Kaustir, Chapter 2

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Theo the Miner
The tunnel opened up a bit further down, but the trade off for the space was the light. It got very dark very quickly. Theo fished his lantern from the bag and lit it, hanging it on one of his horns to keep his hands free. Doubt reigned in his mind, questioning the autonomous decision he'd made to come down here. Perhaps there was a reason it wasn't populated - perhaps this was where the last Minotaur met his end and it was to be closed. All the same, a morbid curiosity kept him moving.

Twisting to look behind him, he couldn't even see the entryway he'd come from. Thick darkness had blotted out the light of the main tunnels and seemed to be closing in.

The air was strange, and there were strange scuttling, buzzing noises that came and went so quickly and were so quiet Theo had no idea if they were even real or if he'd imagined them.

"Still moving?" Gaios' muffled voice squeaked from his bag. "Maybe stop moving."

"Maybe," Theo gruffly agreed. He kept walking, even as the noise of his hooves changed from a muted clop to a sticky squealch.

The end of the tunnel finally lay before him. It had clearly caved, but the surface smoothed over, as if to try and hide the collapse. Blood specs and some kind of mucus lined the floor and the walls which enclosed him were covered in strange pockmarks. The scuttling little noises returned, tiny heart-beat-like sound waves dislodging more dust and grit from the ceiling.

Theo reached out with his senses, trying to discern the layout of the earth around him but sensed no veins of any ore. Instead he realised, much to his surprise, that this end of the tunnel was once a chamber; hollows existed in the earth around him.

Was it made by his comrades? Or was it a natural chamber? It wasn't unheard of to find them occasionally.
He gripped his pickaxe, took a deep breath, and swung at the wall in front of him. Something stirred beyond and he swung again, and again until there was a hole he could peer through.

Even with the light from his torch, he couldn't see much, but what he did see made his blood freeze.

A multi-faceted eye stared back at him. An angry buzz sounded, resonating in the chamber on the other side, and the eye vanished. A split second later, it spat something out of the hole, landing squarely in Theo's face.

"Gah!" He stumbled backward, trying to wipe it off. The lantern fell to the ground and smashed, the flame smoldering slowly in the corner. It sat on his hand, slimey and gross and then it slowly began to burn. Theo hissed and panicked and smeared it along the wall to get it off his hand: the earth soaked it up. He cursed and grabbed a stone, thrusting it into the hole he'd made to seal it back up, albeit not nearly so securely...

And then he ran.
 
ARANIA VELKA
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Arania had woken the next morning from a sleep so light that she had never really been in the realms of what one would call "sleep". A brief memory from the night before sparked her senses and she opened her eyes. Yes. Seiyr's words. They were definitely getting to her head. And the night before, what she had answered was...

Arania was sure she had misheard, but when she looked up, indeed was the engineer, Seiyr, a woman she was closely known with, there and it was indeed Arania she had talked to. When the woman practically voiced the thoughts going through the nocturne's head, Arania was sure of it. They still carried the same mindset, as back then...
"I believe your words couldn't be better chosen, miss." The politeness in her voice had been deliberate. "But it is not for us to decide the General's worth, I am afraid. She will have to prove her own strength. Our interfering will only be of trouble to her. I am sure of that much."


When she was done recalling the memory, she heard her own name, and her body carried her into a standing position. She had heard it, but it took her about two seconds to get it. When she heard that, she took out the mask that she had gotten ahead of time. It was her and Seiyr's creation together, and she had tested it before. It was definitely successful.

After having put the mask on, she went back into the state of blending in with the lack of shadows around her. She was clothed from top to bottom, even with a hood and all, but she did not seem in any kind of discomfort would one mention the heat.

Arania wasn't that far up the front, but her tall frame spotted over the other people and she noticed the nocturnes leaping at the General. Soon enough, they seemed to be worshipping her. When she got a little closer, what she heard was an amount of different words here and there, and she saw Seiyr talking to two of the males standing up front.

When Seiyr had finished talking and walked off somewhere else, Arania approached her, their careful voices out of hearing range.


"Do you think that she can do this, the General? I am not asking because I want you to agree with me, as figures. But I'm curious... what you might think after this display."
Something like a smile tugged at her lips, and she looked over at General Amalia, though not for so long that the female would notice her.

"I believe you are right about Takeda and K'Jol, but who knows... what kind of people might be hiding inside uniforms on this expidition..." Her words were accompanied by the following silence, as she was careful to see if anyone was looking as she spoke. No one was looking in their direction. She was practically whispering, as well.

