Half in Ruins

[Sahreni]

Summer 15th, 512 A pair of gold-touched fingers ensnared a fat, green, cone-shaped flower, cradling it like a delicate glass sculpture. Without breaking it from the vine, the flower was gently turned and angled for a better inspection. The ends of the short, layered petals were brown and wrinkled, same as the browning patches on the rest of the plant. Sahreni frowned, withdrawing his hand and rubbing thoughtfully at his stubble. "It's going to be a pitiful harvest, come Fall." This was spoken to a human worker nearby, as she tended to the one of the dozens of tall vines growing in the West Winds hopfield. Her eyes flitted in the noble's direction, but she only grimaced silently in response. Sahreni resumed his inspection of another plant nearby. Countless thin ropes rose all around them, hoisted by long rows of elaborate wooden frameworks, designed for the hops to climb as they grew. At this time of year, the hops should have been upwards of nine feet high, but many of them barely rose taller than Sahreni himself. In years past, these fields were always lush and green in the Summer, but this year, half the crops had been lost in the massive storm that hit Ahnatep last Spring. The field had been mostly buried in new, heavy sand dunes. It taken weeks for the workers to unearth the entire field and repair the irrigation. The survivors of the crop were now barely clinging to life. Most of them were dried and sunbaked, half yellowed, and wilted. The West Winds fields stretched on for miles, framed by sand and rock, and garnished by the peaceful Villa seated comfortably on the hill just beyond. The red tiled rooftops occasionally broke the monotony of dark emerald trees growing in the courtyards. Sahreni sighed, pulling a dead leaf from one of the plants. His head dipped, fingers massaging his forehead. He closed his eyes against the rise of frustration. "This is my fault. Precautions could have been taken. Father won't be pleased, and Iseret is going to crucify me." The aging human worker stirred. Surprisingly, she spoke, though did not turn away from her task. She was not adept with Arumenic, but her basic meaning got through. "Storm was very bad. Disaster." Pausing for a moment, Sahreni was a little surprised that she had spoken to him at all. He turned his head, looking at her from the sides of his eyes. She was about his mother's age. "Yes, it is. We won't make half the profit we did last year." A hot breath left the woman suddenly, and Sahreni felt the air grow tense between them. He turned his head a little more, to get a better look at her. "Bad disaster. Many people die. Losed more than profit." There was venom dripping from her broken, mispronounced words. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her trowel. Sahreni realized her implication, and at first he was indignant at being chided by a human worker. Heated words formed on the end of his tongue as he thought how best to scold her, but he never parted his lips. Sheltered though he was, even the Nobles of the West Winds had suffered tragedies during the storm, and it had been said that the calamity had affected every corner of the world. Perhaps he'd been conceited to think that the devastating loss of the crops was such a travesty, or a result of his personal shortcomings. And, perhaps, the human had said too much. Sahreni leaned forward, grabbing a young hop sprout by the base of its stalk, and yanked it from the ground roots and all. He turned to the woman, handing her the plant. She turned to him, startled by the sternness in his painted eyes. "This is a male," he told her in a severe tone. "We can't have males growing with the females. Their flowers can't be used for brewing. Take this to the nursery for breeding." The worker nodded, quickly taking the plant and disappearing with it, her short height quickly engulfed by the dilapidated hop vines. Sahreni muttered something in the Eypharian's tongue, slipping past a row of plants to begin his inspection of the next one.

