Welcome to the Desert

[Masterseitz]

Sandstorms are the best part about the desert. The perfect cover for anything if you knew how to use it for your advantage. The only other good time for doing anything in the desert was during the night. It was much cooler, and if you were lucky, there were clouds out to cover your approach. The day was always too hot unless there was a sandstorm. Then again...sandstorms were becoming a rare occurrence in the Nunuzac Desert.

The wind was high this particular afternoon. Though the sun was still shining brightly, the air was getting thick and the sky was getting dark. In a hidden cave somewhere in the desert, the change in the air pressure was awakening a beast long thought for dead...

Yawning the dragon rolled over onto his back and looked out the cave entrance. The wind was creating little twisters of sand right inside the entrance, while the wind itself was starting to pick up outside. How long had it been since the last sandstorm? One month...two? He couldn't remember. All he knew is that he was hungry. Rolling back over and standing, he shook lightly to remove the sand that had been clinging to his body since he last slept. Stepping out into the day always posed a risk, but as there was a storm coming anyone nearby would have already found cover. The sky had darkened now and the sand was biting, anything out now would have been skinned to the bone.

After 1200 years Rothath's hide had hardened from the long years of being out in the fiercest of sandstorms. His colors hadn't changed even though the times had. His yellow-tan appearance with black stripes had always been perfect camouflage for the desert around him. Any who had caught sight of him only thought they had seen a mirage, as he would instantly teleport away. No one alive now would have believed that there was still a living dragon in the Nunuzac.

Spreading his wings, Rothath took off into the storm. There had been fewer and fewer roaming herds of sheep in the area as there was less and less foliage for the sheep to eat. He did know of one oasis that some farmers had set-up around in the past and was mainly used as a safe haven from the storms nowadays. He headed that way hoping there would at least be some sheep or at least a rabbit.

As he was getting near, his acute sense of smell, even through the sand, picked up the scent of blood. Hurrying as fast as he could to his one reliable hunting ground, he landed far enough away to notice the carcasses of a few sheep and humans lying in the sand. He approached the scene with caution wondering if the culprit who had stolen his meal was still nearby. Carefully searching every corner of the oasis there seemed to be nothing left except for the bodies.

As he was preparing to take off, noticeably angered, he felt a sharp prod in his back leg. Turning quickly, he sees one of the farmers, who he thought was dead, lying by his leg with a spear in hand. Annoyed he picks the farmer up and pins him up against the nearest palm tree.

"Who did this farmer? WHO?!" Rothath growls.

"Dra-gon...*cough cough*...like...you..."

"Like me? I'm the last of my kind you fool!" He releases the farmer and watches as he falls to the ground against the tree. Lifting his nose to the sky, Rothath takes a long, hard sniff of the air. Hidden between the sand and blood there was a hint of something he found strangely familiar. Maybe there had been some truth to what the farmer had said. Taking off into the clearing storm, Rothath knew there was only one way to find out if what the dying farmer had said was true. Using his nose to guide the way, Rothath began flying to the west.

[Myuuchan]

"So we are in agreement, then?"
The twelve members of Council remained silent, their heads bowed. Clearly, the weight of whatever thought had entertained them was an extreme burden.
Ankhantalien's Council was a mixture of both men and women, chosen for having been the wisest inhabitant of their Ray. The city was sorted dodecagonally, though the exterior wall was round. None of them spoke, now, gazing intently down at the slowly creeping shadow of the Spire.

They always met at the same place - The foot of the Spire that the city encircled, sitting on the ground of the stone courtyard. People were free to come and go, as there was no knowledge that should have been kept secret from the city's people, but most were content to allow the elders, the Council members, to work alone.
The stone that paved the entirety of the city was all that kept the sand-sharks from tunneling in, and devouring them all. It seemed funny that, for once, the sand-sharks were the least of their worries.

"Well?" The man that spoke was demanding, his face impatient. He would learn patience soon enough, the Council had agreed.
"The Council has agreed that yes, it was, indeed, a dragon that attacked the people of the desert." One council-woman spoke, drawing her words out deliberately and slowly, offering the first lesson on patience.
"But there have been no dragons in the desert for years!" He protested, gesturing grandly.
"That is true," the council-woman agreed. "The dragons of the desert became few in numbers, after the hunters rolled through. Any that may have survived left our desert centuries ago. But we are not speaking of one of the storm-dragons that once graced the desert skies, my child."
The statement cut him short, and he faltered, searching for words.

