Solo Hirem, the Strong

[Hirem]

OOC :

This is a thread I was planning to write in Eyktol before realizing that the region was closed. While my character never actually enters Riverfall during the course of this thread, he will come to a revelation that will end with his journeying to the city, so I hope this thread is permitted to stay here.

1st of Spring, 514 AV

A prayer for Kihur, my most noble of brothers. Let Yahal make his journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

In the distance, the green light of the Watchtower was faint, but unmistakable. There was no doubting the message that the green light carried - there was no mistaking the warming desert days, shorter nights, the blooming of foliage and the exodus of caravans for the now palatable northern lands for anything but the dawning of spring. By Hirem's count, the year was now 514 AV. In the summer of this year, he would become thirty years old, and forever say goodbye to the eternity of youth. Spring was a time of rebirth... yet he felt as if it was just another winter, withering him down until he was naught but a barren husk.

In these dark days, the only season Hirem felt was winter.

A prayer for Liviya, whom I am not worthy for. Let Yahal make her journey short and the road safe... may he watch over her, as she is a true daughter lost in a confusing land. So shall I pray.

The blisters on his feet were not soothed by their immersion in water, but at the very least the stinging pain had long subsided. Dipping his bare legs into the oasis pool, Hirem slapped his thigh and peered above the water's edge to the distant horizon, his dark brow furrowed. Behind him rested his pack and walking staff. Ahead of him lurked nothing. He was confronted with the entirety of the vast Eyktol desert, of which he had explored only a small fraction... but at the same time he was faced with emptiness.

A prayer for Osahar, one of the faithful and my savior. Blessed be his steps. Let Yahal make his journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

Another man would consider himself lucky to have found such an oasis as Hirem now reclined in, so soon after his waterskin had completely dried. But to one of the faithful of Yahal, there was no luck; this was a blessing, one that had saved Hirem's life. Indeed, this was but one of many that had saved him from destruction - had Hirem not received these gifts from his wanderer god, he would have long ago laid down and let the sands wash over his bleached bones, convinced that it was for the best. The fact that Yahal continued to intervene proved to Hirem that he yet had a purpose, and so he continued living due to that faith.

He continued living because of his faith. He had nothing else.

A prayer for Shena'doah and Kuhani, my guardians in a time of danger. Let Yahal make their journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

Hirem wondered where he would venture to next. Though he had no map, the Benshiran was fairly certain that he was in the northeastern portion of the desert, close to Ahnatep. He had no desire to enter the city, but perhaps passing it and reaching the eastern coast might be enjoyable, for a spell. He had not seen the sea in quite some time. Or maybe he would venture west, and chance upon a caravan heading to northern Endrykas for the spring? Or maybe he would venture nowhere at all, it made no difference to him.

Another evening, then, would be spent at this oasis, devoted to the Penita scrolls.

A prayer for Dhanya, Ari'Yahal, and little Raziel, my fellow wanderers in the desert sea. May they find their destinations and be filled with joy. Let Yahal make their journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

First drying his wet hands, Hirem then reached back for his pack and retrieved a Penita scroll. It mattered not which one; he had memorized them all. Though he had never been blessed enough to read the Penita scrolls in full, his travels had nonetheless brought him into contact with a great many of them. Easing himself out of the pool and reclining against the nearby weathered tree, Hirem spread the scroll onto his lap and began to read the sacred Shiber text. "From the winter of the Thorn:" he whispered aloud, "Three man, all alike in dignity, were blessed with their Father's mark, and given his divine strength. Yet two of them turned away from the path of Yahal and took to avarice, lust, and petty ambition. So one can see that power leads to corruption... we are weak to make us humble, and humble to make us holy."

A prayer for the departed Raim and Jaliya, your most devoted servants. I was blessed to name them sire. Let Yahal make their journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

Time passed at that oasis, yet Hirem was indifferent. By the time he was finished with his Penita scrolls, the sun was already slipping back towards the earth, having finished its time in heaven. Light was fading in the Burning Lands, and the sands lost their shimmering quality. Restoring the scroll to his pack, Hirem supped on a haunch of preserved meat. Of all the traditions that he might have taken from his home Tent, the one that he regretted leaving behind most was cooking. His own meals were lean and always left him hungry for more.

A prayer for the departed Netanel, your holiest son. I was blessed to name him teacher. I was cursed to shed his blood. Let Yahal make his journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

As the Benshiran set up his camp for the night, he realized that it had been eight full years since he had last lived among a Tent. The false Tent that he had created five years ago, in the hopes of gathering an army to take down the Eypharians... it was no true home. For eight years, soon dawning on nine, he had instead been a child of the desert, living on his own and forever drifting. Sometimes, he wondered if he should not return to his people and become another sheep in his Shepherd's flock.

But it would never be so. Hirem stood apart from his people, and blessed were they for the distance.

A prayer for the departed Savra, your wayward child and my once enemy. May she find the peace denied in life within Dira's embrace. Let Yahal make her journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

And now came the worst of his sufferings: the nights. Hirem laid in his bedroll, stared up at the canvas of the tent, and shuddered, despite himself. He was not looking forward to the nightmares. Neither did he have doubt that there would be a nightmare, for always a nightmare arrived to disturb his already troubled sleep. They arrived as constantly as the sun, and cast a darker shadow than any Syna could conjure.

No matter how many steps he took to escape, no matter how many leagues he traveled to flee, he would never truly be free of the Prison. Its scars had burrowed deep into his mind, its lashes tightly woven into the skin of his back. Its influence grew like a malignant cancer within his soul. No waking second of his was spent without a memory of the Prison to accompany it, that dark hell infesting his spirit and overriding his person.

In Hai, in that forsaken tomb, he had gained a Gnosis mark of Yahal. Hirem gazed at it often when he had difficulty sleeping, gazed at its majestic beauty and found comfort there. The faint suggestion of wings, emblazoned upon his hand, gave him the strength he needed to endure the nights... but neither was he truly alive. For while Yahal had blessed him with a single mark, Hai had laid a thrice-stronger curse upon him.

