NationStates Jolt Archive

The wind blew over the desert sands.

It howled over the ruins of ancient roads, and over modern ones. Its warmth, its heat, spoke to all of heat beyond these limits of modern civilisation.

One man alone in this small walled village looked to the south. A man who had come down from the Stronghold to be on the cusp of the Deep Desert, and who now awaited a caravan from the south, a caravan whose target he had spoken of to no one.

And the wind blew. And there seemed to the man to be a mocking quality, much like laughter, in its breeze. The man adjusted his silken robes and cowl, covering his fair skin even more. This time, though, he was covering it from a chill, one which had nothing to do with the external temperature.

He looked along to the south for hours, as the wind blew. And finally, he saw something, something which hadn't moved into sight but had just appeared, as if rising from the sands. His sharp eyes narrowed, and he picked up his binoculars and focused.

It was nothing that he hadn't expected to see...the Deep Desert was filled with the ruins of an ancient civilisation, from long before the first empire. A single tower rose from the sands, in its own way much like the minarets and spires of all Roanian towns and cities.

But as he turned his binoculars and looked closer, he gave a low groan of alarm and fear...

For a splash of fresh blood, immense and frightening, could be seen to decorate the tower's walls...

And he knew why it was that the wind seemed to mock him. And he knew what had happened to the men who had been sent into the desert.

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He stood at his window in the clear night of the southern Inhabited Desert. The tower was still visible, though he knew not why he hadn't seen it before that afternoon. It seemed to him to be evil, disgusting in its cleanliness. As if the years had not touched it.

He made his report, and put it outside his door. He could still hear the wind, that awful, frightening wind that told him what he had not wanted to know, that spoke to his horrified soul.

He could not bear it any more, and he leapt through his window, landing un-injured upon the desert sands. He ran to the southern tower, not knowing why or how he did so, his legs pushing him with all strength.

The wind blew a warning, but he paid it no heed. He was no Aguan, to avoid that which frightened him. Nor was he a Derricker to charge madly into a fray. No, no, a thousand times no!

He reached the desert tower, and saw that it was not like the now distant spires of the village. He could not place why he no longer considered it as such, but he did not.

He entered through the gaping door, a portal leading to shadows blacker than he could understand.

And the wind blew.

And leapt.

And took him.

Imperial Historical Society and Museum, Tarnaqin
"History is what we make of it..."

The Imperial Historical Society and Museum has always been in Tarnaqin. Founded in the early years of the First Imperium, it holds more knowledge of Novar Ohan's ancient and medieval history than any other museum. Nothing is beyond its reach, and its expeditions are always successful.

At least, that's what the Director kept telling himself as he went to inform his board of sponsors of the recent setback in the search for the city that sattelites had recently discovered in the deep desert. "Gentlemen...I'm so glad to see our honoured sponsors or their proxies present..."

"Why are we here, Director?" A tall, sneering Aguan noble asked.

"Yes...I'm afraid there's been a bit of a setback in the search for Necropolis...apparently, all the men we sent down there got lost in the desert..." He decided to go with the safe lie. And it might not even be a lie. The observer had clearly been a madman...his letter had been a sprawl of unhelpful gibberish after the first few lines. "However, we are in the process of hiring mercenaries and guildsmen, and our research facilties are trying to make links with other institutions for assistance..."

He became aware of someone staring at him. At the far end of the table, a man with Arabian and somewhat disquieting features stood up. "I should have thought that we'd give up..." he softly said, fixing the director with a glare. "The deep desert holds many secrets, and if we listen to the natives it would behoove us not to search there..."

"The tales of old men and women, folklore and mythology, hold no fear for me, Iayuhai. Do not worry...we'll get our relics from that city. And we will discover the truth about what happened to Jenkins, and to the Exploration Team."

Jenkins particularly interested him. The observer, after writing his insane letter, seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

Rayth knew he was dying: he'd been out here too long now, in the baking heat of the desert sun, alone with no supplies, no weapons and most fatal to the young Nova Ohanian, no water. Water was life out here, and Rayth hadn't had a drop for over 8 hours. He realized he had simply exchanged a quick death for a long one by deserting his team, but the sounds of their screams were too much for the young man, so he had ran and ran and didn't stop until his legs gave out and he collapsed, unconcious before he hit the hot desert floor. When he awoke, he found himself completely disoriented and unsure of which direction to go...so he began to walk.

It was just over a week ago that Rayth had applied for a job with the union hall, hoping to make enough money to clear his debts and get off this dead-end planet. To his surprise, the union master called back almost immediately, with an offer that paid a decent wage, and was exciting as well. The next morning, Raythe joined a group of twenty-one scientists, researchers, soldiers and sherpas who were contracted to go deep into the Nova Oharian desert to try and discover some sort of ancient ruins...Raythe didn't really worry about the details of the job, as he was very focussed on trying to do as little as possible without getting fired.

They were four days into their journey when things started to go very bad. A massive sandstorm had blown up out of nowhere, tearing into them so quickly that they had no time to react...the sand ripped at them, shredding their clothes, blinding their vision and deafening them with the roar of the angry desert. It ended eventually, mercifully, and when the sandblasted expedition members finally gathered their wits, they were shocked to find that six members of the team had dissappeared. They searched for many hours before giving up and carrying on.

