The sun was set high in the clear blue sky, the typical mid-day heat in this vast and mighty wasteland taking full effect as it pounded on the seemingly endless dunes, the boiling temperatures could literally be seen rising off the sand as it distorted the air as if it was a large stove. No vegetation was in sight, nor should there be, as this land as been dry for generations, and now only jagged rocks which formed from the occasional sandstorms decorate this barren territory.
It was not just the life of foliage and greenness that was absent on these sands, but it was also life itself. No creature skittered across the scorching ground or flew in the hot sky; the desert was silent save for the soft, blowing wind. This stood until... a shimmer appeared in the distance. Black in color, its image wavy from the heated air. A mirage perhaps? The idea was plausible; many a fool saw such illusions and followed them to their deaths. However, this one grew larger and larger, as if gaining distance. Would such a creature truly try to brave these harsh conditions? No vultures circled in the air, maybe they do not smell death on this one, or maybe... this being was too ominous.
As the entity grew closer, its visage became more apparent, and it was humanoid. Its feet clearly showing lag, displaying its fatigue from crossing the immense desert, the black clothes it wore were sandy and damp from sweat, clinging to its womanly figure. Her black mask echoed her heavy breaths before she finally let down her cowl, liberating her long dark brown hair, shaking out the tangles in her locks that may have formed while captured. Her hands then moved to take off the mask which was hot to the touch from the sun beating down on it, revealing her intense green eyes and a face so horribly scarred, a tough barbarian would be rendered queasy. There was trace amounts of former beauty in the disfigured appearance, a beauty that some said rivaled a goddess', but it was taken away from her due to her own foolishness.
And now here she was, traveling through this hostile land, searching for a way to gain back what was lost. She would not easily give up, the Countess of Aldaríon... she would find a way to reverse her fate, and did not care what it took to do so. But this was near unbearable. The retreat of the mask and cowl gave only little relief from the heat and her water supply was running dangerously low. She should have been more prepared, but Clarissa did not expect the desert to be so unforgiving. Nonetheless, she continued on, determined to find what she sought for.
After only a mile more, the last drop of water was consumed, and she was now on her last thread of life. Worry began to creep into her mind, she wasn't so sure if she would survive this journey anymore. This land will be her tomb soon... but still, she walked on, only walking a few steps before her eye caught an object of interest... more like a an object with an intriguing color... green. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that it was some sort of mirage or her mind playing games, but her eyes squinted at the object, taking several steps toward it, realizing that it was some sort of palm that peeked up over a dune. This is too good to be true. Clarissa thought before her walk turned into a jog, then into a run over the hill of sand, her tired sight coming to rest an a large pond of water with several palm trees dotting around it along with small patches of grass.
A rare smile stretched across the countess' face, still unable to believe what she sees, but is very amused at any rate. She nearly stumbled to the edge of the pond, her hand hovering over the water before dipping it in, feeling the warm liquid cover and soak her glove and hand, washing away the sand and sweat. She did not waste much time afterward and undressed herself, placing her clothes on a soft grass patch before descending her naked body into the pond, immediately feeling relief spread across her body. She dunk her head then back out, cleansing her hair and head. At this time she realized that she hasn't had a relaxing bath like this in many years. Maybe she should do this more often?
Clarissa finished up, stepping out of the pond to dress herself again. After finishing past halfway, she felt that someone, or something, was watching her. She wasn't a big fan of peeping toms, never was, so this made her slightly agitated and yelled out, "Who's there?! I don't much appreciate snoopy folk!" She questioned the nature of her shouting in the middle of an empty desert, that perhaps she has gone crazy, but when the dunes around her started becoming disturbed, she knew she wasn't alone. And before she could shout again, a sharp pain on the back of her neck knocked her into the blackness of unconsciousness.
Her eyes blinked open for a couple seconds before she jumped up to her feet in alert, and immediately an ache throbbed on the back of her neck and her head swirled slightly, making her sit back down as she groaned. She noticed her mask was gone as was most of her equipment. Looking around, she noticed she was in a prison cell of some kind, but instead of iron bars, it was wood and rope, and the floor was covered with sand, the walls made of some kind of stone. Outside, she noticed the cell she was in was connected to a few other cells as if it was a jail, and the jail was part of an encampment of some kind with leather tarps covering the pathways and houses for shade.
Voices then reached her ears, and her eyes diverted to two guards talking in Sindarin, a language she knew little of but managed to get the words "desecrator" and "elders". What did it mean, she did not know, and the guards looked elvish, but they were different somehow, as if more changed by the desert. The guards approached her cell and opened it, talking to her in a demanding voice, speaking in the common tongue now, "It's your time to face the elders for your punishment, desecrator."