[Jaspayia]

Jaspayia stormed out of the Ahnatep gates, huffing loudly in and shoved a tired traveler onto their rump in annoyance. She had just finished a journey back from an oasis she'd guided some West WInds' Jespek, a man whose water was not fit to drink, to and from, at the promise of pay. As always, she collected half upfront, but when she had brought him back into the city, she was met with armed guards and treachery. The man laughed, and took the money he had paid earlier, then turned and strode off, leaving her there cursing his name and with a lust to see his blood spilled before her. As she turned to leave the damnable city behind, her ebony eyes caught sight of a heavily burdened cart heading away from the gates, the symbol of West Winds on the wood. She knew there were some sort of farms belonging to the Noble pricks nearby, and immediately decided she was going to retake her water, one way or another. She scanned the cart, being pulled by two of the cows common amongst the peoples here. There was one driver, and two khopesh wielding guards. She wouldn't dare to try and take the cart head on, that would get her killed. She began running out into the desert, her webbed feet kicking up many grains, a sand shark out of hell. When she'd distanced herself enough, she began a wide, looping path around a dune, keeping her feathered hair behind the rising crest. She peered cautiously around the side, knowing they would be taking this path, but hadn't yet gotten in sight. While flitting over to where other tracks were barely visible, she pulled her camouflage tarp from her pack, and laid down between the faint wheel lines, wrapping it over the top of her body. She began wiggling her entire body, akin to the sand ray, until she was settled into the hot sands, and easily mistaken for a minor rise in the road, a common and forgettable sight. She waited until she could hear the dulled thumps and swishing of falling sands, and tried to make her body as small as possible without shifting too obviously. She felt the heavy footfalls dig deep, inches on either side of her, if one stepped on her, she would have several crushed bones. But the footfalls passed, and Jasp knew she had very few moments left. She quickly pulled the tarp off of her and balled it up. She didn't have enough time to stash it away yet, but her eyes saw she was beneath the quickly disappearing cart. Looking left, and right, seeing pairs of feet on each side, she knew this was the moment. As soon as the edge of the cart passed before her eyes, she reached up and grabbed the end with her free hand. She then quickly stood up and slipped silently into the cart, diving beneath the tarp that protected the goods and obscured them from sight. She quickly drew her dagger, in case she was discovered, waiting several long, agonizing moments. When no guards came, she relaxed, and stowed her tarp into her pack, and checked to make sure everything was there. Satisfied, she decided to check the contents of the sacks and crates and barrels for anything of use. The first was a barrel full a white substance that looked like salt. She dipped a finger in it and brought it to her tongue, and found it very sweet, widening her eyes. What was this stuff? It didn't seem too useful, but it was quite tasty. She resealed the barrel and moved to a crate, and opened it up to see several empty glass containers. Annoyed, she closed it up and moved to a large sack. She opened it up to find it full of some sort of grain or seed. Her ears perked up as she heard one of the guards speak, in Arumenic, which she struggled to keep up with, "We are almost to the villa, take this to the storage room, then we'll go get some food. Afterwards we'll unload it, just get one of the grain sacks out so they don't nag our ear off." Panicking, Jasp knew she would be discovered shortly if she didn't do anything. Instincts taking over, she grabbed the top of one of the massive sacks, undid the pull strings and heaved the bag over, spilling its contents out the back of the cart into the sands, unnoticed by the guards. She felt the cart jolt onto harder ground and knew her time was almost near. She stashed her pack in the dark corners out of sight, then climbed into the bag of grains, her long legs and short body slipping beneath the half filled contents. She continued to burrow down until all that was left was hair, which she struggled to pull beneath the grains. She reached up, found the pull strings, and pulled them taut. She felt the cart bounce over some stone and come to a stop. She must be in the storage room. She could hear taps of feet on stone, then stopped. A jerk was felt on her bag, and it began sliding to the cart's end. "By the gods, when did the grains get so heavy?" After some significant grunting, she felt the bag deposited hard on the ground, bruising her rump. She heard them talking about dates and breads for lunch, and disappear. She weaseled one of her hands up and out of the sack, feeling for any movement in the area. No gentle breeze or slurring water. It was safe. She undid the pull string, and climbed out, shaking grains from her person and hair quickly. She quickly looked around for any signs of incomers, before dashing over to the cart and collecting her pack. Her fingers warned her with a gentle stream of water, indicating someone was walking at a normal pace toward her. She ducked down and disappeared behind one of the cows, trying not to startle it. She needed to find a reason to be here, and a way to get out. She was beginning to see the stupidity of this idea, and how she'd let her emotions control her. Damn you Lenchua, trying to get her to feel more, damn you indeed.