Then the deaths began: two of the soldiers, checking for a safe pathway along the edge of a dry river bed, lost their footing and in their haste to help each other, dragged themselves both to their deaths, 30 meters down a straight embankment into the jagged rocks that littered the ground below. A pretty young research student in the middle of explaining why the team should turn back was swallowed instantly by a hidden quicksand pool. The saddest one was Raythe's buddy Ferndel, lying on the ground and writhing in pain, progressively turning a darker shade of purple, the puncture marks from the snake-bite on his ankle oozing a sickly red-green fluid.

They finally made camp for the night. Unable to sleep because of the noise of the rest of his group huddled around the fire, Raythe searched for somewhere he could get some much needed rest. He found a small knoll where he could huddle, protected by the wind and warmed by his own body heat. He could see the glow of the campfire in the distance as he fell asleep. The scream that woke him was torn from the deepest part of a man's soul and Raythe awoke confused, and looked towards the fire...more screams greeted his stare and a deep, chilling fear passed through him. His fight or flight instinct kicked in at that moment, and so Raythe began to run.

He had been lost for three or four days now, Rayth wasn't sure. The visions were coming more amd more often, images so vivid and solid that the young man no longer knew what was real, and what was a mirage in his mind. He saw his girlfriend Katrinn once, in a stunning red party-gown, twirling in circles to an orchestra that only she could hear...that dream had warmed him, and given him energy to carry on. But another vision had frightened Rayth deeply, an image that evoked darkness and cold, a warning that came on the flutter of wings, a solitary raven crying havok to the wind.

Rayth stumbled on into the fading twilight of the desert sun, no longer caring, no longer feeling...

#tagged for a future post...

<Bump for more participants>

Lightning crackled, stabbing into the desert from above, even as the sky became drier. And veering out of the desert was a city...ruined, yet intact...

The black man stood before the statue, prostrating himself before it. The wind circled around him, seeming to seethe from distant caves...

In the distant part of the deep desert, shuffling footsteps sounded... hollow eyes looked out from decayed faces as they mindlessly pursued the survivor, driving him deeper into the south, a place where there was no solace.

Who could know what dwelled in the deep desert, either living, unliving, or dead? Who knew what beasts thrived here?

=========

The Divine Imperial Historical Society and Museum is looking for men of good character and military/para-military and survival training to aid in an expedition to the Deep Desert. Wages are negotiable, but we are currently authorised to make a preliminary offer of IM500,000 per man, with an increase available for commanders. Food, water, and tents will be supplied by the museum, as will transportation. Own weapons and ammunition a plus.

=========

Dear Sir/Madame,

I represent the Divine Imperial Historical Society and Museum. As you may or may not be aware, military surveillance has discovered several ancient structures in the Imperium's desert territories. It is our intention to launch an expedition to investigate these structures. If our current views as to the age and purpose of these 'buildings' proves correct, we will have made what could be the greatest discovery of the ages. However, our anthropological department is not what it could be, I am ashamed to admit.

Thusly, I am authorised to offer a payment in the thousands of Imperial Marks (the payment is negotiable, of course), in exchange for the assistance of an anthropological researcher, a translator, or even a student research team. Credit for any discoveries will of course be given to your researchers, provided it is clear that they were acting under our auspices. I hope that you see fit to assist us in this expedition, and that we will hear from you soon.

Sincerely, and with the greatest respect,

Dr. Matthias Klesmenov

15 Academy Lane, Tarnaqin
PriRo
Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles

<Bump>

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<I think I'll just start this off. If you're in or out will depend on the quality of your opening post, not on anything else. All welcome, and I won't be particularly harsh in judging>

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OOC: Not to put too fine a point on it, but all you people who persist in tagging but not doing anything more are really starting to get on my nerves. Right? If you're not really interested, then don't bother to tag in the first place. If you are interested, then I have no idea what it is you're waiting for because if you want a jot more IC explanation from me you're not going to get it unless you actually ICly ask for it.

I hate people who tag things anyway, as they rarely do anything more. And I'll admit that I'm one of them. But on Jolt, you don't need to tag. You can subscribe without even posting. Since you did tag, I (perhaps foolishly) expected at least one IC post besides Gawdly's. And he's out of town, so he has an excuse. I suppose a couple of you are waiting for me to get on MSN so you can question what it is I'm up to. No dice.

I mean, I'm really sick of this. My other new thread turned into a fucking OOC discussion on the meaning of 'Allahu Akbar'. Did I get an IC response? No, not even from someone who I've rped with in the past. But on that thread, I'll admit that people are probably waiting for the IC press-conference before they do anything. Still... I get tags for this, and tags for that. If you guys just want to watch the thread, then fine. But I'm not doing anything, and I'd bet a fortune that no one would if all they get by means of encouragement is 'tag'.

All right, I'm done ranting.

<<OOC: Roania, if you want to continue this, I am ready. My favorite RP's all happen on Novar Ohan anyways, so lets do this!