Sun In The Water Temple

[Opening Title]

Closed.

~ Part I ~

The office charged with handling outlander affairs kept me for the better part of the day. Obtaining an Exit Pass had not been easy, complicated by my especially outlandish appearance and a fidgeting string of short-tempered travellers stranded in the Quarter, but obtain it I had. About twenty minutes later, I stood before a corner pub midtown, flanked by an apartment complex and a wide lot stuffed with flimsy hutments and tents erected by those who couldn't afford to sleep in a real bed. The piquant odour of several cooking fires accompanied by the unmistakable reek of an open latrine somewhere nearby chased me indoors, where the smell was lessened by the flowery incense scraping heavy lavender fingers across the ceiling.

Wishing my mask was just a little bit thicker, I found an empty table and began studying the hard-won fruit of my efforts. Reason for visit: tourism. Well, I couldn't tell them I was treasure-seeking. Such a reply would have been counter-productive. Fallien's unfriendly reputation had reached even distant Ophilans; I remember, as a child, hearing of the desert isle and it's citizens' notorious stance regarding people calling from beyond their borders. Seems strange now that I am actually here, witnessing their animosity for myself.

A spurt of laughter from across the crowded room rouses me from my idle reminiscing, and I fold the pass before slipping it into an inner vest pocket. There is a young couple to my left, by the wall. Judging from their attire and equipment I would hazard a guess that they have recently returned from an eventful backpacking expedition. The woman is cradling a swollen wrist. My attention is again drawn toward the door, where a red-haired man is talking animatedly to three robed companions. They are dressed like Fallien natives, but the only one among them who isn't wearing a hood and whose features I can distinguish through the dimness, the aforementioned redhead, is definitely an outsider, judging from the burnt pallor of his skin and, of course, the flaming hair.

"As I were sayin' afore you so rudely inter-upted me, Zabe, it ain't no kiddie tale. It's for real, I'm tellin' you. It's as real as me or you, and it's nothin' to be taken lightly, neither." The nauseous perfume of cheap incense coupled with the heat is suffocating. I long to yank down the cloth covering my nose and mouth, but my hands remain folded on the table, stubbornly unmoving. There needs to be more light in here. You'd think it would be cooler because of the lack of windows, but the exact opposite has occurred. "You're full of shit, Losrin," growls the shortest of the four. I know I shouldn't be eavesdropping. It's impossible not to.

"Shuddup. I'm sayin' the truth, here."
"I heard that it reflects the user's true power," says another in a dreamy baritone purr. My eyes widen at once, moral concern dissolving into unabashed curiosity. Don't tell me...
"That's what they say. You're unstoppable if you have it. Unstoppable. Do you know what that means? You have the power of a thousand armies behind you...it makes you a god. Unstoppable." Red Hair is speaking again, grinning lopsidedly with a fanatical twinkle in his sunken eyes that puts me at unease. He is answered again, but the voice is too low for me to make out against the sudden rising of volume in the room, and my view of the table is temporarily blocked by the passing of a large group. When they are gone, I am able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the men's robes from the street beyond the door, which is still ajar; their table is empty.

[Melancor]

It had been a long day, but Melancor was more than happy that was over. Though the temperature of the air that flowed trough the room was still high, he was glad that the sun had died for today.

That woman had better receive my audience, or she will be the first mortal to die when the sea reaccepts me.

Finally, he had gotten his pass after lining up with humans, but by a stroke of luck, an Irakan was there in charge of the pass distribution, had not been Melancor blue eyes and pale skin he would go through the humiliation of lining for another day under the scorching sun and between panting humans. It was time that someone gave him at least some respect, he thought. It was already an embarrassment that a demy-god like him should be between humans, but to submit to their regulations was more than insolence; had it not been by Cozrhyael he would have sunken his island for what it was worth.

Melancor tucked in his coat as he looked for a place where he could rest for the day.
I need to get off this desert… Melancor though to himself as he walked the tumultuous streets of the outlander’s quarters. Wind softly carried sand over the floor and the bleached facade of the buildings where ever more brilliant with the lights of the counted business, and food establishments. Even though he hated Fallien, or what Suravani had made of it, more than anything; Melancor treasured it’s clear and passive skies where no clouds where to cover its beauty.

