Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Mus'ad and Nizar

. . . flap . . . wheeze . . . pant . . . pant . . . flap . . .

‘Oof!’ gasped the struggling pigeon as he strove to keep the sparrow in sight. The poor bird was knackered by this point, chuffing in desperation. His wings felt nearly beat to shreds in the increasing heat and movement of the rising thermals.

A strangled squawk escaped his parched throat as the sparrow took on another form and climbed higher. There was no hope now of keeping the quarry in sight as Tinar took off. In a moment of penetrating thought, indeed, brilliant insight, on Nizar’s part he reasoned that if he could just keep on with following the northmen he was bound to find Tinar . . . or so he hoped . . .

In the distance, he could just see the camels. They had slowed down a bit, come side by side as the riders passed a skin of water among themselves, and chewed on something one had taken from their pack. With a determination born of nothing other than he saw no other course open to him, he headed for the group of men.

‘Please, please, please,’ came the muttered mantra as he flew. ‘Don’t let them start up again until I can get nearer.’

And again, whatever favorable spirit had decided to tip the scales in the hapless brothers’ favor, Nizar saw them come to a complete halt and one of the riders dismount. ‘A call of nature!’ thought the little bird, his thoughts brightening. ‘Let’s hope he’s taken several long pulls at the water skin and will be a while.’

By the time the man remounted, Nizar had pulled close enough to catch up with the last camel as they started off again. Their backs were to him as he plummeted down, tail feathers all topsy-turvy. Changing midway into his beetle shape, he spread the thin membranes of his wings and shimmied down toward figure of the last rider. His legs caught on the man’s collar, wings brushing against the fellow’s neck. The rider jerked his head and flicked at the spot where something had grazed his skin. Nizar tumbled down the man’s back toward the pack secured to the side of the camel’s hump. The poor beetle fell thunk on his back, spindly legs waving wildly in the dark interior of the pack.

‘Quit yer scrabbling! Be quiet!’ hissed a low, familiar voice just to his right. Nizar blinked his buggy eye, bringing the shadowy figure better into focus.

‘Mus’ad!’ he chittered in relief. ‘Is that really you?’

[Nerindel]

Sorona

Sorona circled once then twice before, she left the Maenwaith in her cave. She repeated the word “Maenwaith!” letting it roll comfortably off her tongue; it had come to her the minute the leopard had transformed before her very eyes into a young desert woman. The transformation had not surprised her as she knew it should have, instead it had brought a warm familiarity. The young Maenwaith’s gold-flecked eyes brought with it yet another long buried memory, the image of two young women, one resembling closely the Maenwaith before her and the other a little taller with darker hair dancing and laughing merrily at the others happy song, both free and unburdened. However, that memory brought with it a deep and regretful sorrow, which ached her heart. She now found herself glancing at her feathered outstretched wings. ‘Was I once that dark haired carefree young woman? Were this woman and her people the ones she was to find?’

She had tried to explain who she was and why she was here to the young woman in the cave, but having not spoken to anyone but birds for nearly two decades it had proved near impossible. The words had come out in a jumble of eagle squawks, distant resurfacing desert tongues and several other tongues she had learned to understand during her travels in the northlands. Nevertheless, she thought she had managed to convey at least her name and that she was not a threat if nothing else. The young woman, who at first had seemed guarded and wary, had relaxed and she had found herself desperately wanting to tell her about the dream and the young merchant in the city, hoping to unburden herself and return north to the comfort of the mountains? But the longer she had stayed in the cave the more her own caution had set in; after all, she did not know this woman no matter what memories she roused in her.

“No” Sorona thought shaking her feathered head, as she flew. “This is silly it is a dream nothing more!” She scolded herself, “there are no…….” her words trailed to a terrified gasp, as in the hazy heat straight ahead on the eastern horizon a city rose into view, the city in her dreams! Without another thought, she wheeled around, nervously glancing up into the blue skies as if half expecting a dark shadow to pass at that instant blocking out the light of the sun. She headed back in the direction of the Maenwaith Woman, Rama she had named herself. The young woman had spoken of her clan, inviting her to journey with her. There at least will be others, elders perhaps who would better understand and know what to make of her dreams, she thought.

