Who

Wyll, Aztrexia

What

Wyll has a heck of a time getting to Igen, and when he's only a few day's ride away, he meets Trexa, and may or may not regret it

Mild Violence, Mild Swearing, Slight Sexual Theme

When

-- On Pern --
It is 1:29 PM where you are.
It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of the fifth month of the eighth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the forty-sixth day of Spring and 91 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.
In Southern:
It is the forty-sixth day of Autumn and 90 degrees. It is partly cloudy, but still warm and bright. Clouds have started to drift across the sky again. The jungles are almost dry.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the forty-sixth day of Autumn and 19 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Where

Central Desert, Lost Oasis, Igen

OOC Date 12 Jul 2016 06:00

 

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“What? You think I like this any better than you?”


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Great Central Desert

A sea of golden sand stretches as far as the eye can gaze in all directions, marred here and there by the rough scars of granite and sandstone outcroppings of various lengths and widths. Scorching by day and bitingly cold by night in most months, the Great Central Desert is not a place one ventures without a firm plan or a quick exit (such as a dragon). The winds that whip mercilessly across this sandy expanse on some occasions can create colossal samiels and dust storms that block the sun for candle marks at a time. Other days find the desert sitting amidst an immense calm, the sunlight painting dunes and bluffs in ever-shifting colors and the moonlight turning gold to pale silver beneath nearly unblinking stars. It is a place of great danger and beauty all at once, to be sure.

It is the nineteenth day of Spring and 62 degrees. The storm finally reaches the weyr as rain pours down in hard, biting sheets. The wind is fast and hard.


Timor: moon1.jpg
Belior: moon3.jpg





If the sandstorms of the Great Central Desert weren’t something to behold, the desert rainstorms certainly were. While a very welcome distraction from the usual heat, the rain makes visibility next to nothing. A lone wagon sloshes through the thoroughly soaked sand, the driver thankful for the packed trail he’d found. Wagons and wet sand, not generally a good combination. The driver of the wagon looks up, rain immediately drowning his face, he looks around and the runner pulling his small wagon makes a noise of dissatisfaction.


“What? You think I like this any better than you?” He shouts to runner. “I’m just as wet and cold as you Jynx, if you can find a place to dry out, be my guest.” They trundle along for a moment before the man looks down, laughing, his soaked blond hair falling into his face and sticking. “Great…now I’m the crazy guy that talks to animals.” He shakes his head and looks up just in time to spot a roadside shelter. Faranth’s blessings upon him, it’s the best thing he’s seen all day. “Come on Jynx, a dry lean to for you and shelter for me.”


About half a mark later finds this blonde man standing under the awning of the roadside shelter, shirtless, and wringing water out of the missing item. His crystaline blue eyes scan the nearly invisible terrain, seeing only sheets of water and the sandy floor of the desert. His runner chews happily on oats and grain in the lean-to, his tail swishing happily. The wagon is parked near the runner’s shelter, locked up tight against the weather. It’s better to wait the storm out here, than to continue.

The man decides to turn in early and get some sleep.

Sand….

Waves of sand and dust devils….

For days there is nothing but sand….

Supplies dwindle…


It’s all the blond haired driver can see for miles and miles and miles. He’s only crossed this desert once and it was a long time ago. Heat rises off the ground, creating visible waves and the occasional mirage. If the driver hadn’t known better, those mirages would have been a real danger. He licks his dry, cracked lips. He’ll need to find water soon, he’d given the last of his own to his runner.

They plod on, headed east, to where the driver knows Igen Weyr lies, the place of his birth. A place he hasn’t seen since the tender age of eight, when his parents (two non-descript, boring but loving harper archivists) transplanted the whole family to Telgar Weyr, But that had been a long time ago. But he knows he needs to go east. He will be in a desperate situation if he doesn’t find water soon, already his head aches.

Little does this blonde haired, blue eyed driver know just how close he is to both water…and a little excitement….

Little over a league away….

A Zingari girl camps in a lush, hidden oasis, and she isn’t expecting company…


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Blocked from view in the south by one of the largest sandstone formations jutting from the desert, this lovely oasis is truly a hidden jewel in the sand. Leagues away from any trace of civilization, it boasts a tranquil blue pool of fresh water and shallow stream fed by an unseen spring beyond a dark crevice in the bluff. Trees spring up against the rock, providing merciful shade and filling in the narrow recesses surrounding the water. The height of the outcropping funnels a near-constant light breeze through the place, cooling the air considerably in comparison to the desert beyond.

