Death of a Dream (Requiem for a Ratlon)

Old North Road [NESW]

The dull grey flagstones of the Old North Road wind across the scrub

plains in an almost haphazard fashion to avoid the sudden outcroppings

of the red sandstone spires which dot the landscape. Although partially

covered by blowing sands, the road is mostly clear.

The Old North Road continues on to the north, and bends eastwards.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask has arrived from the east, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"As far as I be concerned, Vash may've taken up Kon's spear, but e's a far ways off from followin' Hawk's path."

To the north is Old North Road.



(TRAVELLING)



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask has arrived from the south, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf has arrived from the south, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"E's been gone longer than ye' from what I hear."



Over his shoulder to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"This one is thinking Dream can be straightening him out."



(TRAVELLING)



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask has arrived from the east, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf has arrived from the east, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.



It is dusk on Ocandra, the 221st day of the Descending Sun,

In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.



Flatly, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Vash is a hero of fuckin' Expansion.. an' he'll be treated like such."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Still be the question, is it where Hawk wanted, or be this what Dream is wantin'"



Grunting, you say, in sirihish:

"Dusk. There's no getting into the city till dawn."



North Road [NEW]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs west and east from here. Twin crescent dunes form an

impassable barrier to the south.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon stands here, carrying the thick, wind-worn dwarf on his back.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon stands here, carrying the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask on his back.



(MORE TRAVELLING)



A growl rumbling out of his throat, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Says th'deserter.."



123;183;110;walking>



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I've nay problem with it bein' passed to him, but only when e' does s' duty to Salarr."



North Road [NESW]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south from here.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask has arrived from the north, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf has arrived from the north, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in sirihish:

"Do no be angry, sirra. The Exile stayed with Hawk when all else deserted."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I'll nay pretend like I've done more for Salarr than ye, but I weren't the one to get threatened of firin' either."



With a grunt, the thick, wind-worn dwarf looks at the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"N' I were the one runnin' yer unit durin' yer' year long escapade through the fuckin' wastes."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"As a recruit, so ye' can shove yer' bullshit notions."



To the east are Sand Flats.

[Very far]

Nothing.

[Far]

Nothing.

[Near]

Nothing.

South of here is North Road.

[Very far]

Nothing.

[Far]

Nothing.

[Near]

Nothing.



North Road [NS]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south here, through a valley of massive sand dunes

to either side.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask has arrived from the north, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf has arrived from the north, riding a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

You see nothing special.

Simply, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"Stop."



The weathered, bearded man reins up, turning in saddle to regard the thick, wind-worn dwarf and the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



You are using:

<worn on head> a stained scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered cap

<worn on face> a pair of polished bone sunslits

<worn around neck> a stained scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth-covered collar

<worn about throat> a plain sandcloth bandana

<slung across back> a stained ebon wood, recurve longbow

<worn on torso> a new stained scrub-camouflaged, reinforced-sandcloth jacket

<worn on right shoulder> a black-stained leather pauldron

<worn on left shoulder> a stained black epaulette with one grey shield

<worn on arms> a pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves

<worn around wrist> a black-stained, hard-edged bracer

<worn around wrist> a black-stained, hard-edged bracer

<worn on hands> a bloodied pair of anakore-claw gloves

<primary hand> a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword

<secondary hand> a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword

<worn on forearms> a stained leather and chitin strap-sheath

<worn on right finger> a glowing humming clear amber ring

<worn on left finger> a thornwood ring set with moonstones

<worn as belt> a leather pouched belt

<worn around body> a stained drab, weathered stormcloak

<worn about waist> a forest-camouflaged hunting quiver

<worn on legs> a new stained pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth leggings

<worn on right ankle> a fanged climbing spike

t ankle> a small leather pouch

<worn on feet> a burned pair of dusky yellow and tan striped boots



The thick, wind-worn dwarf brings his ratlon up to a halt, swinging a leg over and dropping to the ground with a heavy *thud*



The thick, wind-worn dwarf swings his legs over and jumps off of a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon curls up on the ground.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask swings his legs over and jumps off of a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon curls up on the ground.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask begins to advance upon the thick, wind-worn dwarf, making no hostile movements.