“If even they believe me!” she muttered to herself

As she sped in the direction that Rama had told her she would be travelling, she found herself more than once wondering if she was losing all grasp of reality. What if the city had simply been a mirage brought on by her confusion and anxiety after all she had just been thinking of it and there it was! Too much of a coincidence to be real, she thought. But the rest the memories and the familiarity they seemed so real that she decided to stay her course to whatever may be or was? Nothing was clear but some how she knew that she must find answers and this woman was her only real link to the hazy past that was surfacing in her mind.

~*~

It was well past noon by the time she found the woman and to her mild surprise, she was not alone, accompanying the desert rider upon great lumbering desert ships were two others. “Not desert people,” she mused, seeing the discomfort of the second rider and they seemed a lot taller even on camelback than the other desert dwellers she had seen. For an instant as she watched the riders, she thought she saw something else, a dark spot dropping from the sky and then it was gone. She hurried on and turned a graceful arch above the riders, giving a high-pitched “Kee-kee-kee” to let Rama know she was there.

The woman raised her head shielding her eyes with her hand and Sorona gave a friendly incline of her head as she passed again, this time noting that the other two riders where men, as they too raise their heads to look upwards. Their grey eyes watching her for a while as she silently glided on the warm currents above them. ‘North men’ she pondered thoughtfully. She felt as if pieces of an intricate puzzle were being laid before her and she could not see how to fit them together. The out of place Umbarian merchants, this young Maenwaith and her Northern companions, the city… She shuddered as the memory of the dream rose again to the forefront of her mind.

She shook the image away and concentrated on trying to remember something that would help her to fit all the pieces of this puzzle together.

[piosenniel]

Mus’ad and Nizar

‘Yes, it’s me,’ whispered Mus’ad, crawling close to his brother. ‘What’s happened to Tinar?’ Nizar explained with an economy of words how he had attempted to follow the sparrow. ‘He was barely keeping up with the men, and to be truthful, I was barely keeping up with the lot of them. And then . . . he changed . . . and I couldn’t keep track of him at all.’

‘You mean the dog form?’ Mus’ad asked, his tongue flicking in and out as he tried to fathom why the pigeon could not keep up with the cur. ‘No, not the dog!’ Nizar whispered what he’d seen. ‘Well, then we’ve lost him, haven’t we?’ the lizard snorted. ‘I thought we could just go along with the men and camels,’ offered Nizar. ‘He seems to be following them.’

‘And what if he’s decided something else, eh?’ asked Mus’ad. ‘Then we’ll be riding who knows how far in this musty pack.’ Nizar watched as his brother twitched his tail in irritation. ‘Best we get off when we can and head back,’ came the lizard.’

‘Head back?!’ squeaked Nizar. ‘What about Wyrma and the job she set us?’

Mus’ad tapped his pads on the side of the back, then his mouth curved up in the semblance of a smile. ‘We’ll go back, collect our things and send her a note by messenger – tell her what you saw and all. Then, we’ll go south toward Latif’s . . . disappear for a while . . . til things cool down.’

A number of hours later, the waterskin was passed round again and the man on whose camel the pack was secured got off to ‘stretch his legs’, he said. The two tiny hitchhikers scrabbled down the side of the pack and onto the camel’s rump. The beast, irritated by the crawly sensation as they moved over his hide, stomped his hind leg and twitched his hindquarters. Lizard and bug lost their purchase on the camel’s backside and went flying off in a falling arc. Not caring now if their presence were known, Mus’ad called out to his brother. ‘Follow me!’

Two pigeons flapped madly toward the city, leaving a surprised and irritated camel behind them.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ráma was not inclined to argue, and had tersely dismissed Mithadan's request to accompany her home, "I am sorry. You seek your missing friend, and I would help you if I could. But in times like these, my clan wants no outsiders. You will be safer in the north." With that, she had cantered ahead, keeping a good distance between herself and the Gondorians in hopes of forestalling further discussion.