Finally, when Hirem no longer had the strength to stay awake, he laid his head onto the bedroll, closed his eyes, and steeled himself for the battle head. For the terrors began as they always did... with a ghastly creature, sitting upon his chest, smothering him with its scaled hands.

A prayer for Hirem, your lost son. He has been called many names; murderer, zealot, thief, liar, fool, weak. Yet he strives only to walk upon the path ordained for him. Let Yahal make his journey long and the road fraught with peril, for he must yet find some purpose within this life. So shall I pray.

So shall I pray.

[Hirem]

11th of Spring, 514 AV

"Baaaa!"

The sound, benign in nature, nonetheless made Hirem's heart stop in his breast. For hours, he had heard nothing but the endless Eyktoli winds in the distance, blowing across the open dunes and churning the desert as if it was the temperamental sea. After years upon years of traveling alone in the desert, such a sound became as familiar to Hirem as his own heartbeat, and he had learned to listen carefully in order to attune to its shifts and changes. Such meditation brought him into a sort of trance - which the bleating of the sheep, so close and so sudden, had rudely interrupted.

Unbidden by Hirem, his hand had instinctively closed shut in his alarm... crushing the strands of Sky Twine he had managed to spot on this otherwise barren slope. "Hik!" He hissed, glancing down to assess the damage. The bright blue flowers, so distinctive in this sea of baked red and browns, lay crumpled in his heavy hand, the delicate leaves shredded beyond repair. The damage would not be so bad if the flower was just bent or twisted, but no - he had also managed to squeeze the stalk dry, purging it of the valuable oil hidden within.

Oil that might have helped solve Hirem's burgeoning toothache.

"Baaaa!" The sheep continued to bleat, unaware of the disturbance.

Gritting his teeth, Hirem leaned into the steep slope and cast his eyes about, searching for this hidden animal. He was currently standing in a dried riverbed, some days journey away from the last oasis. On both flanks of the riverbed, thick brambles and coarse vegetation clung, obscuring this mystery creature from view. It might be caught in one of the bushes of tangled, dead branches, or standing farther down the riverbed, or resting above his head - Hirem couldn't immediately tell. Though his instincts told him it was a sheep, as well as memory, he couldn't be entirely sure; what at first seemed like a sheep could instead be a trick of the wind, or a coyote, or a tsana.

If I am caught by a pack of tsana now, I will not survive the encounter. Has death struck upon me so suddenly? A relief... I had believed that it would crawl towards me, to better savor my regret.

"Baaaa!"

Finally, Hirem managed to spot the beast, ambling aimlessly down one slope of the riverbed. Its stunted legs felt uncertainly for the declining ground, its head looking about and bleating worriedly. This was no bowbacked goat, well used to traversing heights and rugged terrain. This was but a lamb, a small and fragile thing, ringed by white wool. In hindsight, Hirem wondered how he had not seen the lamb before; its pure color contrasted heavily with the mottled ground below.

Feeling more at ease, Hirem pushed himself to his feet and examined the lamb in greater detail, letting the useless strands of Sky Twine tumble from his hand and be buried below. Very young... and not looking nearly as dirty as any proper desert goat should be. Picking up his nearby staff, the man took a few tender steps towards the approaching lamb, careful not to frighten it. "Falim, my friend," he whispered, his voice returning to its shepherd roots. Dropping down onto one knee, Hirem slowly proffered one outstretched hand to the lamb. "It is good to meet you."

Instead of backing away, like any normal wild animal would, the lamb half-closed its eyes and gingerly approached the Benshiran. Though it was cautious to trust the man, sniffing at his hand and shivering uncertainly, the sheep eventually came closer and allowed him to pet its flanks. The willingness of the lamb in approaching Hirem and the fact that it seemed so nervous confirmed to him that this was no desert animal. Somebody is missing a member of their flock. How could it have wandered so far, I wonder, when it is so young?

As he continued to pet the lamb, his hardened fingers trailing through the unruly wool, Hirem managed to spot a peculiarity around the animal's throat. Frowning, he craned his head downwards and grabbed what looked to be a cord of rope around the lamb's neck, serving as... a collar? No. The answer became apparent when Hirem gave a gentle tug on the cord and saw the minute wooden carving hanging from it.

The answer was apparent because Hirem had helped carve a wooden figure exactly like this in his childhood.

Turning it over in his hands, he saw that the resemblance was, while not identical, very similar. It was a common enough design: a small figure of Yahal, folded wings on his back, his hands clasped together in an expression of timeless benevolence. It was a charm of good faith, intended to ward away misfortune and peril. Every Benshiran mother worth her water knew how to teach the carvings to her children, and everybody in Hirem's family Tent could have produced a working copy within minutes of first grabbing the knife. Except for me... the eyes always ended up being a little too wide, and the fingers too uneven.

"Baaaa!" The lamb bleated unhappily, reminding Hirem to let go of the cord around its neck. Once freed, the sheep cast its eyes in either direction before huddling closer to his leg, shivering in the chill wind.

And here came the problem: what was he going to do with this lamb?

Now that he had seen it, had spoken to it, and had seen its charm, there was no way he could just leave the lamb alone. To do that would be akin to opening a good book and then abruptly dropping it a few pages in. But that didn't make his dilemma any easier, for he was unsure of what - if anything - he could do that would be worth his time. Clearly this lamb belonged to a group of Benshirans, and clearly it was the favorite of one talented Benshiran child... must he return it, then? It was already mid-afternoon, and soon nightfall would be approaching. To find this Tent at night would be impossible, and would risk only danger for Hirem.

And I am hungry... and I tire of supping on Hik fruit.

Abruptly, he reached his decision. "Come, little one." He murmured, bending down and wrapping one arm around the sheep's midsection, hauling it off the ground. Easily balancing it with one hand against his chest, Hirem took his staff and began walking up the slope in the direction that the lamb had come from, ignoring the protesting bleats of his small friend. "Oh, settle down. I won't hurt you, and I won't let you come into harm, either. You'll be safe with me."

