Name: Joha Ritch
Race: human
Genus: sapient
Class: C
Level: 24 (173,564 experience points to the next level)
Affiliation: Geb
State: saddle weary
Brief description: 5 foot 8, tanned skin, hair habitually short, skin scarred from burning, green eyes
Accolade points: 12 (son of a minor nobleman)
Endowments: extra hydration (all forms of liquid quench your need for hydration by an extra 25%), sun care (your skin is resistant to sunburn and you are resistant to heat stroke)
Curses:
Attributes:
Each number in the following list is the level achieved for that attribute.
Magicka skill schools
None present
Control and technique
Willpower 31, language 41, composure 20, concentration 15, intelligence 18, anticipation 7, visualisation 12
Attacking attributes
Strength 28, short blades 27, short bow 32, long blades 31, two-handed blades 21
Main defensive attributes
Armour 82 (from equipment), shields 28, resistance to heat 28, toughness 18, sturdiness 11, natural healing 17
Movement and positioning
Dexterity 15, speed 21, agility 8, fitness 21, balance 15, recovery 15, riding 31
Mental traits
Insightfulness 8, lore 32, navigation 32, tracking 28, negotiation 18, determination 15, cunning 7, erudition 41, leadership 12, perception 21, team ethic 7, empathy 3, assertiveness 21, instincts 7, inspirational 15
Miscellaneous
Luck 16
Health 1,200/1,200, stamina 1,200/1,200, mana 1,200/1,200
Endowments: none
Abilities and spells:, execution, haemostasis, rejuvenation, cure poison, ice formation, ice dagger, ice cube, blizzard, spark, cats eyes, weak aura vision, weak catalyst, active identification
Tattoos bestowed: none
Active quests: ties that bind, information gathering, reach level 51, become a hanged man, complete the assault course in under 2:36, master the kunai with chain, enter the festival of iron, the word of God
Eight Era, cycle 1720 – cycle of the incontinent cow, season of Unkh, day 78
‘We’re being sent to bum-fuck nowhere,’ Joha said and spat; his losses in the gnome city had affected him greatly.
‘You were the one who was so insistent that you get a placement,’ Nasredin replied, adjusting his sword belt; it was new and had started to rub against his waist.
‘Moojan had been on several placements before he’d reached his seventeenth year,’ Joha replied.
‘Not all of your brother’s assignments were glamorous, and this is your second.’
‘They are punishing me for the deaths on my last assignment,’ Joha stated darkly.
‘They are not; that creature sounds like it was a high level. That you came back at all was a small miracle.’
‘It was no miracle,’ Joha confirmed, rubbing the still mottled skin.
‘You should be happy; your brother was accepted into the Hawk.’
‘I know; I was there when my parents threw a feast in order to mark his so-called “graduation” after coming back from a successful first mission. When it came to my time, it’s “Oh, we don’t have the money Joha; we’re still paying for your brother’s.”‘
‘Well, it was a joint celebration of Moojan’s graduation and you joining the programme.’
‘Hardly; everyone was there for Moojan, except for you.’
‘True, but that’s hardly Moojan’s fault,’ Nasredin consoled.
Joha grunted. He liked Nasredin, but it would help if Nasredin wasn’t quite so sensible.
Joha and Nasredin weren’t exactly friends; they were the kind of people who would have avoided each other had they been in the same year at school. There wasn’t an enmity between them, but a basic difference of personality that meant they didn’t mix well. Joha was impulsive, headstrong, determined to the point of single focus, and competitive; he’d gravitated to building his stats as a tank (a damage absorber in a fight). Whereas Nasredin was cautious, tactical, methodical and patient; he put his attribute points towards becoming a mage.
These differences in personality had caused them some difficulties when they were placed together to form a party. However, they were both loyal men and both felt kinship to the Prophet, so they put their duty before their feelings, and had formed a bond that suited them well and had resulted in good marks at the academy.
They were riding two rather splendid wurvms; the Prophet was suitably generous to his guild of bodyguards (a more personal form of army), and the two wurvms had gloriously dark coats, were around half as large again as a horse, and each one was trained to level 15.
Race: wurvm
Genus: worm (This is a highly debated genus, as most forms of worm don’t have a genus. This genus causes much confusion, and many appeals have been made to change it. The smallest “worm” species is 5-foot long and consumes flesh, although it is unclear if they subsist on meat or if this is more territorial.)
Class: C
The wurvm is a large creature that dwells in deserts and arid environments; its appearance is similar to that of a worm in that it is tubular. However, on a technical level, this is the only real similarity. The wurvm has no annuli and is not segmented at all. Also, the wurvm is khaki coloured.
Affiliation: Shai-Hulud
Harvestable items: none
State: unknown
Level: 16
Health 800/800, stamina 800/800, magicka unknown
Endowments: foresight
Curses: none
‘The heat is ungodly,’ Joha announced, looking for something the two could agree on.
‘I must admit that I didn’t expect the desert to be… so hot. It feels like the sun is an inch away from my skin; I could toss an egg in the air and it’d be boiled before it lands,’ Nasredin speculated.
‘When I took my leather off last night, there were salt marks on the inside from where I’d sweated! I must have drunk 3 litres of water during the day and only passed water once!’
‘I hear it is good for the pores, as it cleans them out.’
‘It can’t be; all this sweat must prematurely age you. How are you holding up, Kaysar? Does this remind you of the old days?’
