Open The Desert Dunes Roll

[Baku]

The Dragonfly wings of the Ornithopter let out a hum as warm as the feeling one got when sitting beneath the brilliance of The Mother Ring. Suma learned how to fall in love earlier than most, he'd heard it said. For they looked up at her brilliant colors and gifts and tears and wondered what mysteries she held high above them. Watching the endless sands could take one to fantastical daydreams, perhaps as the gods intended. He stood on the side of the opening of the chitinous skycraft. His cloak of brown with golden trimmings blew in the wind and his dragontooth earrings danced with them. He stood tall without need of grabbing on to any nearby supports. The first time he'd taken to the sky had been with his first teacher Mari'Sil. Mari'Sil's talents had made him arrogant and cruel and he'd laughed at Baku when he'd seen how frightened the initiate was when he'd seen the Kiakias from under the Dragonfly's wing.

"You had best find your footing, boy," Baku remembered Mari'Sil laughing from a silk covered belly, his gold adornments laying across the mounds on his chest and stomach. "Takoumba devours the man who can not stand the dune's winds."

A harsh reality bred excellence. Baku would never forget Mari'Sil's chuckle. But the mission required he put his visage in the back of his mind. Word had come down from the Barra'Kasa and into the halls of the Suma that there had been a raid on one of the crystal veins. A few soldiers lost their lives defending it, but nothing was taken. The assailants were using elemental magic and there was talk of a Djinn with them, a thing that raised eyebrows among the Scholars. After all, it was a rare thing for Djinn to take an interest in their operations. Then again, their motives were often their own. Unknowable to the common man. Baku the Brass was assigned to know them all the same. Luckily, he hadn't come alone. Two of the Nzuri'daba flew with him and the Barra'Kasa had seen fit to bring outside contractors in on the mission as well. There were higher-ups in the Aja're'kuta that likely wanted to keep Miradan bloodshed to a minimum wherever they could. Practical minds would much rather someone else bleed for The Greatest City There Is, Was, or Ever Will Be.

Baku and his party leapt from the Ornithopter and Baku turned and watched it zip into the air and behind nearby dunes to await their return. Turning, Baku saw the mining operation ahead and threw a hanging cloth from his white turban about the lower half of his face.

"Let us not tarry!" he called out to his party. "I somehow sense our arrival is known by more than our allies..."​

 

[Hama Abkari]

Bent low to the sand, and draped in the shimmering blue of his shawl, Hama scooped the sands of the Kaikais into the palm of his hand. Felt the heat pour into his flesh, while his eyes strained through the haze of their cataracts.

How it stung. Familiar and sweet. Grains of gold he knew to glitter and shine against his own skin.

He ran his thumb over the sand he had collected, even as those intrepid souls about him set to Baku's command.

"Suma Abkari," his young apprentice called out. "The expedition moves forward!"

The desert's wind tickled Hama's nose. Caressed his cheek with gentle whispers. He shut his eyes, and held his pal open all the flatter.

The winds stirred the more. A strong and howling breeze that kicked up the dunes about them. Set devils to spin in tall towers, if only for a moment, before they fell to the slopes anew.

Hama opened his eyes and smiled. "So it does, Neema," he rose up, as the younger scholar unfurled herself from her robes, and shook away the sand. The old man already strides ahead of her. She gathered her things, and set off after him.

 

[Sivaraju]

https://soundcloud.com/david-giffard%2Freharl-ornothopter-approach

In landing bold upon the sands from ornithopter was the temple guard's palm placed upon the dunes in one motion of landing.

A shuddering of tremors of the shoulders as the hunched might of the warrior did sift through what did pass between his mind and press against his palm. No hint of beings far more competant than he in such passage of weaves. No mistake in their business, as was their custom. None that were evident or apparent to such a humble cursory peering.

Hand returned to side, eyes unveiled from what sights were his to fleeting peer at.

Were it so easy.