"Well... all things in time for their show." She said lastly as she folded her hands in front of her robes, wondering if this was really not a suicide mission, rather than a heroic act... if they even came back, it would be seen as heroic, definitely. But these wastelands... there was something off. Not only with the fact that they were not exactly merciful, but there was something else... something dark underneath the light, almost blazing sand under their feet. [/dash]
 
Amalia accepted the mask with a muttered thanks, her filmy eyes glued on the Wraith. Once they heard their orders, the creatures moved forward. She expected their bodies to move sluggish in the sand and wind, but they glided forward like shadows. The eerie sight made Amalia's stomach churn. Matil leaped from her perch on Amalia's shoulder and onto the head of the camel, eyes attentive.

Coughing, she fastened her mask, and turned her animal to face the caravan, jaw set.

"Lut Sar saved me once, I'm assuming he's doing so again. You will not chop their heads off once this is done with. You can if they pose a threat." Amalia looked pointedly at K'jol, then turned to Takeda and Rakar, catching the swordsman words to the draken. If this were a different time and place she would have comforted Rakar with soothing words, but it seemed that Kaustir wanted to crush anything resembling compassion or forgiveness.

But her eyes roamed over Rakar, taking in his large muscle mass and spiked armor. She definitely did not miss his shield, having no trouble imagining enemies impaling themselves should he charge with it head on. Another buffet of sand and noxious gas made Amalia and her camel shift. An idea formed.

"You want to prove yourself Rakar? Fine. You'll be up front and should anything try to attack us, you are to make sure it doesn't get to us. But stay close. Arania, stay behind me in case we need the herbs changed. Everyone keep close to me, it will make travel easier in this storm. We'll be traveling in the formation of an arrow."

The Wraiths were becoming smaller, their forms camouflaging in the shadows of the rocks. Matil meowed urgently. Amalia kicked her heels against the camel, urging it into a canter.

"If we hurry, we might be able to make it before nightfall!" She shouted into the wind and sand.
 

As the wraiths had appeared around them Nils sat impassively on his camel and watched in silence. He saw as Amalia hesitated but finally produced the item that the wraiths were looking for, grinning Nils spurred his camel so that it was next to Amalia's. "I do have to apologize for my brother, ever since he became leader of the wraiths he has always felt that he needed a theatrical entrance." Chuckling as he watched the wraiths Nils looked back at Amalia. "I just realized this information might change your opinion of me, have no fear general. I am loyal to the Czar only, even if my family might eventually be my enemy. I will do whatever it takes to complete the mission." As he was offered a mask Nils grinned and pushed it away, "I already have my own thank you." Reaching into his pack Nils withdrew a mask that was almost exactly similar to the wraith's, except it had a grinning visage carved into the bottom and had several jagged scars in it. Putting it on Nils glanced at the Amalia, "I will keep an eye on Rakar so as to make sure he doesn't do anything rash ma'am." Giving her a sly wink Nils spurred his camel back to the front of the column and fell line.
 


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K'Jol took the mask, giving a cough before placing it upon his face. He shook his head at Amalia. The way that she disregarded his words reminded him of his late trainer, the man who had the spirits of demons within himself. He shuddered, a shake that was visible to everyone. The Draken then let out a sigh, noticing that he was reminiscing about past events too much. Maybe he should have not gone on this journey. As the others spoke, his mind slowly went blank. The grip on his halberd slowly loosened before calls of an arrow formation put him back into reality. K'Jol nodded at his general's commands, mounting his camel once more before steering the animal in the left side of the formation. He rose his voice loud enough so that it would traverse the area that the group was within.

"Be wary of everyone we meet out here. The only ones that we can truly trust are ourselves, regardless of whether or not Lut Sar had these Wraiths come to assist..."


The statement was a small stab at Amalia, and a small revealing light on his past.

 
Dorgrad

On the third day, they saw the gates of hell.

The wraiths were but one of many sentinels in the toxic wastes. Between ash cloud, rock spire and acid swamp, dozens of enigmas lurked. The Ipari Guards were masked and veiled, and carried arcana unseen in Avarath. Each a lone knight, holding solitary watch. In this sight was written the history of Kaustir - the tale of how creatures weird and powerful had prevailed over the desert. A legacy of Nocturnes, Drakens and cursed humans. There was magic in their blood. They should have been dead, and yet they lived, and cast abyssal stares towards the newcomers. The closest kind to the living dead.

A spiral groove, cut through the jagged rockscape, led them down to the ember glow of the mine entrance. The breach was massive, inlaid with stone steps and chain pulleys. It was the mouth which fed the war machine, spewing tonnes of ore for the daily convoys to Zirako and Avarath. Far below, a perpetual hum of rattling chains, murmuring voices, magma fires and industry. To hear it was to imagine the world inverted; all life below and far from the wasteland. What were they then, but shadows, shades of the otherworld returning?

