[b][center][h1][color=a187be]Mahaad Abshir[/color] and [color=9e0b0f]Cerys Shadowborne[/color][/h1][/center][/b]
[center]A collab with [@Nieszka][/center]

On the morning of their fourth day in the desert, the Arakkai made their way into the eastern most edge of the Claws, entering this much more familiar terrain with some relief after several painful days of open desert. Cerys Shadowborne had to admit that her people were simply not equipped for life on the sands, and she felt little better than they looked, dark circles standing out sharply beneath her eyes.

The priestess moved among the mountain tribes, offering a hand or an encouraging word to her followers, her stalwart guard behind her at every step. Even faced with a strange land, the perils of which were almost wholly unknown, these were a sturdy people. It would take more than four days of difficult marching to wear them down, though the priestess would do everything in her power to better prepare them in the future.

Sometime near midday a group of children ran up to tug at the priestess's hands and wrap their thin arms around her now well armored legs. Darksteel from the Hammersong Clan, though she'd have rather worn much less in the desert heat.

"Priestess," started one of the children, only to be interrupted by a friend.

"No you said I could tell her!"

"But I'm the oldest!' broke in a third voice.

"I saw it first!"

Cerys squatted down amongst them and conjured a flat arrow out of shadow in her right hand. They quieted to watch as she made a show of shutting her eyes tight and sending the thing spinning with the curled forefinger of her other hand. There was a happy little gasp when it stopped in the direction of a blue-eyed boy, no older than six if she had to guess.

"Priestess, one of the Roc scouts is coming, and they never come back so early!" He said in a rush, his soft fists clasping the edge of his tunic.

"[color=9e0b0f]Run along and tell the other chiefs,[/color]" the priestess said kindly and stood, her eyebrows coming up as she spotted Rhys Blackwater giving her a strange look.

"[color=9e0b0f]Well? What is it?[/color]" she asked him, a little brusquely.

He hesitated, looking out over the army rather than her face. "Those kids never would have run up to Chief Blackwater."

Cerys looked at him a moment, then turned towards the south. "[color=9e0b0f]Come. Let's see just what the scouts have found.[/color]"

[color=a187be][b][center][h1]---[/h1][/center][/b][/color]

The slow, but steady movement of Mahaad's carriage was soothing, if nothing else. If one was able to block out the vehicle's means of movement, or if one wasn't necessarily interested in the well-being of slaves, it had potential to become a popular mode of transportation. Save for the occasional moan or complaint, these particular slaves were quiet, whether that was because they were exhausted, or because they simply had nothing left to speak about, Mahaad did not know. Nor did he care, really. They were doing their job of bringing him to Zar Vorgul to receive his hefty payment, and that's all he cared about at this moment in time.

The group was travelling straight through the Red Desert, currently heading southeast from Zar Endal, hoping to get to Zar Vorgul as the crow flies, rather than waste time trekking toward the Dust Way for nothing other than a safer trip. Speed seemed more dire in this situation than safety, after all. Even so, Mahaad felt safe enough, as he had been deep in a fit of slumber for several hours now. Anyone who knew Mahaad well enough to see him sleep would know that he was a fairly light sleeper - any sort of disturbance had him jolting awake, no matter the severity of the situation. He attributed this to the dangerous lifestyle he often led, mixed with a less-than-favourable upbringing in the slums of Eyhwan. As a result of this, the Eyhwanian man getting more than five-hours of rest in one stretch was a rarity, and almost something of a luxury as far as he was concerned.

This time, however, such a luxury was not on the radar for him. The carriage coming to a sudden halt had the dark-skinned man jolting upwards from his sleeping chamber, his eyes wide and head darting back and forth around the room - always prepared for the worst. A wave of relief washed over him when he saw that he was still the only one in the room, but that did not explain why they had suddenly stopped in their tracks. With a deep sigh, Mahaad pulled himself out of the cot he was sleeping on and made his way outside. He was expecting to see one of the Nyr'Kiin collapsed in the sand, or perhaps some sort of desert creature off in the distance.

"[color=a187be]Please,[/color]" Mahaad began to speak as he stepped through the small doorway of the carriage, having not yet seen anything besides the stationary sand beneath him. He looked up to see all ten of the insectoids he'd assigned to carriage duty looking in his direction. Their static faces were not the easiest to read, with such a lack of real movement, save for their mandibles and eyes, so what they were thinking was anyone's guess.

"[color=a187be]Tell me we have a good reason for being stopped in the middle of a scorching desert, hm?[/color]" he finished, gesturing to the slaves in a questioning manner with his hands.

"We ... We are no longer alone, Lord Mahaad," one of the Nyr'Kiin spoke after a slight pause. The others looked about cautiously, as if they were expecting something to happen. "We saw people watching us from the north, then they disappeared behind the sand."

