OOC:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bpltN7y3Vc Here's a song that inspired this post! :3
Listen if you wanna~ It's a fun one from the Prince of Persia soundtrack
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Why the hell did he take this job? He was millions of miles away from his ‘beloved’ Connlaoth, boots thigh high in the sands. The sweat suctioned his clothing to his back, for the sun was unforgiving here in Essyrn. He was only a few miles outside the capital, the bustling city full of gold and promise.
But yes, he shouldn’t have taken this job. He had a pretty good thing going back there in Connlaoth, steal a bit of coin here or there, order his men to find more information, this or that…
But when a search came back with a fruitful bit of coin, some ancient relics along with an ancient map, one showcasing the possibilities of an ancient, forgotten city of gold laid buried in the sands of the Moraki Desert... Well, even a man such as Trest could not fight the luring temptations such an adventure could hold. But damn was it ever hot and damn him if this map wasn’t putting him into a speck of trouble.
Ever since he had entered the lands in the south, it seemed all eyes were upon him, and people were all too willing to accommodate him. The funny thing was, he hadn't even uttered a sound about the map. ANd now? Now he was running for his life, lizard scale skinned men with clothing that wrapped tightly around them, concealing all but their wild eyes held with daggers and spears rushing after him upon some sort of racing lizard things instead of horses and he, he was just about ready to give up when he took a step and tripped over his own boots and fell face first in the sands.
It didn’t take long for the lizard riders to be upon him, their shadows racing over his form. And as Trest Arristaire turned around, a blanket of nets fell over him, and across the desert he was dragged, his body burning against the racing sands beneath him as he swore up a storm through the wretched sanded dust that gushed into his face.
And that’s not all the pain he endured, for when the men had procured him and the map, they strung him up and whipped him into questioning. He was a mess of sweat, blood and whip lashes by the time they were threw with him, and one of the lizard-skinned men shook the map scroll case in his face and hissed in his own tongue.
“I told you before!” Trest shouted desperately. “I don’t speak Essyrn! Or whatever snake tongue language you speak!”
The lizard men hissed between it's snake like fangs and a quick punch to Trest's face only served to anger him as he fought against his bindings. His muscles were tightened as veins throbbed out from his neck. And despite his vicious growls and mean looking eyes, Trest fell back within his bounds, completely powerless to try anything against his captors. He had been stripped of most of his clothing, but they were gracious enough to let him keep his under garbs and boots, while the rest of him remained slick in sweat and blood. Even his hair hung in a long, ratty mess over his face.
The serpentile people looked to one another, chittering in their own tongue before stepping away, closing the door behind them and leaving Trest to rot in the dark of his sand stone cell.
Yeah... why the hell did he take this job? Now he was probably going to die, didn't have the map and sand was still stuck so far up his nose and ass that he was pretty sure he hated deserts...
and here he was going to rot and die in one. And to think, if he wasn't so upset with his Grandfather, he himself, right now, could have become one of those fancy, pantsy dukes; living the life of luxury...
but instead, he kept to his roots, actually did so in paying tribute to the stubborness of his father (whcih he unwillingly acquired those genes) and now.. well...
the adventurous side of him (thanks to his mother) was going to get him killed. And to think, his mother was from a place like this. What a living hell!