Melancor sighed as he thought about his audience with the Jya, deep inside the knew that not much could be done, but he hoped that a priestess could undo a priest's doing.
In his way Melancor crossed the window of a tavern who’s entrance was at the other side of the street, it was far from sanitary, the men inside looked incredibly active.
"Who can have so much energy after spending such violent days?” but as he walked he overheard a conversation, the theme caught his curious hear's attention… Stealthy he sat against the wall to listen while he rested a bit.

“An object that can project your true power…” Melancor was more than two thousand years old, he had been there in the creation of Althanas; And, like his brothers, knew all about the ocean dwellers, most of the land ones, and all of the ancient relics.

He knew that in Althanas there was such a thing, A list of thousands of relics that would fit the description ran through his head, the location of some of them where in his possession, as to if he could reach them in his mortal state was something much more different. And there where those other ones that had fell in the hands of rulers and mysteriously disappeared from the recods of hystoy. It was more than possible that any of those lost ones could reapear in Fallien.

Melancor’s curiosity grew, as he admired the odds of this object falling in his hands. By no means he would allow those vile humans to take position of any relic, and become stronger than the Aegean themselves. He had to get there first.

Melancor stood up and placed his hood over his head. It was time to depart.

The Jya will have to wait.

[Opening Title]

That mirror was mine. The Village would be eager to have me. They'd welcome me back with exuberance, knowing of the weird and wonderful item in my possession. Those goddammned hypocrites. I'd be home again, and I'd find it somewhere deep inside of me to be merciful and use my powers to protect their miserable lives. Yes, that mirror was mine. Red Hair's conversation reminded me of my intent, and I stand before I rightly know what I am doing and slip outside, alternately slamming my fist into the door to stop it from swinging into me.

The hood of my cloak has been drawn up around my head; the material of it flutters haplessly in the humid evening breeze. My long steps automatically take me down past countless alleys and avenues, storefronts and lots. I can't get my thoughts to quit worrying the image of that item, that holy, beautiful item, the thing I so desperately lust after. It hangs in my mind, a spider's cunning web. The information that there are perhaps more people in this god-forsaken country (and beyond) who seek it, who are similarly seduced by it's power, alarms me. They must not have it... -- "Oof!"

"Hey, wotch where yer runnin', asshole!"
"My apologies, I did not see you."
"Like hell you didn't!"
I quickly resume my swift-paced walk, resisting the urge to rub the sting out of my shoulder from where it had collided with the burly pedestrian. I did not often run into people. In fact, this was the first time I had ever done so unintentionally, and the realisation is more painful than it has a right to be. Village nin do not unintentionally run into others, no matter their hurry. Resolve flares hot within me, triggered by the anger I still harbour toward the mercenary and...gods help me, my student.

I was told, when asking for directions earlier, that the airport was a small affair, crouched beyond the skirt of the town. This later proved true. The port was indeed small, home to a handful of a public airships and two or three reserved for private commission. In the dwindling light, the single, simple wooden building is lit from within; hanging lanterns dangle around the exterior and the paved road leading up to it. Barely visible in the field behind the building reside a row of metal-plated hangars. Inside, the low ceiling spreads many meters to either side, encompassing a narrow, deserted wood-floored room with various benches lined up against the walls beneath faded, exclamatory posters in languages I can not identify.

Directly ahead of me is a desk, seated behind it someone covered from head to presumable toe in plain white robes. I can only see their eyes, and little of them at that. The person, (for I can not distinguish gender), is glaring unblinkingly at me. I lower my hood out of courtesy, ignoring the cloth wrapping my face, and walk confidently forward. The desk attendant's disquieting gaze does not meander elsewhere. The dozen or so steps I take are turning out to be the longest dozen or so steps I have ever experienced. When I finally reach the desk, I am distinctly aware of the sweat tickling the skin beneath my mask.

