Far from Home (1 Viewer)

AMOH

Desert Cataphract Man
Event Team
35245
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.الروح شيء ثمين. يخسره المرء في السعي لتحقيق ما لا تفهمه
The soul is a precious thing. One loses it in

pursuit of that which it does not understand.
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The stars glisten above the Orange Sea that is the Azaharr. They dance as they are woven into the fabric of the Heavens, gleaming down to those who are subservient to the demands of the Sun. A light trek is made upon the Sands by a humble Caravan. They carry with them spices, silk, and wooden goods, as well as dates, jugs of water, charcoal, salt, and cotton. Their number was light, accompanied by a mercenary caravan guard and headed by a Darthian, astute and well aware of the dangers of the Azaharr. His destination was Tikhameru, now clear of the Rhaktari scourge that plagued the mining town and more important to him, its port. The landscape in all forms has been turbulent, though with the ascension of Garai as the Mandarazi King, things have taken to normalcy. Prosperity looms and all seems to be well. Yet, the people of the Sands know not to become complacent or comfortable, for their lives are ones wrought from struggle and hardship. Such was the way of things... The Darthian caravan master halted in his advance, placing his right hand into the air to signal to the caravan to do the same. They had arrived at the outskirts of the town quicker than anticipated. A good sign. As midnight loomed over the heads of the caravan, camp was to be set. Yusati, Darthians, and Danakov all began to unmount and collect the necessary belongings: tents and tarps, firewood, cooking spits, water. All worked in this endeavor, including a young male Yusati. He worked alongside the caravan master in pitching his tent, the act all too familiar to him at this point. He also went and started the fire and acquired the cooking spit, with which he cooked a simple erouch meat stew for the master and his closest friends. He stood at the master's attention and executed his every command, akin to a Slave. At last, the Darthian dismissed the Yusati youth, instructing him to go and practice his writing with charcoal before going to sleep. With a curt nod of his head, the youth did as instructed, recollecting the lessons the Darthian had taught him under his care. As he practiced the last of his Common, he dozed off, the activities of the day tiring him.

The young Yusati awoke to finding himself laid out upon a tarp within the caravan master's tent, with the rest of the caravan having already making preparations to depart. With haste, the boy attempted to collect himself and take down the tent, not wanting to be seen as slacking or having overslept. Gathering the furs, tarps, bedding, and tent, the Yusati was performing actions within second nature, his subservience seen in how quickly he was able to recollect everything in preparations for travel. To Tikhameru.

The town was seemingly unremarkable, given the aftermath of the siege. It appeared somewhat poor and struggling, though signs of its speedy recovery were not lost on the caravan and the boy especially. The townsfolk were engaged in unison in rebuilding the mining city, the commerce heavy in the purchasing of construction materials, labour, and foodstuffs for the reconstruction effort. The caravan found much business in their dealings, around two-thirds of their original wares finding themselves sold. It was after the services of the caravan had dwindled that the young youth took some time to ferry his way through the working masses and make his way towards Tikhameru's port. Their, fishmongers prepared to venture out to capture their catch of the day while foreign merchants and traveling companies conducted their respective trades. The wooden behemoths were completely new to the young boy, their size dwarfing the fishing dinghies of the Tikhameru fishermen. A curiosity overtook the youth, followed by unease. It was only the familiar grasp of the caravan master upon his shoulder that reeled him back from his fear. The boy glanced to his right, back away only to bow his head downwards. Business was still to be conducted. In due time...

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A letter would find its way over to the city of Mutajara to the following people mentioned. The messages detailed within are written in a most rudimentary Common upon papyrus parchment with fine charcoal. The respective representatives of those addressed would be handed these people, if not directly:

To my beloved Uncle, the King,
Blessings to you and your line. I am alive and well. I have made my way to Tikhameru and will soon leave. I know cousin Safiyya has talked of 'Ayinar,' a land similar to our own. I cannot stand to think of my misfortune, being a failure to you, Aunt Spinner, and Grandfather. I remember the day when he entrusted you with my care. And in this time, I realize that I was never meant to be what I wanted to be. I never learned like he did. I never struggled like you have. I have not developed like Aunt Spinner. I am a disappointment. That much is true. I have elected to have my T'quso Muro there in Ayinar, perhaps become half the Darthian you are, half the man my grandfather was. Kurus and Hayasiya bless your reign. May it wash away the failures of my bloodline and my dependency on it for justification of rights. I will always remember our talk upon the mountaintop. It is a memory of what should be.
Sincerely,
Kyros

To Aunt Spinner, wise and kind,
I wished to say something to you in person before leaving, but it was not to be so. I have thought about what you told me, about being a child. I cannot be a child. I need to grow up, learn to take responsibility, and find some sort of purpose that is not based on entitlement, something Uncle Garai told me before he became the rightful King he was always meant to be. I feel as if I can do that by completing my T'quso Muro in Ayinar, the land where Safiyya was born. Grandfather said that you needed to guide me until I was ready, but I think I am. I hope to make you proud, despite my numerous flaws. I recognize the burden I am. Do not worry for me. It is just life, right Aunt? Several teardrops are sprinkled throughout the bottom of the page, though they do not water an attached sketch of Spinner laughing.

With respect,
Kyros

Beloved Safiyya,
I sail for Ayinar tomorrow, so I can perform my T'quso Muro. I am not needed here. I am only a burden. But in this time, you have shown me only immense love, though we are not blood. I could not ask you for more in this life, cousin. A teardrop follows, watering some of the text.-to believe in me. I will return but only with purpose. By Kurus-another teardrop or three-Garai and Spinner safe. You are the greatest of the Wardens, because you earned it. I will make you proud.

Love and blessings upon you,
Kyros
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The boy embarked upon the boat, bound for a new world where he would make his name. Find himself. The caravan master stayed upon the dock, wishing to see his ward off before he headed back towards the caravan situated in the center of Tikhameru. As the master turned away, so too did the young Yusati. A new chapter of his Life was to be penned, one hopefully that would prove to be more respectable and fruitful. In Ayinar would reside the real Kyros Mustafi.

 

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