For the next several hours, the trio rode through the desert, heading towards an old water hole that lay several leagues distant. Once or twice, when they had stopped to take a break, Ráma glanced over her shoulder and saw the two men quietly conversing. She wondered if they had other ideas in mind than the plan that she had put forward. But that was their personal business. She would have fulfilled her part of the bargain in helping them escape from Umbar. If they wished to lose their guide and ride to certain death on some foolhardy errand, she could do nothing to dissuade them. And being outlanders, they undoubtedly had no more sense than that.

In the distance, she could see the hazy outline of several palm trees fronting on a small water hole. Underneath the trees stood a cluster of wagons and camels, as well as a small flock of goats being herded at the rear of the line. Ráma gave a whoop of joy and galloped forward towards the caravan, leaving Mithadan and Airefalas struggling to catch up. She could not have hoped for better. They were friendly maenwaith who plied the local trade up and down the coast. While their own business did not take them to the far north, they would certainly come in contact with others heading in that direction. More importantly, they did frequent business with her clan and could be trusted. She could even leave money with them to negotiate with the next caravan they encountered to guide the men northward.

Ráma pulled Kyelek up on the far side of the oasis, just below the spot where the caravan was parked. She unsaddled her mount, led him down to the water to drink, and walked over to where the chief tradesman sat. She stopped for an instant, letting her travel pouch and sword slide through her fingers and fall in a heap onto the soft sand underneath the bush. It would not do to approach a friend on business matters with sword in hand.

Then, she went over and sat cross legged on the ground, offering greetings to the trader and inquiring about his wife and children. Within a few moments, the two were deep in negotiation, with Ráma gesturing towards the men of Gondor who had reached the oasis and were getting down from their camels. After a series of exclamations and lively exchanges, the two finally shook hands. The young woman nodded, then rose and retraced her steps, intending to retrieve her sack and pull out the gold pieces she had promised the trader.

Ráma stepped heedlessly forward on the soft sand, bending down and reaching out to pick up the bag. Abruptly, she halted. Under the shaded fringes of the bush, a sand viper reared up out of the sand, a snake of some two feet long with a pallid back and rows of brown spots underneath. Uncurling and hissing, the serpent prepared to rear back and strike. Ráma automatically grabbed for her sword, but it was not there. She had left it beside the bag.

[Ealasaide]

They had been riding for hours, and Airefalas was slowly growing accustomed to the swaying gait of the camel. Although he still would have preferred to pilot a leaky dinghy across a bay in high wind than do what he was doing, he was getting used to the situation. He had not had much experience with deserts, being basically from the water, but so far had found traversing the sea of sand not all that much different in approach from crossing the ocean, except that everything in the desert seemed to have either fangs, spines, or thorns...including their guide Ráma. She was arguably one of the most prickly females he had ever encountered, not that he had expected her to be exactly cuddly.

While he could understand her being a bit defensive toward him, considering how badly he had bungled their first meeting, her dismissive treatment of Mithadan surprised him. He found it a bit insulting and wouldn't be surprised if Mithadan did, too. Nonetheless, he resolved to keep his mouth shut about that, it being of secondary concern to him. His primary concern was the notion of being handed off like so much troublesome cargo to a caravan of northbound traders. That would likely be the first place Lord Falasmir would look for him and Mithadan once he realized that the two of them had not sailed with the Lonely Star. If found, he and Mithadan would be quickly executed, forget the threat of the slave markets. He knew the damage their escape had done to Falasmir's ego and standing in Umbar would not be taken lightly. He wiped a line of sweat from his forehead, wondering if Ráma had considered things from that angle. If she had, she certainly gave no indication to them that she cared. Getting them off of her hands seemed to be her primary and only objective.

Ahead of them, Ráma gave a whoop of joy and galloped off swiftly in the direction of a few palm trees visible in the distance that were already surrounded by a cluster of wagons, camels, and a flock of goats. No doubt it was the caravan of which she had spoken earlier. Her horse quickly outpaced the camels, so by the time Airefalas and Mithadan reached the oasis, she had already dismounted and gone to speak with the chief trader of the group.

Sliding off the back of his camel, Airefalas stretched his back and legs. He was not used to sitting for so long at one time and found his muscles had grown cramped and stiff from inactivity. He very deliberately cracked his neck, then turned to Mithadan, who had dismounted as well.