The sages striding forward with both word and deed did wrench Sivaraju from the sand. The walking barrier that did bar troubles from their doors did position himself and attend their need, enshadowing long the sands that did creep away from them by winds that shaped all, stride self assured, belied by adoption of responsibility. The bravado of younger beings was his to leave in his wide footprint. Tall of stature and of brooding amassed might, his manner was more akin to that graceful service of attendants that allows others to strike accord with fate, the lash of what was destined to irritate would strike against him first should he be true to his function.

This moment did not demand of him be vanguard. Not yet. Protection of those sages that did bid purpose from all gathered by myriad motivation and manner was his firm command. Bound to the City's will was Sivaraju, the minds of sages his charge, his hands to twist away that which would seize upon them. Vigilant to doors prodigious, the guiding hand that did halt the thwarting factors that did seek to waylay did serve this day. From such staunch defence were others of greater title given the means to serve the Greatest City's behest and need, as was correct, as was ordained. And so he moved on, and loomed to source of the solutions to what mysteries did await them.

Golden eyes did rake the mirage of heats rising for sign of Djinn born passage, his palm placement failing to give even fleeting clue. His heart calm to what hints of trouble did burn for fleeting lying moments in the air matter.

The expedition moved forward, as was the command. Sivaraju's eyes did menace diligence to the reckless, wisdoms sharpened in the wits that were years crafted by disciplines unknown to most.

The assurance of the burning sun did wager it's heat against them all and grant familiar the need for guards such as he. What might sweep them all up in blinding, binding plots of things beyond his own understanding and station was his to stand against in peril with welcome heart. Yet his shadow would stand long against such impossible powers until the final light of life be overpowered. Or else his soul be snuffed complete when the final deeds be scribed.

If blood were to spill, it was Sivaraju's to trade, or else his function be poorly rendered.

Our will to the hierarchies that sustain our passage.

So that other minds may find the truths in such fierce strikes of daylight and chance, his frame did poise to greet what unknowns did lurk in mirage, in schemes, and blinding lights of discovery.

 

[Baku]

It was often said that no one made it through the trials of the desert the way that the Zana’gari did. When the sages and swords approached the mining community, there was music that flew over the dunes and danced with the sands as though it belonged. And the closer they got, the more aetherial their voices became on the wind. Many banners that paid homage and loyalty to Miradj’Dah flapped in the desert winds and around the mines were hundreds of tents with men and women scurrying between them like ants.

Smiths worked forges of blue flame powered by the crystals carried by people who lived in the chasm below. Worshippers danced around azure fires and sang songs about lovers lost and found. Lewd tales were told in the encampments over drinks and the flesh of bizarre Kaikias animals being spit roasted. The party traveled deep through it all with small children running up to them to sell them their wares. Crude crystals that glowed in their small hands and works of jewelry made by their parents and masters.

In the center of it all was a chasm that seemed without end. The sounds of countless picks and machinery filled their ears. Tiers of homes built into the sides of the deep hole in the desert were alight with torches and candles. Foremen barked commands and men, women, and children alike climbed ladders with their bounty strapped on their back so that they might recieve their day’s wage. Their piece of the Miradan bounty.

“Let us find the Guildmaster here,” Baku waved down one of the apprentices. “Come, my boy. Venture down below and let them know of our coming.”

Dust belched forth from the dark below and Baku threw his shawl over his face so as to not breathe it in. The dust sparkled and settled and down below, Baku could hear applause. A new vein, perhaps?

 

[Hama Abkari]

Hama's silver eyes looked down into the great maw that yawned wide its welcome. Saw those people that milled about its scaffolded walkways, so laden with the burden of their labor. The music of the camp town still so clear in his ears as the cheers continued to roar up from the pit.

Fast movers climbed ladders, and ran across planks. Small from where their party stood watch, but urgency was all to clear to wizened eyes.

"I believe," The Silver said, gentle as the night's breeze, and just as clear. "That youth there will show us," he said with but a tilt of his chin.

On the youth ran, the path ahead of him clearer and clearer. Less laborers, more guards. Plenty of thick fabric draped about well laid stakes to pitch cool shade. And most importantly, it sat just above the dust clouds that bloomed and swirled up from the maw. An observation post, with clear vantage of the operations.

Guards impeded the boy's path, but his whole body seemed to shake with excitement. They looked to one another, one motioned, and one moved away with quick steps.

