[center][h1][i][color=khaki]Call to Adventure[/color][/i][/h1][/center]

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The goat pen shed had a certain air of dread emanating from it. Farah had never noticed it before, but back then it had never housed anything but goats, either, save for the occasional boy or girl exiled from the dormitory for a night. Now that it hosted a whole crew of violent thugs, and four slaves under their thrall, it seemed to radiate a certain malice, encroaching on the peace of nearby sheds and the rest of the community with its mere presence. She could see movement between the spaces of the planks. Heard gruff voices in the distance. Farah reached for support as she waited, and looked to her right as a calloused hand gripped hers. 

Adnan’s eyes met hers, and he smiled as much as his injured face could muster. It was enough to steady her nerves, and Farah felt her own lips crease into an unbidden smile. Despite his nose having buckled under the pressure of confrontation, and his skin around the breakage being red and angry, he was as handsome as ever. If anything, the damage made him look rugged, although she’d never say such a silly thing. Adnan stared at her as well, content to forget the scene and shed they had both been watching from afar. His lips parted as if to speak, when a sudden force pushed against Farah’s back. The heat and weight of another. Arms wrapping over her shoulders. A brief shock, alleviated as she heard Aisha’s voice. “Farah, this is so exciting! What do you think they’re talking about in there?”

Farah exhaled sharply, her smile growing. Adnan chuckled as well, but released her hand to let her struggle with Aisha on her own, using his hand to gingerly touch at his nose instead. She tried to throw off her excited friend, but it was no use; Aisha clung on tight, as usual. [color=khaki]”Well,”[/color] Farah surrendered at last, drawing her gaze away from Adnan to glance back at the shed properly. [color=khaki]”If anyone can make them see reason, it’s Matron Nasira. I’ve never seen anyone win an argument with her.”[/color]

“True, true.” Aisha said, and Farah felt her lay her head against Farah’s. “Hi, Adnan! How’s the nose? You should know better than to swing at outsiders.”

[color=khaki]”Aisha-...”[/color] Farah protested, though could not stop herself from smirking just a little. She glanced back to Adnan, and he seemed to be taking it in stride, a big smile playing on his lips.

“You’re right, Aisha. I got myself in trouble. Patron Abbas gave me a real earful for it, too.” Adnan explained with considerable calm, his gaze fixed on the shed in the distance. Aisha, meanwhile, bobbed a straw of sungrass in front of his face. Farah felt compelled to do her part, and batted her hand down. “I can’t help it. What they are doing to those people. That’s how I ended up in Karay, in the first place. I don’t want to imagine what they’ve gone through.” he continued, and his smile vanished into the ether, replaced with a wistful sorrow. Farah frowned to herself, and gazed back at the shed. Those men had said all manner of wicked things, and had done worse. Farah could barely imagine what Adnan saw in his mind, beyond her own memories of youth. Even those were vague at best. Whatever Karay was like, it didn’t sound like anything like what she knew. That much she had gathered from asking others over the years.

“Don’t worry, Adnan,” Aisha intoned quickly, and reached a hand up to tussle Farah’s hair gently, eliciting a quiet chuckle from her. “You saw Oraliyah’s light. They did too. No chance they will try anything after that. If they do, Farah will call on Oraliyah and the sun will teach them a proper lesson.”

Adnan offered a hum of agreement and smiled still, and Farah snickered quietly. Within, she felt a strange stone in her gut. She didn’t know why Oraliyah had chosen her. Could she call on her? What if all this was some kind of test? What if it was a trick? Yazmina had all kinds of stories about witches and their trickery. But the feeling she had felt, in that moment. That had felt real. Different. Unlike anything on Galbar that she knew. She still felt it somewhere deep within. Oraliyah still graced her with her presence. Perhaps she never left? Farah glanced up at the sky, trying her best to look at the sun without actually looking at it. Everyone knew Oraliyah was too beautiful to look at without being blinded, even children.

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of beads rattling against each other, as the Matron ducked out of the shed, finished with her talks. The old woman barreled out of the pen with determined steps, her face locked in an angry frown. She never looked particularly happy, but it was easy to tell that something was bothering her. Farah felt Aisha slowly let go and ease away, and within moments she had filed in between Farah and Adnan. Two of the others who had lounged nearby quickly scuttled away when they caught sight of the matron. Farah too felt her legs itch with an urge to walk away, but it was too late. Matron Nasira had seen the three of them the moment she stepped outside.

She was in front of them in an instant, her face enough to call on the sky to shield the sun behind dark clouds. She gave Farah a look that evaporated all joy, and replaced it with a feeling of disquiet. “They demand to speak with you, Farah,” the matron spoke through gritted teeth. “These brutes will not leave until we show them the miracle child.”

Farah tried her best to breathe, but the knot in her stomach seemed to make it hard to get a steady breath of air. They wanted to see her? Why? 

Before she could ask, Adnan stepped in with his own question. “Matron Nasira? What about those people they are holding captive? They have been in there for a full day now.”