"I guess this is where we change hands," Airefalas said dryly.

Mithadan nodded. "If the traders will take us. If Falasmir is looking for us to make for Gondor by land, it could prove just as dangerous for these people as it is for us."

"True," agreed Airefalas. "I wonder if Ráma has taken that into consideration. So far it seems the only thing she has considered where we are concerned is how to get rid of us. I'm sure you noticed - as did I - that she made certain to ride well out of speaking distance to us." He turned and looked in the direction in which he had last seen Ráma. "I suppose it would be fruitless to try talking to her again."

Mithadan shrugged. "We have an obligation to try, not just for our own sakes but for those who would travel with us, as well. I have a feeling that if we are captured, next time it won't go so easily with us or with any who seek to assist us. A direct northern path would be foolhardy at best."

"Suicidal at worst." Airefalas glanced up at the wide expanse of sky. "If it were just a matter of navigation, we could strike out on our own, but under the circumstances...." he trailed off with a helpless gesture. "Maybe I should try talking to her."

"Why you?"

"Well, if she's still mad at me for the armoire business back in Umbar - " he shrugged. "Maybe if I groveled a little bit, she might be more sympathetic to our situation."

Mithadan laughed and shook his head. "I don't think that will make any difference, but you're welcome to try."

"You're probably right." Airefalas smiled ruefully. "She'd probably just see that as a sign of weakness. She's a tough little thing." He paused, then shrugged again as Ráma strode back into view. "Aww, I'll give it a go. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Just don't grab her again," cautioned Mithadan with a smile. "You can always make it worse."

"Thanks for the encouragement," Airefalas answered dryly. He turned and walked in Ráma's direction, but, contrary to what he had just said to Mithadan, he had no intention of doing any groveling. What he intended to do was suggest to Ráma that she send him alone into the north with the caravan and take Mithadan with her safely into the south. As captain of the Lonely Star and the main architect of the ship‘s escape, Mithadan’s life was in greater danger than his own. Besides, Falasmir’s men would be looking for two foreigners, not one. If they did catch him, Airefalas figured he could always tell them Mithadan had been killed, misdirect them long enough for his captain to get to safety. After all, Mithadan had a wife and three small children to consider. What did Airefalas have to return to? A career in ruins, a fiancée he had been forbidden to marry, and a brother who had virtually disowned him over a money dispute. Clearly, Mithadan had more to risk. Finally, since Ráma’s anger at them had begun with him, perhaps she would be more kindly disposed to Mithadan on his own. It was worth a try. Squaring both his shoulders and his resolve, Airefalas stepped up to Ráma’s side.

He reached the desert girl just as she bent to retrieve her pack from under a bush. Before he had a chance to say a word, she stopped abruptly and drew back from the bush very slowly, her face filled with fear. Her hand groped for something at her waist that should have been there and wasn't. Her sword? Following her gaze, Airefalas saw the snake barely seconds after she did. He had never seen one exactly like it, but had enough experience with vipers in general to know that this one was ready to strike. Without thinking, he closed his hand around the hilt of his sword.

"Don't move," he ordered Ráma, sliding his sword slowly from its scabbard. She glanced at him anxiously from the corner of her eyes, but remained perfectly still, both of them knowing that any sudden movement could cause the snake to strike. Still moving with excruciating slowness, Airefalas raised his sword. The snake continued to sway dangerously, its tawny eyes fixed, unwavering, on the figure of the girl.

When his sword was in position, Airefalas cut a quick glance at the girl. "When I start my downswing," he said quietly, his voice tense but soothing at once. "It's likely to strike at you, so when I say 'now,' jump backward as quickly as you can. Are you ready?"

"Yes," breathed Ráma.

"Okay...NOW!"

The three of them moved in unison. As Airefalas swung downward with his sword, the snake unleashed its sinuous coils, striking like lightning at Ráma, who scrambled backwards with a surprising speed of her own. The Gondorian's blade caught the snake in midair, severing its head from its body in a single stroke. As the two pieces tumbled harmlessly to the sand, Airefalas cast a worried look at Ráma.

"Are you all right?"