The tip of the gnarled wooden staff broke through the soil and stuck into the sandy earth. Hands held the staff and felt the grooves in the wood, some natural, some carved by a blade. A quiet chant joined the whistling of the wind as it blew along the border of the desert. Brown, hardy grasses and bushes lined the border, holding back the encroachment of the sands. A trickle of power flowed along the staff into the earth, energy packed with meaning and Will. Diffused into the earth, adding to the vast Breath of the land. It was nothing compared to the immense and consuming Will of the Endless Desert.
The chanting stopped, and the trickle of power cut off. Letting the staff rest upon their left shoulder, the person grabbed a leather waterskin from their hip. They were short, wearing an embroidered white tunic and beige pants wrapped above the ankle. Long horns curved from the top of their head out of their shawl, going back and then twisting away from the side of their head. Carefully pulling back the shawl she took a swig from the waterskin and gazed out across the borderland of the desert.
Green and brown speckled the landscape, making a sparse defence against the unquenchable hunger of the sands. Far to her left she could see trees marking the windbreaks of the local’s fields. To her right were the dunes of the Endless Desert, massive, ever changing and somehow restrained. The sands stayed within the bounds of the desert, which were always expanding. The only time they left to ravage the lands were when the Gods were angered or the Divine Mandate demanded it. The woman turned and watched the dunes, the sun resting just above their peaks, lengthening the shadows
There hadn’t been a sandstorm brought by the Mandate of the King in eighteen years. The wrath of the Gods was now a yearly occurrence.
She closed her eyes and felt the sun on her skin, the Well of her Soul thrumming with Life. She held a medallion hanging over her chest, feeling the old metal and the groove of the rune upon it. Her breathing slowed and she let her awareness of the land extend and fill her. Years of training had let her connect to the earth and draw from it, feeling the way the energy moved like it was breathing, slowly, deeply. Letting herself join that deep rhythm and feeling the Well of her Soul begin to breathe with the land itself.
Like a cup dipping into a lake, her Well began to fill. An influx of myriad meanings and power pushed through her, slowly being filtered by the passageways throughout her body into something she could use. Her Path took the energy and used it to water and feed itself, regrowing and clearing out what was not needed. She stepped out of the land and back into herself.
The sun was still above the dunes. She sighed, now apart from the flow of the world, and now very aware of the effects of a long day growing the land. But there was still more to d-
“Oh thank God!” She spun and saw a shape framed by the sun atop the nearest dune. It was a ball of shifting sand, and it began to rapidly approach her. Immediately she pulled her shawl back over her head and held her staff ready, looking around as she backed away from whatever the hell was coming towards her. Bandits? Very few were brave or foolish enough to try and survive the Endless desert.
She whistled, and her only companion on these journeys rose from beneath the sand. A brown and gold beetle, six feet long and three across chittered as it scuttled nearer to her and the perceived threat. She felt the connection she had built with it fill with energy, their coordination sharpening as they moved together. The ball of whirling sand slowed, then fell apart, leaving a sandy figure sputtering and trying to shake the sand off themselves.
Hesitating, she shared a mental glance with her Grand dune beetle. The adrenaline from thinking she was about to be attacked by some bandit or stray elemental remained, but the feeling of danger petered off as she watched what looked like a man try to shake sand out of his clothes. While he was still in them. He was of average height, but with pale pinkish skin, with short brown hair and colourful clothing, though they were not fit for the desert.
“T? ε?;” she asked, still holding her staff, her energy wound up within her. She was ready to move away from him towards the nearby verdant lands, where she was much more dangerous. He gave her a confused look and she realised that maybe he didn’t speak the language, he might be a lost barbarian merchant or traveller. Although, getting lost in the Endless Desert and actually surviving was a rare thing.
Sighing and pointing to her chest she gave her name, “Sara”. Pointing to him she waits.
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Shit, I’m stuck in some barbarian hellscape.
As soon as she had spoken things began to get worse for Anthony. It was too damn hot, there was too much sand in his pants, and now he realised he was at least hundreds of miles from anywhere resembling home. And he definitely wasn’t going to try teleporting back anytime soon. There was a connection from the woman to something in the sands a small way away, but he assumed it was a familiar of some sort.
There was also the fact that there was so much mana in the air that he was starting to feel pressured by it. He had only ever heard of the effects of dense mana on a mage, and even then only in passing. Horror stories like blood coming out of every orifice and spontaneous combustion. So far he had simply felt like a weight was laying across his entire body. The bleeding from every hole must come later.
He turned his attention back to her as she seemed to name herself Sara, then waited while looking at him expectantly. She was tall, and almost completely covered in a once white, now beige robe with a strange headdress sticking out the top, only her eyes and hands were visible. Anthony was sure she was a woman, as her robe did little to actually hide her curves.
Maybe this barbarian land isn’t too bad, if their women are built like tha- no no no, come now Anthony, virtuous thoughts. Think of the Saints, of the Goddess. His mind did not help him on the path to Chastity, reminding him of the more, interesting, renditions of the Goddess and her female Saints. Damn you Collin MaCerty! You and your damn smut! Polluting the minds of good students and taking their pocket money!
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Taking a breath, he pointed at his chest.
“Me Anthony.” She raised an eye at his long introspection, then nodded. Pointing at him again she repeated him.