‘We didn’t have mounts in the army; you had to carry 30 pounds of backpack for eight hours a day, every day. We spent three weeks marching from Angliou to Norviek in 42°, and if you complained, they weren’t beyond putting you on half-rations,’ Kaysar replied.
‘It beats me why we battle constantly for this little spit of hell. Let the Kadambas have it, we can defend against any attack from the desert.’ Joha said.
‘It isn’t just about the desert; it’s also about the Rhun. The tax to import anything from the river is extortionate. The Prophet wants a portal into the Rhun without Kadambas’s import tax. Many outside our lands complain about the greed of the Sultan. The river Rhun runs to the Dunaj, which reaches the Gloria Sea. As we are a landlocked people, an entry to the water is of huge benefit. With the Alcamarie Waste to the north, most of the east being desert, and the Kaiser of Pinsk having most of our southern border, we do not wish to antagonise the Pinsk in reaching the Olariean Sea. The Pinsk people have more berserkers than any other land, it is said. The borders with Scythia, Kipchaks, Pechenegs and Oium are of no use to our expansion, as they too are landlocked. And as for the Hun Empire, well, the less we provoke them, the better. So, this is our only true outlet, and if we are to survive, expansion is critical. Let us not forget the Varangians, who did not expand for over 300 years and thus fell,’ expounded Kaysar.
‘Will this really revert to war?’ Nasredin asked.
Kaysar responded, ‘We will see; the people have little appetite for war after seven years of losing their sons and husbands to the sands. In my five years here, I fought more than thirty battles and scuffles, and lost most of them. And I was one of our more successful officers. The deserts give them an advantage; we can’t deny that and as for another war, well, we shall see. However, there have been some trade agreements in the past, perhaps this will be one of them. We are here to sue for peace; the dunes carry many of our deceased and their families want burials.’
‘We spent years in the frying pan, and, in all that time, we’ve lost less than 6 miles of land to Kadambas, but that was desert land. We’re defending home territory now, and we won’t ever be pushed back again, yet now we sue for peace? Once we’ve already lost as much as we could possibly lose? You can’t honestly tell me that these godless people stand a chance out of the desert,’ Joha said bleakly.
‘They have refused all attempts at peace up until this point. Now it is felt they have pushed as far as they can, so they accept an envoy to discuss peace,’ declared Kaysar.
‘They killed us for decades over 6 miles, and now we must come crawling on our bellies? It sickens me,’ stated Joha.
‘We all feel the pain,’ Nasredin confirmed.
‘All of us? Are you counting Tariq? The man’s brain is in the clouds – well, it would be if there were any clouds in hell,’ suggested Joha.
As if summoned by the sound of his name, Tariq rode up to the group, with a big, goofy smile on his russet-haired face. Tariq sat crossed legged on his wurvm, whereas the others sat in the traditional straddled position.
‘Hey, check this out! It’s called a “banjo”, and look what it can do!’ Tariq said and started playing the instrument.
Tariq was a bard, and he’d learned spells to summon instruments, which he played with various degrees of success; as a lowly level 15, his abilities were rather limited. As his fingers danced over the banjo, he increased the speed of his strumming until the strings were resonating almost simultaneously, and he started singing some nonsense ditty. As he did so, a red haze enveloped him and spread out over the group.
Buff added: haste
You have been boosted by a haste spell; for the duration of the song, your movement speed is doubled.
‘Not bad; can you keep it up for the day’s travels?’ Kaysar asked, but Tariq was too wrapped up in the song to respond.
Tariq’s song lasted a few minutes, but when he finished, the buff disappeared.
‘That didn’t last long,’ Kaysar said frowning.
‘A 3-minute haste boost is nothing to sniff at,’ Tariq declared, adjusting the tuning on the banjo.
‘We’ve got a long day’s ride ahead of us,’ Kaysar replied.
‘But, in a fight, it could turn the tides,’ Tariq maintained with a beaming smile.
‘But it’s only haste; what about strength increase, damage decrease and unit moral? The war-cry ability boosts all three simultaneously.’
‘I’m sure there are songs to grant concurrent boosts; give me time,’ Tariq said, his open smile full of optimism.
Kaysar grunted, and Joha sniggered, but Tariq was nonplussed.
‘Where do you think the abilities such as war cry come from? They are all offcasts of the songs of power; this little tune was just tapping into the power of the bard. If I can find a songbook or an instrument of the Lords and Ladies, say, then who knows? It is said that the ballads of old even cast enchantments, if one could refind the correct tune. The fair folk are the most in tune to the resonances of life; it is why music fascinates them.’
‘Can we stop talking about the elves? Such speech is bad juju; it is said that they can hear their names being called,’ Kaysar requested.
‘I’m surprised you’re one for superstitions, Kaysar; an old journeyman like you,’ Joha replied scornfully.
‘The heat of battle is to be in the heart of chaos; where one wrong step could cost you your life, and death comes in many forms, it is a rare man doesn’t develop superstitions in the hope to see one more day,’ explained Kaysar.
‘The battlefield is a terrible and wondrous place; have you ever read poetry by a soldier? It’s incredible stuff. Hopefully, we’ll see some action, and it’ll get the creative juices going. Although not too much of course,’ Tariq stated with a broad smile.
‘This is just a diplomatic mission; we’re suing for peace,’ Joha responded.
‘That’s an odd expression; I always thought it was the winners who sue for peace, not the losers,’ Tariq pondered conversationally.
