Intro
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Some History
He was a thrill-seeking treasure hunter and one of the first non-natives to have found Aluwharun. I had just recently turned sixteen when I saw their flags on the horizon. Those that come to explore Nocia rarely survive the Badlands. The reason of course, is in the name. He was wealthy, and lived for the trophy. That’s what I was to him; a trophy. A toy, a plaything, something he’d behead and toss up on his wall if it wouldn’t have been so frowned upon by other nobles. I was treated as a novelty, and his reputation wasn’t sullied once he brought me home, as I was treated as something to headpat and laugh at. The gall. Unluckily for them, as he paraded me around his soirees, I was observing and learning all that I could about their language, their culture, and whatever else I could soak up. However, I’ll get back to the point at hand.
Who’d want to push their way through a seemingly endless sandstorm just to see what might lie beyond it? A rich bored fellow with disposable income and a large crew, that’s who. I am the daughter of a powerful Chieftain, a Blade, and part of a tribe that most do not even know exists. It burns me to this day to remember how easy it was for his crew to overpower me. My insides fire up like a dry thicket when I remember the faces of my tribesman as Hunte and his men stampeded their way through our village; killing, raping, stealing. Looking back, I wish I had done more to him simply for what was done to my younger sister. I see her eyes in my sleep and to this day I haven’t been able to find her. It does no good to wish on the past though, and I know that; but I do not think I can stop. I put on nonchalant airs most of the time because my problems are my own, but deep inside I am angry. I suspect this will continue until I know what has become of her. I suppose that I should back up, though.
To be considered a “Blade” of my tribe, one had to have ventured out on their own for a specific amount of time for a specific purpose, both set by the Chieftain. This is also typically something that the Chieftain has done themselves. This process is called “Miyali”, which in Kohlewaldish essentially means “Leaving”. If one is the Chieftain’s first born, they don’t have a choice; they have to do this. If one returns alive and successful, they are then considered a Blade. I was ready for this since I was a young one. I’ve always had a stubborn streak and penchant for danger, so I did not hesitate when the time came. I trained with my father and uncle since I was young for this day. The day that I began my Miyali, my sister fretted while my father beamed. My purpose was to travel west until I reached the coast. I was to retrieve an object from a shipwreck, one that I later learned my father traveled to himself for his own Miyali, though his purpose was different. My journey was on foot with only the clothing on my back. I was sent with no supplies, though that wasn’t a concern. I was taught how to gather such things. I don’t know how long it took me to reach the coast, though it felt endless. That’s a tale for another time. Once I reached the coast, I then had the cliffs to contend with. Then there were the sea predators swarming the shipwreck.
I returned home cut, bruised, limping, exhausted, and so very hungry. I remember thinking for the first time how unforgiving the sun felt. Growing up in the “Badlands”, we just learned how to cope with it and evolved to live in it. Traveling as far as I did though, and returning to the desert was another matter. I still remember my younger sister’s tears of joy as she hugged me tightly. My father’s pride was a breath of life. My people’s faith in me was the validation that made the entire trek worth it. I was so proud to have obtained what my father instructed me to. The celebration that night was easily the most raucous party I think I’ve ever attended. I held the retrieved item closely, for it would soon be in my father’s hands.
Then they took it.
It wasn’t long after I returned home when we saw the flags in the distance. Hunte’s flags. They were a bloody streak in the distance, though it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing with the sun’s unforgiving rays in my eyes. While my people are prepared to fight in isolated battles and specific instances, they are ill-prepared for being outright invaded. We had the benefit of being geographically situated in such a way that allowed our surroundings to be our best form of defense. Aluwharun was (or quiet possibly still is) situated in a bowl. There were high dunes in any direction we looked, and we were almost always surrounded by dust storms which we managed to mostly avoid due to being on lower ground. Our village was also situated near a natural spring, which was our best kept secret. It was our own little oasis. For a long while there were talks among the elders of migrating; however, for at least one hundred fifty years my people thrived in the unseen dust bowl and they were concerned about how such a migration would change our way of life. Getting word there is essentially impossible, so I don’t know what became of them after Hunte’s people were through with them. I like to hope that they were able to rebuild.