Confused, Clarissa began to speak, "Punishment? But I-"
"Silence!" Another guard barked, the tip of his spear near her throat, "You have broken our law and now you will pay the price, scarred desecrator."
Now angry, her teeth gritted together as she got up from her seated position. She absolutely hated being interrupted and she hated it even more when someone called her "scarred" or even noted her face... it lit up a dark, furious fire within her that contended with the desert's own heat. The guards went on to bind her hands together with a sturdy rope before flanking her from front and back, escorting her to the elders chamber where her sentencing awaits.
It was amazing what has become of Angband, the hidden stronghold, it used to be one of the most marvelous construction that has ever met the face of the continent, built upon a lifeless soil and rough environment, it might have taken decades or even centuries to complete such a structure without magical aid. Back in its days of glory the stronghold used to be the perfect prison, each of its rock was baptized by blood and sweat of the convicts, Now it was resting in nothing more than ruins, its former glory has faded and the whole structure was slowly crumbling to the will of the desert. It was a pile of trash which became the perfect shelter for the people living in the present, a center and home to many brigands. The heath seemed to be gentle there and the still standing walls served as a perfect protection against the sandstorms. The under-network provided fresh water, and yet, many dangers. It was like a mine of gold haunted by the most evil of the spirits: Few were the ones actually able to live there; the desert marauders were one of them. They established their base of operation there, and suppressed their authority over the others by taking control of many water-sources, such as oasis and several restored wells located throughout the ruins. They were formidable fighters, able to use the desert to their advantage, they were almost invisible when approaching their target, making their presence known only when it would have been too late for the victim. Their specialty was fighting on horseback or camelback, and they favored curved swords typical for their kind.
The main concern were the outsiders who couldn’t resist the desire to ‘desecrate’ their oasis with their primal urges. Once captured, the strangers were brought before the elders whom judgment was rarely questioned. While their methods seemed unorthodox, the goals were noble, assuring the existence of many other sentient beings.
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The adventurous spirit of Zekhen has pushed him far beyond the limits of the wasteland, where he found a completely different world, much easier to live in but much harder to integrate. Despite spending so much time there, his habits remained unchanged, and he will always remain a child of the desert, he was rough and tough as the waste, and his fighting-style originated from there. He didn’t even give up those billowy clothes.
The elf was a desert marauder at heart, and every time he returned among them he brought, as a gift, as much water as he could carry, buying himself a pleasant return. Water was much easier to harvest in the ‘green lands’.
The circumstances made that he was there, discussing and sharing experiences with his old business partners when several guards summoned two elders to trial a stranger who desecrated one of the oasis under their control. The trials were not a fancy ceremony and they happened spontaneously, in mid desert or in mid ruins, wherever the elders could be found. Few were the ones who escaped a death sentence, they were even executed on place or thrown against the wrath of the desert.
“Bring the desecrator to me!” The elder commanded, he did not look old, but received the status through his wisdom and ability to manipulate several aspects of the desert through magic, he was one of the marauder’s sorcerers and spiritual guide, they were few and most of the time they didn’t play an important role. Before him, the form of a woman was brought, with a slender physique which seemed to be contradictory with her mutilated face. What kind of creature she was, her mere presence struck a look of awe into the elder’s face. They were judging things to another level, they saw her as a bad omen.
“You dare to bring such creature in front of me?! You should have killed her on place!” The elder pointed towards one of the guards accusingly, “Take her far away, feed the sand worms with her flesh!”
The whole scene has left everyone in silence, no one knew what to say or what to do, for that matter, until someone spoke.
“I will take care of this trouble, great elder, if you would allow me. I have to leave anyway, and it shouldn’t be a problem to me, I know just the perfect place to make this… creature... nothing more than a putrid spot on the pages of history.” Zekhen stepped from the crowd and walked between the elder and the scarred desecrator, his words were well chosen, but the respect shown to the sorcerer was nothing but false. “Very well, you may take this job, and if you fail… desert have mercy on you.”
Were they brutes or tyrants? No, that’s how their society was, you couldn’t survive out there only by being nice.
Pleased and still arrogant, the elder turned and disappeared into the crowd accompanied by another man of his rank. “Fool…” The elders was the only thing Zekhen despised at the marauders.
“Get her ready, tie her to my horse, I will leave as soon as possible. Also I need some water supply for the trip. ”
He soon retrieved his horse and brought it to the square, for the guards to tie the woman to it, while he was refilling his bottles with water for the journey ahead.