‘We didn’t lose! We are in a war of attrition, and it benefits no one; thus peace is best for both parties. But Kadambas continues to invade and attempt to control more of our lands; they may not stop. The vicious and violent people, what do they know of peace?’
‘That’s why we’re here – to see these people – and, if it is possible, to find peace with people who use the dead to fight,’ Nasredin said.
‘I guess in a war you’ll be pissing everywhere not just in your boots,’ Joha proposed, thinking about the old saying of pissing in your boots and marching on your bellies.
‘I am not sure that’s what it means,’ Nasredin responded.
They rode on; Tariq played, and sometimes the group was entertained by his improvisation and sometimes annoyed. He had an array of instruments tied to his wurvm, and his voice would have had an impressive range if it wasn’t for the fact that he kept testing his limits in an attempt to increase his range. By the time the group reached a small cluster of huts, the point of their rendezvous, the group were tired of Tariq’s vocal practice.
‘We’re meeting a man named Wiratama, who goes by Wira. You see the men sitting around? I think Wira’s the one in the middle with the guitar.’
As they approached, the huts turned out to be little more than two walls placed facing east and west with a roof between them.
‘Please, come and sit down!’ the man, presumably Wira, said, and he motioned them to a few scattered cushions placed on the ground in one of the huts.
‘I am Kaysar of the Prophet’s personal guild; are you the man called Wira we’re due to meet?’ Kaysar said getting off his wurvm and walking over to Wira.
‘Yes. Please…’ Wira said motioning to the seats again. ‘This is Yanto and Dedik; you must be Kaysar, Tariq, Joha and… Nasredin? We were just to start the human ritual. Please, join us.’
‘Who do you pray too?’ Joha said sharply.
‘Well, to any gods, actually; any who care for the body,’ confirmed Wira.
‘You don’t believe in the One?’ Joha asked narrowing his eyes.
‘Well, we actually hold no god over another. We praise all and have many rituals for life,’ Wira explained.
‘I won’t be part of a heathen ritual,’ Joha announced, stepping back.
‘I must also pass,’ Kaysar said.
Nasredin also declined, but Tariq eagerly took a seat and took part.
Wira smiled, placed a wooden bowl in front of Tariq and talked him through the prayer. ‘Please, first, we light incense. We use the smoke to cleanse our hands, and the smell actually attracts any nearby gods. Then someone will offer a prayer of thanks for our level, our stats, our skills and our abilities.’
‘What about the food you have, and the world we live on?’ Joha queried.
‘Well, no. Actually, this is a prayer for the human – the inside, not the outside. Please, offer a prayer,’ Wira said gesturing towards Tariq and giving an encouraging smile.
‘Oh, um, well, thanks for my voice – er, and my rhythm,’ prayed Tariq.
‘Next, we offer something to any local gods. Please take the flowers from the bowl and place them by the incense. Then we take a sip of the water in the bowl, sprinkle some over our heads and then cleanse our hands in the smoke once more.’ Wira took a sip of water, dipped two fingers into the bowl and sprinkled some water over his head and then ran his hands through the smoke.
‘Please, now you may stand or meditate whilst the incense burns down,’ Wira concluded and meditated silently.
Tariq also chose to meditate, but did so whilst humming a low musical note; none of the others meditating seemed to mind or notice.
Once they were finished, Wira tipped away the little remaining water inside his bowl and did the same for Tariq.
‘So, are we ready to set off now?’ asked Nasredin, who’d taken a seat inside an empty hut.
‘Well, yes,’ Wira confirmed, smiling.
‘How are we travelling? I see no wurvms or camels or anything,’ Kaysar queried.
‘Please, we use strandbeest,’ Wira said.
What Joha had thought to be a low-roofed hut was actually something placed in a deep sand dune. It was a strange wooden structure made of thin wooden beams set with large spaces between them, so it looked to be made of matchsticks; it had a pair of legs set every 4 feet along the body, and the legs were arch shaped, so it looked like it was squatting. One end finished in an upturned tail, and the other ended stopped suddenly without any flourishes, and along the top of the structure was a pair of horizontal sails and a small area set with a carpet to sit on.
‘What is that?’ Nasredin asked, whilst the other three said similar things, but with cursing.
‘Well… I am not sure. They are a new invention that I am told works with kin-et-ic – sorry, your language is difficult for me. Please, there is a ladder to climb up into the seating area.’
There was indeed a ladder; they half-walked, half-slid down a sand dune, and discovered a rope ladder descending from the decking of the seating area on top of the strandbeest; they took it in turns to climb – not trusting the rope ladder to take all their weight at once.
The decking had a thick rug and plush, plump pillows to rest on, and a few tables built into the decking itself, so that the tables wouldn’t move.
Wira untied a thick rope, the sails fluttered like a dragonfly drying its wings, and soon the strandbeest started walking unassisted. It was far more uncomfortable than any wurvm, horse or even that time he’d ridden an incontinent camel.
‘Please, something to drink? Tea, coffee?’ Wira offered.
Joha took the offered coffee and scowled at it. Nobody did coffee like his people (the Trist), so it was without any real interest that he took a sip. It was like being punched in the mouth by a fist made out of coffee. Somehow or other, he managed to drain the hot liquid and found a thick coffee sludge at the bottom of the cup.
‘More?’ Wira asked.