As he lands, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Tell me shinless.. is y'with th'cloak.. NOW?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Where were ye' when Jalena ripped the unit to krath."



A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon tosses its head restlessly.

The wind slows down a little.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf begins leading a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.



Clearing his throat, you say, in sirihish:

"The Exile is pending re-establishment after he is talking to Jalena. She has agreed to consider giving him a second chance."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf straps his dusty steel grey duffel bag to a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Nay -- save it."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf unstrap his filthy, crude hide bag from a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf gets his hunk of grey meat from his filthy, crude hide bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf straps his filthy, crude hide bag to a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf eats his hunk of grey meat.



You feel dismay.



Corporal/Hand/Merchant Trainee/Crafter of the House Salarr.

Keywords: weathered bearded man eos dune

Sdesc: the weathered, bearded man

Objective: Find Jalena.

Long Description:

Code Generated Long Description.

You are 33 years, 1 months, and 72 days old,

which by your race and appearance is mature.

You are 76 inches tall, and weigh 8 ten-stone.

Your strength is exceptional, your agility is absolutely incredible,

your wisdom is very good, and your endurance is exceptional.

You are neither hungry nor thirsty.

Your health is 123(123), you have 183(183) stamina, and 110(110) stun.

You have been playing for 23 days and 15 hours.

You are riding a war beetle.

You are currently speaking sirihish with a tribal accent.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"When our boys were gettin' hunted by the dune stalkers, where were ye?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Who was the one huntin' em, fuckin' spillin' blood for Salarr then? I was."



The weathered, bearded man falls silent, observing the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask and the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Who were the one practically feedin' yer unit the only supplies to be had in yer' gap of fuckin' consciousness? I were."



As he smears grease from his meal down the leg of his cloak, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Another word.. spit it.."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Ain't come at me, like I ain't done nothin' for Salarr."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask rolls his shoulders loosely, single eye trained on the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon paws at the ground with a scaley foot.



With dark disappointment to himself, you say, in sirihish:

"This is not what Hawk would have been wanting. "



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Ya'v made Salarr look a fool.. an' HAWK.."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask unslings a dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe from his back.



Sharply, you say, in sirihish:

"Sling that axe."



As he stomps forward, coming withen only a few cords of him, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Th'shit y'put on Hawk with y'lil stunt.. y'don' think I heard 'bout that.."



With a quick once-over, the thick, wind-worn dwarf looks at the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



Leveling his dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe at the thick, wind-worn dwarf, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Ye' ain't know shit, 'bout shit."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Ye' only know what I spat ye."



Eyeing the tip of the axe as it comes down at him, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"An' th'bitchin dat comes from my tribe.."



North Road [NS]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south here, through a valley of massive sand dunes

to either side.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here, looking a bit winded.

- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.

- he is carrying a steel grey duffel bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf is standing here.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a gigantic, quirri-hide backpack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask is standing here.



A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon paws at the ground with a scaley foot.



In a low murmer, words just above a whisper, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"He said sling th'axe.."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask withdraws his dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe, letting the weapon rest upon his shoulder, as he continues to eye the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



With quiet firmness, you say, in sirihish:

"This one will be greatly hurting whomever is taking the first swing."



The night has begun.



The weathered, bearded man seems content to observe in silence from here on, after making that known.



Someone buries his something into the soil of the road.



You sheathe a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.

You brandish your sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.

You get your green glow-crystal from your stained drab, weathered stormcloak.

It is very light.

You hold your green glow-crystal.

You light a green glow-crystal.

The area is filled with a green light.



In a quick aside, venom in the voice, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"You'll be greatly seein' y'self t'y'self Nadhir.. dis 'ere is tween me'n stumps.."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"E's right."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"E' were my Corporal, a'fore I served ye."



