Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

11th of Vhalar 721

They traveled single file. Demda and her two camels, her thorned horse, and the man she’d sworn never to have dealings with again. The merchant with a heart of onyx, who cackled at death with as much ease as a savanna dog. She was there amidst the sands of the Hotlands once more, having left the verdant forests of Desnind behind her a season ago. The woods had a way of making her feel claustrophobic. Finally, having spent the better part of an arc trying to find her way there, she knew the land, the people, the weather, every part of it didn’t cry out to her. And so she grew restless and needed to ride out, with her animals tethered to her Thorned horse.

And so, she’d arrived, rather haplessly, from the jungles west of the Hotlands. There, she made her way across savanna and drylands, until she ran into that familiar face. The peddler from the Ulema tribe. Dimza Nil.

There was little to converse about when she found him. They had an understanding, that she’d lend her pack animals, and her eyes to scout out any dangers amidst the sands. And he’d lead her to wherever the Ulema were holed out of, these days. And once they’d shaken hands on it, that was that.

Demda sat on the saddle of her thorned horse, at the rear of their procession. Her two camels were ahead of her, tethered to the lead of Dimza, who himself rode his fine chocolate brown camel, clothed and caparisoned in all the brightest colors one could imagine. Turquoise silks, orange, reds, and purples. It all looked too fine, festooning his poor camel with all that regalia. Yet she knew he treasured that damned camel. The past few nights they’d made camp, she could’ve sworn it spit at the back of her head. But now, he lead the way toward the settlement where she’d find her friends in the Ulema. Khorog, and Cantara.

As they made their way, the winds began kicking up. Right in time to show her it was indeed the season of Vhalar starting. The winds were particularly vicious, she remembered, this time of the arc. So she wore her wrapped mask and goggles, in order to see what she could. Her hair was tied in a brain, and beneath a headdress that covered every inch of skin on her upper body. A lower robe, that saw to it that not another inch of her would be exposed to the elements. This was the way one dressed in Vhalar in the desert.

They made their way in a northerly eastern direction. Demda had checked her compass. It pointed the needle to show her which way they were traveling. As they went, they appeared to pick up a hungry wolf, that Demda could notice just beyond the visibility of the sands kicking up. She could see the impression of its body against the winds, with her avriel air sight.

Her eyes narrowed beneath her mask, as she stared back at it, letting her thorned horse march behind the lead of her two camels and Dimza’s. Finally, after what seemed like breaks since he’d said a word, he looked back, and did a double-take. He noticed the wolf, she could tell.

”Picked up a stray, we have.” He slapped his reins against his camel’s sides. ”Best dispatch it now, before others get the idea to track him, thinking he’s found a good meal.”

Demda blinked and then reached down to pick up her pistol crossbow. It was already drawn, she just needed to put one of her quarrels inside. This done, she pivoted in the saddle, pointing it with one hand at the wolf. She squeezed one eye shut as she took aim, and then pulled the release. There was a twang as the string and lathe of the crossbow straightened out, sending the bolt flying with good speed in the wolf’s general direction. She heard no yelp, but the bolt did clatter against the ground, telling her she’d missed. She couldn’t tell in the dust and darkness, even under full moons, whether she’d missed narrowly or wide. She muttered a curse.

”Then again, tis no concern of mine whether it pick up after us. Your horse’s flesh is a delicacy to these thirsty beasts.”

"And what of you? Should a pack of wolves get the scent of its blood, the rest will gauge themselves on your fine camel, and your own hide…"

”My hide is unpalatable to these beasts. I have salt in my veins, and sand in my meat. My hide is tougher than shoe leather…” Dimza barked a laugh, mocking her, ” Yours, on the other hand, part bird-flesh? You would be a treat to these poor dogs!” So he laughed, leaving Demda to worry about the lone wolf trailing their procession.

She swallowed a curse at Dimza, and instead took that energy to wheel her body around, resetting the crossbow with a goat’s foot spanner. Once it was set, she placed another bolt onto its groove. Then, with more careful precision, she aimed again for the wolf. It seemed to be gaining in courage with every bolt that went astray and was at least a third closer than it had been before.

She took aim, leveling the stirrup of the crossbow with what she supposed would be its heart. Then, with a careful squeeze of the trigger, as she tried to steady her arm, the bolt went flying. Right underneath the desert dog. She couldn’t suppress another curse, that flowed between her teeth.

”No matter!” Dimza shouted from the front of their procession. ”I need only be faster on the sands than your animals! And your horse seems to have seen better days, my dear!”

Demda snarled quietly beneath her headwrap, beginning the process of reloading. It took a good half bit for her to work the goat lever again, but once the string was taut and in place, she placed another bolt in. This time, she saw the wolf had gained a few paces on their procession. It could have caught up right away, but Demda supposed with each missed shot, the creature grew bolder.

She took aim, this time holding it closer to her shoulder, and lining up her sight down the stock of the bow. She remembered the angle she’d held it at before, and aimed a little bit above that mark. With a click of the release, the bolt flew through the air. A moment later, the clatter against the ground sounded once more. Demda cursed louder this time, using her favorite Vorkelian oath.

Dimza appeared to quirk at this and turned back to look at Demda, as she worried at the crossbow, reloading it once more. He said to her, ”The green lands to the south have made you soft, girl. She pulled the bowstring back with the goat's foot spanner, cinching it behind the mechanism that would release with a pull of the trigger. ”Mores the pity. I lack the time to properly wait for the wolf to finish, so I can loot your sorry corpse!” He threw his head back with another laugh, and then turned to face forward, watching where they were going.

Demda narrowed her eyes behind her goggles and took mock aim at Dimza. It would’ve been easy, easy to feed him to the wolves, fat target that he was. She held her bow aloft, aimed at his back a moment, before forming an amused grin beneath her mask. She would’ve enjoyed it, as it was, she needed his guidance. But that didn’t mean a girl couldn’t dream.

She pivoted in her saddle and took aim at the wolf, now much closer to her poor thorned horse’s flanks. She took aim, and with a release of the trigger, the bolt flew. This time, resulting in a tell-tale yelp from the desert dog.

”Ahh, luck is with you, my girl! Hurry up and dress him. And don’t waste any of the blood. I only have so much water to spare.”

Sliding off the saddle, she touched down to the ground. Dimza Nil whistled, bringing the procession to a pause.

Over the next break, Demda used her camp knife to harvest what she could off the wolf. The blood was the easy part, draining its heart with a knife thrust, and letting it pool into a funnel that drained into a leather bladder. It wasn’t nearly enough and wasn’t drinkable yet. They’d have to boil it the next time they made camp. But for now, it was safe in the bladder.

Once she’d handled that, she began carving strips of muscle and sinew off of the wolf’s lean carcass. Barely any of it was usable in the end, her butchering skills leaving much to be desired. But she did get a few trophies, some teeth, a tongue, and the brain of the animal that they could use to fry later. The hide was rendered completely useless.

By the time she’d finished her work, Dimza was yawning in his saddle, and the sun was beginning to rise in the distance, over Luesco’s Wall.

She brought what she’d harvested and placed it in her baggage. She gave Dimza a sharp and disapproving look as he pulled down his mask and stared at her with amusement in his eyes. ”We make camp nearby, come, there will be a place for us to make distance some breaks from here.” He looked around her, toward the torn-up carcass of the wolf. ”You left a lot for the scavengers, girl. It won’t do. But perhaps they’ll be satisfied with what they find there. One can hope!”

After saying that, he clicked his tongue, and began moving his camel off, toward the northeast as they ever traveled. Demda leaped back into her thorned horse’s saddle, growling at him. Sands bury the man.