‘Thanks,’ Joha said; he wasn’t sure why, but the thick, steaming coffee was oddly pleasant. ‘So what do you think of your people invading us and killing our people?’
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Tariq coughed and spluttered at Joha’s sudden bluntness.
‘Yes, we have stories of how we are just “reclaiming” land, how our ancestors had all these lands and how you stole it from us,’ Wira stated, and he shrugged. ‘Each side convinces themselves that they are in the right. However, we common people are war weary and wish to see an end to the conflict; we hope these talks are successful.’
‘But you don’t send troops; what is there to be weary over?’ Nasredin asked.
‘Our boats are boarded by your soldiers, you have refused to let Anasy come to us via the Silk Road, and the Rhun is terrified you will attack it – we have no stomach for war.’
‘We claimed the Rhun before you decided to build a city there; it’s our land! Your boats carry weapons, and the Silk Road doesn’t even go through your lands, so we’re not refusing them. You started this war; we’re the victims!’
Wira shrugged. ‘We all consider ourselves victims and think of the others as the aggressors.’
‘Except you are the aggressors; you’re always pushing into our lands.’
‘Indeed, the Sultan says he wishes to reclaim our lands. We have little desire, but he is the sultan. Personally, I hope your talks are successful; I have family in your lands whom I have not seen for decades.’
‘Aren’t we heading towards the Guhllied?’ Nasredin asked as he studied a compass he’d pulled from a pocket.
‘Well, no, actually. The city is on edge after your messengers declared your intention of claiming them.’
Joha clenched his fists. ‘That isn’t what they said; they were sent with the message that we haven’t forgotten them and will return them to our fold.’
‘Technically, they were never in our fold; Kadambas built Guhllied on our land. So, whilst the city itself was never part of Trist territory, the Prophet had declared that, as they live on our land, it is our responsibility to save their immortal souls,’ Nasredin clarified.
‘The land lies on the opposite side of the river to our usual lands, which is why the city is in contention. So, now it is down to us to submit the Prophet’s message and, hopefully, build some good will. This is why they have sent the legendary Nasredin; the second son of one of the Prophet’s trusted aids, as in Joha; and Captain Kaysar, of course,’ added Tariq.
‘I am no captain; not any more,’ Kaysar said blowing on his fragrant tea and watching the horizon pass.
Joha huffed. ‘Why do you have so many shrines?’
‘Well, we have many rituals, and accept any and all gods, actually. We have rituals for the self, the mind, the spirit, for good harvest, for fertility – you can perform a ritual for anything, actually. We have many temples and shrines, and for a ritual you need a bowl; water; incense; something to offer, which can be as simple as petals; someone who can talk to the gods; and to be at a temple or shrine. The shrines are for when you travel.’
‘So, you need to travel with someone who can talk to the gods? Like a priest or someone whom the gods will listen to?’ Tariq asked.
‘Well, actually, no. The gods may listen to anyone, but we use special words when talking to them; different words to show respect,’ elucidated Wira.
‘You mean like a different language?’ questioned Tariq.
‘Well, yes, I think so. You can pray on your own if you are travelling, but we like to use someone who can speak the right way when we can. We have a very practical idea of rituals; it does not matter if you cannot do something the right way, you can pray whilst asleep if you are ill, but when we can, we like to do things properly,’ Wira clarified.
‘To do things properly, you only need to follow the One. You don’t need any of these random prayers or shrines, just His symbol,’ declared Joha.
‘How did you get a city to grow in these harsh conditions?’ Nasredin asked, looking around at the seemingly endless rolling desert dunes.
‘Well, the Rhun has a flood plain, and that helps crops grow, and the Rhun flows into a fissure in a hill. We drove pillars into the hill from each side, so we could start to dig from both ends. Then we widened the river to carry boats, and we made a dam to increase water flow. The hill is rocky, and the city itself is built on the rocks. It is lovely city with many plants, which the people are pleased about and look after. What you call Guhllied, we call Bunga, the city of flowers. We have trade through the river; boats float down it, and the horses walk around the hill. To get the boats through the hill, we have to haul them through, with many people and cows,’ Wira told them.
‘Why don’t you use rowers?’ Nasredin queried.
Wira replied, ‘The hill is hard stone, so it takes long time to carve through, and so there is no room for oars or horses to pull the boats. The miners built the canal with torches and boats, but now it is dark and cramped, and we do not have the manpower to carve it out further.’
‘Why? What happened to the miners?’ Joha asked, interested in spite of himself.
‘Many of them became masters; the experience of building the Rhun canal was enough for many of them to level up, and they have since left to earn more money in more fertile soil. The other miners left after your last attempts to take the Rhun’s flag.’
‘Aren’t there any dwarfs around? I thought they were in the Hillite Mountains?’ Kaysar said.
‘The…? Oh, the Caple Mountains. Well, yes. Yet the dwarfs charge top coin and also expect to keep all the spoils they mine. It is better to use non-dwarf miners, and we do not have the coin for it yet. We have been inundated recently with class A creatures from the desert; many of the purse has been spent on the fortification of our border cities. Also, there is talk that the Dominion has been spotted in Tumbleswood. Perhaps it is not such a bad thing for the Rhun canal to be difficult to use,’ concluded Wira.
New quest: standing bounty
There is a standing bounty on any information about the Dominion; although this Wira is clearly misguided in his spiritual life, the information about the Dominion is still useful and should be given to the Taskmaster for the standing reward.