The weathered, bearded man regards the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask and the thick, wind-worn dwarf flatly.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Spat it then, what else I done wrong? How else I failed Hawk?"



A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon tosses its head restlessly.



His tone laced with irritation, shoulders shaking with pent up anger, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Until y'got this cloak on y'shoulders.. I won' be hearin' 'nother fuckin' word outta ya.. I'll be handlin' th'nixlu from 'ere on. Yer walkin'."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Nay."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Hawk wasn't Salarr when e' died, e' was T'zai Byn."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf tenses, hands darting at his dusty studded hide sheath.



In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slides a translucent, crystalline longknife out of a dusty studded hide sheath.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his translucent, crystalline longknife.

In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slides a translucent, crystalline longknife out of a dusty studded hide sheath.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf holds his translucent, crystalline longknife.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask easily pulls upon his blackened razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk, single eye flaring wide.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask draws a blackened razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



The weathered, bearded man rubs the arch of his nose.



As he draws a pair of crystalline blades, eyes twitching over the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"An' th'nixlu.. does y'know th'past of th'thing idjit?"



Pointing his blackened razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk at the thick, wind-worn dwarf, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"As far as I be concerned, ye'r doin' nothin' but servin ye'self. I'd honor what ye' ask, if ye'd only told me Hawk spat it, the fact that ye' ain't means he ain't."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I never said it were mine, I jes ain't sayin' it's yours either."



To the north is darkness.

You can't see that far.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I'd be more content with Nadhir takin' it than Vash -- yer' stumblin' drunkard of a hero."



As he takes a calculated step forward, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"'cept th'difference being... it is.."



In a stained leather and chitin strap-sheath (used) :

a bone parrying dagger

a couple of raptor-tooth throwing knives

In a pair of dusky yellow and tan striped boots (used):

A silt-flyer claw skinning knife.



It is late at night on Ocandra, the 221st day of the Descending Sun,

In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.



Inching his new dusty skull-carved wooden shield upward, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I've the right of mind to send the damn thing to Jalena."



With quiet firmness to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask and the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you ask, in sirihish:

"If duel you are to be having, this one is suggesting it be done in the compound. Ayah?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says, in northern-accented sirihish:

"I've no intentions of slayin' 'em, 'ere be as good as any."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"If y'value y'water.. you'll let th'reins loose 'ere.. an' y'won't cross th'sands 'round 'ere.. again."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Threats?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask looks at the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you ask, in sirihish:

"Are you threatening him over the ratlo or over Shy, sirra?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Seems e's even believin' Zoan's shit."



Never sparing a glance for you, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"Zoans shit.. Shy.. not knowin' much of either.. jus' know that some fuckup of a stump is tryin' t'make calls on what happens of MY tribe.."



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in sirihish:

"He's not. The Ratlon goes to whoever is next in order. End of story."



You ask, in sirihish:

"Now let us be moving on?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask flips his blackened razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk over in his hand, watching the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



Nostrils flaring, the grip on his longknives shifting as one might if prepared to strike, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"Th'ratlon.. returns to th'owner.. an' den it'll be passin' a long.. t'our DRUNKEN hero.. Expansion division is where it stays."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"So, be it Hawk's wishes that Vash gets it, or ye' own?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Simple fuckin' question, really."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"If'n I was lookin' t'disprespect my tribe den I'd be jus' takin' my 'nixlu.. but Hawk, s'well as me would want it in division."



A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon tosses its head restlessly.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"So unless y'know th'history of that fuckin' 'nix then you'll be shuttin' yer fuckin' mouth an' lettin' them reins loose."



Muttering, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Shut up -- a'right, I'll defer to'at, but Vash ain't in the division."



You swing your legs to the side and dismount.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Vash left Salarr, so technically, it wouldn't be stayin' in Salarr then, would it?"



You stop leading a war beetle.



With a growl, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"An dat settles 'at.. we dance. Now."



What?



To the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"Climb on this one's beetle."