A single shadow peeled from the embers and for the next hour climbed the path to meet them.

The figure only stopped when Rakar extended a blade to keep the distance. Pausing, the stranger eyed the Draken, then peered beyond his shoulder at Nils. A voice, sharp and feminine, rang behind the breather mask. "You've gotten your colour back."

Nils saluted from the saddle then spoke to Amalia. "General Lortik - Warden Bracht of the Ipari."

The warden bowed. "Welcome to Dorgrad, General. The Ipari Watch are at your disposal." She turned immediately and led the caravan onwards. Though her voice was aged, like a mother's, the Warden's gait did not concur. She moved with grace across the well-worn rocks.

"The ravens brought word of your coming. But the sketch of the tablet was a poor one. The Dorgrad sages cannot interpret it."

She paused as ash came rolling across the landscape, passing in waves across the mine opening. It was thick and black, clinging to clothes and painting outlines around the camels. The Warden remained still, head lowered. And when the cloud had passed she resumed. "But for every map there is a Minotaur." Her black mask eyes peered at Amalia. "I have one in mind. A master of mazes. Comrade Theophrastus Maladas. If there is power in that stone - if the stone itself is the map - then Theo will know the truth of it."

Warden Bracht motioned to the expedition to dismount. A tent nearby awaited, promising shelter to the animals, and beyond it the first stone steps that would take them down into the throat of Dorgrad.
 


Takeda couldn't help but go wide eyed at the site and sounds of Dorgrad. The mine was only something he had read about, but always wanted to travel to. He read that even a small ball of ore could repair even the most patchiest of weapons. Takeda quickly moved his hand to the hilt of his blade as he watched Rakar draw on a stranger, sticking close to Amalia. He only relaxed after the stranger an Nils started speaking. She was introduced as Warden Bracht and Takeda gave a slight bow out of respect. As the group dismounted Takeda continued to stick close to Amalia "General stay close." he whispered.
 
Avarath, brown
"Exemplary reasoning."

Lut scanned his finger across the reports.

"How? The humans drink the most water and succumbed first. The Drakens drink less and let the disease fester, so we see a more progressed stage of illness. From there, we know that it starts from the water and spreads by air."

"Where?" Nae provided the answer, scratching a rough pattern of the aqueducts from memory into the wood desk. If Lut flinched, he only did it inwardly. The troll highlighted a sub-aqueduct that matched with the infection pattern, as all the nearby, unconnected neighbourhoods were unaffected.

"Why? Who?"

Lut did not expect the two in the caravan to know the answer, but high lighting the other two details let the pieces of the puzzle slide into place in his head. His job, after all, was to know how people worked.

"We," he spoke softly, avoiding naming specific people, "have made many enemies as we brought people under the shadow of the Desert Sun. Not only nations, but cities, town, villages .. and people, we have made enemies of."

His expression darkened. "I have made many enemies myself." Visions of his Wraiths flowing over a village. Screams echoed in cavernous night. His own hand, wielding a small axe, chopping down homes and bodies alike. Blink. Groups of nomadic folk being lead to inquisition camps. Blink. Blood pooling out from underneath the waxed tent fabric. Blink. His own panting, as he knelt at one, lapping up the sweet nectar.

Blink. Nae could taste the memories in the air. Regret .. or was it nostalgia?

...

"It is likely a Viridosian, as you said, Draegal. But we will have to catch the culprit to be sure."

Lut smiled at them both. "I thank you for your help with this problem. I have earmarked a nearby caravan for you, for our return to Zirako; please excuse me so I can confirm our deductions." He sat down in the severe wooden chair next to the desk, and was soon lost in thought. Thoughts about something, at the very least.
 
She dismounted with a groan. The General made her entire party ride hard to get here and her body was paying the price. Three days out on the desert with little food or water was taking its toll on Amalia. Flakes of skin fell from her sunburnt neck, a rash was developing where her buttocks rubbed against the saddle, but at least they had made it here without anyone getting hurt.

And Amalia intended to keep it that way when they returned home.

... Home. Amalia's home was in Zirako, not Avarath. The thought of returning there with all that had happened was not a pleasant thought. But the woman would deal with it later.

She nodded to Takeda and looked back to the tent where their animals were held. Workers arrived to take off their saddles and watered them. As Amalia was about to request water and food for her parched party, it arrived on small metal trays carried by an emaciated human. There were flasks of water, grilled fungi, camel stew, and a bottle of what was undoubtedly Kreshnik. She knew the workers in Dorgrad never ate this well.

Her stomach rumbled in gratitude, but Amalia couldn't keep her eyes off the human. He looked to be in his late teens, gaunt, and fragile. She heard of war prisoners being sent here to work to their deaths, but kicked the urge to ask about this boy's story.