Rewards: between 50 silver and 50,000 gold, depending on the information – this is likely to be silver in this instance.
‘That is a salient point,’ Kaysar mused in a thoughtful voice.
‘What was that about a flags?’ Tariq asked.
Joha snorted. ‘Surely you know how to capture a city? You kill the leader or hold the village hall for two days or you take the flags back to your capital. After any of the three conditions are met, everyone living in either nation is sent a message saying “X city now belongs to blah blah blah”.’
*
The strandbeest finally rocked to a standstill long after sunset when the heavens were on full display; the stars were twinkling and the twin moons, Millious and Marllious, were full. There were seven moons orbiting the Sphere, although perhaps the description “moon” was a bit strong for some of them. The twins, Millious and Marllious, were said to be the home of elves – that cruel and cunning race. They were twins because they orbited each other, which usually meant that they appeared in different periods of their lunar cycle. Nights when both were full were said to be very unlucky nights to be out, and many cultures still hung horseshoes over their doors and gathered in town halls on twin full moons.
The moon Insardis wasn’t a moon at all; it appeared as a white speck orbiting the planet in the night sky, and the first (and subsequent) astronomers peering at the “moon” with telescopes discovered that it was, in fact, an ancient titan, presumably expelled from the planet during one of the many wars. The astronomer Herit Tireh developed his abilities further than any other astronomer, and he claimed that he was able to see the titan’s body clearly enough to sketch out an accurate portrait of the titan; he further maintained that the titan seemed to still be alive. His painting is said to have been stolen more than any other item.
Hepten was less a moon and more a satellite; its appearance was that of a cracked and broken orb; the top fifth of the satellite had been sheared off and had entered mythology as the remnants of a gigantic egg from which the colossal Zaratan was hatched – although that didn’t explain where the subsequent eggshells went.
Uulu (named after the Uulu people, who have long gone extinct and who communicated in the most abstract language ever known) is, in fact, the largest of the moons; yet, because of its distance from the Sphere, it appears smaller than the twins. Umbra is never seen, being cursed to remain eternally hidden from view, and the last moon, Anoulios, is never spoken about.
‘Where are we?’ Kaysar asked, looking around at the small village the strandbeest had taken them too.
‘Well, this is Qubessa; we are heading to one of our most wondrous temples, but that is some days away. Please, we have wondering hidup mati – um, puppet corpses or, um, the cold people,’ replied Wira.
‘Cold people?’ Nasredin questioned.
‘Well, yes, cold from death,’ confirmed Wira.
‘Zombies? You’ve got zombies here?’ Joha enquired, looking around concerned.
‘Well, they protect us. These are not normal zombies. These are Terikat.’
Joha waved his hand dismissively. ‘A zombie’s a zombie, and part of our peace agreement is that you stop making zombies! Turning the dead against us was the cruellest trick of the Sultan. Many people don’t think we can ever have peace with a people who use the dead as weapons of war, and I tend to agree with them.’
‘No, the bestiary of a creature is important. Bad intel has cost many a battle,’ Kaysar said. ‘For instance, regarding draugr, skeletons, wraiths and ghouls, I have heard all of these called “undead”, but that doesn’t help us know what we are expecting. So “zombie” could mean a draugr, a skeleton or something else. Especially as Wira isn’t native to our tongue, he might even mean a necrotic golem; if we had a scout or someone with an identify ability, we’d know more.’
‘Well, if you would all stay close to either Yanto, Dedik or me, so we might stay clear of any Terikat,’ Wira requested.
‘I’ve got a few quick tips for fighting zombies,’ Kaysar proposed, as Wira started leading them.
‘First, most zombies are controlled by some sort of influence on their brain, so attack the head. If there’s no head, then the body can’t get any signals. Second, if it’s a skeleton, then you need to go for the spine; the head isn’t as important. Lastly, some zombie types have bound souls or spirits or something. Those ones are the most insidious, as the soul might be spread out over the whole body, which means it can act autonomously. Any sign of that, and we go immediately. We aren’t prepared for thralls, revenants or something of a higher level like that. The remnants of the spell can keep the creatures going even in dismembering. Lastly, most zombie creatures have crude instructions and act accordingly; if we see them use ambushes, pincer movements or anything similar to a strategy, we retreat. They are probably being controlled by some greater undead.’
‘That doesn’t sound like fun. How do you know all this?’ Joha enquired.
‘Necromancy is a popular skill school for those who lust for power,’ Kaysar answered.
‘Would you like to know a fact about zombies?’ Tariq asked conversationally.
‘Sure,’ Joha replied with a shrug.
‘So would I; I don’t know much about them at all,’ Tariq declared.
‘This is why scouts are so valuable,’ Kaysar said scratching his chin. ‘Know your enemy; all my scouts had a spell or skill to see information about the target, or at least their race, but the best could see their species. Then we would have a better idea of what we were up against. If it was a troll, we could coat our weapons with a strong poison to counter their high health regain, or if it was a salamander, then we’d know to prepare potions of fire resistance. Preparation is key.’
‘If it’s so useful, then why don’t you know it?’ Nasredin asked surprised.
‘I am no longer captain of the guard,’ Kaysar replied looking away.
‘Yes, but that’s not—’ Tariq started saying, but was interrupted by a tactful clearing of the throat by Joha.
‘You had men for that,’ Joha stated in a way that drew a line under the conversation.
