Post by Elinea on May 11, 2008 16:40:42 GMT -7
Ok, this is a totally different story I started some time ago, about a young Sarnak defiler. I got caught up in the lore of Kunark. Enjoy!Something to read while I work up the other story
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The rain had stopped for the time being. An overcast, gray sky greeted any travelers, but the torrents of water and the noise of the thunder had given way to the quiet of the late afternoon of the jungle.
A party from Sebilis made it's way through the dense over growth looking for any survivors of the floods of the last three days. It consisted of six Iksars. Armored and well armed, they made their way through quietly and barely even disturbed the grass beneath their rhinos' feet.
The ground was still soft and made no sound. All the leaves of the trees dripped water and made small rainbows in the air. There was nothing in sight but the party members, not even the usual animals that roamed the area.
"Lord Veran, do you think there were any survivors?"
The grizzled face of the old Iksar turned and gray-blue eyes looked at his young officer,
"There is no way of telling or not unless we go out and search, Daemon. We know there were Sarnak slave refugees out here according to our reports, but they know this area well, and move fast. They may have escaped the floods."
"Or they might have drowned."
"True, but better to know for sure. Free Sarnak slaves are not to be tolerated at any cost."
They continued on in silence until they came to what looked like an old encampment. There were tents still staked in the ground, and debris everywhere, bit no signs of Sarnak.
After riding around the muddy remains of the Sarnak camp, Veran decided they had seen enough and gave the signal to move on.
They had turned and started to leave, when a small sound, a cry, came to Veran's ears. He stopped and listened. The cries continued and got louder.
"A survivor, Lord Veran?"
"Obviously."
His men started to look through the debris. They finally came to a half buried wooden crate behind a tree. The sounds were coming from there.
Veran and his men stopped and dismounted. It took a good twenty minutes to pry the crate from the mud and turn it right side up, and the cries got louder.
They finally opened it up to find a very young Sarnak female infant wrapped up in a muddy blanket.
His second in command drew his sword, but Veran put his hand out to stop him.
"She's a Sarnak, Sir. She should die with her inferior kind."
"So now we kill infants, Daemon?"
His younger officer slowly sheathed his sword and sighed, "No. No we don't."
"We don't kill females or children. We never have, Daemon."
"But they left her her in this crate for some reason surely. Or perhaps they really are as stupid as we think? Perhaps she is 'tainted' in some way and they left her to die. Should we take on an unwanted survivor when her own people do not want her?"
"Perhaps they put her here to make sure she DID survive."
"Perhaps."
Veran took the infant from the crate and looked at her for a few moments. Her cries stopped for the time he looked at her, until her hunger interfered and once again she started to cry.
"Daemon, milk."
"We have milk for an infant?"
"Rhino milk."
As his young officer went o get a canteen out of his saddle pack, Veran tried to calm her down and wrapped her up more securely in the blanket.
She quieted down and looked up at him, a smile briefly crossed the old war lord's face.
Daemon came back with a container of milk and an oddly shaped bottle and a top with a thin membrane stretched over it.
"This was all I could....find that the infant could possibly... use to drink the milk, my Lord.
There was silence between the two soldiers.
"What if she doesn't like it, Sir?"
"She'll like it or be hungry till we get back to The Hall. She doesn't have a choice right now."
"That means she will cry all the way back."
"Yes."
Neither soldier had to worry, she took the makeshift bottle and started to drink.
"Daemon, go get one of my blankets from my bag."
"Sir?"
"I have lots of blankets. Go get her a clean one."
Daemon did as he was instructed and brought the requested blanket back to his commander, "Sir, how are we going to get her back to The Hall?"
"She'll ride with me. I'll carry her."
His second in command looked at him strangely but did not argue, "Of course, sir."
Veran re-wrapped the young infant in the new blanket. She had fallen asleep and was quiet now.
He handed her to his soldier. The young Iksar did not know what to do at first. The war lord had to show him how to hold the infant. A smile came to his face,
"You've never held a young one, have you Daemon?"
"No, sir."
"Time you learned."
Veran mounted his rhino, while the younger Iksar uncomfortably
held the infant.
"Here Daemon, hand her to me."
"Gladly, sir."