Amalia nodded in thanks, grabbed a flask of water and a bowl of stew and proceeded to eat. In between bites - the general ate while standing - she fired off her questions.

"Do the sages know what the Divine Weapon even is? Is it a sword, a shield, or a staff? And can this Theo even be trusted?" She spat out a piece of bone and looked at Nils. There was a look of wariness in her eyes. Withholding information about the Wraiths out in the wastes could have costed their lives. "The Czar executes those who believe in the Gods, and now he is pursuing a weapon that is considered divine. Does this not trouble anyone?"

Amalia looked at everyone. The question wasn't just for the warden, but for everyone nearby.
 
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Upon Warden Bracht's forehead a golden disc shifted, Aux light flashing tarot glyphs. Neither food nor drink was offered to her. She stood statuesque as the servants moved around her.

"Our conclusion was the same as the Czar's magi. The Tears of Uvekay."

Another dust cloud swept the land as the name was uttered. Perhaps the world heard it. Perhaps the ashes of ancient war were stirred in painful memory.

"The goddess of the mountain spring, who wept as war broke out. Her tears turned to stone, and rained upon the old world..."

The Warden looked to Amalia, sick-green eyes behind the narrow slits of her mask.

"...So the stories say."

Other emaciated workers swept the steps behind her, clearing dust from the descent into the red-hued maw. The stone slabs were two feet apart, driven separately into the shaft like gapped teeth. One would almost have to jump between them. For a half-mile they spiralled downwards. It was no wonder the Warden had offered refreshments before starting the descent.

Bracht crossed her gloved hands, with a glimpse of blackened scar tissue at her wrists.

"You speak truly, General. It is heresy to worship gods. Yet we may study them as we study insects, and take their bones as our own."

She ushered an Ipari guard to light lanterns and hand them, one by one, to the expedition members.

"We do not worship the volcano. Yet we acknowledge its power. The Czar believes the same of this weapon."
 


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K'Jol eyed the Ipari Warden before turning his sights to the other sentinels of Dorgrad. He was not one to be intimidated by most things but this area was way too out of the ordinary for him. A familiar slithering sound behind his ear brought him back to his senses. U'Sil was notifying him that it was alright, and that there was no need to worry. A small smile came upon his lips before disappearing, being covered by a look of seriousness now. The famed warrior then dismounted his camel before watching a few workers take it over to the rest. He leaned his head from left to right, cracking the bones within. A loud grumble than emanated from his stomach, an action that also made his mood sour. He sat down with the group before seeing a rather frail girl walk up to him, giving him a plate full of the foods that his general had gotten before him. K'Jol gave her a nod before watching her walk away into the shadows.

"Rather frail legs..."


The Draken then removed his mask. He dumped the tray of foods into his mouth, chomping down loudly as food flew from his mouth. A few pieces of skin and meat flew into the lap of Seiyr and the face of Takeda. A small grin came upon his face before gulping down the rest of his meal, listening to the conversation between the Ipari general and his own. He decided that he would put in his own two sense as well.

"Well, whatever it is as long as it makes Kaustir stronger it does not matter to me. My old master always told me that everything must be for Kaustir, a philosophy that I only slightly agree with. Doesn't matter what we think anyways. All we are are slaves to the Czar. If he tells us to fight, then we must. To search, then we must. To die, then we must."

A sigh came left his lips as he looked to the side. A supernatural source of water doused the fiery fighting spirit within him for that moment.

 
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Takeda was surprised to see such under fed servants.... but then again they were in Dorgard. He had heard about the amount of war prisoners brought there.... every action has a consequence he knew that better than anyone. Takeda took a flask of water and splashed some on his sand caked face "Ah much better." A rather young looking servant girl brought him a rag "Ah thank you my dear." he smiled. She then brought him a bole of stew and some grilled fungus. Takeda took the bole and half of the fungus on the plate "Take the other half to someone who needs it more than I" he winked at her, she smiled back, and ran off with it. For a second he saw an image of small girl he once knew in the servant and his eyes widened "Aika?" he whispered. He was snapped back to reality when a piece of meat was slapped across his face. It took a second for Takeda to register what happened, then confusion turned to anger "Sloppy animal!" Takeda roared the echo trailing its way down the opening of the mine shaft. He took the rag from earlier and wiped his face off and offered it to Seyir "Forgive the oafish beast, the famed warrior is not the brightest." his words sharp. Takeda quickly ate the rest of his meal and pushed his way past K'jol to grab a lantern for himself and Amalia.
 