‘Something like that,’ Kaysar confirmed, his eyes unfocused and distant.
‘Change the subject,’ Joha hissed.
‘What?’ Tariq replied, confused.
‘Say something else,’ commanded Joha.
‘Er, do… ah, do you have bards here?’ Tariq asked hesitantly.
‘Well, not here, but we have a few. Madam Awar is possibly our best known bardic practitioner,’ explained Wira.
‘Oh, I’ve seen Awar perform; she’s very inspiring. I had an additional 5% of mental resistance all evening after her performance. I was slightly annoyed, however, because I couldn’t get high until it expired. It kind of defeats the object of going to the performance,’ grumbled Tariq.
‘What are you talking about?’ Joha enquired.
Tariq responded, ‘What? Awar is famous; her songs are so poignant, and you just sit back and let her sing to your soul. Then, afterwards, you have this amazing insight into your psyche; I got the introspection badge, and all I wanted to do after was to expand my mind and take some mushrooms.’
‘And that’s what you want to be, is it? A psychedelic bard?’ Joha scoffed.
‘That isn’t the only thing bards can do; we can change the course of a battle, heal the soul or influence a court.’
Joha scoffed again. ‘Humph!’
‘By all means scoff, but cogitate on this,’ declared Tariq, ‘I played you a merry ditty whilst we rode the wurvms, and it hastened our travel, and I am but learning the basics of my trade. What, then, would a master of sound be able to achieve, hmm? The vast majority of our skill is focused on area of effect. When buffing ones fellows or debuffing the foe, the bard is a specialist in large-area effects.’
‘What do your side think of the war and the chance for peace?’ Nasredin asked Wira. ‘We blame you for invading our lands, but you’ve said both side think they’re in the right, so what’s your story?’
‘Well, we want peace actually. We hope our two sides can reach an accord,’ Wira verified.
‘Really? You don’t think we’re evil zealots desirous of war and cultists?’ added Nasredin.
‘We’re not cultists!’ Joha cried hotly.
‘Of course. However, when two sides like ours have been at war, it is common to turn the enemy into monsters. It helps the citizens back the war effort and reduces war fatigue. I believe it is called propaganda,’ Nasredin said.
‘Well, yes; actually, most people hate and fear you. They blame you for the attacks at our schools and the deaths,’ replied Wira.
‘Those weren’t schools; they were training camps!’ Joha declared.
Wira agreed partially, ‘Well, yes, we train them in fighting, but also teach them other skills.’
‘You placed it on the border, which was clearly an aggressive, militaristic act!’ Joha exclaimed, defending his people.
‘Well, I wasn’t happy when the Sultan said we were going to open the school there, yet not everyone in the school was a combatant,’ clarified Wira.
‘You built the training camp inside a school; that was both an intelligent and nefarious act. You were hoping we wouldn’t notice or attack and risk collateral damage,’ Kaysar pondered, nodding thoughtfully.
‘Collateral damage? That’s an odd phrase for killing civilians,’ Wira said.
‘You started the war, then – when we subdued your capital – your people still fought and refused to surrender. Then, after the war, you allowed the necromancers a foothold in your country; they stole the bodies of our dead or you sold our dead instead of returning them to us. Even now, you push your borders. You follow any gods who show up, but deny the rule of His Majesty and His path. You have taken every opportunity to tax our people, yet have halved the tax rates for other countries, and when our joint border is threatened by fiends, you refuse to give us aid. So don’t try to pretend like you’re innocent,’ Joha vilified.
Wira held his hands up. ‘Our Sultan is strict and can be harsh; I accept that. Actually, he is our leader, so we follow him; he has made us perform many questionable actions in his search for money and territory, to keep us safe and relevant in the local politics. Yet the death of civilians as collateral damage taints one’s hands red.’
‘We’ve had to fight hard because you don’t stop; even when we kill you, your necromancers take the bodies,’ Joha accused.
‘The necromancers have their place; people may volunteer to sell their bodies after they pass, and the money to go to their families. Also, the reason our people refuse to surrender is we have seen what you have done to places that fell under your control,’ Wira stated shaking his head.
‘The tactics you used meant that we were under attack day and night; hiding in trees and bushes, the fighters nerves were fried, so when we took places, we made sure we were safe. We’re trying to keep ourselves safe. Those who seek peace prepare for war,’ Joha said stabbing his finger at Wira.
Wira shook his head. ‘Those who seek war prepare for war.’
‘It’s not war we seek. Your actions threatens us; we will defend ourselves,’ Joha confirmed.
‘Pre-emptively,’ Wira said, shaking his head again.
‘Kaysar, you’ve fought against the Kadambases; we’re just defending ourselves, right?’ queried Joha.
Kaysar had shown no interest in the conversation, and his expression was unreadable as he thought.
‘The war between us and Kadambas has lasted around forty years,’ Kaysar began, paused to swallow and continued with little emotion in his voice. ‘There are many scurrilous rumours, but if you believe the Prophet, then he was offered a vision where he saw the necromancers storming over the peoples here. Due to this, he started his holy war and marched his army to the front lines, Guhllied or Bunga if you will, and he was shocked to see the Kadambas people living there as it was land claimed in His name some hundred years earlier. However, we’d never used the land, and the Sultan said he’d paid the last ruler of Trist; however, King Lancet was an outcast, so the Prophet refused to accept anything done in King Lancet’s name.