Clearing my throat: "Good evening. I'd like to purchase a tick --" I am cut off when the person begins tapping in an irritated fashion on a sheet of paper adhered onto the desk surface. The frantic scribbling is foreign to me, but the numbers I can at least vaguely recognize, and I almost collapse from my stupidity. Of course; it is almost night. There is no way for the pilots to see where they are going, likely meaning there will not be any departing flights until morning. I glance up at the huge triangular clock on the wall behind the desk, near the ceiling, before nodding genially at the attendant and strolling casually over to a bench on the far side of the room. There's nothing to do but wait; my haste in getting here was unjustified.

Damn.

The bench is flat, worn, and dirty. The prospect of having to spend the night on it does not particularly appeal to me, but it has to be better than the floor, whose flat worn dirtiness far surpasses whatever the bench may have to offer. The sound of a door slamming alerts me, and when I glance up I am greeted by the mysterious absence of the robed attendant. I am now completely alone in the rapidly cooling lobby, with only the flickering lanterns stationed in the corners and around the desk for company.

Well, I think. That's why the gods created sudoko.

[Melancor]

It is either a horse or a camel; holy steed is anything I could ask for. Melancor sighed. That place is about a week from here in horseback, enduring so much time away from my precious ocean is going to be hell, It takes nothing but vicious humans and a pathetic, abhorred god who can’t even recognize such superiors, to transform paradise in wasteland.

He started reminiscing about his past, now more than ever he despised humans, had this not been land of Suravani’s he could have gotten his hopes up about rampaging through the headquarters once any kind of power from the mysterious object be his.

Melancor reached back to his pocket and took out a small brown sack and opened it discretely.

There is not enough here for a camel… much less for a steed….

He scanned the streets for something that could help him in find a way to reach the ruins. Melancor had been there during the Vadhya and from the sea witnessed the great spectacle of a great beam of light,earthquake shatering the peace, lighting and thunder braking the tempest skyed,and if he didn’t remember any better, one of his brothers caused tsunamis that ravaged the coastal towns. All in the aid of the goddess Suravani, who was so dear to the aggressive Aegean. Melancor snaped out of his dillusion as an unusually cool breeze hit his face.

There was nothing important on sight other than the modest Inn’s sing “Good room for Good price”

He would have to find a method of transportation tomorrow, today the chances where slim. The pushed the worn wooden door, there was a young woman preparing some sheets for the current guests in the small loby, oblivious to Melancor’s presence. The orange stone floors where covered in small leaves of few twilting plants that hanged from the seeling, over a modest desk besides a thin circular stairway that led to the rooms above.

“Excuse me...” Melancor asked firmly. The woman snaped out. She turned around and rose her eyebrows. It apeared as if melancors misterious apearance had surpriced her.

“Oh, pardon me. It seems like I got carried away,” she smiled pleasantly as she fixed her unbraiding hair “can I help you?”

The pure beauty of the youth and her honest smile took Melancor out of guard, and almost gave him away. It where these simple acts of humanity that made mortals tolerable, and enabled Melancor doubt of their corrupted nature.

“… Yes, do you have any rooms available?” Asked melancor hesitantly.

Her smile disappeared, and a look of disappointment invaded her face

“I am sorry sir… But I am afraid that there are no rooms vacant.”

“No rooms vacant? Why is this town so full all of the sudden? The Headquarters has never been as attractive as compared to Irakam”

“Indeed, but annually there is a caravan off merchants from all over Althanas that detour into the Headquarters and travel north wher they re-supply their stock of medicinal plants... And some other poisonous plants. Apparently a man from Marayyah has found a way to grow them in the sand, they dwell faster and are not as potent but they are surely cheaper than anything out of the spice lands.”

“I see… Well don’t mind my comfort; I will take anything as I have a place to sleep in.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose in her head on her surprise.

“Well, we really don’t have much... unless you want to take the roof if you are an outdoors person, though I must warn you, It gets a little bit chilly in Fallien at nights.”

“The roof will be fine, I don’t mind the cold, just a quiet place.”

The woman smiled at Melancor as his conformism was impressive.

“We’ll do, I shall take some blankets up… if you don’t mind me asking, you are a foreigner right?”

Melancor silently laughed at her question, he had been around since the creation of Althanas, foreigner wasn’t really a word that descried him.

“I guess you could call me that. Excuse me... about the merchants.”