“Me Anthony, α??ν ?ριστε?ειν.” Ah well, so much for that. Immediately Anthony felt apathy for the journey overome him. His fingers twitched, as he thought of the slow process of learning another language. Pointing at things and repeating their name, being called “Me Anthony” for Goddess knows how long.
It wasn’t giving up, it was working with your strengths.
His hands helped him shape the spell, his enunciations guiding the mana to what he wanted. The woman jumped back and raised her staff, shouting at him as her giant beetle clicked. The spell was one that was rarely ever useful in an enlightened society, but it was an interesting use of many different mana types and was the result of thousands of years of work. Translation, the bane of diplomats, but a better alternative than pantomime.
Spell shaped, mana in place, a curvy woman shouting at him, Anthony felt his Well being pulled upon. He allowed it as the spell tethered itself to him and watched as a somewhat translucent sphere seemed to be drawn into the air. It was the size of a large orange, circuits of mana running along it, giving it a light blue glow.
“There, can you understand me?” In the moment it had taken him to cast the spell the woman had backed up a few feet and had looked like she was about to run. Now she stopped and stared at him, and the Translator Sphere. A portion of Anthony’s Mana Well was being used to sustain the spell, binding it to him and his will. The spell used such concepts like light, sound, mind, and intent to translate spoken words nearby. It wasn't perfect, but many insults had been properly given using it, and Anthony finally had a use for it beyond showing off.
“Hello, my name is Anthony Wesmael, Wizard, and I am lost in this land, can you direct me to the nearest embassy?” He tried to say it calmly and to look dignified. But the sands were still blowing so he had to spit out some grit . There were many spells that could solve that problem, but Anthony wanted to be careful with his Mana Well, and he wasn’t sure if he could use the Mana around him with a larger shaping spell without consequence. So he waited for the woman to speak, and endured the itching.
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Great, he's some kind of barbarian cultivator.
She had seen him doing something strange, waving his hands around and making small noises, which had put her on guard. Then she’d sensed the change in the Breath of the Land, the man seemed to reach out of himself and mould something in the air. And now there was a floating, glowing, talking ball. She backed up and nearly ran when his voice called out to her, in an accented but perfectly understandable voice.
She felt like running might still be the right idea.
You never knew what barbarian cultivators were capable of, she’d heard stories. Turning into beasts, eating souls or stealing virgins. Well, those were things people said about all cultivators, but you just didn’t know with an outsider. The shifting ball of sand must have been a technique then as well she realised. She remembered when the barbarous Imperial Dragons had invaded, and conquered. There had been demonstrations of their power, and what they would do to those that resisted their rule.
She stayed where she was and shouted back at him.
“Hello, Honored Cultivator, these are the lands of the Imperials, how many I assist you in your business?” Direct, respectful, humble, but always try to remind them that there are greater monsters. Sometimes the only thing that held back the wrath of the immortals was the wrath of a greater immortal.
The man thought for a moment. Scratching his head and dislodging some sand from his short, light brown hair.
“Imperials? You mean the Muscovite empire? Out here? Well, that's fine I suppose. Do you know the way to the nearest town, uh, Sara?”
His voice had a strange echo to it, the shape of his mouth not matching the sounds of the words he spoke. That strange orb sat immobile in the air, but Sara could feel it thrum when words were spoken. Whatever it was, it was a powerful and esoteric technique, but all it seemed to do was allow them to speak to one another.
What is the Muscovite empire? Clearly he was from far away, and probably lost. Best thing to do was to point him away from her home and hope he doesn’t follow her. Or attack travelers, or steal from farmers. Sara let out a sigh. It also wouldn’t do for a Priestess of the Nurturing Mother to leave someone alone in the desert. Even if they were a barbarian cultivator of unknown origin and intentions. They hadn’t done anything terrible or made unreasonable demands. Yet.
“Yes, Honored Cultivator Anthony Wesmael, if I may show you the way to the nearest village to rest?” she said, bowing while keeping him in sight. Best to keep an eye on him at least. The chief might have a better idea of how to handle him. But that required leading the barbarian to the village. He said something and nodded, and it took her a moment to realize he had thanked her. She watched as he snapped his fingers and a gold coin appeared in his hand.
Surprised she looked up at his face and their eyes met for a moment before she looked down quickly. The irises of his eyes were colored a piercing bright blue like she’d never seen before. She shivered, what kind of monster did I just agree to lead to my home?
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Hm, seems like she isn’t even used to tricks like palming a coin.
A trick he had learned to give his dorm mates migraines trying to sense him using magic, when all he did was hide a coin in his palm earlier. She rose from her bow, looking down so as to not meet his eyes again, she gestured for him to follow her, then hopped onto her GIANT BEETLE!
Anthony stepped back, grateful she hadn’t noticed his surprise at the appearance of the horrifying insect. He eyed it as Sara sat atop its carapace and began to move away from the sands into a more green, but still rugged and sandswept, terrain. She glanced back at him to see if he was following.
I hadn’t seen that bug at all! Was it camouflaged in the sands the whole time?
Anthony awkwardly smiled at Sara, who turned away and allowed the beetle to carry her towards what Anthony hoped was civilization of some sort. One that had giant pet beetles. Suppressing a shiver, he pulled on the spell that had shaped the sands, once again making a seat and cover, carrying him after the Sara and her steed.
- razzy