You unstrap your large bag from a war beetle's back.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask prepares to meet the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.



It is before dawn on Terrin, the 222nd day of the Descending Sun,

In the Year of Ruk's Reverence, year 48 of the 21st Age.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf's stance falls lightly to one side, eyes fixed on the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask with a predatory acuteness.



You feel disgust.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask asks the thick, wind-worn dwarf, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Well ye' goin' to swing 'er try'n eyefuck me?"



You begin speaking bendune.



Simply, you say, in bendune:

"This is becoming both boring and shameful to witness."



As he dances lightly to the side with a shuffle of his feet, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Y'know nothin' of Expansion y'fuck.. nothin'."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf's longknife lashes out with a quick thrust.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf attacks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask attempts to knock the longknife from the thick, wind-worn dwarf's hands, but he deftly avoids him.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf swiftly dodges the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's chops.



You stop using your glowing green glow-crystal.

You extinguish a glowing green glow-crystal.

The area is enveloped in darkness.

Someone's a bloodied spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into someone's face.



Darkness

Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything

at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.



Someone snorts, whirling with the effort.



You exclaim, in bendune:

"No!"



You begin speaking sirihish.



Someone solidly chops someone's hand.

Someone backhands someone with a spiked leather bracer.

Someone swiftly dodges someone's chops.

Someone attempts to knock the something from someone's hands, but he deftly avoids him.

Someone parries someone's attack.



Someone growls, a quick yelp of pain.



Muttering as he circles, a male voice asks, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Well, ye' had 'nough Dream?"



Someone's a bloodied spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into someone's face.



You say, in sirihish:

"How can you be fighting? It is too dark to be fighting."



Someone swiftly dodges someone's stabs.

Someone parries someone's attack.

Someone parries someone's attack.

Someone parries someone's attack.

Someone backhands someone with a spiked leather bracer.



The weathered, bearded man throws up his hands in disgust.



Someone blocks someone's attack.



Someone stabs someone, barely grazing his body.

Someone's muscles contract, and his body goes rigid.



You hold your green glow-crystal.

You light a green glow-crystal.

The area is filled with a green light.



As he feels his knife bite home, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"Wezer sting.. fool."



North Road [NS]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south here, through a valley of massive sand dunes

to either side.

A dusty battle-axe of thick, skull-carved bone lays here on its side.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.

- he is carrying a steel grey duffel bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf is standing here, bleeding lightly.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a gigantic, quirri-hide backpack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask is standing here, rigid and unmoving.

A large war beetle crawls about, struggling against its chitin harness.

The weathered, bearded man looks over at the thick, wind-worn dwarf, unsurprised.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a translucent, crystalline longknife into a dusty studded hide sheath.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a translucent, crystalline longknife into a dusty studded hide sheath.



Eyes glinting under the eerie green light of the glowstone, the thick, wind-worn dwarf looks up at you.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you ask, in sirihish:

"Are you wanting to be stinging this one now, sirra? Or shall we be going?"



As he drops a foot on the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's chest, too roughly, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"No reason t'draw blades on th'cloak.. but this one.. gah.."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf grinds his heel down into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's chest.



Simply to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in sirihish:

"He was the only one to stand with Hawk. He got his body out and protected it."



You begin speaking bendune.



You say, in bendune:

"He was a true friend to him. Whatever you think of what happened with Shy. Which is no being the truth."



With a disgusted snort, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks you, in sirihish:

"Shall I reward him with an Expansion death then? All th'others have been?"



The wind grows stronger.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"Dis ain' bout Shy.. I got reason t'defend a fuckin' Thrall? Would dat not put that title over MY head s'well? Shy got what was comin'.."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



Inclining his head a fraction to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"This one is thinking he would been glad to be your true and loyal friend. Yet now you are stabbing him. So perhaps you should be either making him a friend or finishing him."



As he half-turns, staring down at the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's face, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"An' who's head do you try'n sway.. not th'head y'need too stumps.. y'talk with Nadhir? Convince him t'stop it?"