“Yes?”

“You mentioned a caravan, is there a place nearby where I can purchase a steed or any sort of animal to join it.”

The woman snorted before answering

“It’s not that kind of caravan; the merchants take the hot-air ship at the airport.”

There was a hint of surprise in Melancor’s expression.

“An airport?” Certainly the humbling of the humans (at least of the women) was not the only thing that had changed around this island.

“Would you mind telling me where I can find the airport?”

“Yes sir, the airport is just on the outskirts of town, you won’t have to walk much, just go off to main street and head north, you will see it, it’s a single undistinguished wooden building.”

“Thank you, here is for the place.”
Melancor handed over a single silver piece, which the woman took thankfully. Then she headed through the stairway to the roof.

Melancor stepped out the Inn, and followed the young woman’s instructions, and surely enough he found the place, like all others, sun bleached and a little weathered. It seemed like it was still open as a dim orange light poured out of the dark windows. Slowly he opened the door. This was a long building, It was obvious that this place was busy in normal hours, but not now, it was late but that didn’t made Melancor avoid ringing the small bronze bell in the big reception desk. While he waited, he noticed a man sitting down, peculiarly working on some sudoku. His appearance was like that of the hidden people at the west. It was far to say that he found his presence threatening, as his clothes leaved no way to allow him to anticipate any kind of sudden move.

The sound of a screeching door interrupted his scrutinizing, It was a medium sized person, his appearance bothered him even more than that of the man behind him. Only his eyes where to be seen. The person seemed annoyed as if something out of the ordinary was bothering him.

The person spoke dryly in a soft voice

“I am going to tell you what I told him, there are no flights leaving today, you are welcome to wait till’ morning… apparently... like that man went ahead and did…”

Melancor looked back again to the peculiar man

“Please come back tomorrow and don’t bother me.”

The door closed after her and indignantly Melancor stood there still digesting the woman’s audacity and talk to him like that.

He exited the building now ignoring the peculiar man. Melancor furiously walked back to the Inn, it seemed ad the woman had left to her room and stopped for the day. Melancor made his way into the roof where blankets where arranged nicely for him in a bed-like fashion, and a small oil lamp rested on the casing of the building. He laid in the floor over the blankets and contemplated the night sky as a small prayer to Suravani escaped his lips. He was in her land, and he would honor it as long as he stayed in Fallien. He allowed the tensions of his day disappear as he fell fast asleep. Cold air scratched his cheeks and the murmur of the people below calmed him.

Tomorrow he would be awakened by the scorch of Mitra, make his way back into the tumultuous streets and into the praised airport, oblivious to what would hapen.

[Opening Title]

The cloak stuffed into my pack shields my head from some of the more solid objects located there, and makes for a shockingly agreeable pillow. I recline on the bench, legs crossed and sudoku book propped against my thigh. I'm slowly running out of problems -- for the second time -- and I don't relish having to erase all my answers again. I practically have the entire thing memorized, which is fine, but I'd be fibbing if I said I didn't desire a fresh book.

For a while, the serene scratching of charcoal against paper occupies the room. There are other sounds too, rat-sounds. The little scritch-scratch of dirty claws against carpet and wood. They're probably even in the walls. Now, rats don't concern me much...well, at least not in the traditional sense. I just get overwhelmed with this bizarre urge to...go hunt them down or something. Must be my totem animal speaking, neh? It's very distracting.

The scratching gets louder; I can't concentrate on the bloody math puzzle. My hand and the charcoal stick fall dramatically to the space of visible bench at my side. I might as well bid fond farewell to whatever visions of sleep I had upon entering here, no matter how miserably cold and back-braking...

The door swings open with a rush of bone-chilling air. The mounting scratching noise thankfully subsides, and I glance up as a young pale dude strolls in, his hair as silver as mine goddammit. Obviously another foreigner. He has a determined cast to his sharp face. Something about him is off; he isn't quite...normal. Not quite...y'know, human. I pick up my suduko again and borrow into it, deciding to not tell the suspicious non-human, whom I have swiftly decided I don't like (deceptive people, no matter how unintentional the deception is, irritate me) of the potential wrath he might induce by ringing that bell.