‘And yet, this was not the start of the war, but a precursor. Also, it doesn’t help that Kadambas predates Trist, and the Sultan believes that, when he speaks, he speaks with the weight of history on his side; and, unfortunately, in the desert lands, history is almost taken as a form of currency in and of itself. So now we have three reasons for war: Bunga, necromancy, and, I think, some jealously over the heritage and scape of the Kadambas lands. Kadambas is vast; more than five times the size of Trist. It is easy to be intimidated by this.’
‘Even so, Trist has dealt more bloody noses than it’s received throughout the centuries,’ Joha declared, punching his fist into his palm.
‘We are justly proud of the wars we’ve won in our past,’ Nasredin said.
‘That aside, the Sultan was unwilling to go to war; his lands are vast and his forces divided due to fiends. However, there were many scuffles and battles over borders and taxes; animosity after fighting off a fiend attack, as there were accusations that one side bled more; and religious zealotry is always a popular one. The first battle was forty years ago, so this is considered a forty year war, but neither side admit to being at war. Now the Sultan doesn’t even need to risk his own people but send the already dead.’
‘How can two sides battle, but not be at war?’ Nasredin asked.
‘It is mostly the barons and land owners sending their private militia, which means that the Prophet or Sultan can deny knowledge and settle the aftermath with fines or – in very rare instances, basically when someone couldn’t afford to pay – with imprisonment. This has actually worked out well for the Sultan and the Prophet with increased income from taxes; thus it has been allowed. Yet, now, the fiends are making incursions again, and these childish games are becoming more bothersome. The lives sold and destruction wrought have finally taken a toll and both sides decided it has been enough. Not because of the people but the fiends, the people are mere side players in this theatre of war.’
‘Does that mean there are more fiends coming?’ Nasredin questioned.
‘It is believed so,’ Kaysar replied, then he took himself away from the group.
That was not quite the story he’d given them whilst they rode the wurvms, but Joha decided it was because Kaysar was being diplomatic around Wira. Joha didn’t attempt to push the subject with Kaysar; the man had lost his wife and two daughters to a fiend attack whilst Kaysar had been on the front line, and he hadn’t been the same man since. This babysitting role presumably had been given to the man out of pity.
‘I thought you said you had a problem with the undead? If so, then why is necromancy legal, Wira?’ Joha asked pertinently.
‘Well, the Sultan likes necromancers, actually. They bolster his army, they make good workers and necromancers pay tax on time.’
‘But don’t the people complain?’ Nasredin queried.
‘Well, some do,’ Wira said, nodding. ‘But the Sultan is in charge, actually. Some places don’t like to have necromancers living with them, but we won’t force them to leave as we obey our Sultan. And since necromancers less of our children have died in this war.’
‘Oh fantastic, you let the dead walk the streets because you’re too ingrained at being stepped onto to resist.’ Joha muttered to himself.
‘Forgive me, but you seem to be contradictory. At first you seemed in reverence of your Sultan, but now you seem to disapprove of him. Which is it?’ Nasredin asked.
‘Well, a bit of both, actually. He is a power man, being over level 100, and we are grateful for his power. He makes rules that not all of us like, yet we are safer from fiends than ever. We are poorer than we once were and he is very rich, but there is little starvation now. On the whole, we are better off, even if we are treated harder at the end of the story, so we hope this peace you seek happens. Yet we don’t know if the Sultan seeks peace as well.’
Joha held back a laugh at Wira’s poor use of colloquialisms, as he remembered his own poor efforts in his language attribute.
Wira led them to a busy, sand-coloured building, and took them to their dinner, where they were fed foods that Joha found to be overly greasy, but that the others seemed to enjoy, and were offered sweet-smelling substances to smoke, which Joha recognised as kush only after trying it, as it wasn’t presented in any way that he recognised.
‘Smoking is banned in our country,’ Joha explained, letting the smoke dispel though his teeth.
‘Well, we banned alcohol, actually, as we found people are more aggressive and uncontrolled after drink than smoking.’
‘Anything that alters the ability to offer credence to Him is to be avoided; however, the Prophet understands that man works hard and needs his crutches. So those who fight in His army are granted special dispensation to drink alcohol.’
‘Well, we have something similar: we give our berserkers pencahayaan kristal, er, crystal thunder? It is something our alchemists make that synergises with an ability to increase its potency.’
Tariq laughed. ‘We don’t get our troops drunk before fighting. If you’re going to refuse, Joha, I’ll take yours.’
Joha snatched his pipe away. ‘I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.’
*
Joha woke as, at some point during the night, someone had replaced his bladder with an exceptionally full elephant bladder. He stumbled into the night, looking for the privy; he thought he remembered the directions, but, after a minute (which felt like hours due to his bladder), he still couldn’t find the privy and instead decided to use the wall of a nearby house. After all, it got hellishly hot during the day and so the water marks he’d create would soon dry.
Joha was completely lost to the moment when something hit him hard enough to send him sprawling into his own wet patch of sand. Turning, Joha found a gaunt figure with grievous injuries from which not a drop of blood fell, like they were wounds inflicted on a corpse.
Battle log:
Sneak hit by unknown creature for x1.5 damage
40 damage points suffered
Stun resisted
‘Bollocks!’ Joha cried, staggering to his feet and backing away from the rotting man. It lurched forwards as Joha got to his feet, but Joha was able to dodge the attack, and the man staggered forwards and smacked into the building. Whatever this creature was, it was stupid, and must have had low agility and similar stats.