When we saw them descending the dunes from the west, my father acted quickly. It still wasn’t quick enough, nor did we have the manpower to effectively defend ourselves. We still gave it our best go, though. The Blades and archers gathered while others hid in their huts. Looking back I still am not sure if the smarter play would have been to stay or run; either way, I think the outcome would have been the same. I held my longsword at the ready, a handy weapon I found during my Miyali. Hidden in my right boot was a double-edged dagger coated in the poison of the Aquella cactus. Really only good for one well-timed strike, but that one strike would be paralyzing.
They descended the dunes in droves. Hunte must have brought at least fifty to seventy men, outnumbering us. When I later saw the fleet of ships he brought with him, I laughed at my own sense of false hope. I must have killed two dozen men, and my people fought their best fight...but we did not have the explosives or firepower that hunte’s men did. There were many explosions, and so many screams. I especially remember the terrified screams of my people’s children, utterly confused and afraid. I remember futily thinking that it must have been a matter of time before someone found us. I was ashamed that I alone hadn’t been able to push them back. I can still taste gunpowder and smoke on the back of my tongue. Just as I was sliding my longsword free of a white man’s chest, I heard the screams of my sister. Not now.
Someone had dragged her from the safety of our family hut. I did not see my father attempting to save her, but I have zero doubt in my mind that it must have been because he had been hurt or detained. The last time I remember seeing my father’s smiling face was that morning when I handed him the object I retrieved from the shipwreck. As I looked to my right, not more than fifty feet away was a towering beast of a man dragging my sister out of our hut by the hair. I did not let the barrel-gut fool me; his arms were massive and his legs were built like tree trunks. The clothing he wore had more decoration than that of the other invaders, which led me to believe he was their leader. Anger filled my chest and I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I didn’t hesitate to rush toward the man, keeping low to the ground and sliding the poisoned dagger from my boot.
I wanted to sneak from behind, and it would have been so beautiful to see him eyeballing us in paralyzed confusion. I could almost taste the victory, though it was not to be. He was dragging my sister away from the village, and beneath his ratty beard I could see his perverse grin. As I rushed behind him on silent feet, my sister’s screams ringing in my ears, he paused. I paused. The moment stretched on. He grunted and continued on. Just as I was close behind him, my sister picked that moment to tilt her head just the right way, allowing her to see me. I shook my head and pled with my eyes for her to stay quiet, which she did out of surprise; but the towering hulk of a man still looked down at her, suspicious of her sudden silence. I rose my dagger and could almost visualize it sinking into the man’s lower back…
...yet it was my sister’s shoulder that the blade sunk into. Quickly. Easily. Not fooled for a second, the man turned with my sister as his shield just as I lowered my dagger to strike. Fueled by emotion, I was too quick and too eager and he must have heard me coming. This was not a slow movement, yet he still managed to flip around and block himself in time. All other sounds faded, and my eyes welled with panicked tears. My sister began to cry and reach for me. Had we been victorious against these invaders, I could have nursed her back to health. The poison was not permanently paralyzing, but it was very quick to act. My sister began to twitch and spasm before falling still completely, a single glistening teardrop sliding down her cheek. Scoffing at the dead weight, the man dropped her like a log. He shouted something I could not understand to someone else, who retrieved my sister and took her away. I screamed and reached for her, even long after the man’s boot pressed into my back, my face half-buried in the sand. He leaned down close to me, his breath reeking, and whispered something I could not understand. Once I later learned how to speak Common , I knew what he said was “Now this is a trophy.”
A bash to the head and I was out like a doused candle, not to wake until the sea bucked beneath me and hard damp wood pressed into my cheek. The first sensation I became aware of as I woke was the nausea.
That was the day I was taken to Kohlewald and the last time I saw my homeland.