"[color=a187be]And so you thought the best course of action would be to stand in the sand and wait for them to come back? Hm? Or were you going to chase them down and play hero? We have a place to be, and that place is Zar Vorgul,[/color]" Mahaad said, at first with a demeaning tone but quickly shifting to a much more pleasant one. Patronizing the slaves would only make them hate him even more. "[color=a187be]Please, gentlemen. Carry on with the task at hand.[/color]"

Without waiting for a response, Mahaad turned back to enter the carriage once more, thinking the problem to be behind them. Before his gaze could turn to the opened door, however, they were caught on something of possibly much more importance. In the far distance was a large group of travellers - some looked like mercenaries, as the weapons attached to their hips would imply, while others looked to be about the height of children. They seemed to be travelling from the northeast - the Goldfang Mountains perhaps a two or three day's journey behind them.

[i][color=a187be]A mountain tribe?[/color][/i] Mahaad thought to himself. It was an odd sight, and unsettling in some ways. They were heading in his direction, and although there are plenty of reasons for them to be doing so, he couldn't help but feel as though it was he and the slaves the northmen's sights were set on.

"[color=a187be]Move along now. Swiftly,[/color]" he said to the Nyr'Kiin before calmly stepping back inside his carriage, closing the door behind him.

[color=9e0b0f][b][center][h1]---[/h1][/center][/b][/color]

Cerys stood atop the crest of a hill, shading her eyes to stare across the strange, baked land that made up the red desert. The Roc scout had spotted some sort of caravan heading away from them across the rock. They seemed to pose no threat, but uncertainty stirred unfamiliar within the priestess's belly. She felt that she'd be a fool for letting them pass out of her reach, if only for the information they might be able to provide.

Turning back to the men and women grouped around her, she said, "[color=9e0b0f]Get me a roc, and as many scouts as we have within reach. Quickly, before they get any farther away.[/color]"

As several of the mountain people rushed to follow her direction, Merrion gazed at her critically. "I'll take you up on my own beast, if that's what you want, Priestess, but I don't think we'll get much from such a small party."

"[color=9e0b0f]We'll get nothing from letting them go. Wanderer willing, this may prove to be just what we need.[/color]"

In short order, Cerys sat clutching the rough feathers of one of the great birds, her stomach leaping as the beast tensed his muscles and flung itself into the sky. 

"Relax, Priestess," Merrion chuckled, and Cerys was glad that seated behind her as he was, he could not see her eyes shut tight against dizziness. Shortly, however, they were once again landing, and she could cover her discomfort with an easy jump to solid ground. Merrion followed Rhys who had climbed down from another of the beasts and the three approached the small caravan from the front, the Rocs remaining in its path.

[color=bc8dbf][b][center][h1]---[/h1][/center][/b][/color]

Following the loud thud of the Roc's landing and some scattering of sand, the Nyr'Kiin slaves at the forefront of Mahaad's travel carriage shrieked in fear, some attempting to flee the scene before realizing the ropes with which they pulled had been tied around their bodies, resulting in more, less threatening thuds as they hit the ground beneath them. With such a commotion outside, mixed with the shaking of the carriage as the slaves scramble, Mahaad could only imagine what situation they had gotten themselves in. 

Slowly, he peered through the blinds of one of the carriages windows to see massive winged creatures sitting not far from the carriage, their talons digging deep into the hot sand of the Red Desert. Beside them were several pale skinned humans conversing with one another. Were they raiders, they likely would have attacked first and spoke later, or at least come up with a plan before making their presence so known. Their appearances suggested they were not natives of the Scarlet Plateau, or any other desertlands. No, these were northerners, to be sure, and likely the ones Mahaad had seen in the distance only moments prior. What they wanted was anyone's guess, but if it was slaves they were after, they'd have to look elsewhere, of that he was certain.

The newcomers' demeanours suggested they were, for the time being, non-violent. If only the Nyr'Kiin could see this as well, and cease their yelping and constant tugs at the ropes around them. Mahaad wasted little time exiting his carriage, approaching first his slaves, his hands raised slightly as if to gesture them to calm down.

"[color=a187be]Silence, my friends,[/color]" he said to the insects, loudly enough for the northerners to hear as well. "[color=a187be]Relax yourselves, take the opportunity to rest. I'm sure our lovely visitors mean us no harm.[/color]"

His gaze shifted from the aboriginals to the northmen. His characteristically sharp smile had been glued to his face since stepping through the carriage door, and his whitened teeth almost glistened in the light of the sun as he approached the visitors and their birds.

"[color=a187be]Blessings to you, good folk of the north,[/color]" he said, respectfully bowing before them. As he rose, his gaze caught that of a silver-haired woman, and he was certain she played an important role in whatever these people were doing. It was her he needed to impress if this was going to go smoothly. "[color=a187be]If it be wine you're in search of, then you've come to the right place. I've plenty of it, but little of anything else, unfortunately. My friends and I are making our way to the great city of Zar Vorgul with hopes of changing that.[/color]"

Mahaad had a silver tongue, and he knew how to use it. It was the silence, or lack thereof, of the Nyr'Kiin behind him that truly had the potential of spoiling the ruse. If they knew what was best for them, they'd either play along, or refrain from speaking at all.