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Seiyr
[dash=red]Seiyr took in the dank atmosphere of Dorgrad, breathing in the familiar scents of musk and machine. Although it was not the first time she ventured to the city her hairs still stood on end descending into the darkness. It reminded her of an ancient underground tomb, sitting above the battlefield of the Cataclysm.

Perhaps it was just that.

Her appetite was sour, as it had been since the expedition ensued. Through dark circled eyes she watched the servants hobble to and fro, their unusual gait further upsetting the engineer's stomach. The sounds of skittering echoed through the cave, notifying the party that they were not alone. But it was not the bugs that bothered her.

Detached voices spoke in her ear, humming and speaking incoherently, barely noticeable. The passageways into Dorgrad were haunted by the earth above. Even her Aux seemed diminished, a mere ghost of itself.

A piece of burnt skin landed in Seiyr's lap, causing the paranoid blonde to jump. She glanced toward the hungry draken; Takeda sat on her opposite side. Upon offering the rag, she had accepted with a genuine thank you. His polite demeanor was a stark and welcomed contrast to the Czar's, and it cleared up some of the mist that clouded her mind. Despite this, a chill still crept down the woman's spine.[/dash]
 
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Theo the Miner
The response Theo had been expecting to his news of something very bad in one of the branches of tunnel and the response he got were unfortunately not one in the same.

Foreman Henvit was shocked to see Theo, not because he was screaming about bugs, but because he had been somewhere he shouldn't have been. He huffed and puffed and urged Theo to calm down because he was just seeing things - everything was fine and the Chamber was extremely safe. Upon Theo's adamant pleas, the Draken switched tactics and threatened a session in the Corrections Hall if Theo didn't stop trying to disrupt workflow.

It was around this time Theo realised it was hopeless to carry on... Perhaps he had been seeing things? Surely if there was any threat the foreman would have taken it seriously and moved out. He was ordered to carry on, because "we've got quotas to meet!" and he carried out his order hesitantly but obediantly, across the Chamber's hub and down another tunnel.

He left just in time to miss Henvit walking briskly out of the Chamber. The higher ups knew things they weren't telling anyone. Everything was to go on as normal... but Theo's panic had startled the Draken. He had to alert the Commissariat that the guards sent in to extract the previous deceased Minotaur had evidently failed to clear the area of danger, as he had been told.

En route, he told a group of idle runners to begin preparation to close down that branch completely - if there was anything left down there, at least it would be buried under rubble.

All the while, completely unaware of who had arrived far above them.
 
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The sight of the massive ships set Tharwa's heart thudding with excitement.

She had never traveled outside of Avaranth. The farthest she’d been was a few miles past the city gates, scrounging for a matching pair of Desert Twin blooms. She had resigned herself to the idea that adventure was out of reach for a girl of meager means.

Who would have thought that it would take a deceptively rotund merchant to broaden her horizons?

All things considered, she rather liked her new employer, despite K’larr’s penchant for crowding one’s personal space. This doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t give him a sour look or two, especially when he asks laconic questions like: "Is there a shortage of cloth where you come from?" in a tone that suggests she is all but prancing around naked, when in fact, she’s wearing her best Ghagra Choli.

**********************

The ship was partitioned into three tiers - the bottom deck housed the oarsmen; the middle has the crew’s quarters, a war room, and a long gangway for archers and artillerymen, while the top deck is capped by spiked iron plating designed to withstand a volley of arrows and discourage pirates from boarding the ship. Tharwa must’ve asked a hundred questions to Lochan as they boarded the interior. To his credit, the mayor’s assistant was gracious enough to answer each one.

“It’s the one that says bloody Mark’hah Trench on it!”

An angry roar erupted from inside the war room. The door burst open and a man stumbled outside like the hounds of hell were nipping at his feet. His posture was defeated, his face pale, and eyes red-rimmed from the shame of recent tears. Tharwa peered inside; curious to see what, or who, could have made a grown man cry.

**********************

“Captain… that was our last applicant for the position of Sailing Master.” The ship’s Quarter Master wrung his hands, cowering a little under the Captain’s furious gaze. “We might not get anyone who can read the nautical charts on such a short notice.”

“You say that piece of unlearned filth could read our charts? When he has trouble pointing out something so clearly labeled on the map?”

“In all fairness, that label is a bit small and difficult to read. With a bit of your tutelage, he might shape up and be able to –”

“Enough!” The Captain cut off the Quarter Master with a decisive, slicing motion of his hand. “I have no time for hand-holding or excuses. I have a warship to run. If we cannot find a suitable Sailing Master, then this responsibility would fall on your shoulders.”

