Private Tales God help the outcasts or nobody will

[White Swallow]

It was always hot in Amol-Kalit, but today seemed a little colder. The sun was hidden by graying clouds, yet it shone through like a golden disc.

The banners of many would fly after the commanders in this long line.
The golden arrows and stars on red. The white swallows on black. The White shield and gold flowers on a field of green. A red rearing horse on black.

It was nothing short but an oasis of colour in a place robbed of life. Despite being united, not all were here to protect Ultuk Barna, the prized guest of the Sayyiduna. It was simply safer to travel together.
The white swallow's black banner was there from the start, picked up at the edge of Amol-Kalit after a series of odd-raced escord on contract.

The Swallow himself was not far from the orc, riding slowly onward somewhere in the middle of the line.
Occasionally he would glance back at him, appearing as if wanting to say something but nothing would come from his lips.

 

[Ultuk Barna]

This was indeed an odd journey for Ultuk. It had been some months since he had left his work in the Aberresai Savannah. There had been promising leads, and he had taken many notes and sketches on another variant of the wasting disease. He had even had a brief run-in with a far more rare and transmissible disease in the form of a Raaka. But his interest in the wasting diseases is what brought him so far west, and under armed guard; a courtesy provided by his host, the Sayyiduna. Ultuk had heard the term, but was not familiar with the local dialect, and so its meaning was lost to him save that it was a position of power.

As for his current protectors, they were a band of warriors. Mercenaries seemed too harsh a title for them. Indeed they were no doubt capable of great violence, and they no doubt worked for coin. But they were loyal, it seemed, and organized. Their leader was a man of few words, at least that Ultuk had heard. If it came to a fight, the old Orc would be happy to see their reported prowess on the field.

Such was the impression for Ultuk as they rode through the desert toward their destination. He had spoken little with any in the ever-shifting caravan, and judging by the nature of his current host's glances, Ultuk decided he had better stow his notes and strike up the conversation himself. The desert wasn't going anywhere quickly.

So, slowly, Ultuk made his horse push a little further ahead until his awkward riding put him side-by-side with the commander, known as The White Swallow.

"Captain. Or should I call you Commander?" Ultuk's towering form sat dangerously on the back of a horse in an arrangement neither rider nor beast seemed pleased with. "I assume you know the reason for my being here. I can't imagine how my research would interest another warrior, even one as talented as your reputation suggests. And yet you seem interested in speaking." Ultuk remained calm and unflustered under the piercing gaze of his host, though a level of respect was garnered by the Orc when his heart was tempted to know awe at the sight of those eyes. "So here I am. It is a long ride I believe, and I think it best we build some level of rapport, as warrior to warrior." Ultuk offered a hand down, spanning the bulk of the distance between them. "And, I must say, I am intrigued by what you might have been wanting to ask of me until now."

 

[White Swallow]

The white swallow would turn his head towards him. »They call me the white swallow. «

He would nod his head in turn. The importance of the orc was disclosed to him and his arrival to Sey-Kube first and then it's neighbours were of utmost importance.
»Apologies if my words sting as rude. Rarely do orcs stray into Amol-Kalit, and usually such trips never end without bloodshed. The Sayyiduna seems to have a high opinion of a man of your skill, regardless of their creed or origin.«

»Do your brethren share a similar mind or are the incendiaries...the norm?«

 

[Ultuk Barna]

Ultuk barely restrained a chuckle at the Swallow’s question. “No! No. You are quite right on that front. Many of my brethren bring their bloodlust with them, but not all. Depending on tribe, it really comes down to whether they embrace the rage and our heritage of war, or whether they embrace the ways of the Shamans. Each is capable of the sheer brutality that you have no doubt witnessed, but most do not embrace it as their entirety.”

Ultuk tried adjusting his position somewhat unsuccessfully, and after a few moments gave up. “Though you are not wrong on my being an oddity. Most do not know this, though I do not hide it. I abhor the rage. When you lose control and maintain that level of bloodthirst, it can end poorly. No,” Ultuk sighed, “I have given myself to the task of helping others. If I can end a scourge, I will. Now perhaps a question for yourself, being somewhat a mystery yourself. What made you seek the life that you see now?”

 

[White Swallow]

The swallow nodded along, slowing his mount only briefly to ride along Ultuk side by side.

»It is not a life I would have imagined for myself. I was a street wretch with no honour of my own. Like many other nithings we had nothing to our name untill the Sayyiduna came and offered us another chance in life. He gave us sword and shield to fight for his cause. He's a merciful man to those truly willing to change. And this is why we, I, fight for him.«

 

[Ultuk Barna]

“This Sayyiduna must truly be remarkable. I must say, I appreciate the honor of serving such an individual. Not everywhere is my quest received so well. There are many who would not even see me, let alone bring me in.” Ultuk’s gaze wandered high as he covered his eyes. Then returning them lower, he connected with his host’s. “It shames me to admit it, but my journey has made me painfully aware of the flaws of my people. Many of the leaders actively seek bloodshed. The young and brash. I find i am less like them every day. Every corpse succumbed to disease is another failing that I learn from.”

Ultuk sighed heavily, his shoulders then straightened. “What is the nature of the wasting illness that we will see? Or are you not familiar with it?”

 

[White Swallow]

»Indeed, The Sayyiduna accepts those worthy, even all those whom have been discarded by their own communities«

The swallow briefly rose his hand to explain before being cut by another.
»A wasting illness, indeed it is. The body swells and rots, it is covered in lesions. Those with it loose touch and vision, sometimes fingers from wear.«
Out of nowhere rode out the second in command of the man carrying the banner in green. His horse was light russet and tacked plainly. The man had a light beard and mustache, his face was weathered but finely chiseled yet soft on the eyes. His eyes carried a certain kind of calmness and reassurence. He wore a yellow turban around his head and a red cloak around his padded clothes and armour.