The matron glanced towards Adnan, and her demeanour almost immediately shifted. Her wrinkled features softened, a small, empathetic smile playing on her lips. She extended a hand to gently pat Adnan on the cheek as she spoke. “Oh, my dear. We cannot be saviors for everyone. These barbarians will not see reason, I’m afraid. Not all men are as virtuous as those on our farm.”

Adnan protested, but Farah could not hear it. In her mind whirled a tumultuous flurry of thoughts, drowning out much of the world around her. She felt a growing dread build around her heart, and the shed seemed to grow in the distance, the movement between the boards an eldritch, predatory hint of what dangers lurked on the other side. Barbarians. Slavers. Killers. Thieves. What if they tried something? She had been told her entire life to stay away from outsiders, and now they wanted her to go in there? It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t natural. [color=khaki]”Why me?”[/color] she questioned meekly, feeling the shame in her own words. [color=khaki]”I don’t think there’s anything I can do that you can’t, Matron.”[/color]

Matron Nasira was back on her in seconds, and her hand lashed out to clap Farah on the cheek in the same way she’d lectured her since she was a child. It burned the same way as then, and Farah sunk her eyes to the ground, her shame growing. “Stupid child. Oraliyah comes down from above to bathe you in her light, and you are still trying to escape your duties? Does your laziness know no bounds?” the matron growled with the same venom she’d had when she found them playing in the field when they were twelve. Aisha tried to protest, but the matron cut her off with a simple shush before continuing. “These men are invaders, and fortunately for us, even barbarians respect the sun goddess. They have asked for your presence to appease their spiritual needs. If that is what it takes for them to finally leave, then so be it.”

Everything was wrong. The very words the matron said disgusted her. Filled her head with strange, unpleasant worries about what the men with weapons would say and do. She had heard her share of horror stories from others about what outsiders were like. Only now did she begin to believe them. She wanted to argue, to tell the Matron that she would not do it. But Oraliyah had shone her light on her for a reason. Right?

“Go now, do not make us wait. Do not worry, child, we are right here.” the matron intoned with a hastened voice. Farah breathed a shaky breath, and felt Aisha touch her shoulder and drift down along her arm as Farah stepped away, head held low. She watched the goat pen shed loom closer with each step, and gently took a step over the low fence. A few more steps, and she heard voices coming from inside. It was enough to give her pause, as the roil in her gut seemed to make itself known again. The Matron said it would be fine. That had to count for something. Right? Farah took another few steps, and stepped through the rattling barrier of string and beads.

The view inside was unpleasant at best. The band of ruffians had assembled on the far side of a bit of fencing, and had pushed their captives into the corner amidst a few distressed goats bleating uncertainly but all the same refusing to skip outside. The stink of goat and old grass was overpowered by the smell of sweat, alcohol and refuse. In mere hours, they had made the shed theirs in every way, and it sent a ripple of disgust down Farah's spine. Their eyes locked on her the moment she stepped inside, and Farah fought the urge to just stop and run back out. Their gazes wandered over her simple dress in strange ways, and their eyes were hard and unpleasant. These were wild men, she reminded herself. Different from those who lived here. Her own gaze fell on one of the corners, where the slaves they had brought with them sat huddled. They looked dirty, scared and weak. A wrenching feeling in her gut followed. How mistreated they were. Like poorly cared for animals. It made her sick inside.

"Done starin'?" a gravelly voice rumbled at her, jolting Farah out of her thoughts. The old man that had hurt and threatened them not many hours ago stared at her from the middle of the shed, and Farah averted her eyes with equal dread and disgust. 

[color=khaki]"You wished to see me,"[/color] Farah breathed, trying her best to sound fierce and strong, and ignore the weakness in her limbs. [color=khaki]"I am here, now look quickly and go."[/color]

The old man broke into a chuckle, which caused a ripple of snickers among his traveling troupe of troublemakers. "I'd expect nothin' but fire from Oraliyah's champion, eh. Tha's fair." He concluded, scratching at his chin as his gaze roamed over Farah. "Now, see, yer old crone won't hear reason, so I suppose we'll leave all ye to the wolves. All we want is a blessin' afore we go. From Oraliyah's champion."

Leave them to the wolves? Farah ruminated as best she could under the circumstances until his request clicked in her head, and her head spiralled with what strange ideas they may demand with such a vague request. A stone filled her gut once more. Why had the Matron sent her in here? Did she hate her so much? She cleared her throat and glanced at the old, disheveled man. [color=khaki]"...Bless you? In what… in what world would I bless you?"[/color] she asked with a little too much fire, and saw the frown building on their faces. She drew a long breath, finding the huddled slaves in the corner looking at her. Before the old man got any new ideas, Farah steeled herself and stepped forwards to continue, gesturing towards the slaves. [color=khaki]"Even if I had the power to bless any woman or man, what possessed you to think, even in jest, that you are worthy of such? You who keep fellow people as animals on a leash, terrified and cowed? Oraliyah's light shines on the kind, the warm of heart, and the weak."[/color] she reprimanded swiftly. The man began a reply but Farah felt her fire return. She continued, raising her voice to cut him off. [color=khaki]"Yet all of you come here with grins and malice and expect the goddess to smile on you. After what you have done, to us here, to Adnan outside, to these chained people. Have you no shame?"[/color]

A strange feeling rippled through her as she finished speaking. Silence reigned in the shed as the men seemed stunned by her angered response. Then it was as though a dam burst. One of the men broke into sobs, falling to his knees and clutching his head. Another stared at one of the slaves with guilt in his eyes before it became too much for him and he vomited onto the hay-covered dirt below. The old man gripped a nearby wooden panel shakily, breathing heavy and unsteady breaths as his companions all burst into tears, sobs, and anguished cries. Farah stepped back in shock. Had she cursed them somehow? She'd never seen men act anything like this.