Another member of the Council spoke before he had the chance. "The Aasifani kept to themselves. They were noble dragons, and proud dragons, but they were not maleficent to the people of the desert. They hunted the sharks, and in turn, they were our allies. The sharks fled from where the shadows of the Aasifani passed, and in times now centuries gone, an offering of water and livestock could sway them to our assistance. Our existences benefited one another, and they were not creatures to forget our past so easily."
Defiant, the young man shook his head. "And perhaps now they begrudge us, for not aiding them when the hunters raided!"
"We did not know that the hunters came," the Councilman spoke more sharply, the scrutiny causing the younger male to settle quickly. "Had we known, we would have aided. They cannot fault us for that."
"So if it wasn't one of the Aasifani, what was it?" Even before the words left his mouth, the sense of uneasiness washed over him.

"We have no words," the woman elder who had spoken first took it upon herself to speak again. "And no names, for the creatures that we now will face."
The whole of the Council seemed sobered, the shadow of the Spire that had come to encompass them foreboding of the shadows that may well soon fill the sky.
"The great serpents of the North."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The sun was blazing overhead, but if nothing else, that worked to the hunter's advantage.
Step after agonizingly slow step had traversed from the heart of their city, over the mountain range, and to the very edge of the desert.
That was where the hunter stood now, with armor made of hides, dappled with dyes that mimicked the colors of the desert, to blend its wearer right into the sand.
A spear was a crude weapon, the skulls of rodents - and perhaps a lizard or two - jangling together where they hung from t he spear's head.
Skulls were precious.
Skulls were prizes.
The chieftain's hut was half-built by the skulls he had gathered, throughout the years. The small overhang that sheltered the entryway was made by the skull of a dragon.

It was a rite of passage. When a warrior came of age, they were sent on the Hunt. The biggest prey they could take down was a symbol of their strength as a warrior and a hunter.
The chieftain had said there were no more dragons left, but that was before the shadow of one had passed over their tribe.
Now the hunter knew what to hunt, and for that purpose, footsteps carried onward, spear in hand, into the beginning of the desert's dunes.

[Masterseitz]

The sandstorm was quickly dying and Rothath was losing any viable air cover. Still flying towards the west, the smell was getting stronger as the storm receded. Coming up in the horizon, however was someplace Rothath hadn't seen in over a thousand years. It was the caves of the Aasifani, in the western mountain range.

The storm had completely died out by the time he had even begun to recognize the area. Rothath decides it is best to fly low to the sand to cover his approach. Little did he know that he was being watched from the caves and followed by scent from below.

The sand-shark had been following Rothath since he had left the small oasis. It had smelled the blood of the slain sheep and farmers, but instead had found a much tastier morsel to hunt. It was still well behind him, but it hungered and was rapidly gaining as Rothath approached the mountains. It knew it would lose this feast if the dragon reached the mountains. It gained even more speed as it smelled Rothath getting closer to the ground. Soon it would be upon him...

The dragon had been guarding the caves for several hundred years now. It had always waited patiently for some stray creature or foolish treasure hunter to come by. Strays for food and treasure hunters to scare away. Another dragon on the other hand, that was a new one. Rarely had it seen another dragon, besides when one from its family had brought it food and company for a short while.

It watched with a sense of urgency and anticipation as the other dragon approached, flying low and being followed by something else in the sand below. The other dragon had no idea it was being followed, nor that it was in danger. As the other dragon approached, it felt something strange and familiar. This other Aasifani he thought he'd never seen before had very large wings for one of its size. It watched as the beast following the other dragon revealed itself. The dragon shot out of the cave faster than lightning.

"CLIMB!" It shouted as it sped towards the other dragon and the sand-shark.

Rothath didn't have much time to react to the oncoming dragon, but he managed to gain enough altitude to let the dragon pass, their hides barely touching a brief moment. He hears a pair of loud thuds behind him almost immediately and turns around to see a 18ft long fierce looking creature lying on it's back and the other dragon coming towards him. He lands quickly on the sand and takes up a defensive position.

"Who are you?!" Rothath asks fiercely at the other dragon landing several feet from him.

