Night was nearly upon them. Having done what he could to ensure that his suspicions – if proven true – could be dealt with. He was confident in Medja's ability to support him in this matter, and took comfort in that she had willingly obliged him. It was in these moments as he readied his gear, surrounded by the sounds of his men doing the same… he hadn't realized at the time when they had spoke but now he was almost sure that she had tried to say something to him.
It was strange. In those moments he was thinking of where he was now and where he was to go. But now, he thought of then with her by the pool. He thought of those moments in the tent outside of Salitra. As he rode out of the city into the dark of the desert, his thoughts fluttered endlessly around of not the memory of his sister, but the woman he left behind him.
As they rode out into the black, the rider at the rear. He slowly drifted away… unnoticed.
All night they rode. The cool wind snapped their robes and threw sand into the air, pummeling them for hours on end. With squinted eyes he pressed on, determined to find the truth. It had driven him this far, he had to see it through. His men knew this, they trusted him. They followed without so much as a thought of protest.
The morning smiled, and brought them warmth and ushered away the wind. And still they drove on. Finally by mid-day, they'd reached the Valley of Kal'Daarin. It was said millennia ago in this valley, a great and powerful sorcerer waged war with the kingdoms of the east. He was defeated here, but his enemies were crippled and forced to retreat. A great temple once stood somewhere near here.
As the evening drew close, ruins of an ancient city sprung up around them, and beneath them the sound of clacking stone as a rode appeared from beneath the sand.
Ahead of him in the waning light on the horizon – a single figure appeared. He focused upon them, and kicked into his steed’s sides to urge it forward and his men along with him.
He stopped some meters ahead of them, and he dismounted. He approached, and the woman ahead of him just stood there, green eyes peering out beneath layers of cloth.
“Iesha, is that you…?”
She reached for her head covering, and removed it. Ashuanar silently gasped. He beheld her face, her eyes, and as she turned her head he saw the unmistakable… the mark.
“My dear sister” he said, and thoughtlessly he approached her, reaching to her.
Her eyes flashed excitedly as he came near. She grabbed him, pulling him close. He grunted, feeling a sharp pain in his abdomen. He gasped, looking down. He'd been stabbed. His strength began to fade, and his legs buckled. He fell onto his side, with a small knife imbedded in him. His vision began to falter as his head wobbled around.
He turned back to his men. He saw a number of shadows appear from the night, and in moments blood was strung all through the air. Silently flanked, each and every one of them was simultaneously gored, skewered or disemboweled without ever drawing a blade.
And then his vision went dark.
Hours…
Days…
Weeks…
He had no idea now. For how long he had hung there, chained by his arms, he'd long ago lost track.
At one point, he thought he had started to go numb. Each time he felt more flesh tear from his back, and he could feel the air on bare flesh.
He vomited. That point came and abruptly went, and with each strike he let out a gruelingly anguished, and whimpered cry.
“Oh… come now dear brother. These are my best boots!” Thrack!
He spat on them.
“Enough Iesha…”
“Enough!”
She spat on him, tossed the studded whip aside and then hastily made her way away from him. With each breath he breathed, a ragged and weary groan left him. And there he hanged limply, blood dripping from his body - now riddled with wounds.
A large hand grabbed him by the chin, and lifted his bruised and bloodied face to see that of a tall, hooded figure. Fiery eyes peered out from a dark shadow, and a voice like the sound of the rolling thunder which shook the whole land reverberated in his chest.
“Tell me Ashuanar… tell me what I want to know. Help me free your people. I will end the false king's reign..."
Ashuanar struggled, his breath broken and hindered by blood and mucus.
“The dragon. Its weakness. Tell me.”
If Ashuanar could think of anything, is that Aivrid would be vulnerable in his human form… but he refused to even think to say it. He didn't know if that was a truth or not… but there was a possibility that it was.
“If you won't tell me… Nak'Ehim tells me a pretty little sorceress mi-"
The vizier spat a grotesque spit at the beings eye. It fell short and ran down the being's face, who promptly wrapped his hand around Ashuanar's neck, hoisted him several feet off the ground and with a grunt slammed him into the stone wall he was suspended from.
A bright flash as he hit. And then another. And then another.
Gods….Gerra…
And another.
He fell, and the chains grabbed him tearing at his wrists. He coughed and choked and spat. But as the large being turned to leave he, Ashuanar struggled once again to speak.
“The… the dragon… has one weakness,” he panted.