"Yer… yer right. I-... I've done so much," the man began with a wavering voice, intoned by a chorus of sobs from his companions. "It was tae survive.. always tae survive… tha's what I told meself... Oraliyah… Forgive me.." His gaze rose, and he looked up at Farah with pained, guilt-ridden eyes. In that moment, Farah felt as though he would have leapt from a cliff if he could. His look of abject defeat touched her deep inside, and she realized the other men appeared to be as deeply disturbed as he. This wasn't normal. Was Oraliyah with her right now? 

Farah breathed an unsteady breath of her own, and took a two steps forwards to close the gap between her and the old man in the shed. Cautiously she extended a hand, and laid it gently on his shoulder as solemn comfort. He seemed to melt into it, gently leaning against her hand lightly. Then he too burst into tears. Farah stepped closer yet, pulling the much older man against her into a comforting embrace. Her own anger had washed away, and before these humbled men she felt almost maternal. The man cried into her hug as others sobbed, fell together, or quietly recovered in the case of one man. He who recovered looked at the gathered slaves with a growing distaste on his features, then simply wandered over to undo their bonds. One of the captives ran out immediately, while the others remained together. "I'm so sorry…" the man murmured, and Farah shushed him quietly. 

[color=khaki]"It's never too late to improve. Never too late to be an honest man. If you know what you have done is wrong, then you also know how you must change."[/color] she murmured quietly, echoing the words of her bed- and field mates rather than the Matron. Nasira would say a person never changes, but this was surely proof of the opposite. He nodded slowly, and she continued to nurse him for a while before stepping away to allow the man to recover. [color=khaki]"You said you would leave us to the wolves. What did you mean?"[/color]

The man sighed quietly, and even that admission seemed to hit him with a pang of guilt. "Karay is leaderless. The richest are about tae war with each other for power. Yer farm had a deal with Karay. Food for protection, and new blood. Tha's all gone now. More-... more slavers will be coming this way."

A chill ran down her spine, the implications of his words settling in quite neatly. Suddenly what she had overheard before began to make sense as well. It all led to what she had feared when she had first spotted these men walking on the horizon; the farm was no longer safe.

[color=khaki]"But-... there'll be a new leader. A new.. a new deal can be made."[/color] she pressed. Even in his humbled state her question provoked only a simple shrug, tired and weary. 

"Maybe," he conceded quietly. "I guess all that' depends on findin' someone as sly as the last feller. He was keepin' the market together with nothin' but willpower and brute force."

[color=khaki]"Then we must act swiftly,"[/color] Farah concluded. The Matron would surely agree. [color=khaki]"Someone will see reason. Our farm provides food for many mouths. It is a valuable thing to protect."[/color] Somewhere deep inside she resented her own words. She knew what she was proposing.

"...Ye mean to go?" 

[color=khaki]"If the Matron won't, I… I will."[/color]

"Please, champion-.." the old man began anew, capturing her attention. He reached for her, before thinking better of himself. Instead he sank to the dirty ground in the shed, prostrating himself before her on both knees in a deep bow. He was promptly joined by his comrades who filed up alongside him in an awkward line in the tiny space. "Let me… let us serve and protect Oraliyah's champion. As penance for me worthless life. I… ye have shown me the blackness of me soul. I know nae wha' else tae do."

Farah breathed a deep breath, watching the men. To her surprise, two of the remaining slaves had joined them, apparently begging her mercy. It made her feel like a fool, and she felt her cheeks burn. [color=khaki]"My name is Farah. What you do… what you do is your own choice."[/color] she offered and nodded firmly.

They too nodded, and looked up at her as though she had affirmed their service. Farah lifted a hand to scratch at her neck, but stopped halfway when the crowd interpreted her motion as a gesture to rise. She breathed uncertainly.

[color=khaki]"...You all must be hungry. Come. We should all eat."[/color] she said after a moment of hesitation and offered a small smile. That smile too, spread like wildfire.

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[hider=Summary]
Farah worries about what the dangerous men that came to the farm are like, and ruminates over what transpired. The matron returns from a negotiation, and demands Farah take over because of Oraelia's blessing. Farah reluctantly complies, and once more meets the traveling crooks from the last post. She learns about Karay and the Farm being in danger, and decides to go to Karay with the men, who pledge themselves to Oraelia's "champion".
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[hider=MP/DP]
No.
[/hider]
[hider=Prestige]
Farah:
Starting: 5
+5 (10k+ characters)

Final: 10
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