"Baaaaa!"

Just as Hirem had expected, there were no easy answers waiting for him at the top of the slope. He couldn't see any wandering Benshirans in the distance, nor hear their calls echoing on the winds. Instead, he was greeted with a canvas of rugged terrain, ascending hills and descending river beds, all crusted over with dirt and mud and dust and sand. Hirem was no tracker. Though he had lived in this desert for eight years, he knew that finding the Benshiran Tent would be no easy task.

But isn't it? All I needs do is to place my faith in Yahal, and he will guide my steps until I reach it.

"Blessed Yahal," Hirem began as he ventured across the faint tracks the lamb had made in the sand, his eyes straining to follow their path. "Though I am but one traveler in this endless sea of stories, I pray that you will chart my course to a blessed end. I pray that you guide me to this far-off Tent, and I pray that you will not abandon this poor lamb, but the humblest and most innocent of your children. So shall I pray."

"Baaaaa!"

"Quiet, little one." Hirem grinned as he pat the lamb gently on the head, tucking it closer to his body. His staff, poking through the dried ground mercilessly, creaked with every step, but thankfully did not break. The sun was overwhelmingly warm in the sky above, but the wind was chill and tempered Syna's fury. Overall, he felt that it was a pleasant day for a walk. Joyous, even.

A far better distraction than any offered by the Penita scrolls.

He walked for the better part of two bells, following in the small and increasingly vague tracks the lamb had left him, trusting in fate and Yahal that he was traveling in the correct direction. His eyes were always scanning the terrain for predators, and his ears tuned in to the Eyktoli winds, trying to determine if a sandstorm would be building soon. Blessedly, the walk was uninterrupted.

So, to fill that time, Hirem talked to the lamb. At first he only cooed to it, gentle reassurances a master might offer to a pet, small statements that meant nothing. But eventually he began to earnestly speak to it, finding that words were tumbling out of his throat that he hadn't given voice to for seasons. "You remind me of a friend I once had... she was small, like you, and got herself into trouble before I saved her, like you. Her name was Dhayna, and she was one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. Not beautiful, but pretty... cute is the better word for her."

"At the time, though, I was very scared of her. She could transform into a goat, you see... not like you. I remember looking at her and thinking, "Rakva, witch! She is playing with dark magic!" Ah, but I was a fool. I had no idea what dark magic truly was... not then, at least. Compared to what I found later, Dhayna's ability was harmless." Hirem sighed, and shook his head. "I met her right after I had left Ahnatep for the last time. In a way, traveling with her helped to restore my spirits."

"But I was foolish. I cared little for her friendship and cared little for anything, and very soon we fell out of contact. We last spoke sometime outside of Yahebah, just when the caravan was about to arrive... after that, nothing. I was not good at holding friendships in those days. I was not good at holding anything, really. My life was like... a grain of sand, slowly trickling down the hourglass."

In that instant, a memory suddenly flashed into his mind, a memory of Dhayna, the trail, and the promise of a larger world.

Hirem stared at the small, silver pool of water and tried to imagine Cyphrus based on her descriptions, and failed. Grass was something that he saw in tended gardens and rare, rare patches of desert, but from what he had heard previously, Cyphrus was a land filled with grass. He wondered how on earth the two could be connected by land, Eyktol and Cyphrus, lands of fire and earth respectively. Eyktol was a place where death was always pushing down on you, sapping your strength with every heartbeat and causing your spirits to fall with every passing day. On a comparison, Cyphrus almost sounded... nice.

For a brief moment, a thought flashed inside Hirem's head, a thought that echoed inside his mind as he tried to come up with a response to it. Why am I still in Eyktol? True, Dhanya had said that Cyphrus was dangerous, but it couldn't be worse than this wasteland. Besides, it had easily accesible water, water that was clean and fresh and soothin. That was a boast the desert could not fulfill. Why not leave?

Why not leave?

The memory sent shivers down his spine.

[Hirem]

15th of Spring, 514 AV

The heat of the market was insufferable. The sun, burning heavily in the sky above, was uncomfortable enough, but the thick smell of a thousand different bodies, all crammed together in this small bazaar, made this experience a torture. Sweat trickled down his burning cheeks and raced down his sore back. Every breath was sucked in with difficulty. His eyes, hooded from the sun's glare, strained to make sense of this maze of entangled limbs.

For, in all directions, there was nothing to be seen but flesh. Brown skin, tanned muscle, pale calves, purple-bruised cheeks, bright eyes, dark eyes, blinded eyes... life was on display in this thronging mass of barely-clothed men and women, for life was the sole commodity in this meat market. In the distance, high, crumbling spires broke the horizon, towering above the dusty city streets. This was a place of towering decadence and monstrous cruelty.

The dreamer stood both within and apart this crowd. Rude shoulders shoved him aside and dirt was sprayed onto his face, but the wandering eyes of both slave and white-robed master refused to settle on his form. Lost and searching for purpose, the dreamer pushed his way through the flesh market. He noticed that the slaves bore no respect for the other, pushing and fighting for the right of way, but they all bowed to the kingly Eypharians. The masters navigated deftly through the streets, their many hands carrying iron leashes and collars that dragged in the dirt behind them.

Just as the dreamer was finally giving up on his pursuit of a method to the madness, an outburst of violence suddenly overtook the market square. Shouting drew his attention to a nearby clash, where an Eypharian slaver stood tall and imperious before a prone Benshiran. The Benshiran was young, a man growing into the prime of his life, assailed on all sides by a team of vicious Jackals. They kicked him, they beat him, they throttled the life out of his bones. Other slaves took mute steps backwards, staring in horror at the scene.

Immediately upon catching sight of the pale blue eyes of the Benshiran, the dreamer felt himself change... he was no longer standing apart of the scuffle. Instead, he was the beaten slave, knocked onto the ground and forced to endure an excruciating beating. Blood was knocked from his lips and pooled down his brow, and bones crunched under the iron gauntlets of his oppressors. And, through the haze of agony and pain, the dreamer saw the Eypharian, standing high above, staring down at him with a smile of twisted content.