Soon enough, the strange robed person poofs into existence from behind whatever hidden door they were skulking behind. This time around I can just discern the familiar female timbre. She tells the guy off, using me as an example. I pretend to be deep in my book, outlining numbers I have already written. I can't relax and fully devote myself to the puzzles while in the company of that new stranger, no matter how unconcerned he appears with my presence. Maybe it's that feeling I keep getting from him. He's dangerous, or was dangerous at one point in time. In any event a person I should keep an eye on.

I unintentionally release a sigh of relief when he finally leaves.

---

Morning did not come soon enough. The rats kept me up all night, I was cold, the bench was hard and squeaky, and those infernal lanterns merrily flickered away until dawn's arrival, keeping me up with their light. Must have been magical or something, as I doubt normal fire would have been allowed to burn for so long unintended in a wooden building. I highly doubt they would have been kept burning for my benefit.

Alas, the flames yielded no heat (further evidence of magical origin), and I was reduced to eating half a packet of crunchy uncooked packaged noodles for supper. Yeah, Tsuku might have been helpful, but I wasn't particularly up to feeling like shit for the customary two hours following his resurrection, and knowing that my trek into the desert would likely be a long one I felt compelled to spare my already meager water rations.

I managed to get a much needed hour or so of shut-eye in the later (earlier?) hours, only to be greeted with the suspicious, crinkly black eyes of that sour-tempered old woman mere inches from my face. "Ughh..."

"Why are you hiding your face?"

It was such an odd question to be confronted with first thing in the morning that for a moment I couldn't respond. "My face...?"

"It's covered, like it was yesterday. Why are you hiding it? Are you running from the law, p'haps? "

Oh. OH. My mask. I had re-wrapped it after eating. Helped with the temperature a tad. Might have kept my nose from developing frostbite and falling off. "That's quite an impertinent question considering I don't even know your hair colour," I grumbled, sitting up and massaging the back of my skull. Okay, so that backpack wasn't as luxurious as I had thought. "And no, I'm not running from the law!"

So here I stand, fourth in a swiftly lengthening line before the desk. The robed attendant had shot me a smoldering glare of promised doom and death before she toddled off to her padded chair behind the desk. People had started entering the place the moment the sun came up, by god. A handful of security guards had entered as well and were stationed in the corners of the room, watching the tired crowd with apt scrutiny. One look at their extremely pointy and painful-looking spear tips convinces me to be polite to the covered lady when I eventually step up, who has thus far been incredibly rude and impatient with every outlander she's met.

"Pass," she demands, holding out a wrinkly hand. Pass? Ah that's right, the Exit Pass. Of course. I riffle through my pockets, having forgotten the exact pocket I stuffed it into yesterday. By the sixth pocket I can tell my chances are beginning to look grim. "Just one sec," I explain, my eyes crinkling in a smile. "It's here somewhere..."

"Look, no Pass, no ride," she hisses, and out of the corner of my eye I notice one of the guards step forward. "No no no , wait, I have it here somewhere...uh...AHA! See, here it is!" Crumpled and mysteriously torn, but intact. I thrust it onto the desk and cross my arms, feeling a profound sense of accomplishment. The woman seems disappointed that I have not lost it, but she takes it anyway. After obsessively studying every little detail she hands it back and opens a large folder that had been stored in a drawer to her side.

"Where to?"

"Marayyah," I state proudly. Her eyebrows raise.

"Reason for visit?"

"Saying hello to an old friend."

She scribbles a couple of lines down on a sheet in the folder.

"You will be watched, outlander."

"Okay!" I am much too cheery for her liking. But I can't help it -- I'm so close! In a few hours I will be in Marayyah, and from there...the temple and the item I seek. So, so close...how can I not be cheery? That would be impossible!

"That'll be ten traveler's notes, if you please."

This time I am prepared, and the notes arrive in her hand before the antsy guard who has been staring disapprovingly at me for the past three minutes can so much as blink. "Ship 23, out the door behind me to your left. Here's your ticket. NEXT."

Strange. Where'd that door come from?