The crimson sun rises, spilling its light over the dunes.



As he plants his feet on the ground, dropping into a crouch beside him, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Do y'think runnin' yer tongue at me.. 'bout things y'know nothin' 'bout.. was smart?"



Venom in his voice, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Do y'know th'history of th'Ratlon.. does y'know th'history of my unit.. does y'know WHY that Ratlon belongs t'Vash?"



You extinguish a glowing green glow-crystal.

You put your green glow-crystal into your stained drab, weathered stormcloak.



The weathered, bearded man lifts a hand to rub at the corners of his eyes before padding over to pick up a dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.



You pick up a dusty skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.

It is very light.

You brush the dust off of a bloodied skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.

You test its weight and decide that you could use it.



Eyes blinking away new tears, body shaking with irritation, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"S'ppose I be in y'head s'well.. t'feel y'slip.. s'been awhile since I got that feelin'.."



The weathered, bearded man brushes at your bloodied skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe .

You quickly wipe the blood off of a bloodied skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf asks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Does it matta?"



The thick, wind-worn dwarf lifts up a heavy foot, bringing it down into the side of the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's face.



The weathered, bearded man watches curiously as the hawk mask is stomped on.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf brings a flurry of fists down into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf attacks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf hits the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, barely grazing his head.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf recoils from a blow from a bloodied spiked leather bracer worn by the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask backhands the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a spiked leather bracer.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's a bloodied spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into the thick, wind-worn dwarf's face.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The weathered, bearded man arches a brow as he takes a single, slow step back.



After admiring some bloody knuckles, newly formed, the thick, wind-worn dwarf pulls his dusty pair of anakore-claw gloves onto his hands, covering a twisting chain of black and grey ink.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf unstrap his dusty steel grey duffel bag from a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf gets his bleached-bone whiskey flask from his dusty steel grey duffel bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf drinks water from his bleached-bone whiskey flask.



The short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak has arrived from the north, riding a yellow sunback lizard.



Simply, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks you, in sirihish:

"'ave anythin' t'say?"



Gaze twitching, anger apparent, the thick, wind-worn dwarf looks up at the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak.



Still staring vacantly upward, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask looks at the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



With a hint of scorn to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"As if this one's opinion is just now being listened to? "



The weathered, bearded man makes an idle motion to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, seeming chagrined.



A yellow sunback lizard walks south, carrying the short figure in a hooded, ebony cloak on his back.



As he reaches back for his belt, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"I ain' ask empty questions Nadhir.."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf turns, propping the tomahawk on his shoulder as he steps back towards the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf's tomahawk comes down in a vicious swing.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf attacks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

Smirking, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask sidesteps the thick, wind-worn dwarf's uppercut.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf recoils from a blow from a spiked leather bracer worn by the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask parries the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's a bloodied spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into the thick, wind-worn dwarf's face.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask ducks under a jab from the thick, wind-worn dwarf.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask backhands the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a spiked leather bracer.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you ask, in bendune:

"What is it you are trying to accomplish?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask backhands the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a bloodied spiked leather bracer.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask easily avoids a backhand from the thick, wind-worn dwarf.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf chops the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's neck, connecting hard.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask backhands the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a spiked leather bracer.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The weathered, bearded man watches the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a mixture of disappointment and curiousity.



With a snort, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"Obvious.. gettin' rid of a mistake."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf looks at the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"This one once considered slaying him as well."



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"Yet if he did...Hawk would still be in the Speedle nest. Make of that what you will."



The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.

Gleaming a tarnished red, the moon Jihae crests above the dunes.

Gleaming silver, the white moon Lirathu crests above the dunes.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf draws a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



With a snort, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"An' 'ats y'reasonin?"



The weathered, bearded man shrugs to the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf attacks the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask parries the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask blocks the thick, wind-worn dwarf's attack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's a spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into the thick, wind-worn dwarf's face.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask backhands the thick, wind-worn dwarf with a bloodied spiked leather bracer.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask ducks under a jab from the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf looks relatively fit.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf does not look tired.