"I am Resthar Auqeth. Son of Galen Auqeth. Keeper of the Caves. And you are an Aasifani I have not seen before and yet you seem very familiar to me. Who are you and from where do you hail? Fear not. I am not here to harm you, only protect this place from bandits."

Rothath stands his full height, standing several feet lower than Resthar and yet with a wingspan just as large. Little does either dragon know that the sand-shark has burrowed deeply back into the ground.

"I am Rothath Auqeth. The LAST Aasifani dragon."

"HAHAHAHAHA! You are very obviously no...wait...did you say Rothath? I had a brother named Rothath, but after the hunters came we assumed he had been lost to them."

The ground beneath the two dragons starts to give away as the sand-shark comes bursting up through it, sending them both back and up into the air. The sand-shark leaps nearly 30ft from the sand and as it comes back down it manages to grab Resthar by the neck and pull him under the sand, attempting to suffocate him. Rothath quickly climbs high into the sky and then begins diving downward toward the sand. As he dives he starts to spin rapidly, increasing his speed and punching into the sand, chasing after the sand-shark and Resthar. He starts tunneling rapidly, using scent and listening for the drowning roar to follow the sand-shark. He doesn't soon catch the sand-shark, but he does find Resthar trying to claw his way to the surface for air. As Rothath quickly approaches, the sand-shark is quick to make use of the distraction and begins to ram Rothath in the sides continually.

As Rothath finally reaches Resthar, he grabs ahold and starts to tunnel a way back to the surface, continually taking the constant ramming from the sand-shark. The attacks become fiercer and more pointed as they approach the surface, the sand-shark starting to use it's teeth to bite as it makes it's passes. Large bite marks are being left on Rothath as he and Resthar continually make their way to the surface. At long last they burst through the top of the sand. As they do however, the sand-shark leaps out and pounds Rothath in the side. He is knocked down to the sand. Resthar is knocked free from his grip, but is conscious, and glides over to the rocks.

"Get up, Rothath! I have an idea! Hurry! Before it comes back!"

Rothath slowly gets up, clearly exhausted from the battle thus far.

"What do you have in mind?"

"The Rothath I knew could kick up a sandstorm with just a few flaps of his wings. Can you do that? I'll lead that sand-shark into this circular enclosure while you start blowing the sands around at the entrance. You'll see what happens if I do this right."

"If you say so." Rothath glides over to the entrance of the enclosure and hovers a safe distance above the sand.

Meanwhile Resthar has flown into the center of the enclosure, mountains on 3 sides and sand beneath him. He begins to pound his feet on the sand to grab the attention of the sand-shark, which it does effectively. The beast begins flying through the sand towards Resthar.

"Here it comes! Start flapping and watch!"

Rothath begins to flap his wings with as much strength as he can muster, kicking up sand in the enclosure. The sand begins to swirl violently around the enclosure, eventually enveloping Resthar. He watches as the sand-shark passes underneath him, heading directly for Resthar.

Inside the sandstorm Resthar is awaiting the sand-sharks attack...

"C'mon you nasty beast! Come at me!"

Suddenly the sand-shark leaps out of the sand directly in front of and at Resthar! Resthar makes a quick dodge and begins to breathe fire at the sand-shark with deadly accuracy. As the shark is burned, the flying sand begins to stick to the burned flesh. As the dragon fire continues to burn around the now grounded sand-shark the sand begins to harden and turn to glass. After several minutes the sand-shark stops moving and Resthar stops breathing fire.

"You can stop with the sand now!"

Rothath nearly collapses as he settles back onto the sand. The constant wind having stopped, so does the flying sand, revealing something entirely different than what Rothath would have expected. It was a burnt sand-shark covered in several feet of twisted, solid glass. He just stares as Resthar flies over.

"You, Rothath Auqeth, truly are the lost son of the Aasifani."

[Aanaren]

She hunched over, squinting against the stinging sand, hoping to find shelter soon as she pulled her cape over her head. The sand was so abrasive, like tiny knives pricking her skin. The storms seemed to be becoming more frequent, but then again maybe that was just her imagination. Maybe it was a dehydration-fuelled hallucination. She felt for the water flask at her hip, contemplating taking a sip of her dwindling supply, then shook her head and thought better of it. The thirst was like nothing she’d ever experienced and her tongue felt thick in her mouth most of the time. Even the few sips she’d spare herself in a day were barely enough to take the dry edge off, but at this point the water was too precious not to be consumed sparingly. Food she had, though the dry bread cakes and meat were like eating dirt, water was the problem.

