meditated over the events that happened and exchanged new revelations from being connected to the spirit of man during the great storm.
They had all grown tougher as men. They had another trial under their belt. Another tribulation to whiten their whiskers; the much needed experience for their path to achieving Idalos-wide freedom from the Immortals.
They had seen another friend die. Another human sacrifice to the future. A future that they recognized consciously and made bets against to shape. Another drink of the bottle during the hard times to forget all the lives that would be stacked to create the platform that would allow the men of Turkey Company to see the fruits of their struggle.
Walking alone towards the harbor proper, Gangui left his sword-brothers alone to relax in the camp. By now he had adorned himself again in the battle regalia of the Etzori: full plate armor, trimmed with blue cobalt. A broad brimmed steel hat, with the bright red plumage to denote the Suan heat. Tanvi’s ever blooming lily pinning onto his collar, it’s scent and color vivid forever. Last but not least a gold trimmed blue tabard with a Turkey symbol on its front and the Burning Tunawa on its back.
The harbor’s main chaseway was lined with braziers to brighten up the complete and utter darkness of the Suan weather that was unique only to Yaralorn. Despite the absence of the the two suns, it was hot and runnels of sweat ran down his padded undershirt. The wood panels under his heavy boots creaked almost as loud as his heavy armor’s jingle. There was a buzzing noise, insects. And the thick, humid salty air that he was used to back at his own port in Etzos.
Not many people paid Gangui any mind. Something completely different than what he was used to. He got some sideways glances of the “you do not belong” type, but it was alright.
Up and down he walked the corridors of wood that comprised the stout yet disheveled architecture of the harbor slums. Barefoot children ran about, more at home than he was of the dark strange land.
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