“Wha-whaat? But- but I am not comfortable using the Mariner’s Compass, or even the simple Cross Staff. I would really make a muck of it. Please, I beg of you, reconsider!“


“Rolfe.” The Captain gripped his young Quarter Master’s shoulder. “I have known you since you were a wee babe. Your father served with me during the war with the sea-faring tribes. I think now is the best time to let you know, and this comes from the depths of my well-meaning heart, that your mewling sickens me. I have faith in your abilities. It infuriates me when you sell yourself short. Sink or swim, lad!”

His gaze finally caught on the blaze of colored silk and exposed flesh near the door, and Tharwa soon found herself looking at the scarred face of Captain Barkah Haradhah, the notorious Merlion of Prosperos.

IZNqauO.jpg

“Why is there a concubine on my ship?!” Captain Barkah was back in roaring form. “Damn merchants!”

Tharwa huffed, annoyed at Barkah’s presumption on her occupation. I beg your pardon. My job here is to search the bottom of the Mark’hah Trench. How long until we get there?”

 
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The smell of hot food filled Rakar's senses before the sight of it. It had been days since any of them had had a hot meal, and longer still since Rakar had one that smelled as good. After dismounting, Rakar looked to the servants carrying various delights with a small smile. First he took some water, pouring half of it out onto his head, and the other half into his mouth. With a sigh of relief, he took a helping of camel stew, and was about to take a glass of Kresnik before his senses came back to him. He still had a job to do, and drinking on the job when it was only half done was probably not a good idea. He didn't want to be blamed if something went wrong when he wasn't at his best.

Rakar sat with the others and ate hastily, listening to the conversation around him. It intrigued him to hear the general's view on the matter, as well as the views of his comrades. It seemed that he and K'Jol might have something in common after all, aside from being of the same species. Coros was walking around the group, taking in the sights. It was the first time they had been in this city, and it was unlike anything they had seen before. And for once, Rakar decided to speak up when the General asked them what they thought on the matter of the mission.

"He is the Czar, he does whatever he pleases. It is not my place to pass judgement on his thoughts and actions, only to follow orders when they are given. I see no harm in retrieving such an item if it is for the Motherland, regardless of it's origin."

Rakar finished the last of his meal before standing and joining the General. He took his tower shield onto his left arm, and took a lantern in his right hand before giving Amalia a nod in respect. She may not be truly fit for the job, but she was his superior, and he treated her as such.

"Shall I continue in front, behind the Warden? Or would you prefer my shield by your side?"

 
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My name is Nasim Imadi.

I was born in the twelfth-score year of the Red Sun, to the tribe of Yasir-Zahir. I was, as my father before me, a bramgoat herder, and have the honour of seven journeys around the borders of Kaustir. I have seen many wonders of the Red Nation, yet none so beautiful as my wife, Suraya, who I met in the meat markets of Avarath. To me she bore two sons and three daughters, each as lovely as herself, and made introduction for me to the imperial menagerie. From the age of twenty-nine I have served in the household of the Summer Palace, from apprentice to journeyman, from journeyman to keeper of the royal bestiary.

It has been three winters since Suraya passed. And three days since my service in the Summer Palace ended.

My bones are old ones, brittle as the glass mountains. There is blackrot in my lungs. My eyes are dim. When I heard the screaming, three mornings ago, I could only move so fast. I had been trimming leaves in the orchard, and seven halls and four feasting chambers divided me from that fearful sound. Yet make my way I did, past soldiers and ministers who had turned blind eyes to the noise.

And when at last I came to the menagerie house, at the west wing of the palace, it was to a sight that be stay with me till my last days.

My menagerie was my pride, my second family gathered through decades of imperial charter, expeditions and careful breeding. A cactul ostrich from the steppes of Valisha, grey-feathered and scale-legged. Three lily cats with spotted fur. A family of desert blue finches. The mangol longhair of Upper Carstrad. A rare Drakenfly from the eastern coast; and a brace of magma lizards - these but the choice specimens of many, many creatures.

In that moment I beheld only pieces of them. Their sounds were no more. Feather, bone and scale were strewn on blood carpets, amid sundered cages and toppled plants. What was once my menagerie was now a slaughterhouse.

And there, at the centre of this carnage, I saw him. The Desert Sun. A lily cat was in his hand, its blood in his throat. I did what any man must do, and made to kneel in his presence. But barely had I bent my shaking legs when I heard another sound. The most important sound that I, or any man, should witness in these times.

He wept.

Czar Lukesh dropped the cat and shed hot tears before me. Hands bloodied and trembling pressed to his temples. He shook. As if waking from a nightmare the horror of his deeds seemed to strike the Nocturne all at once. And in one corner of the killing floor his Aux was still, curled up like the newborn.

I was at a loss. I continued in my efforts to kneel, when suddenly he was before me. And then the Czar embraced me, and cried upon my shoulder. Never before had we spoken, and yet he wept with me in that moment, and smeared my robes with blood.