“If only I hadn’t lost him.” Arien thought, stumbling a few steps further, desperate for some type of shelter from the sandstorm that had just kicked up. She’d lost her guide days ago in a storm much like this one. Few people were willing to guide travelers into the desert. Guides came at a high cost, and many would just as soon leave someone in the desert to die of thirst and starvation and come back home with their fee. She’d heard these stories, of course. She was young, but not that naïve. If he had abandoned her or if they had really been separated accidentally in the storm she couldn’t say, but she knew she’d be happy to see his face, or any face, at this point. A face meant water, precious water, and someone to watch your back. There were many more dangers in the desert than dehydration or starvation that was for sure. So far she’d been lucky enough not to stumble across anything lethal, but she knew there were predators out there, and she felt very much exposed and alone. She didn’t know the desert well, only what she’d read about it and what she’d seen while traveling at the beginning of the safe season to Ankhantalien with a caravan to look for a guide and more information on the artefact rumoured to be hidden in the caves somewhere. That seemed like an age ago.

She’d tried finding her way back to the walled city, but a map does little good to an outsider in a place with few landmarks that she could discern. How did the people move through the desert? How did they know their way? It must be in their blood, Arien figured. She was out of her element here. Hot, tired, thirsty and completely alone. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all, but it was too late to worry about that now. She had to keep moving. Finding an encampment, finding any type of shelter, that was her only hope of survival at this point and she knew it.

[Myuuchan]

Two of them.

From the distance that the young hunter watched, there was no way the distracted dragons could have known that they were being watched.
There were supposed to be no dragons left, and yet, there were two out there on the sands, combating a sandshark that had to be larger than any other that ever lived.
Perhaps this had been a bad idea, after all.

With bare feet, care had to be exercised when scaling back down the rocks. The scent of blood would have attracted more sharks, and even the most skilled of hunters would have known that they'd be little match for those beasts.
With breath catching in throat, he slid to a stop, pressing back to the rough stone, clutching the spear in hand a little more tightly.
One of them, perhaps, would have been worth trying. It was better to take on a big quarry and die in a valiant battle than to run from it in fear. But with two of them there, there was absolutely no way to sneak up on them, no way to hunt undetected.
Especially not in the sand.

It was a frustration, but even the best of hunters faced trials. It was a harsh reminder, and while he was not happy to be fleeing from his prey, he recognized when the time to hunt had not yet come.
Reluctantly, he slipped away from where the dragons were resting, after the success of their battle.
He'd have to think of a strategy, some sort of scheme, some way to split them up. Perhaps if he was lucky, they would go their separate ways. If not, who knew when he'd have the chance to hunt again?
There was no returning home without the skull of a quarry. To do so would have been disgraceful.
But for now, at least, he did turn back.

The hunter had not ventured very far before something caught his eye on the desert. It looked like a figure - Lonely and wandering, out across the dunes. What was a human doing so far out here?
With eyes squinting behind the carved wooden mask that hid his features, he stared out across the sand, at the figure obscured by the ripples of heat. Was it another tribesman? No... Too pale, too fair, too dainty.
Every hunter knew the way to the City in the heart of the desert - It was there that the greatest of hunters ventured to retrieve goods for the tribe, when they could not provide such things for themselves. Things like metal for tools, hides and food, in times when hunting was lean.
Perhaps she was from there? Or perhaps not - The travelers of the desert, at least, the regular ones, did not wear such heavy garb.
He had not left the tribe often before, but he had seen people from the other side of the mountain range, plenty of times.

He watched the dainty creature stumbling across the sand, and cast a wistful look in the direction she was heading - Straight toward where the dragons had been fighting that sandshark.
A part of him screamed to leave it be, and let her be devoured. He could see the sand settling from the stirrings of their wings, even from where they were.
It was a bad idea.
It was a very bad idea.

And yet, the hunter found himself slinging his spear against his back, settling it into the sling that held it to the simple wooden armor that adorned his rather small body, and he wandered out from the shelter of the rocks, bare-footed, across the heated sands.
Something gave him a feeling that it was a mistake, but even among savages, chivalry came first...