The dreamer had been through this dream before. But what came next was wholly new; the dreamer shifted form yet again, and became the Eypharian.

Now, what had once given him suffering only brought him pleasure. He stared down at the Benshiran - no longer just a Benshiran, but an Eypharian, a Chaktawe, a Kelvic, a twisting mass of limbs and faces that resembled everyone he had every known in his life - and could only grin. Ushering the Jackals away, the dreamer leaped into the fray himself now, kicking and spitting and biting and clawing with reckless abandon, driven mad with bloodlust...

Hirem awoke with a start.

Though the sky above was darkened and filled only with stars, and lacked the oppressive sun of his dreams, the Benshiran still felt a thick sheen of sweat settled on his arms and chest. Breathing heavily, haphazardly, the man reached a hand to his brow and brushed his fingers through the black hairs. The terror, racing through his veins, failed to subside for several chimes after he had awoken, his heart continuing to pound in his breast. Yahal, my guide and my father... see me through darkness and into the light.

Finally, when he felt that he had regained control, the man slowly pushed himself out of his bedroll. The overhang he had spent the night under, ringed on all sides by a grove of cacti, had sheltered him considerably from the evening's sandstorm. Judging from the way the wind was whistling into the overhang, Hirem figured that the sandstorm must have long died out.

Though he felt weary and exhausted from his sudden awakening, and his tooth was aching uncomfortably, Hirem still felt that the time was right for him to get back onto the trail. In faith, I may find the Tent before the noon's coming. On the first day of their travel, the lamb's tracks had run dry, but had managed to lead directly to the former campsite of the Tent. From there, Hirem had followed their new trail relentlessly, constantly aware that the Benshirans were only a few bells away at best. It was a fool's errand that he embarked on, but still Hirem underwent the journey, determined to return the lamb to its home...

The lamb...

Where was the lamb?

"Hik!" He growled, clawing his way to his feet. Hirem cast his eyes around the tight overhang, hoping that he had simply overlooked the small creature, or that it was perhaps caught near one of the cacti plants. But no; the lamb was not resting under the overhang, and nor did he spot it in the cacti cluster. It must have wandered away in the night, as this lamb was apparently wont to do.

Again, doubt gripped Hirem's mind. So the useless burden has been lost? Good! It was an idiotic quest, one more braindead than your last attempt! Now you might actually set your mind to something more useful than returning a meaningless lamb to its owner. He was tempted to sit onto his haunches and let the night's darkness whisk away the lamb.

Tempted, only.

Squeezing himself through the narrow gaps that divided the cacti cluster, Hirem's large size meant that he pricked himself onto several needles regardless of his effort. Biting back the stinging pain, the Benshiran broke through to the other side and scanned the nearby surroundings. Unfortunately, the moon was shrouded by heavy clouds, casting the desert terrain into darkness. He had absolutely no idea where the lamb was.

"Dhayna!" Hirem hissed, careful not to grow too loud, lest he attract some kind of predator or bandit. "Dhayna!" He called again, and yet again, nothing. There was no sign of the pitifully small sheep.

Absolutely no sign.

If I had a hawk's eyes and a bloodhound's nose... Cursing, Hirem closed his eyes and considered the situation. He was no tracker or hunter. He had only a scant view of his surroundings. And there were more than lost lambs that scoured these dunes at night. There was only one thing he could do. Yahal, teacher, guide, father. Let my steps be swift and my path narrow. Let me stumble across what I seek, or else some other holy sign of your approval. Let me act as your servant, let me act as your student. Blessed be my path. So shall I pray.

The Benshiran opened his eyes, dropped his staff, picked a direction, and started running.

He ran for what seemed like bells. His feet, clothed in hardened sandals, tripped and battered themselves against the stray rocks, sudden twists, and steep drops that the path took. His legs, long used to lazy strolls, strained after only ten chimes of the run, and his breath was growing more pained by the second. He ran stupidly, he ran recklessly, and he ran without any real idea of where he was going. It was a miracle that he didn't stumble blind into a horde of tsanas.

It was a miracle that he found anything at all.

He wanted to give up. Hirem wanted to give up the blind charge very badly, convinced that he was just going to get himself killed. His limbs, protesting with every push of strength, agreed, and faltered constantly. But in his mind and soul, this was only path that made sense to him. Yahal has given me a path and told me to run. And so, I will run.

Whether it was Yahal's intervention or blind luck, Hirem eventually found himself rewarded for his efforts with the telltale cry of, "Baaaa!"

Letting out a relieved breath of air, Hirem corrected his course and ran roughshod over the broken ground until he finally caught sight of the little lamb. It was lost and confused at the bottom of a wadi, looking delicately tempting to any flesh-eater on this hallowed night. Thankfully, before any jackal could chance their luck, Hirem rushed in and scooped the small creature into his arms, grinning like an idiot. "There you are, Dhayna... shh... it's alright. You are safe now."

The lamb fell limp in his strong grasp, allowing him to carry it easily towards their campsite. The way back was easier to discern than the way forward, as he had carved himself a large trail with his stumbling in the dark. As Hirem soothed his racing heart and walked slowly back to the camp, with the tiny lamb slumbering peacefully in his arms, he felt nothing in his heart but joy. There was no doubt, no fear, none of the confusion that had so completely characterized his life as of late. Instead, he took strength from Yahal's reward of faith, and felt his spirits become rejuvenated.

The renewal of his happiness lasted for one precious chime, and ended immediately upon him arriving back at the overhang. For, while he had managed to ensure the lamb's safe return, the same could not be said for his supplies; while he had left to chase after Dhayna, nighttime scavengers had mustered the courage to break through the cacti bushes and raid his belongings. Hik fruits lay spoiled on the ground, his meat was missing, and, most importantly, his waterskin had been split open. Nearly all of his food had been ransacked...

leaving him alone with Dhayna.