---

Man, it gets hot quick out here. It can't be much past nine and already it's like seventy degrees in the sun. There are three airships out in the spacious circular field, which has been overlaid with some sort of gravel, supposedly to keep the dust factor down. The sky is barren and sickly blue; I was never one much for overly sunny weather. Trust that the thing I seek most at the moment is in the middle of the bloody desert. The airships are impressive enough, and I momentarily forget the raising heat in awe. Each ship's shiny, rectangular silver carriage floats a good foot off the ground, emblazoned on the sides with Fallien's national flag and a set of bold numbers. Ship 23 is in the middle, long lines anchoring the nose and sides of the mammoth, bulbous bleached red balloon to looped, rusty metal pegs in the ground.

Interesting, technology-wise, I muse to myself, already in 23's shadow as I approach the single passenger entrance and the man standing there (the pilot's cabin was beneath the nose of the balloon, separated from the main carriage. I noticed several cords draped and hung from the sides of the carriage leading into the pilot's cabin, most of them connected to the large fan on the flat rear of the carriage and the adjustable directional flaps locked onto the carriage sides, beneath the windows). Wondering about how the Outlander's Quarter was able to get ahold of these wondrous machines, however, is not of my concern. Flying in an airship sure beats travelling across the sand on foot or camel-back.

I hand my ticket to the man, who is also robed but not to the extent of my lady friend in the building. He nods as he takes my ticket, ripping it in half and handing me the stub without saying a word or even looking directly in my eyes. I climb the rickety little steel step-ladder and duck inside, met at once with the stuffy, claustrophobic interior. The ceiling is so low that I am forced to stoop as I travel down the mostly unoccupied aisles (there are ten in all with six seats, split down the middle with three seats to each side of the aisle). I sit in the back on the right, near the emergency exit door.

The wobbly wooden seats are diminutive and my knees are almost at chest-level as I sit with my pack in my lap. The window itself is quite small and square, and lacks any sort of pane. You'd think this would provide some relief to the stifling heat in the carriage, but due to the breezeless nature of the outside desert this day, I am left sweltering and sore without any respite. Sighing, I find my suduko book and charcoal stick with some difficulty and begin the next puzzle as more passengers clomp aboard.

[Melancor]

He was almost there, the sun hit his forehead, his steps where heavy and his breathing was panting. In his lengthy life had he even felt such heat, it seamed as if the shining star was ever more massive.

I would rather set myself dead than to submit to your pathetic heat

Such demonstration of strong defiance was fooling now one but him. Melancor knew that this heat was a great threat for his aqueous based existence. Although that by being a holy born he did not suffer nearly as much as the majority of sea creatures, the heat was overwhelming. It was the first time that Melancor accepted a weakness; as he reminisced about the soft cool water of the Althanian seas. The worm small mosaics of the gray floors where covered on sand that constantly shifted softly with the blow of the hot wind.

“Ugh… This was much easier at night with the chilly air”
Flaming light poured down on the city, causing sharp shadows in his facial outline, for a moment it may have seemed as if the dead had risen from the grave, walking loosely and with a lost look. Had he not been wearing that black heavy coat he would maybe be cooler... or at least dryer; but he would have to admit that Mitra could be rather aggressive with it’s heat when it came to Caucasian water beings. Only his head left the shelter of his coat. His silkily, silver hair shimmered as the hot air of the morning rushed through the streets.

Melancor could see the building rise from amongst a busy skyline of bleached houses and business.

“Come on children we don’t want to be late” The voice of a woman broke Melancor’s attention to the agonizing heat. Melancor discretely turned around and not pretending to be stealthily, he saw a middle-aged woman carrying a little boy and, girl on both hands. The scene was peculiar, it seemed almost as she where dragging the bodies of the indifferent children. Their hair was ‘wild’ and their eyes where heavy. Which made Melancor not the only ‘living-dead’ meandering about the streets of the Headquarters.

“Damn it mom… It’s too hot.” The boy said cleaning the sweat from his forehead with his dirty fist.

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“Can’t we take a flight after the warmest hours of the day, you know, pass?”