However, for all its beauty, there is an unaccountable air of fear and uncertainty about this oasis. At night, the otherwise friendly wind can cross the space with a low, unnerving howl, and creatures passing in the shadows do so in nervous, unseen movements. This has, unfortunately, been a place of grisly discoveries for Igen Weyr - most likely due to its out-of-the-way nature. Sweep riders have observed no renegades, bandits, or criminals of any other stripe in the area thus far, adding to the mystery here.




The yurt is set back up, her clothes are drying on a line, the fire is going, her black runner is grazing, some poor desert creature roasts over the aforementioned fire, and the young woman that owns it all is floating in her underwear and bra in the small pool within the oasis. Her hazel eyes stare thoughtfully up at the unyielding desert sky. Rukbat is at his Zenith, she’ll have to get out soon or risk becoming a baked lunch herself. The woman sighs happily, glad to be somewhere with water and shade again. She’d avoided the oasis for a few days, just in case that strange lad came back with Igenite Guards.

Growling internally, the woman turns on her stomach and swims back to shore. She comes out of the water dripping, silky brown hair wet, and dripping. She picks up a towel and dries off, wrapping the towel about her waist. She checks on the beasty roasting over the fire and determines he can use another half ‘mark or so. She leads her runner to the shade under the palms and tethers him here before moving a barrel of drinking water over to him. That should keep him until the worst heat of the day passes. She wiles away the time waiting for her food by patching holes in old clothing and taking an inventory of her supplies. She ends up eating while she finishes the inventory. Then, she checks that her wagon, parked behind her yurt, is in good traveling condition. Being little more than a supply cart, her wagon is easily checked over.

With all that finished, she decides to sleep through the hottest part of the day, then, then she must plan what is next, and she must write to the elders to let them know the mother clan has returned to the desert weyr. She sighs, deciding to wait the time until the caravan returned had been a foolish idea. She’d brought attention to herself and alerted an old adept legend to her presence. She’d left Igen soon after, feeling as if she was being followed. Having a bit of fun and freedom had cost her, she’d been a little too truthful of her heritage and name. Now, she must crefully assimilate herself into the fold….it won’t be easy.

Taking one last look at her camp, the woman douses her fire and disappears into her yurt. The door flap falls and the camp becomes silent. It takes little to no time for the dark haired Zingari woman to fall asleep.

Back in the Desert….

The blonde haired driver has donned a wide brimmed hat to protect himself from the sun. He dozes in the driver’s seat of his wagon, reins loosely slung around his neck, His runner plods steadily along, nose pointed east and amazingly, seems to keep course.

The man dreams, muttering under his breath in his sleep, twitching. He calms after a moment, enough that he begins to slouch forward. Bodily instinct kicks in and the man jolts awake, heart pounding as his brain tries to realize he had not, despite his sense memory telling him otherwise, fallen from the wagon. Talk about a heart attack. He blinks a few times, clearing matter and sand from his eyes. As he looks around trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, he catches sight of a spot of vivid green off in the distance. What the???

He sighs….

Probably another mirage….a loud groan escapes the man’s lips.

But a full candlemark later, the green blotch has only gotten larger, and Jynx’s ears have perked up, as has his pace. Thinking the runner knows something he does not, so the blonde haired driver gives the runner his head. Soon, the glorious green of the oasis is clear, and real. The man almost whoops for joy, but then the camp comes in view, though, it is on the opposite side of the pool in the oasis, and he doesn't mind sharing space. The current occupant seems gone, or within their domicile.

In case his camp mate is sleeping, the man goes about setting up camp as quietly as he can. He is thankful for the bounty of trees in the oasis as it allows him to unhook his runner and tether him so that he might groom, blanket and feed the dray beast with a feed bag. Once the runner is comfortable and munching away at his dwindling supply of oats, the man goes about setting camp.

The first thing to happen is a fire, built so that it emits little smoke, and isn’t intrusive. On this fire goes a pot filled with water, a meager portion of herbs and desert fruit, and the last bits of some dried meat. Salt is added liberally to the pot and it is left to cook. Digging through his saddle bags the man finds some long grains he’d thought gone days ago. He is joyous and adds them to the pot. If he stores this correctly, he’ll have a day or two’s portions there. Perhaps he’ll be able to trade with his neighbor once he or she appears. Or perhaps he’ll be lucky enough to find edible prey in the pool, or a desert creature of some sort.