[Hirem]

17th of Spring, 514 AV

Yahal, blessed god, I trust in your path, your name, and your sigil. Though my road is weary and the horizon dark, I will forevermore continue my journey under your watchful care. Oh, wise father, my scope is restrained, and I cannot conceive the end of my trails... help me find safe footing in this maze of confusion. Your radiance shall be my comfort in the dark. So shall I pray.

"S-So shall I pray," Hirem hissed under his breath, voice muffled by his tight head covering. Though he spoke low and talked only to himself, he could barely hear the sound of his own words in the midst of the endless screaming. His ears threatened to explode, so strained were they by the constant thrust of the wind and the sand and the storm. It howled like some demon creature of myth, high and loud and so terribly, terribly fierce, hearkening back to nightmares of his youth. "So shall I pray!" He repeated, drawing strength from the affirmation.

But he did not repeat the oath a third time, for his breath was too precious to be wasted. His whisper, hoarse and cracking with weakness, was whisked away from his throat before he could blink, caught and carried away by this nightmare storm. His feet, straining to make progress, were suddenly stalled by a fierce gust that nearly sent him tumbling backwards - gritting his teeth, Hirem bowed his head and redoubled his efforts. Sand whipped at his burning sands, blew strongly into his face, threatened to blind him if he did not keep his eyes hooded. He could only advance by tapping forward with his staff and feeling for the stable ground. It was a storm that native Eyktolians would dread to venture into, and one that had unfortunately caught Hirem unprepared.

Only seven chimes ago, the desert had seemed so very calm, peaceful, and serene. The night air was still, the dark sky above was dotted with stars, and Dhanya's gentle slumbering had put Hirem into an impossibly wonderful sense of ease. In his fanciful imaginings, Hirem had even pictured the Benshiran tent that he was hunting in the distance, its homely fires beckoning him to the road's end. But the wind had begun to abruptly blow harder and stronger, faster and quicker, and very soon an immense cloud of dust was kicked off the ground and devoured the Benshiran whole.

The safe thing to do in a sandstorm was to find cover, and quickly. Walking unexposed for too long in the tempest would result in blinded eyes, stripped bones, and a slain pilgrim. But, unfortunately for Hirem, the usual rugged terrain of the desert had flattened into a broad plain of cracked dirt and dust, over which the storm blew mercilessly. His best hope now was to keep walking and find shelter. Bundled inside his tunic, pressed firmly into his breast, was the limp Dhanya, whose shallow breath the sandstorm threatened to steal. Her faint heartbeat made every footstep that much more urgent.

Part of him was convinced that this was the end. Hirem had survived countless sandstorms in his thirty years of life, but their impact was always keenly felt by the humble Benshiran. When he was six, a storm had threatened to consume his mother and split his family forever apart. A storm had taken Netanel from this world; the Djed Storm of a few years past had nearly sent him into a catatonic shock. But this storm, this blasted storm in particular, seemed to shake Hirem especially. All he could see in front of him was a blinding hail of sand and dirt and stone, a tormented sky splitting apart above his head. His bones shook with every gale... his breath seemed to grow more empty by the chime.

And he was going to die for some stupid lamb.

No, he thought. I am going to die for some stupid Benshiran, who has lost touch with reality and has confined himself to this petching desert. Ahnatep was not good enough for him... Hai was not deep enough to bury him. He is just entirely worth - Fighting back helpless tears, the man grit his teeth and strove forward, determined to at least carry out his last burden before he perished. But his legs could no longer carry him, buckling under his weight. Hirem collapsed onto his knees, sending sharp spikes of pain shooting through his body, and hung his head low.

"Let me die," he heard himself beg. His voice sounded strange to him - it sounded hollow, pained. Ari'Yahal had once called him a storyteller, but the only story he heard in his tone was a tale of pity and woe. "What use can you yet have for me? Why must I continue to suffer?" Dhanya's plight was forgotten now. His shortage of food was forgotten. His toothache was forgotten. All that remained was the searing agony in his heart. "Let this story end," he cried to the roaring heavens. Thrusting his exposed hand upwards, Hirem bared his Gnosis mark to Yahal. "Strip this from me and give it to one more deserving! I beg of you!"

He screamed his heart out to his god. But the heavens were silent in response. His eyes brimming with tears, Hirem bowed down, pressed his forehead to the dirt, and wept.

No more, came the thought.

He took a deep breath.

No more.

Wiping away his tears, shushing the whimpering lamb, Hirem pushed himself to his feet. "No more," he echoed, his voice hollow but no longer pathetic. Drawing his staff up, the Benshiran limped forward, gritting his teeth and keeping his head raised high. No more self-pity, no more crying, no more weakness. From this day forth, I am finished with it all. I was named for Hirem, the strongest of Biyram's children... let me live up to that legacy. I will have the strength to believe in my god.

"Baaaa?" Dhanya weakly asked, trying to poke her head free of the tunic.

"Baaaa." He whispered back, assuaging her concerns. Then, grinning at his ability to laugh in the face of death, Hirem battled back into the storm and sought shelter.

And, for his troubles, he was given it.

The hill broke out of the flat plains like a piercing spear, jutting forth from the ground. Redstone paved its sides, and haphazard boulders lay strewn around its base. But, most importantly to Hirem, a small cave appeared to have been burrowed at its bottom, just large enough for him to fit inside if he crouched. The Benshiran threw his head back and cackled. "Thank you my lord!" He screamed, his eyes dancing. "Thank you! Thank you!" Joy burgeoning in his heart, the man loped forward towards the cave entrance, carrying the confused Dhanya along with him.

The fit was snug, but Hirem eventually managed to worm himself into the cave. It was dark, terribly dark inside, but he could feel, from the way that his head brushed the ceiling, that the interior was bigger than he thought. Indeed, the walls of the cave continued to extend deep into the hill, suggesting that this was the creation of some clever, burrowing Chaktawe. A thick, pungent smell assailed him as he entered, but Hirem dismissed the stench as an uncomfortable detail he would happily live with, in exchange for safety from the storm.