The woman in the lead listened to this pretty speech silently, her eyes wandering from the man to the Nyr'kiin behind him, taking in the ragtag group. Her brows furrowed, face hardening.

"[color=9e0b0f]You're a slaver.[/color]" It wasn't a question. A couple of the men behind her loosened their weapons in their sheaths.

With the woman's words, Mahaad felt the tension rise. Even the Nyr'Kiin behind him shuffled uncomfortably, and he could hear their feet digging into the sand as if they were bracing for heavy impact.

"[color=a187be]I have been called many things in this life,[/color]" Mahaad said with a smile, not letting the raised weapons intimidate him. Or, at least, not letting his visitors know they intimidated him. Clearly, they were not fans of the slave trade, so they likely would not be fans of him if he admitted it so freely. "[color=a187be]I have been called 'criminal' in some lands, while they call me 'hero' in others. Some men call me 'fool' while their wives call me 'lover.'[/color]"

As he spoke, Mahaad paced slightly, creating a small circular pattern in the sand as he stepped. As he finished his sentence, his charismatic smile turned to a sly smirk and he eyed the group's leader once more.

"[color=a187be]Now, to the Dratha, I am known as 'merchant.' Some mage-lords even know me as 'friend',[/color]" he said before letting any of the brutes behind her take too much of an insult from the playful tone of his spiel. "[color=a187be]To you, I might be 'slaver,' but I assure you, that is far from all that I am.[/color]"

The woman let him say this without any interuptions, then flicked two fingers towards the Nyr'kiin behind the dark-skinned man. A stern looking soldier and another of the beast handlers moved past him easily, heading towards the slaves beyond. "[color=9e0b0f]I am no friend to the mage-lords or their chattel mongers, whatever names you wish to give yourself.[/color]"

With almost careless ease, she closed her right fist around a sword that materialized from shadow, flickering with some ancient, runic script, and raised it to the level of his throat. "[color=9e0b0f]Your slaves are slaves no longer, do you understand?[/color]"

Even Mahaad, who by now was a master of maintaining a calm composure, struggled slightly to remain unfazed by the quick turn of events. One moment, he was dreaming of sleeping on sacks of gold, while the next he was being held at the sharpened end of a magical blade, with the Nyr'Kiin he worked so hard to capture being released from the constraints of their ropes. 

Still, he did not feel hopeless.

"[color=a187be]And what, may I ask, would you do with me at this point, hm?[/color]" he asked the silver-haired woman, as the stubble on his chin danced along the cool edge of the sword. His eyes followed some strands of shadow that emanated from it, before reverting back to the face of the woman who was currently threatening to end his life. "[color=a187be]You will free these creatures from their fates, and slit my throat. The you will fly back to the mountains on your Roc, feeling accomplished for another day, and then what? Surely, life has more to offer a beautiful woman such as yourself, no?[/color]"

Mahaad paused briefly, letting his words sink in. Still, he knew his best option was to speak to this woman now, while her lackeys were busy, rather than later when the rest of the northerners were around to sway her opinion.

The silver-haired woman smiled slowly, a grin that did not reach her dark eyes. "[color=9e0b0f]You certainly talk a lot, slaver. You presume quite a bit as well. All these words, and so far, nothing of use.[/color]"

"[color=a187be]I come from Eyhwan, northwoman. There, they kill you if you stay quiet for too long. Sometimes, they also kill you for talking too much, but I've managed to survive this long,[/color]" Mahaad replied, still somehow managing to maintain his rogueish smirk despite feeling as though death was just around the corner.

"[color=a187be]If you see no use in a well-travelled, handsome man such as myself to a group of mountainfolk wandering through the desert, then by all means, cut my throat and leave me to the beasts of the sands,[/color]" he went on, already seeing some of the Nyr'Kiin fleeing in several directions with his peripheral vision. "[color=a187be]But you and I both know I'm much more useful to you alive than dead. Spare me, as you have with these aboriginal folk, and I will aid you in whatever goal you and your kin are seeking in this wasteland. I know it better than even some of the mage-lords, and certainly better than any of your companions.[/color]"

"[color=9e0b0f]Useful indeed,[/color]" the silver-haired woman muttered thoughtfully and let the sword in her hand disappear into the desert sun. The men had finished untying the Nyr'kiin, and while a couple had disappeared immediately, most seemed unsure of just what to do with their newfound freedom. These she turned to address, leaving Mahaad to be watched over by her followers.

"[color=9e0b0f]Nyr'kiin, you are slaves no longer. Go if you wish, but if you would like a place among us, you will never wear ropes again and you will likely have the opportunity to help free others.[/color]"
 
Rather than waiting for a response the woman motioned to one of the beast handlers. "[color=9e0b0f]Go, take word to the tribes. The rest of us will stay to escort our new... friends.[/color]" 
 
"Cerys..." the stern faced man made to protest, but was silenced by a short shake of his leader's head. His lips thinned, but he merely took a watchful position to Mahaad's left.
 
"[color=9e0b0f]Come, man-from-Eyhwan. I wish to know more about the city my scouts have seen west of here.[/color]"