The weathered, bearded man rubs the arch of his nose as he observes.

You strap your large bag to a war beetle's back.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says, out of character:

"Jesus christ.. this bug is getting ridiculous. =\"



Seeming very winded from his efforts, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask looks at the thick, wind-worn dwarf.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf says to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, in sirihish:

"Still got some fight in y'.."



Nodding off, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"Y'free t'ride.. home."



The wind grows weaker.



With a jerk of his chin northward, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says to you, in sirihish:

"I'd prefer y'did.. actually."



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"This one is content to observe, so that he may make his full report to Merchant Mopatis. Do not be mistaking this one's neutrality with approval of these antics."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf sheathes a razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf unstrap his dusty steel grey duffel bag from a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf gets his dusty ebon wood, recurve longbow from his dusty steel grey duffel bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf straps his dusty steel grey duffel bag to a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.



Somewhat archly to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"This one is warning that he knows the same tricks with taints."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf opens a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf holds his dusty ebon wood, recurve longbow.

In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slips a small-headed, agafari arrow out of a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his small-headed, agafari arrow.



You get your night-black, ceramic-headed arrow from your forest-camouflaged hunting quiver.

It is very light.

You hold your night-black, ceramic-headed arrow.



As he draws his bow, nocking it with practice, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"Y'threatenin' Salarri's now?"



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you ask, in bendune:

"Are you?"



As he trains his bow on the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, pulling it for an ear, the thick, wind-worn dwarf says, in sirihish:

"No."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf steadies himself and takes aim.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf fires a small-headed, agafari arrow into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, who groans as it hits him.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slips a small-headed, agafari arrow out of a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his small-headed, agafari arrow.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask is in moderate condition.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask does not look tired.



North Road [NS]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south here, through a valley of massive sand dunes

to either side.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a steel grey duffel bag.

- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf is standing here.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a gigantic, quirri-hide backpack.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask is standing here, rigid and unmoving, bleeding lightly.

A large war beetle crawls about, struggling against its chitin harness.



His hand slipping for another bow, this one aimed a bit higher on the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"Y'wishin trouble on me now.. fer dis 'ere?"



The thick, wind-worn dwarf's hand slips for another arrow, notching it with expertise.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf steadies himself and takes aim.



To the thick, wind-worn dwarf, you say, in bendune:

"This one feels as if he owes him for having rescued Hawk's body."



The thick, wind-worn dwarf fires a small-headed, agafari arrow into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, who groans as it hits him.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask is in moderate condition.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask does not look tired.

In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slips a small-headed, agafari arrow out of a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his small-headed, agafari arrow.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf steadies himself and takes aim.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask narrowly avoids a small-headed, agafari arrow fired by the thick, wind-worn dwarf.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's a spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into the thick, wind-worn dwarf's face.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops fighting the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

In a smooth motion, the thick, wind-worn dwarf slips a small-headed, agafari arrow out of a desert-camouflaged hunting quiver.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf brandishes his small-headed, agafari arrow.



As he puts arrow after arrow into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, the thick, wind-worn dwarf asks, in sirihish:

"An' fer th'troubles he caused 'long th'way?"



The thick, wind-worn dwarf steadies himself and takes aim.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf fires a small-headed, agafari arrow into the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, who groans as it hits him.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask swiftly dodges the thick, wind-worn dwarf's hits.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops at the thick, wind-worn dwarf's body, nicking him.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf stops attacking the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf on his body.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask's a bloodied spiked leather bracer cuts deeply into the thick, wind-worn dwarf's face.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf recoils from a blow from a spiked leather bracer worn by the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf's neck, connecting hard.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask sends the thick, wind-worn dwarf sprawling with a powerful bash.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf's head, inflicting a grievous wound.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf reels from the blow.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf's wrist, inflicting a grievous wound.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf on his leg, wounding him.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask chops the thick, wind-worn dwarf's hand, connecting hard.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf crumples to the ground.