Letting out a relaxed breath, Hirem laid his back against the rough cave wall and let his staff drop to the ground. Setting Dhanya onto his lap, the Benshiran turned to stare at the cave entrance, where sand was vainly battering at the rounded mouth. "Rest easy, little one," he began, nodding gently. "We are safe here."

"Baaaa!" The exhausted lamb blurted, before it abruptly collapsed into a fitful sleep. Smiling warmly at the unconscious animal, Hirem placed one hand softly upon its flank and closed his eyes. Peace was easy to find, now that he was safeguarded against the endless droning of the storm. Slowly, the Benshiran let his strength sap away from him, his exhausted bones resting as he listened to the sound of breathing...

His breathing...

The lamb's breathing...

And the breathing of a third.

The slow, shuddering, ghastly breathing of the third.

His eyes shooting open, Hirem whipped about to face the cave entrance. But, instead of spotting some desert creature or unnatural ghoul waiting there, he instead saw only the churning sands. It's coming from deeper inside the cave, he then realized, and just in time; accompanying the third's breathing came the sound of something scraping against the cave walls, and heavy padded feet approaching.

Hauling Dhanya off his lap and setting her closer to the cave entrance, Hirem looked the confused lamb in the eye. "Stay," he commanded, praying to Yahal that she would hear and understand. Grabbing his staff off the ground, Hirem tried to prepare himself for whatever was coming from that cave - his height, of course, proving a disadvantage, forcing him to remain crouched and perilously off-balanced. The third was coming closer and closer, and the Benshiran thought he could discern some hulking mass pawing from the cave interior to meet him. Yahal, grant me strength.

Finally, the creature revealed itself to Hirem: poking out of the darkness came a long snout, lined with teeth. Red eyes, glassy and predatory, glared at him from the shadows. Clawed feet paced on the ground of the cave, feet more accustomed to hunting on the open sand. It was the creature's broad shoulders that created the scraping sound, as the bull-like body was simply too fat for a warren like this. Hirem recognized the tsana, and realized that he was very lucky to have confronted it alone. Indeed, judging from the open and festering wound at its side, still oozing blood, Hirem guessed that the pack this beast belonged to had been slain by some other force, and this last survivor had crawled into the cave to die. That was a stroke of fortune.

Unfortunately, thanks to him gawking at the tsana, the beast was the first to strike. It lunged at Hirem with its snapping jaw.

The Benshiran did the only thing he could think to do: he jabbed at the tsana with his staff. He was hoping to strike for the eyes, but the tsana was too fast for him to aim it properly. But the animal, overzealous in its charge and opening its mouth too wide, ended up swallowing the butt of the staff. Hirem stared in disbelief at the now-gagging beast, and saw opportunity; gritting his teeth, he pushed at the staff with renewed force.

Instead of choking the creature like he intended, the extra shove only served to twist the staff dangerously, and the force with which the tsana clamped down on the wood ended up snapping it completely. Pieces of it still within the tsana's mouth ended up being lodged in its throat, distracting the creature for a few precious seconds. Still in shock that he had lost his only weapon so quickly, Hirem tried in vain to stab the creature's flank with the wooden shard, but found that the tsana's hide was too tough for him to pierce. Feeling his position waver dangerously from all of this momentum, Hirem tried to steady himself...

just as the tsana finally spit out his broken staff and lunged again, this time aiming directly for his face.

The beast's charge knocked Hirem off his bent knees, sending the Benshiran crashing onto his back. The tsana scuttled quickly over top of him, snapping down at his throat viciously. Hirem was only able to save himself by wrapping both of his hands around the creature's jaws and wrenching them away, trying to push the deadly opponent. But the tsana proved too strong to just shove free, and he ended up grappling with the beast on the ground. The razor-sharp teeth of the tsana raked at his skin and split it open, making his arms waver dangerously. Though he was strong enough to hold the attacker back for the moment, he would not be able to keep it in check for long. The clawed feet of the beast slashed at his arms and at his legs, trying to weaken him - in despite, Hirem only clenched his jaw and gripped onto the tsana's jaws with greater force.

And, throughout the entire battle, Dhanya continued to bleat pathetically in the corner.

But while the storm had threatened to consume Hirem's will to live, the attack of the tsana only served to bolster his resolve. His opponent outweighed him, overpowered him, and was only narrow inches away from tearing out his throat. In a bloody haze, Hirem stared into the empty eyes of the tsana, feeling his body wane in strength. He was afraid for his life, but neither was he convinced that this was the end.I will not die today. I will not give in to weakness. I will not bend my head and give up.

So, while staring into those red eyes, he reached up and gouged them out.

The sheer pain resulting from such an attack was the only thing that saved Hirem's now exposed throat, as the tsana reeled back and screeched. Seizing on the offensive, the Benshiran sprang forward with his right hand, burying it knuckle-deep into the beast's open wound. He had no real idea what he was touching in the tsana anatomy, what soft tissue lay exposed beneath a smattering of cracked bone, but he knew that it would hurt when he ripped it out. The fighter that had already dealt the blow had done most of the work for Hirem - all he had to do was find his grip and pull.

Now he had the tsana scuttling back onto its heels. The tsana were strongest in packs, where they could outmaneuver and easily cripple their prey. They were also strongest on open terrain, where their immensity allowed them to easily trample over their rivals. But in this tight cavern, where the tsana kept stumbling into the walls, with an open wound already festering on its chest? There had been a chance that Hirem might succeed.

Not chance. It was faith that allowed me to win.

He stalked after the beast with bloody hands, closing the distance it kept trying to put between them. In desperation, the tsana lashed out final time with its jaws, trying to force him back... a mistake, as it allowed Hirem to drop to his knees, wrap an arm around the tsana's snout, and the other around the beast's neck. There were thick tendons and scales protecting the throat, scales that scraped at Hirem's already bloody skin; ignoring the pain, he grit his teeth and began to clench his arm tight around the tsana's neck.