Tools clangored and pound in rhythms. Music. Beats. All mixed with shouts of exhalation. The foremen, half caught between confusion and smiles themselves.

"Our arrival has brought fortune with it," the old Suma said, as they set to motion. The sun high and unforgiving in its splendorous heat.

 

[Sivaraju]

The density of thousand fold hundred score picks and hammers against rock met Sivaraju's ears, overlapping strikes that did echo. Sivaraju did wade into such sound as silently as he might, as not to disturb the guards that did culminate with his heavy tread, no reverberations were required to fortify their passage. Hands lay still and hoof did land as soft as one needed to hear more beyond the wise ones that did direct.

The shouts of individuals driving picks multitudinous, the hierarchy of the pit was understood in it's depths. The bounties so lumbered were unifiers to the drive of industry, each machine that thrummed providing aid to those that were compelled by fortune's demand. The understanding of what was required had rippled out, each deed echoing, hiding the original strike within a density of shared efforts in time. In such storms of movement, success was inevitable, Sivaraju did think, momentum of the driven and reminded secured by the hierarchy in effect.

The clouds did rise and develop their own humours, clinging to the air and being willed away by those responsible for true breath for those that did toil and shout on. Sivaraju bore this duty in his own mind, for to suffer the choking air was not for his charges to endure. Still hands did form the rudiments to pierce the air, the weave performing their duties to the compulsion commanded. The first introduction of dust was not mitigated, but Sivaraju quickly did attend the need. Hands clasped upon the Weave, and so it was.

The Brass and Silver Sage were afforded their breathing space as subtle redirection was afforded, as if the dust itself were made averse to the presence of wisdoms. The air, clean sliced, allowing fortunes to speak upon fortunes, instead of strikes against the rock to rule the sound and breath.

 

[Baku]

"It would seem it has," the Brass responded to Silver with a grin.

The Suma had spent a great deal of time around magic. Enough to feel it's pull whenever someone tugged at one of the million threads of weave that awaited their touch. The wind had danced away with the dust the miner's bounty had created. Slowly, he pulled down his shawl and gazed down below to see one of the apprentices being followed by a large ebon skinned man with a massive beard. The closer they came to the top, the larger the man seemed to get. He moved across planks and up ladders and stairs in ways that even Baku could learn to envy. Once they reached the top, he offered a massive hand to the Suma and their party. And he'd been the height of two full men with a head the size of a saber cat's. His massive beard and locs were coated with dust and his smile was big and crooked.

"Dusube's blessing upon you," the giant spoke, running his thick fingers through his beard.

Dusube usually had a temple in the dead center of mines like these. Far down in the deep, the denizens would come and pay homage to the desert spirit responsible for great works and hard labor. They'd lay crystals at the feet of a steel idol as well as swords and jewelry. Dusube smiled upon their mine that day, it seemed. And they would continue to cheer as they picked at the glowing rocks beneath the mundane.

"I am Kassimbe of the Wanjila'dara. I am the one who wrote to the city to send help. Things are safe here this day, gentleman but at night... well." the giant looked worried. His eyes glanced downwards toward the people who's safety he was charged. Baku knew what failure looked like when he saw it. He'd seen it in his own reflection in the past when wisdom escaped him and knowledge failed him. His own heart that beat with a blue pulse was proof of such.

"Let us discuss this more down below. Follow me and watch your step! The mine can be treacherous if you don't know where to place your feet."

 

[Hama Abkari]

Come Kassimbe, and Hama would keep his pleasant smile worn upon his face. The Kassimbe's massive shape towered there in the blur that was increasingly his world. But what his eyes could not see, he could feel. In how the wind coursed about the man. In how his voice shook with an untold worry.

What terrors would the night bring, that their coming had not, the Silver Sage wondered.

So the party moved, down deeper into the mine. Across ladders, and ways, with bodies constantly aflow around them. Neema, faithful apprentice that she was, cautioned the old Sage at each missing rung, or narrow plank they needed to cross. He but smiled, and thanked her from behind his placid silence. All the while, the electric scent of shroud stone grew the thicker in the air. Fuller in each breath.