It will be awhile before food is ready, so the man walks to his wagon and sets up the awning, and it provides more blissful shade. He pulls down the stairs and unlocks the door. He disappears inside. A few moments later he emerges with a small table and chair, these are placed beneath the awning before he disappears back inside. While his food cooks, the man manages to set up a line, wash and hang his clothes, set his wagon to rights, change his bedding and removes the empty feed bag from his runner. The runner is quiet and content, and lies down for sleep himself, his breath coming in soft whickers.

The man is quick to eat and store his spare food in stone crocks he’d spent more on than he should have. But, the nice thing about being independent, all his profit was his own, and his alone. Camp set, and chores done, the man disappears into his wagon and shuts the door, intending to sleep awhile.

A Few Hours Later….


The woman awakes, and the orange tint against the canvas of her yurt tells her that Rukbat is making his descent, and that it will start cooling off soon. She should get her clothes in, in case there’s a sandstorm tonight. She stretches, the feeling cathartic. Yawning, she rolls out of her bed and pulls on the last clean pair of trousers she has in the yurt, she doesn’t bother to button them up as she thinks herself alone in the campsite. She grabs her wicker basket and is looking for her water skin when she hears her runner whickering and half neighing from his tether. She grins and goes about her business, that is, until a second whicker joins the first.

Wait…the woman rushes to her door flap. She pulls it open just enough that she can get an eyeful of her campsite. Everything seems normal until she looks out across the water and spots a wagon, and a runner, and a line of freshly washed clothes that almost matches her own. Damn it. She’d got too comfortable, had let her guard down thinking herself alone, and had slept too deeply. After the albino pest she ran off over a seven ago, her getaway is once again invaded. However, this wagon does not seem like it is from this area…

The woman looks about frantically, trying to spot the owner of the wagon. She must not be recognized. Her defensive the other day had almost cost her hiding place and anonymity, so she’ll have to think this one through. WHomever owns the wagon does not seem to be round, and so, the woman slips from her yurt and collects her clothing. She puts it all away and begins quietly packing, in case she has to make an emergency escape.

But…

Less than a candlemark later, the woman’s curiosity wins out and she creeps over to the other campsite for a closer look. Hiding behind a boulder on the shore, she sits and watches, and waits…

Her patience pays off when just a few moments later, a blond haired, blue eyed hunk of a man emerges from the wagon. Her fears about perhaps being found by her people bleed away immediately, there’s no way this man is of Zingari bloodlines….

The woman watches the man move to the edge of the water….

Staring out at the water, the man scratches at his chest, yawning. The nap had been refreshing. He looks over to the neighboring camp. The laundry is gone, as well as a few miscellaneous items. Hmm. They must have been around at some point. The man shrugs, as long as they could share the place peacefully, he didn’t care what they did. The air is still warm and the man looks at the water one more time, a swim before dinner sounds like a good idea.

The man disappears into his wagon again and comes out with a towel slung over his shoulder, one of his food crocks from earlier and a pitcher of water. The crock gets emptied into the pot over the fire, along with some water. There, dinner is heating. He checks on his runner, giving it a loving pat before ditching his sandals. He walks to the edge of the water, allowing his toes to sink into the wet sand. Today, life is good. The man unties his trousers, leaving them half open as he grabs the back of his tunic and begins pulling it over his head….

Meanwhile…


The young woman has been slowly getting closer to the young man’s camp. When he went into his wagon, she took advantage and sprinted over to a boulder closer to his campsite, which put her behind his wagon and out of sight and downwind of his runner. She just had to hope he didn’t have a canine, and it’s seeming he doesn’t.

She watches him make his dinner by peering round the edge of his wagon. Once he’s facing the water, the woman takes her opening. Being quick and silent, it is nothing for her to creep up behind him. As soon as his head is clear of his tunic, but arms are still within the fabric, the woman brings her knife to his throat, blade pressing into the skin. “Move and I gut you. Who are you and who sent you??” She asks through gritted teeth….