At first, it continued to struggle just as wildly as before, surging forward and threatening to knock the Benshiran clean off his feet. But the man, who was reaching for his last reserves of power, kept the tsana in its place, squeezing tighter and tighter. Slowly, ever so slowly, the tsana's attacks became less fierce, its charges more easily rebuked, its eyes less vibrant and wild. Clawed feet scratched in vain at the cave floor. Finally, the beast collapsed onto the ground, twitching.

Even then, it took Hirem several chimes before he finally could release his grip on the tsana. Immediately, he felt an agonizing strain running down the lengths of his arms, making him hiss in pain. Stumbling drunkenly back, feeling the strength that had emboldened him during the battle fade just as quickly as it had arrived, he felt his body slowly roll back and fall to the floor. He could hardly breathe - he could hardly think. His hunger was maddening.The tsana had drained him of all the energy that he had left.

He heard Dhanya approach his side, nervous in the wake of fierce combat. The lamb nudged at his chest, trying to stir him to life. Instead, he could only tilt his head to face the sheep, smiling weakly. "Good girl," was all he managed to say before darkness overtook him.

[Hirem]

18th of Spring, 514 AV

Morning had come, and with it an end to the blinding sandstorm of the night previous. Gone were the howling winds and the clouds of dust. Gone were the spitting dunes and the blistering sands. A quiet peace had come across the land, the wind stilling in the distance and the sky turning a pleasant, if muted, blue. But it was not the sort of peace that quelled hostilities and brought prosperity to all; it was the peace that followed after a massacre, where the surviving stragglers picked their favorite spots to die and let fate discard them as it would.

It was a morning for carrion. Buzzards cawed in the clear skies above, searching for hapless travelers that had fallen astray of the sandstorm's fury. Jackals prowled the distant horizon, their leering faces searching for the unlucky and the unwary. Corpses were discovered, fought over, torn apart - such was the way of life in this merciless desert. Towering over everything, master of all, rested the blazing sun, imperious in its command of life and death. The overbearing heat baked the dry ground below, cooking it slowly, turning bones to ash and flesh to charred scraps of meat.

It was the desert that Hirem was a part of... it was his home. For the longest time, he had thought himself adjusted to its violent ways, to its constant trials. And, indeed, he had adjusted: for eight long years, he had lived alone in the Burning Lands, making brief contact with wandering tribes or Tents but always finding a way to return to his solitary existence. He had thought that, of the three ways of life he was exposed to - Benshiran hospitality, Eypharian lavishness, and the nomadic wanderings - he had grown to understand the path of the nomad the most.

But neither had he wanted to spend the rest of his life a nomad. Always his wanderings were meant to be temporary, a brief trial that would allow Hirem to finally get a glimpse of his destiny and learn what his true purpose was. He had not set out from Yahebah at 21 expecting that the rest of his life would be confined to the desert. He had escaped, Ahnatep expecting to always live on the run. He had not journeyed to Hai, expecting to live. In the end, though, the "purposes" that he had discovered became temporary, and the wandering became the true destiny. Friends, family, loved ones... all of it fell by the wayside, one by one, until only his faith was left to him. Hirem had nothing in this world but his faith, and the desert.

And he was growing sick of the desert.

He stood on a high dune, overlooking the valley that led to the walls of Ahnatep. At his back were four dozen swords, ready to follow him into hell itself to purge the Eypharians from the world. Grinning, Hirem stretched out his hand and pinched Ahnatep between his two fingers, whispering, "Hirem, lord of the desert."

"Lord of the desert," he murmured to himself, shaking his head. "Yahal, forgive me for my trespasses."

At his side, Dhanya nervously bleated, staring out into the endless wastes with uncertainty. The lamb continued to nudge into his side, trying to get him to move and take charge of their little flock, but the strength to do so had vanished. It had taken all of his remaining energy to crawl out of the cave and sit against the cliff wall, letting him observe the surrounding terrain. The outcropping's height shielded them from the worst of the sun's heat, which was a blessing - Hirem wanted to die in the shade.

He felt that Dira's embrace was not far off now. Though he had been victorious in his battle against the tsana, the combat had nonetheless taken its toll; blood had oozed freely in the night from the many bites on his forearms and the claw marks on his legs, making him feel impossibly weak and light-headed. His every bone felt strained to the point of breaking, his muscles exhausted and searing with pain. But, most harrowing of all, was the insatiable hunger that Hirem felt in his groaning stomach, and the agonizing clench of his throat in the absence of water.

Hirem must have looked like a corpse to anybody that gazed upon him: he laid limp against the cliff side, glassy eyes staring straight ahead, flies buzzing around his aging wounds. All that it would take for him to pass would be another day spent in this blasted desert, struggling in vain to get the miserable lamb at his side home. Grimacing, Hirem breathed out a ragged breath and spoke to Dhanya. "Little one... I am sorry. I am sorry that I was not able to get you to your home... I'm sorry that I dragged you out here, and doomed you to perish. I regret that I could not see you back to your tent."

Dhanya bleated softly, as if to placate him, but Hirem waved her off. "I regret many things, little one. Perhaps you might... listen to them? It would be a great comfort to me, in this hour." The Benshiran was not mad; was painfully aware that he was speaking to a sheep. But he could not go peacefully to Dira's rest without speaking his last words to this precious sheep. Regardless, Dhanya did not seem to object, so Hirem continued to speak.

"I regret leaving Yahebah, all those years ago. I threw my life away on that fateful day, and it wasn't even Yahal that I was following... more like Sagallius, the bastard prince of lies." He shook his head. "I regret everything that happened in Ahnatep. I regret not telling Liviya that I was in love with her. She was so beautiful, so proud... so very much like the home that I was forsaking. I regret what I did to her."

"I did not regret descending into Hai," he quietly admitted, glancing up at the bright sky. "I felt compelled to, not only out of duty, but out of love for my lost father. It was in that prison that I felt the benevolent touch of Yahal... I would never chance losing that moment to fate. If I could descend into a thousand Hai's, make a thousand sacrifices to see Eyktol safe and my god appeased... I don't think I would regret that decision."