The being turned to look at him, intrigued.
A final bright flash was all he saw before it went dark.
It was strange. In those moments he was thinking of where he was now and where he was to go. But now, he thought of then with her by the pool. He thought of those moments in the tent outside of Salitra. As he rode out of the city into the dark of the desert, his thoughts fluttered endlessly around of not the memory of his sister, but the woman he left behind him.
As they rode out into the black, the rider at the rear. He slowly drifted away… unnoticed.
All night they rode. The cool wind snapped their robes and threw sand into the air, pummeling them for hours on end. With squinted eyes he pressed on, determined to find the truth. It had driven him this far, he had to see it through. His men knew this, they trusted him. They followed without so much as a thought of protest.
The morning smiled, and brought them warmth and ushered away the wind. And still they drove on. Finally by mid-day, they'd reached the Valley of Kal'Daarin. It was said millennia ago in this valley, a great and powerful sorcerer waged war with the kingdoms of the east. He was defeated here, but his enemies were crippled and forced to retreat. A great temple once stood somewhere near here.
As the evening drew close, ruins of an ancient city sprung up around them, and beneath them the sound of clacking stone as a rode appeared from beneath the sand.
Ahead of him in the waning light on the horizon – a single figure appeared. He focused upon them, and kicked into his steed’s sides to urge it forward and his men along with him.
He stopped some meters ahead of them, and he dismounted. He approached, and the woman ahead of him just stood there, green eyes peering out beneath layers of cloth.
“Iesha, is that you…?”
She reached for her head covering, and removed it. Ashuanar silently gasped. He beheld her face, her eyes, and as she turned her head he saw the unmistakable… the mark.
“My dear sister” he said, and thoughtlessly he approached her, reaching to her.
Her eyes flashed excitedly as he came near. She grabbed him, pulling him close. He grunted, feeling a sharp pain in his abdomen. He gasped, looking down. He'd been stabbed. His strength began to fade, and his legs buckled. He fell onto his side, with a small knife imbedded in him. His vision began to falter as his head wobbled around.
He turned back to his men. He saw a number of shadows appear from the night, and in moments blood was strung all through the air. Silently flanked, each and every one of them was simultaneously gored, skewered or disemboweled without ever drawing a blade.
And then his vision went dark.
Hours…
Days…
Weeks…
He had no idea now. For how long he had hung there, chained by his arms, he'd long ago lost track.
Thrack!
At one point, he thought he had started to go numb. Each time he felt more flesh tear from his back, and he could feel the air on bare flesh.
Thrack!
He vomited. That point came and abruptly went, and with each strike he let out a gruelingly anguished, and whimpered cry.
“Oh… come now dear brother. These are my best boots!” Thrack!
He spat on them.
Thrack!
“Enough Iesha…”
Thrack! Thrack!
“Enough!”
She spat on him, tossed the studded whip aside and then hastily made her way away from him. With each breath he breathed, a ragged and weary groan left him. And there he hanged limply, blood dripping from his body - now riddled with wounds.
A large hand grabbed him by the chin, and lifted his bruised and bloodied face to see that of a tall, hooded figure. Fiery eyes peered out from a dark shadow, and a voice like the sound of the rolling thunder which shook the whole land reverberated in his chest.
“Tell me Ashuanar… tell me what I want to know. Help me free your people. I will end the false king's reign..."
Ashuanar struggled, his breath broken and hindered by blood and mucus.
“The dragon. Its weakness. Tell me.”
If Ashuanar could think of anything, is that Aivrid would be vulnerable in his human form… but he refused to even think to say it. He didn't know if that was a truth or not… but there was a possibility that it was.
He would give nothing.
“If you won't tell me… Nak'Ehim tells me a pretty little sorceress mi-"
The vizier spat a grotesque spit at the beings eye. It fell short and ran down the being's face, who promptly wrapped his hand around Ashuanar's neck, hoisted him several feet off the ground and with a grunt slammed him into the stone wall he was suspended from.
A bright flash as he hit. And then another. And then another.
Gods….Gerra…
And another.
He fell, and the chains grabbed him tearing at his wrists. He coughed and choked and spat. But as the large being turned to leave he, Ashuanar struggled once again to speak.
“The… the dragon… has one weakness,” he panted.
The being turned to look at him, intrigued.
“He likes...
...to play with his food!”
...to play with his food!”
A final bright flash was all he saw before it went dark.
Sweet darkness.
Sweet rest.
Sweet rest.
