the copper vat strapped onto the youth’s back. The
child gulped as Hwosh smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. He
kept his gorgeous grey eyes -a rarity when coupled with his browned
skin- on the warrior for the full minute Baqir took to dismiss him
with one more coin than was strictly necessary.
A few minutes after that, Hwosh Ru’ub was
sent on his way. The man went quietly, secretly glad for the brief
rest from carrying his prey upon one shoulder. As he went towards
the east of town, Hwosh inevitably had to cross Themra: an oasis
ringed by a lake and accessible only through four simple yet finely
made limestone bridges. The oasis was devoid of buildings, for
ancient law declared its waters public property and prohibited any
parties from exerting influence upon it. Even the underground king
adhered to that law. A few tired animals grazed here and there, yet
Themra was decidedly man’s cohort: people were in perpetual motion
to and from the oasis, carrying buckets laden with water sweeter
than a sweetmaker’s potions and almost magical with its healing
properties. Legend had it that when the first of Lor’s inhabitants
had settled here and managed to choose a Sultan from amongst the
many war chiefs and learned, Sultan Salah the first was chosen to
lead. Directly after creating an advisory body out of guild leaders
and establishing basic laws and ruling system, the man tasked his
right hand man and sorcerer with casting as many spells of
preservation and healing on the water, allowing it to become a
foundation for a city to rise around it and to last through ages.
Some say that the sorcerer, whose name had long since been lost,
was so powerful that the water’s magic can still heal a multitude
of illnesses and promotes good fortune. Another faction maintains
that the sorcerer went on to do great things in Indellekt. Others
say that Themra just has excellent water.
Hwosh made his way past the eastern bridge,
unto the extremely fertile soil. He was prepared to go slowly, due
to the large crowd of people gathered here, on the paths between
shrubs and fruit patches, but person after person made way for him
and his impressive burden. The warrior glanced here and there,
noting that there were more Lorians and easterners when compared to
Regalians and ‘Dellekts than there used to be. Men and women from
Lor and the eastern lands were dressed more modestly than others,
and often in simpler colours. The colours, Hwosh was surprised to
learn, were more of a cultural gesture. Uncle Salim had once said,
“Our colours are on the inside.” Added to that, despite the men not
being required by faith to cover up their arms, lower legs, nor
hair, many did so anyways as a gesture of support for their women.
Those of Lor also moved in a more segregated manner, men often
keeping to the left out of respect, and the warrior was slightly
amused to see that most every one of them had the same type of
beard. The water seemed to glisten in the sun, and Hwosh judged
sundown to be a few hours away, still. He made his way further to
the east.
Almost any town one enters will boast a poor
district. In Lor, this part of the city was to the east, so as to
shield the wealthiest from sandstorms. Here, the houses turned
shabby, the people slowly grew less educated and started to almost
sprout sunken cheeks. While Baqir and those like him tried their
best to elevate those in poverty to better lives, they were unable
to cover more than a tiny fraction of those in need. The higher
council, meant to be a retardant against corruption, spent more
time these days squabbling over trade agreements and tax cuts.
Granted, they were not outright thieves, and work still went
towards aid and education, but the council was certainly
inefficient these days, if not outright negligent. Even the roads
in the Qir quarter were strewn with tired garbage thrown from lean
to homes barely able to support their own weight. Within a few
minutes Hwosh had to slow down his
child gulped as Hwosh smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. He
kept his gorgeous grey eyes -a rarity when coupled with his browned
skin- on the warrior for the full minute Baqir took to dismiss him
with one more coin than was strictly necessary.
A few minutes after that, Hwosh Ru’ub was
sent on his way. The man went quietly, secretly glad for the brief
rest from carrying his prey upon one shoulder. As he went towards
the east of town, Hwosh inevitably had to cross Themra: an oasis
ringed by a lake and accessible only through four simple yet finely
made limestone bridges. The oasis was devoid of buildings, for
ancient law declared its waters public property and prohibited any
parties from exerting influence upon it. Even the underground king
adhered to that law. A few tired animals grazed here and there, yet
Themra was decidedly man’s cohort: people were in perpetual motion
to and from the oasis, carrying buckets laden with water sweeter
than a sweetmaker’s potions and almost magical with its healing
properties. Legend had it that when the first of Lor’s inhabitants
had settled here and managed to choose a Sultan from amongst the
many war chiefs and learned, Sultan Salah the first was chosen to
lead. Directly after creating an advisory body out of guild leaders
and establishing basic laws and ruling system, the man tasked his
right hand man and sorcerer with casting as many spells of
preservation and healing on the water, allowing it to become a
foundation for a city to rise around it and to last through ages.
Some say that the sorcerer, whose name had long since been lost,
was so powerful that the water’s magic can still heal a multitude
of illnesses and promotes good fortune. Another faction maintains
that the sorcerer went on to do great things in Indellekt. Others
say that Themra just has excellent water.
Hwosh made his way past the eastern bridge,
unto the extremely fertile soil. He was prepared to go slowly, due
to the large crowd of people gathered here, on the paths between
shrubs and fruit patches, but person after person made way for him
and his impressive burden. The warrior glanced here and there,
noting that there were more Lorians and easterners when compared to
Regalians and ‘Dellekts than there used to be. Men and women from
Lor and the eastern lands were dressed more modestly than others,
and often in simpler colours. The colours, Hwosh was surprised to
learn, were more of a cultural gesture. Uncle Salim had once said,
“Our colours are on the inside.” Added to that, despite the men not
being required by faith to cover up their arms, lower legs, nor
hair, many did so anyways as a gesture of support for their women.
Those of Lor also moved in a more segregated manner, men often
keeping to the left out of respect, and the warrior was slightly
amused to see that most every one of them had the same type of
beard. The water seemed to glisten in the sun, and Hwosh judged
sundown to be a few hours away, still. He made his way further to
the east.
Almost any town one enters will boast a poor
district. In Lor, this part of the city was to the east, so as to
shield the wealthiest from sandstorms. Here, the houses turned
shabby, the people slowly grew less educated and started to almost
sprout sunken cheeks. While Baqir and those like him tried their
best to elevate those in poverty to better lives, they were unable
to cover more than a tiny fraction of those in need. The higher
council, meant to be a retardant against corruption, spent more
time these days squabbling over trade agreements and tax cuts.
Granted, they were not outright thieves, and work still went
towards aid and education, but the council was certainly
inefficient these days, if not outright negligent. Even the roads
in the Qir quarter were strewn with tired garbage thrown from lean
to homes barely able to support their own weight. Within a few
minutes Hwosh had to slow down his
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