“Listen, if we want to make the best time we must leave now, otherwise we wont be able to come back unit Monday with all the shopping we have to do”

“But mom-“ The discussion went on as it seemed, but the thunderous sound of a cart diluted their voices and it soon faded as they walked away toward the airport in a much faster, and dragged, rhythm of Melancor’s.

When he finally arrived to the airport the, last night solitary, room was now abundant with distressed passengers.
Melancor sighed, lying to himself about his rage, there was nothing else to do than to get in line and wait until the useless two-legged sacks of meat moved aside so he could get his ticket. Eventually they did. Three people ahead there was the mother holding her daughter on her arms, the girl was asleep, her green eyes had been silenced by her smooth eyelids, her coffee hair ran down her mothers shoulder, slightly suspended along with her cloth, yellow doll to which she hanged loosely to. The strains of the day, long waiting and apparently early rising had taken its small toll on the girl, much unlike her brother who kept moving and trying to get away from his mother’s grasp claiming he was old enough to fend for himself, and he was.

They passed the door into the airfield where the ships awaited; he would never see them like this again.

Melancor came near the desk; it was that insulting woman from last night again. Her sour and tiered voice rose in her throat.

“Pass”

Melancor took the blue pass out and placed it on the mysterious woman’s wrinkly hand

“Where to?”

“Marayyah” Or what’s left of it, Melancor thought. To his knowledge Marayyah was nothing more than ruins, where a small tribe must have settled in the remainders of the city temporarily, to complete their annual ritual of gathering and selling.

“Reason for visit?”

Melancor opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted at mid air. Well it was stupid to say that he was on treasure hunting over some rumors. Then the conversation he have had with the Inn woman jolted into his head.

“Why should I surrender my affair to you?” Melancor said in distress. A man, apparently a security guard took a step forward and stood near Melancors neck to intimidate him. The woman waved her hand at the man indicating him to stop. Melancor threw a glance to the ban behind him over his shoulder. pathetic

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. but I hold the stamp here, and if you don’t tell me what’s your travel reason then I am going to have to ask the man there to abuse you until you do. You know, secretive activities are scrutinized in a city so close to Irakam”

“You are telling me the Jya fears a bunch of beggars of the desert,” answered Melancor loathingly.

“So what’s it going to be?” She rose her hand in indication to man. Melancor was restless, How dared this human blackmail him. He had, though, to admit that he was at the disadvantage, if his hubris was before him then it would be impossible to get anywhere near the northern ruins.

“Commercial matters” Melancor declared indignantly

“You don’t look like a merchant to me, loner” The woman dropped her hand but rose her head in vicious disagreement.

“And you look more like a church keep, hag” Melancor answered indifferently. There was an eerie silence in the room. Then the woman simply stamped the form and passed the ballot into a wooden box.

“Ship 23, NEXT!”

In the midst of the broken silence Melancor noticed a him too by the old and covered woman as he made his way out into the air field.


There they rested majestically great hot air ships. Build of meat and attached to a big ochre balloon… If you can call it that. A large fan rimed in the back of the ship had just ignited with a rusty thud.
Ship 23 He though as he approached the fancy vehicle, at the same time wondered what had happened to the other twenty. Inside there was a large hall, where the people struggled in the tight seats to find a comfortable position, and opposed to the cabin door, at the rear end there was the exit to an unusual balcony. This ship had seen better days, its peculiar, now worn, wooden floors showed that it had served better purposes in the past; Melancor figured that the balcony must have been an amenity of what was once a private ship. He made his way through the people and found a seat. He sat the best way as he possibly could and leaned his head in the window. It was hot, and the air outside raged in the uncovered deserted fields that lay opposite of the building.

Melancor once again visualized what that object he blindly searched would be, hopefully one of the holy swords or a sacred mythril emblem. There where tons of possibilities that rested in Melancor’s head and he selected what his heart desired more; something that would help him erase whoever stander on his way.

A rumble shook the ship.

“EVERYONE IIIIIIN!” The man who had taken his ticked stepped into the ship and closed the door behind him. Then hesitantly but proudly the ship began its slow ascend into the heavens, towering the sole cloud that was to be seen above the imposing Headquarters.
The golden sand glittered with the sun and for the first time the far away mountain in the west seemed reachable. What had Suravani done to this land.