Battle log:
Unknown creature hits blunt object for 7 damage points
Joha took the opportunity to kick the creature; he struck the man hard on the thigh, but the thing didn’t seem to notice. A smear of dried blood and hair was transferred to the wall from the impact of the headbutt and it caused a small indent in the dirt mortar.
Battle log:
Hit unknown creature for 6 damage points
He actually hurt it less than when the thing had stumbled into the building! Presumably, that was due to the creature hitting its head, so that meant that Joha needed to go for the head.
It moved forwards; it seemed to have little control over its upper body and walked like it was always stumbling forwards on the edge of falling over. Joha watched it, ducked its wild right-hand swing and was caught by a left arm, which cracked against Joha’s head, just above his ear.
Battle log:
Hit by unknown creature for 20 damage points
Stunned for 3.5 seconds
Joha blinked away tears, and rolled instinctively; there was a heavy thud and a shower of sand as the man kicked at where Joha’s head had been.
Battle log:
Stunned for 2.1 seconds
Joha moved his arms into a blocking stance and felt arms like metal bars smack against his own; Joha staggered back, blinking and shaking his head in the desperate hope of quickening his recovery from the stun.
Battle log:
Hit by unknown creature for 3 damage points
Hit by unknown creature for 5 damage points
Stunned for 1.6 seconds
Joha took the punches as he stepped backwards, his eyes regaining focus slowly, before a punch took him in the face and he sprawled to the ground.
Battle log:
Hit by unknown creature for 22 damage points
Ninety damage points in five hits! Joha again rolled on instinct as he landed and again sand was kicked up from the man’s follow up attack.
Thankfully the man was predictable and Joha sprang back avoiding the right then left hook and Joha kicked out at the man’s kneecap feeling rather confident he could turn the tide of battle.
Battle log:
Critical hit on unknown creature x1.5 damage
11 damage points dealt against unknown creature
Unknown creature resists dislocation to the kneecap
What? Eleven damage points on a critical hit? And how the merry heavens did it resist having its kneecap dislocated? This thing must have high levels of toughness and sturdiness to avoid being knocked down.
Joha struck out with a straight-arm punch to the thing’s face; a crunch and a wet squidgy feeling told Joha he’d broken it’s nose. As Joha pulled his fist back, pus and maggots dropped from the man’s face, and rancid flesh and the foul stench of decomposition assaulted Joha’s senses. But the creature seemed impervious to pain as it flailed at Joha and caught Joha a glancing blow to the chest, causing Joha to double up, staggered by the strength of the man.
The man fell upon Joha, who raised his arms quickly and caught the thing by the shoulders, pushing it back as it reached desperately for Joha’s neck. Its hands clawed at Joha’s arms; Joha cried out in pain, and the man grabbed the back of Joha’s head and forced the distance between them to close. Its repugnant breath caught in the back of Joha’s throat, choking him like chloroform as he tried desperately to push it back. It stretched its neck out and bit down on Joha’s shoulder; yellowed, decaying teeth tore through Joha’s flesh, and it pulled away, rending the flesh from Joha’s shoulder. Joha screamed.
Joha fell back, and the man fell back with him, with putrid spittle oozing from its mouth and over Joha’s chin; bits of Joha’s flesh were still in the creature’s mouth as it chewed. Blood and sinew coated the sand. Joha’s stomach dropped out of his trousers; the pain was unlike anything he’d felt before, and fear paralysed him. The man leaned down to rip more flesh with its teeth, and Joha’s arms shook as he held it off, his bowels emptying, and cries of pain and fear forcing their way from his throat.
The man’s jaundiced, yellow eyes held no hint of intelligence, but there was a light of life in them – or perhaps the flames of Tartarus burned behind them as the man bit at Joha’s hand. The pop of Joha’s ring finger dislocating and the digit being ripped from his hand was covered by the scream of pain from Joha.
The next moment, the head of the crazed man dropped to the sand next to Joha, and the man stopped forcing himself onto Joha as more hands pushed it away. Feverish heat flooded through Joha, causing his body to spasm and break out in heavy sweat. As the pain and heat warred within him, Joha passed in and out of consciousness.
‘He’s suffering from a bleed penalty, and the injury is crippling his max health,’ Kaysar said, his voice thick and slightly slurred.
One of the guides, Dedik, was casting healing on Joha and speaking rapidly in a tongue none of the visitors understood.
‘Dedik says he can stabilise the wound; we have a healing pack to repair his shoulder. He should get movement back, actually, but his health will be capped until he sees a true healer,’ Wira explained.
‘How reduced will his health be?’ Nasredin asked.
Wira and Dedik exchanged a hasty conversation. ‘Well, by 20 health points, 1 strength point and 5 dexterity points,’ responded Wira.
‘Hmm, that’s not too bad,’ Nasredin mused.
Wira and Dedik were talking again, then Wira soon looked around, picked something up eventually and showed it to Dedik, who studied it and shook his head.
‘And he’s lost this finger,’ Wira said, placing what turned out to be Joha’s ring finger into a pouch. ‘I will take and show it to the healer, but Dedik thinks it is too damaged to reattach, actually.’
‘Where’s the healer?’ enquired Nasredin.
‘Not far; it’s a few hours on the strandbeest, but Dedik can stabilise Joha as we travel. He is still in pain,’ Wira confirmed.