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Zaroud - Desert Warrior
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xx Zaroud
« Thread started on: Dec 8th, 2009, 7:25pm »

He opened his eyes with difficulty, the heat making it pointless to exert too much of his body. A slow, movement of his eyelids, revealing for him, along the horizon, a gradually growing cloud of dust. At first, his eyes thought they saw a rising sand storm, not unfamiliar here in the tahari, but the clouds upon clouds of rolling dust, suddenly began to take shape, and he could see at a distance, strange forms which slowly began to come into focus. Aretai Raiders! Heading for His father’s caravanserai. His eyes now alert, his heart thumping maniacally against his weather beaten chest, he looked around, the slave girls need to be hobbled and packed into cages on the wagons, his father, the beasts culled, the Aretai should not take anything that doesn’t belong to them. There was only death now. Rising, he ran to his father’s tent. His father, smoking a pipe, looked at him warmly, but the expression changed. Zaroud did not have to say a single world. His eyes were enough. “The girls”, the old man said. “Get help to cobble them, I will deal with the animals,” Zaroud said. He ran out of the tent, the cloud was approaching, and the cries of the Aretai, tearing his soul trough. He knew they were coming for him.

Reaching the beasts, he slipped out his blade, slicing the tendons of the cobbled feet of the animals. He could not kill them, but in case the Aretai wanted more, they would be useless to them. In time, though, they would heal. Raiders would not want to be burdened by beasts that cannot make a fast getaway. Once done, the beasts, screaming in torturous bellows, he raced to help with the slave girls, screaming now in hopeless terror. There she was, his beast, yalena, her plaintive eyes, speechless, yearning. He unlocked her collar. “You are free” “No Master!” “I am no longer your Master” Without responding, he bundled her into the caravan. Any slave wearing the collar of Zaroud would not be spared by the Aretai. It was the best thing he could do to save her. The kaiilas were screaming, the sound wrenching his heart.

The Aretai raiders were very near now, and Zaroud knew if he was going to escape, now would be the time. His father sensed the dilemma in his soul. “Go, My son”. Zaroud said nothing. “They will kill me if you were found. And with you gone, I am a dead man. Save yourself. The Aretai cannot take my son.”

Zaroud’s flight away from his camp, on his kaiila was replete with the sounds of slave girls screaming their last, and amidst the screams, he thought he heard his name called out for the last time in his father’s voice.

His flight led him to Kasra, and knowing there were Aretai clansmen about in Kasra, he did not linger, and that very night, when darkness descended, he joined the Northern silk road to Torcadino. There he was amazed at the sight of water aplenty. The city of aquaducts and bustling trade was busier than the busiest markets of Tor. Wonder and amazement. And here, Torcadino, how the Free lavished water on the beggars, when in Tor, the water is prized by the Free especially. Again, not allowing himself peace of mind, he continued his flight. The danger had long since passed, but it seemed that Zaroud was now battling some other enemy. No longer were the Aretai the true source of his anguish. His inner demons, plagued him, the killing of his father on account of his betrayal of the salt Ubar, which ended his service amongst the dark veiled ones, guards of the Ubar.. And so he fl down the Treasure Road, to Brundisium, and then down the genesian road to the port of that same name. There, amidst the throng of the Port, He sat by the docks, watching the vast expanse of the watery dessert, the likes of which He never saw before. There He was told of Port Kar, and the slave girls and the famed stories of Samos, and so he waited, and the ship that would take him there, to the Port, set sail one cold morning, fearing for His life, in amazement at the watery expanse before Him and around Him.

Port Kar has been kind to Him, the Captains giving and fair, but strict and commanding. Here he has found a slaveheart befitting His temperament. Port kar is Home.
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The Desert is my mother, and my father
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