To this day I believe I was witness to revelation, to a gift from the sands as my life runs out. The Burning Sun is not a fiend, not a monster come to haunt us. Nor is he tyrant, as some tongues proclaim. For in that sight I found the truth of him, and of all Nocturnes. The thirst is not their own. They suffer in their flesh, and none more than he, the Burning Czar. Burning within and without.

My menagerie is gone and my service is ended. Decision was made last night by the Ministry of Water. I am to join the Long March. I go with all citizens of eighty winters or more, with those lame or infirm, with the criminals of the Avarathi jail, and the children pronounced simple by the High Alchemist. We tread the desert as one behind the Czar and his soldiers, perchance to win our freedom should we survive till Zirako.

That luck will not be mine. My sons and daughters know this and have begged me to flee, to hide away or fight my case with the Ministry. But such are not the deeds of old men. I will die as I was born, on the herding paths of the Red Desert.

My bags are packed. The Imperial Army is leaving Avarath. I have told my children not to grieve for me. For I go now with Czar Lukesh, and follow him with the knowledge that he is more than what we know. This is a Sundered World, yet the Red Tyrant weeps and takes strangers into his arms. A miracle in the desert.

I will die on the Long March, and return to the Water Below, where Suraya waits for me. And one day grass and fruit trees will grow above me, and blue finches sing. I will sleep as Kaustir is healed.

My name is Nasim Imadi. And may the Desert Sun shine on all of us.

 
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He walked. It was often his choice. The long hours of daylight saw his silk-wrapped silhouette at the head of the column, with only the forward scouts beyond him. Czar Lukesh trod the sands with camels, great elephants and riding geckos. It was his message. For he who wore the mantle of the Desert Sun must be as strong as any son of Kaustir.

He walked because he could. Because it would not kill him. Because all men and women must stand tall in this world.

And in his thoughts he judged Gulzar Ganguly. The Mayor of Avarath had given blessing to the coming war, yet it was an obedience laced with conditions. Gulzar had made his own demands and drawn his own lines in the sand. Such presumption would send the radicals of Zirako into screaming fits. They would call for Gulzar's head, for the razing of Avarath and the slaughter of the merchants. Yet only if Lukesh told them. And for now, he remained silent. Three enemies awaited him in the days head. Pegulis, Viridos... and the merchant guilds of Hosia and Avarath that bridged them. A different blade would be needed for each foe.

The departure from Avarath had shaken the desert. Fanfares had roared in every street. Confetti grain and petals had rained. A second gauntlet of dancers, drummers and street children had followed the Imperial Army as it marched and ran ahead to clear the market squares and promenades. To see the soldiers in full regalia was a golden moment in one's life. Some would never see it again. Some would look back on it in later years. Those who joined the thronging crowds to scream the Czar's name did so with a sense of history hanging over them.

The Long March was life and death, beauty and horror. At the rear of the village-sized caravan, a train of convicts, cripples and old men trudged. No water nor mounts for them, only the promise of liberation should they keep from falling. Legends were made from prisoners who survived the journey between the cities - but they were a number counted on one hand. Most, if not all, would drop in time, and be left to the buzzards.

Setting out into the southern sandstorms, the polished armour of the soldiers soon dirtied. The coast of the Prosperos Sea was thick with sediment, and salt piles collected like strange fungus along the shore. Here and there they saw towering columns of sodium, glass and mud. Like a metal forest, submerged. Spice traders and gondolas cut between the towers to bid them farewell. But as they moved beyond the cactus fields, only camel herders and Kresnik brewers shared the wasteland. The army ventured where life was extinguished. The first day was sand and salt and death.

A mesa gave them shelter on the first night. Camp was made on the island rock, high above the detritus. And sleep was found with the troubled shadows of vultures, gargoyles and locusts circling.

The second day was fire and smoke. They skirted the Southern Furnace, a region large as a country itself that still burned from the time of the Cataclysm. Chemical seas fed the inferno and rose to curtain clouds of black and purple. The sun was eclipsed and the Nocturnes delighted. Between the acid showers the convoy moved in leaps and bounds to cross the darklands.

Shelter that night was in the lair of the Sandworms - great tunnels burrowed through the slate fields. It was cool underground and meals of fungus were ample. They slept to the sound of murmuring volcanoes and the bubble of distant magma.

On the third day, they followed the Road of Bones. Massive graveyards marked the way to Zirako, great canyons crossed by spine bones, mountains scaled by rib cages. A great many beasts had perished here, and each was gargantuan in size. The convoy's progress was watched by scavenger packs and by the huge eye-sockets of half-buried skulls.