You jump up onto a war beetle's back.

You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

You put your night-black, ceramic-headed arrow into your forest-camouflaged hunting quiver.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf staggers, surprised by the sudden movements and collapses.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask staggers away, coughing violently.



The weathered, bearded man looks on, dispassionately.



You begin speaking sirihish.



To the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"That will be enough."



Very strained, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Coward....coward."



Motioning to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"Take this one's beetle and go. You have been proven the wiser and more just. Do not swing at him again."



You unstrap your large bag from a war beetle's back.



The weathered, bearded man motions the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask onto a war beetle.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"My axe."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask sheathes a blackened razor-edged, obsidian tomahawk.



The weathered, bearded man points to the blackened skull-carved, broad bone battle-axe.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask plucks the pair of arrows from his chest, prying them from the armor.



You get your scrap of cloth from your large bag.

It is very light.



The weathered, bearded man crouches down on his haunches next to the thick, wind-worn dwarf, taking hold of your scrap of cloth.



Throwing it at the thick, wind-worn dwarf, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask drops his small-headed, agafari arrow.



You hold your scrap of cloth.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask drops a small-headed, agafari arrow, which falls to the dusty ground.



You say, in sirihish:

"Go."



The weathered, bearded man motions the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask away sharply.



As he steps over to a war beetle, the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Don't make me regret lettin' ye live."



You say, in sirihish:

"Leave the ratlon."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask unstrap his large bag from a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask unstrap his dusty gigantic, quirri-hide backpack from a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon's back.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says, in northern-accented sirihish:

"Take the reins."



You begin leading a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon falls in behind you.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is already following you.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is hitched to the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask stops leading a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.



The burning sun rises high into the sky, searing the earth.

The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask begins leading a war beetle.



You say, in sirihish:

"Take the beetle. Ayah."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask jumps up onto a war beetle's back.



You begin leading a mottled, dark-scaled ratlon.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon falls in behind you.



North Road [NS]

The stark white of the wide stone road lies across these sands like the

spine of a gargantuan carcass. Slightly curving and in places partially

buried in sand, the pale backbone twists along the upper cliff of the Shield

Wall.

The road runs north and south here, through a valley of massive sand dunes

to either side.

A few small-headed, agafari arrows are here.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

- he is carrying a steel grey duffel bag.

- he is carrying a filthy, crude hide bag.

The thick, wind-worn dwarf lies here mortally wounded, on the verge of death.

A mottled, dark-scaled ratlon is reclining here.

A war beetle stands here, carrying the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask on its back.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask straps his dusty gigantic, quirri-hide backpack to a war beetle's back.



The weathered, bearded man grunts as he leans over the thick, wind-worn dwarf, working swiftly with your scrap of cloth.



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask gets his ivory-hilted, runed obsidian halfsword from his large bag.



The thick, wind-worn dwarf gurgles loudly, head lolling off to one side.



You don't have enough skill to bandage the thick, wind-worn dwarf's wounds.



You say, in sirihish:

"Go."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask drops an ivory-hilted, runed obsidian halfsword, which falls to the dusty ground.



A war beetle walks south, carrying the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask on its back.



*BEEP*



The weathered, bearded man grunts, not seeming able to have the skill to wrap up the body of the thick, wind-worn dwarf, making a frustrated sound.



You say, in sirihish:

"Damnit."



(Exile got lost, came back the other way, ran across Nadhir and Dream's corpse. And was volunteered to help deal with the body and mortal remains.).



To the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"Go back to Red Storm for a week or two."



You ask, in sirihish:

"Just lay low. Ayah?"



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:

"At least e's with Shy, now."



You say, in sirihish:

"Get your damn axe."



The very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask sighs And dips his head.



To the very short male wearing a bone, black-painted hawk mask, you say, in sirihish:

"Savi, sava."