Across the desert, a small convoy mournfully walked. White robes adorned them as they moved, camels plodding their way across the sandy and rocky formations. Behind the main body of the mourners came two more camels, behind them a firmly secured sled, designed to be dragged across the sands without hindering the movement of the beast that carried it. Up a dune, down the other wise, and there it was. Bleached, scuffed and almost buried by the sands, the burial grounds of the Dalahem Sayyid families. Descending off the camels and tying them to the few structures that still stood- dilapidation from the desert was considered right and proper for these burial grounds, a way for the desert to reclaim the dust that it had lost. 

The new Sayidd- Ahid bin Mayel, watched as his father was removed from the sled and placed down on the sands. Then, shovels would be brought out. Digging a pit in the desert was difficult, sweltering and dangerous work, with the real threat of dehydration, but luckily it didn't need to be deep. Once the desert had taken the body, it would only bury it deeper and deeper. Taking one of the shovels, Ahid would take the symbolic first load of sand, and then step back as gravediggers did the rest of the work. They were efficient and quick, supplied by an excess of water from some of the mourining women.

Once it was done, it was his job to move the sled into the hole. The shroud stopped him from seeing his father's face as he lowered the corpse into the pit, looking down at it. No words were spoken. The funeral had already occured- only family, the gravediggers and one close friend was here to watch the once great Sayidd be entombed within the sands. Holding the spade in his hand, Ahid once again made a symbolic first gesture by shovelling the sand into the hole, before letting the gravediggers do the rest.

Then, it was done. From the sands had the man come, and now to the sands he had returned. Placing his hands on his mother's wrists, Ahid would gently lead her back to their beasts and place a few minted disks in the hands of the gravediggers, their sweat clear even with the many layers of loose clothing they wore. The convoy would clamber back onto their camels again and slowly leave, plodding back the way they had came.

[hr]

Flint Debenham felt deeply out of place in this strange and very, very hot land. The Dinnin peoples, he had learned through their studies, were not the bunch that normally took to strangers warmly, and although he could see that from the many looks he had recieved, yet the diplomat that had escorted him had seemed nothing but polite. After an initial meeting over tea, the pair had emerged into the streets of Yisslam. To the young Vyiss noble, it was another world. Coloured facewraps, women arguing with vendors underneath canvas canopies, sand beneath his feet... It was all quite different to even how he had arrived in this city.

The train ride across the bridges, then through Bravsaara had already been long enough. Belzarov train services were [b]atrocious[/b]- the government couldn't do anything right in that country, so he had taken a car through to Zengrav, where he had then had to procure another car to reach the eastern boarder of the deserts that the Conclave called home.

Finally he had arrived here... And had been promptly informed that they wished to take him further into the country to the city of Dalahem. He was exhausted, but now that he was here a strange sort of energy had infected him, and he had spent no small amount of time in deep conversation with the bearded man that was guiding him to the other end of the city, where they were to experience one of the marvels of the Conclave- regular airflight.

The Royal Air Force was a new beast in Vyissland, so to see planes being used to carry [i]passengers,[/i] rather than just the military? Why, it was something truly extraordinary. He had herard that the tickets for such a flight went for almost thirty pounds in Vyissland, so he felt no surprise when he was told that it was normally used only by nobles and businessmen. 

"Here we are now." The diplomat would indicate to the airstrip. Around them were proper military planes, but there was only one that they cared about here- the one and only passenger plane in the city at the moment. It was not exactly a beautiful thing, but it was the transportation of the future. A trip that took hours or even days by driving over the sands took much less in a plane. "We're actually slightly late, so we should be boarding now." There was only room for five passengers, which meant that this was where his journey ended. "Another man will meet you on the other end, dressed much like I am, make sure to talk to him, and he will take you to meet Sayidd Ahid." 

"Understood, thank you sir." The man would offer a nod to his desert counterpart, before clambering over the side of the plane and into one of the seats. He was then instructed to put on the heavy coat there- swealtering on the ground, but not so much in the air, and strap himself in well. With that done, the rotors would turn, first slowly, but then faster and faster, until at last they had taken off, the wind and sand whipping by them as they ascended off the ground and into the air.