[Sahreni]

By the time Sahreni was finished in the hopfield, the day's sunlight had melted into a much warmer shade of yellow, casting shadows twice as long and dark as they had been hours earlier. As he left the vines behind and approached the storehouse, his forehead glistened with both its usual gilded shimmer and a subtle glean of sweat—more from the desert's summer sun than actual exertion. Airborne sand kicked up by warm breezes stuck fast to his skin. He felt filthy. The Villa's bathhouse would be his next destination, but first he had an errand to run. Two culled plants rustled in his arms, their shaking leaves mostly yellowed or brown. A few of the hop vines had been diseased with some unknown taint, causing whole flower clusters to wilt and die off. Sahreni's uncle was more experienced with the fields; he might have a better idea of what was causing the deterioration and how best to remedy it. Sahreni would leave the samples here so they could be examined tomorrow. There was some fear that the disease might have been magical in nature, considering the Wild Djed that had been soaked into the land from the massive storm. A parasite or a fungal rot would be difficult enough to treat. If this was a sort of accidental curse on the fields, it would be impossible to speculate the consequences. A wagon was parked inside the storehouse, tied to a pair of bored-looking cattle (as if cattle could ever look interested in something). There was no driver, but animals were rarely unattended for long. He'd probably left for a bit to eat or to relieve himself. Sahreni thought little more of it, proceeding to a wash basin already filled with air-temperature water. He began to wash the plants free of dirt, lest his uncle blame Sahreni for soiling his cuffs. One of the cattle shifted and moaned, pawing at the ground with one cloven hoof. Sahreni turned his head, more out of reflex than actual interest. It was just a cursory glance, lasting only a partial second. The halfblood performed a doubletake when he realized the cattle had an extra pair of legs—humanoid legs. "Is someone hiding there?" Sahreni flicked droplets off his fingers at the basin as he leaned away, trying to get a better look at the troublemaker's bare feet. The skin was too dark for an Eypharian, eliminating the possibility that it was his young half-brother playing tricks on him. He wouldn't go around barefoot anyway. Had to be servant then, perhaps one fearful of the West Wind nobles. Had Sahreni spent another moment inspecting the intruder's feet, he might have noticed they bore webbing between the toes. "Don't be foolish. Come out. I'm sure you have better things to do than hide yourself away." Drying his hands on his coat, Sahreni walked a wide semi-circle around the cattle. His russet eyes widened a fraction when he spied the Chaktawe woman on the other side, bits of grain stuck to her long, dark hair. Sahreni froze for a moment in sheer surprise. "You don't work here," the noble observed in a darker tone, almost a growl. The West Winds did not employ Chaktawe servants, as they usually did not have the right constitution for this kind of work. Sahreni rarely met the strange, black-eyed creatures, but he could not remember stories of any of them being particularly violent. If he recalled correctly, the colored stripe over her eyes indicated which tribe she belonged to, but damned if he could remember what any of them were named. Sahreni laid a hand on the hilt of his scimitar, still sheathed in the ornate wooden scabbard hanging at his side. "We don't tolerate thieves here. Explain yourself, and I recommend you do it quickly." OOCJust a note, he is speaking formal Arumenic.

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! I applaude the seamless integration of the technical details about growing hops. I learn something new everyday. This is a good beginning or sample of a work/training thread. I also appreciate the reference to outside events and being aware of things beyond the scope of the thread. Sahreni's Loot 2 XP Botany 2 XP Agriculture 1 XP Leadership Lore of How to Weed Hops Lore of Chaktawe Appearance Lore of Signs of an Unhealthy Hop Colombina is pleased.