It was a scent unlike any other. Raw shard. Coppery, yet floral. It gave the nose a sterile sensation that burned down into the blood with each pull of the lungs, like clear distilled alcohol, and yet, spread through the rivers of one's life like the woody roots of a berry bush. It invigorated, just as much as it sedated. Bitter and sweet.

A scent that heralded paradox. Promised change. Whispered possibility. A scent that was not from Khurun, but the Mother Herself.

As they came unto the mine's floor, Hama felt his head swim in the thick soup of all the work. Carts of lightning struck stones were hauled out by miners with eyes that shimmered with hope. Smiles wide as they bade their greetings and gave their glories to Dusube.

Hama nod. "This mine produces stones of a most potent quality," he spoke into the air. Milky eyes unmoving through all the commotion that went on around them.

Neema stared wide eyed at it all. A child of the Greatest City, it was her first time at such an operation.

 

[Sivaraju]

The statue dedicated to the desert spirit of labour did hold Sivaraju's attention, living eyes upon the tribute at it's feet, living eyes daring not to meet the portrayal of divine. Such did bode ill Sivaraju believed. Such was not proper, and would make himself seem improper to his own dedications. His ears remained open as his eyes acted respectfully to the pillars supporting his spiritualities, of deference and respect, as sounds and vibration did wash against the shore of his soul for hint of rogueries.

His eyes went to the swords arranged by hands that earned their way and knew their faith bolstered by the yields. Yields of stone that did make the air swim with unusual fragrances, scents that with each strike and erosion did promise edification in the eyes of what this statue did depict. Eyes that Sivaju did not meet, in deference to his own toils and manners.

A greatness revealed itself in such offerings, Sivaraju did think, in stone and weapons laid out so in deference. Evidence of the power of faith and placement of the vocation, workers imploring for a chance to reveal their purpose in the acts before and to come. The blades arranged in earnest, adorned with the hopes of those who sought to enable the earth to reveal it's treasure by their diligence to their vital functions. Such draperies were not effortless pleas for assistance. They were dedications to perform their duty to the promises made by each party. The earth did give it's bounty to those who had the will to set themselves upon the wheel of toils.

Clearly, there was wisdom here in directing such practice. And that wisdom carried itself within a taller frame than Sivaraju's own. There was wisdom in calling for assistance for such as his charges. Another assurance to Sivaraju's spirit. Before the speak of the night troubles, there was evidence of the day being carried true.

With such sages that did swim strong in the currents of the air, he was there to bring about their words directed into fist invective. What troubled this place of labours and dedications would be thwarted, and his charges rendered safe. That was his labour. Sivaraju had nothing to lay at the statue, but in his mind his hands, open and calm, scantified by his dedications. With arresting hand would his body redirect danger, and strike down that which did irritate the labours of this place.

What light was here for now was savoured. For in dark promised, in the night that was soon to be spoken as to what did trouble it, he would no doubt be asked to see the dangers lurking, to hear the threat within the winds before it did crash upon them heavy.

Sivaraju did wonder one thing, dawning upon him as if a whisper from the statue itself. This Kassimbe of the Wanjila'dara, had a might all his own. A brawn and height, a frame that would support mighty strikes that might set the ground to trembling. Those gifted with such broad dominion of the world in physicalities could dismay the lesser, and were bound to do so by duty's sake. This Kassimbe had called for help from the Sages. But what could cause one of such heights to not strike it down himself?

This thought not one of subversion or doubt. Merely respect of the awaiting circumstance explained. Something numerous perhaps, something swathed in the dark. Sivaraju knew there would be worthy reason for such requests for help from the Sages. And entirely reasonable explanation as to why the vast brawn of Kassimbe of the Wanjila'dara could not contend without their wisdoms and gifts.

Such labours to doubt were not worthy of laying at the statue's feet, nor would they grow within the garden of Sivaraju's mind. He followed, silent in footfall, hands calm, the light welcomed for as long as it would last, and this moment of caution respected before the senses were commanded to fiercen at the dangers of the night soon to be elucidated.