The man freezes, crystalline blue eyes going wide with surprise. He swallows, heavily, eyes flinching as he feels the bite of the mystery woman’s blade. “Nobody sent me from nowhere lady, the name’s Wyll, and I’m just headed for Igen is all….I don’t have a quarrel with you, whoever you are.” Hands go up in surrender, shirt still on at the arms.

The woman seems uneasy, as if not knowing if she should believe this Wyll or not. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Look, lady, I was born in Igen, but I haven’t been back since we left, and I was little when we left.” Wyll swallows, hands still up, the picture perfect example of a good hostage. “I don’t have any quarrel with you lady. No need for all…..this.” Wyll says with a flick of his hands at the knife.

The woman hesitates a second longer before removing her knife and backing up, giving Wyll some space. Her dark eyes roam over the topography of his muscled torso and she lifts a brow. “Can’t come in looking like that and not raise a girl’s suspicions. You look like you could take a fighter or two.” The woman sighs, getting a closer look he definitely doesn’t look like one of the ones her targets have employed. She’s on high alert since receiving word that the main caravan was back in Igen, her real work starts now.

Wyll turns, expecting to see one of the veiled beauties of the desert, he’d been told that’s how women dress around here. But what meets his eyes is unexpected, yet oddly familiar. “A Zingari woman?” Wyll chuckles and looks around. “Don’t you generally travel in clans?” Wyll holds up his hands all surrender like again before continuing. “Still don’t know who you are, but I’ve met a few of your people in my day. That’s how I know. Do you have a name I can call you?”

The woman goes still, regarding the man suspiciously for a moment. But of course he would have run into Zingari people, they roamed all over the Northern Continent. “We are a vastly spread people, and I am on my way to mine, I’ve just had some trouble with bandits is all.” The lies fall off the woman’s lips with ease, this is a simpleton, someone she need not fear. “You can call me Rexia.” She states, smiling a little.

“Well Rexia, can I go about my swim now? Or is there more questioning to be done?” Wyll lets his shirt drop to the ground, revealing a muscled torso. The smells of his dinner cooking start to invade the air, it’s a savory and sweet smell, one that, though simple, rings water to the mouth. “I’d like to get clean before I eat.”

Rexia is distracted for a moment by the musculature Wyll presents, dark eyes going wide in appreciation. “I think you can go about your day, yes.”

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“Hey! Eyes up here now.” Wyll chuckles and points to his face. “Well, thanks then. I guess I’ll see you around?” Wyll lifts a brow and crosses his arms, his unbound trous sinking on his hips to hang low below the line of his underwear.

Rexia clears her throat. “Sure. Perhaps you can join me for a drink later?” Rexia is a trader, don’t think she hasn’t noticed that Wyll might have extra supplies, she might try and swindle the poor guy out of it all. “Perhaps a game of dragon dice?”

Wyll smiles, “Drink yes, Dice, no. I’m not much for gambling.” Wyll grins. “See you later!” And with that, he strips his pants and is diving into the pool of water, letting the liquid strip the heat and sweat of the day from his skin. Rexia is left to her own devices as he surfaces in the middle of the pool and disappears again.

Rexia shakes her head and takes a visual scout of Wyll’s camp before returning to her own. She feeds herself, packs few more things inside her dwelling, and waits out the time. It’s well after dark when she roams back to Wyll’s camp, a bottle of Zingari whiskey in one hand and a smile on her full lips. She knocks at Wyll’s door, dressed only in a simple white shift. She’d liked what she’d seen earlier, no reason to not try and get some if it.

Wyll answers the door and smiles, well well, looks like it may be his lucky night. From would be attacker to a woman in a simple white dress. The mysteries of the Zingari always did fascinate Wyll. “Good evening.” He says, his voice low and inviting. “Come for that drink I suppose?”

“Aye I have, and, a little fun, if you aren’t opposed?”

“Not at all.” Wyll steps aside and clears room for Rexia to enter his wagon, which is small, but comfortable. “Let me find some glasses.”

The night will go as most expect. Drinks and laughter are had, along with a healthy dose of adult activity. But Wyll will wake to an empty wagon and an aching head the next day. He will also find that one of his food crocks, and several other provisions are missing from his stores, along with a small bag of marks. He’ll be glad to know she didn’t find his actual stash of marks, just that one small bag.

Rexia will be long gone by this point, off to purchase some things from a nearby sister clan before trying to assimilate herself into Igen’s ZIngari clan.

Won’t it be fun when they both realize they’re to be neighbors?

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