"I do regret spending my entire life in this petching desert." Growling, the Benshiran closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shutting out the damned desert from view. "There are so many wonders left alive in this world... so many people and places that I do not understand, or even know of. I feel as if I spent my entire life staring at a singular grain of sand, in the immense desert that is Mizahar. Do you understand, Dhanya?"

"Baaaa!" replied the sheep.

Chuckling, Hirem reached out and patted the lamb gently on the brow with trembling fingers. "Good girl." Then, withdrawing once more into himself, the Benshiran bit his lip, sighed, and pressed his head sharply into the cliff wall. "I regret not finishing my studies and becoming a Rapa. To spread Yahal's word, to live according to his creed... that would have given me a purpose. If I had just been more patient, more willing to accept the answers of my god as truth and not my own... I might have not ended up in this mess."

"But then I wouldn't have met you, little one." He smiled warmly at his little lamb, his last friend, and nodded gently to her. "In the end, Dhanya, we must place our faith in Yahal above all else. Even if we do not understand the ultimate form our path will assume, if we trust in him, we will find that the journey becomes easier to undertake. Know this lesson well, if you are to ever - "

"Hey! Hey, you!"

The call silenced Hirem completely, as the loud, booming voice came from nowhere and jarred the Benshiran's senses. The words had echoed far across the desert terrain, yet sounded as clear to Hirem as if they had been spoken directly into his ear. Turning his head slowly, painfully, the man was shocked to see three humanoid figures, mere shadows on the horizon, walking towards his location. Two of them seemed large and stocky, the third more diminutive and faint. Blinking slowly, Hirem tried, as hard as he could, to ascertain that what he saw was real and not a mirage.

As they came closer, the lead figure took a step back and shouted again. "Are you alone? There's tsana in these parts!" Though the figure was distant, the concern in his voice sounded entirely genuine. "A pack of them attacked our camp just yesterday morning! They might still be lurking around here!"

Struggling to raise his voice above a feeble waver, Hirem did his best to reply. "Fear not, my friend, for they are all gone. The last of them died in the night."

The figure did not respond immediately, but instead hushed an order to his compatriots, that they should hurry to see this mysterious half-dead man. As the trio came closer and closer to the Benshiran, he could start to discern their features: the two larger individuals were men, both stocky, coarse with hair, covered in thick robes and looked similar enough to be siblings. The little one was a girl, swaddled up in her heavy cloak, her features obscured by the hood pulled over her face. Benshiran, Hirem realized, with a start, upon spotting the men's glittering blue eyes.

As they approached, the trio showed caution in dealing with the strange, unaccompanied man - such sights served as traps for bandits and highwaymen, and no amount of charity would repair a dagger plunged into their backs. But as soon as the lead man spotted the numerous wounds that Hirem had sustained, and the heritage they shared, he understood that was no trap. "Adan, he needs our help!" The man cried to his partner, and both surged forward to approach their wounded kinsman. Hirem knew that he was no wilting flower, but never did he feel so physically weak as when those two men hoisted him easily off the ground.

"Hold, friend! What happened to you?" Adan asked, speaking in eloquent Shiber.

"Your tsana was living there," Hirem groaned, gesturing weakly to the cave entrance. "He still remains there, though no longer living."

"Don't worry," the lead man began, nodding. "We have many talented healers in our caravan. A fortnight with us and we'll able to get you back onto your feet." This was, of course, a boast, but Hirem yearned to accept the offer of aid anyway. Before he could speak, the lead man cut him off. "Speak little, my friend - conserve your energy. Here, let me make introductions: I am Hisham, from the tents of Idris, of the sons of Jaben. And this is my brother, Adan. And this is my daughter Nadia -"

"Yah!" The girl suddenly cried, drawing the men's attention back to the cliff side. Her eyes, once previously hidden by the hooded cloak, were now exposed and glimmered with a delightful mirth, sparkling green in their youthful energy. "Look!" Nadia was saying, pointing eagerly at the confused lamb that had been left behind near the cliff. "It's Hafa! Look,"she exclaimed, bending down and scooping the lamb into her arms. "It's my charm around her neck!"

And lo, my faith shall be rewarded.

Hisham and Adan both seemed disbelieving of this revelation at first, but a quick glance at the fortune charm assuaged their suspicions. They both turned to Hirem with new eyes after this discovery, Hisham looking at him with awe, Adan's eyes becoming more tinged with doubt. "Who are you?" The brother asked, tightening his grip on Hirem's shoulder.

There was nothing for the matter, but to answer truthfully. "I am Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. I am a servant of Yahal," he croaked. Before others could speak, it was his turn to silence them. "Where is your caravan headed?"

Hisham bowed his head. "To Riverfall, noble Rapa. You are most welcome to accompany us on the journey, should you wish."

The lost man closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "You are mistaken; I am no Rapa. I am merely Hirem."

Riverfall? I... I have no idea of what lays in Riverfall.

But now I know where my steps must lead. Guide me, Yahal, for it is your will that I serve. Make my journey short and the road safe. So shall I pray.

So shall I pray.

THE END

[Gossamer]

XP AWARD!
Thanks for threading in Riverfall.

Character: Hirem
Experience: Observation +3, Meditation +3, Planning +2, Tracking +2, Animal Husbandry +2, Wilderness Survival +3, Staff +1, Brawling +1, Socialization +3
Lore: Religion: Placing Ones Fate In Yahal’s Hands, Animal Husbandry: Caring for a lost lamb, Meditation: Using Prayer to Meditate With, Tracking: Finding Lost Lambs, WS: Finding Shelter In A Sandstorm, Staff: Fighting a Tsana in close quarters, Brawling: Gouging Out Eyes, Yahal: The Faithful will be rewarded.


Additional Note: Hi there. First off let me say I really enjoyed your thread. Secondly, I gave you meditation XP because the act of prayer for your PC seems to fit into this category and it was utilized sooo well in the thread to set the theme. My mouth even got dry and I could feel the hot desert wind as you were writing. Thank you for that. I gave you a nod to caring for the lamb with one animal husbandry point.. I also gave you .. uh.. Socialization for all the socializing you did with the lamb.