A journey surreal and desolate. It erased the softer memories of Avarath. Those who beheld the glittering walls of Zirako that evening thought no more of bath houses, exotic whores and delicate cuisine. The merchant world had faded, and in its place came iron and suffering. This was the land of stone. The land of discipline and servitude.

This was Zirako.

 
"He's seen them. He must die!"

"You said yourself, it was a glimpse."

Foreman Henvit hissed and cocked his snake-head low. "Comrade Maladas asks too many questions!"

"And we have lost too many minotaurs," countered the Commissar. The Avian towered above the Draken, and shadows cast by the magma river conspired with his military coat. Henvit felt as if he were speaking to a monolith of blackness. "Theo will do as all good citizens of the Worker's Paradise. He will keep his head down and his mouth shut."

Henvit gripped his notebook Aux anxiously. "You risk too much."

The Avian's wings spread slowly, and the face of the Commissar leant down towards the foreman. "There are no risks..." he whispered, "...when God is on your side."

There was noise above, a pebble clattering from the great steps of the Dorgrad shaft. The co-conspirators looked up and saw the spiraling oil lamps of the expedition. With slow and tentative leaps between the slabs, Amalia and her companions were descending with Warden Bracht.

The Avian Commissar stepped further into shadow. "The group from Avarath have arrived. This is your section, Henvit. Greet them. And find out why they are here."

He left no time for the Draken to retort. With a spread of his black wings, the Commissar dropped from the ledge and swooped down into the crimson haze of the mine shaft.

Henvit was left alone. He hissed nervously then looked up again. For the next hour he paced and watched the slow progress of Amalia's group. There were upwards of twenty - imperial soldiers of the First Army, together with mercenaries and desert guides. It was no idle visit. That much was certain from the Warden's presence.

When at last the expedition cleared the final step, they found the Draken foreman kneeling on the turret platform that serviced this particular section of underground.

"Welcome to Chamber Fifteen, General Amalia. All hail the Desert Sun."

Warden Bracht was at the head of the arrivals. She crossed quickly to the Draken. "Foreman Henvit, the general is in need of your assistance."

"Anything I can do to aid the great g--"

"I'm told that Comrade-Adjunct Theophrastus Maladas transferred to this section. We must speak with him immediately."

For a moment Henvit was paralyzed. He stared at the Warden, then at Amalia. His tongue flicked back and forth. "Theo...? Why?"

Warden Bracht clapped his shoulder. "Bring us to him."

Still he did not move. "He is... he is busy..."

"No busier than the First General of Kaustir." Now the Warden's words lost their courteous edge. Henvit considered further reply, then fell silent, took a few steps back, then turned.

"Yes yes, of course. This... this way." He opened the service hatch on the turret and led them down a flight of inner steps. Parchments flapped on the walls of the stairwell - crude depictions of the Czar, framed by the desert sun, his hand outstretched as various slogans proclaimed the glory of hard work and equality.

They were moving into the heart of Dorgrad. And none was sweating so much as Foreman Henvit as they sought Theo's whereabouts.
 
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The third day. The only day Lut sat outside, sitting with his drivers to observe the landscape. This segment of the journey was the only part he truly enjoyed. Although he may have been the most traveled person in Zirako, the arduous path only permitted sparingly few trips. But every time, he sat outside and endured the sun.

So that he could live in Fantasy.

The same questions crossed his mind, the same questions that he asked himself when he was on his yearly tour of Dorgrad. Actually, they weren't really questions, but just discomfort. He directed his carriage to pass through the the colossal, arching pillars of bone. What giant organs pumped in their depths, what deep tones their guts, full of liquid fire, would have made! What was the world where creatures beyond understanding roamed these lands?

And now, his Czar had sent their new General to pursue a relic from Fantasy. Despite the heat, he felt a shiver go up his spine.

The shiver was from something else. Lut skipped off the cart onto a nearby camel, riding it briefly to the back of the caravan. Another one was about to die. The hopefuls had trailed the caravan like a long ink blot, slowly weathered away each day by the wind and sand. Now, only a few splotches remained. The Long March was precisely metered to three days for a reason.

He dismounted and approached the old man. He was not yet gaunt, but the death had taken over his eyes. Lut walked beside him, and asked the same questions he often did at this part of the journey.

"Your name?"

Nasim. Whispered through blood flecked lips.

"Your occupation?"

...

"Your family."

...

Lut smiled, laughed. "Your thoughts?"

..?

"Maybe. Perhaps."

..!

He shook his head. Finally: "Your will."

The withered flower collapsed in the sand. Lut bent, to drink of its nectar, but their conversation made him hesitate. Instead, he placed a small sack of seeds inside the brown and brittle petals, splashed a bit of water on them, and rode back to his carriage.
 
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