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@DaGlobster !
Her caravan was headed north, its banner's carrying the proud deep red and gold colors of her house name. And though not as lengthy as some, Lady Horaea Gray's numbers were nothing to scoff at. Easily a dozen carts and covered pulleys moved along in a studious line that cut a path well North from the dusty fields and reeds of Essyrn, to the long, tall gold grasses of the plains. The out cropping of red plateaus began to dot along the horizon, an impressive sight to see. But not even the great pleateaus could hold a candle to how large the Draconi mountains looked, even this far away.
"They look almost purple," Lady Gray mused as her men had set up camp for the evening. "It's been years since I've seen them like this, and I had been so young, it didn't quite feel real."
A cup of water began to steam over the fire and the woman waited lazily for her servant to make her tea. The sun was beginning to set, casting not only the mountains of Adela into a purplish haze, but the plains and skies around her, too.
She had two cups of tea that night before retiring, deciding she wanted to finish the novel she had started. So perhaps it was the type of story she read, or the extra cup of tea, but her night was fitful, and full of strange yet fascinating things that not only intrigue her, but frightened her clean to her bones.
There were colors, and horses, so many wild horses galloping through the plains. And behind them they lit a trail of fire, and when she woke, she was in a sweat. Her white night gown clung to her body, the dying flames of her camp fire within her tent hugging her form and exposing every suctioned inch where the fabric bled translucently, leaving nothing to the imagination.
But that was of little consequence to the thirst she desired and the fresh air, to breath. She stumbled outside of her camp and welcomed the cold night air of the plains. It made her shiver, but it also helped cool her clammy skin. After a moment, she raked a hand through her now moppy locks of golden hair and peered back to her camp site. She hadn't walked that far from it, knowing it was never wise no matter how many men she traveled with. Some were hired servants, but most had been slaves- or rather, still were.
It was strange, as she studied the other open tents where her men slept, the eerie glow of her slave's collars send an unnerving chill to her bones. She thought back to her dream of the wild horses, of the trail of fire they left in their wake before making her way towards her tent. She awoke her servant who fetched her water, and she guzzled down a good deal of it before thanking them and returning to her bed. But she was fitful the rest of the night, and found herself simply lying there and watching the sun rise over the Serha.
They still had a long journey. Mormont Thespen was to meet them at Lantis Outpost. It was perhaps another ten days journey from here. It reminded her how large the world was, and for a second, she felt as insignificant as the fleas in the sand.
Their journeys continued, and were generally uneventful- somethign she was quite thankful for. For even though she had plenty of men who were paid well to protect her, the Serha plains was known for it's many wild tribes that fought and bled over these lands- Not to mention the thieves.
Day four they were met with a flashing sky, the day having begun dismal and grey. And with no mountains to keep back the winds, they were terrible, and soon the caravan was loosing many tents and supplies. In the desert, the winds were harsh, especially a dust storm- but the way the sky was ever swelling made her wish the black were dust, rather than a terrifying cyclone that roared into life.
Never having seen such a thing in all of her days, she panicked, as did most of her men. They watched as the thing tore across the grounds and gobbled up the few sparse trees in it's wake. And it's path was unpredictable, wild...
At one moment it was heading due north, then a second later, it roared and curved around, and seemed to charge right for them.
Over half of her caravan scattered, crying to the Gods and pleading for their life. The cyclone never came to take them, but the sky pelted them with hail, and the lightning grew worse, cracking over the skies like raw whips of light and just as the cyclone seemed to gobble the world in on itself. Then it was over. And Evelyn Gray found herself with only three carts left men to man, and the rest, all abandoned, or ruined by the storm.
It was a bitter sweat moment, and was a very real moment to remind her of her own mortality. And once her wits were regained, she gathered what she could of her men and the cargo, and pressed on. But they wouldn't get far. The plains seemed to smoke, a strange occurrence that had her and her men choking. By the time they realized there was a wild fire brewing on the horizon, a wind was already coaxing it in their direction- and soon all she found was that she and the few slaves and hired arms could do-
Was run.
Run she did, light boots feeling every heavy root and hard rock beneath her. Her frail white dress fluttered and caught in the smoke, making her sweat all the more and nearly plastering her dress to her form. But she didn't run for long, having noticed more fires before them and more smoke rolling in, choking out most of the breathable air.
Her eyes burned and she realized she couldn't see. And just when it seemed all hope was lost, she heard a cry from one of her men-
Ahzaruhk; a young slave, barely the same age as she, who was crying and calling for Evelyn and the others to come.
He found water. A river. Clear air.
Desperate for it all, she rushed through the sharp root trail, blocking her face the best she could from the burning and suffocating smoke. Still the smoke burned too much for her to see, so she ran towards the voice, ignorant of all else before she nearly tripped over Ahzaruhk who caught her and smiled.
"The river... Master, please." And he gestured to what lay just below the valley beside him.
She could barely make it out, and were her eyes already not swollen from smokey tears, she'd cry tears of joy. And soon she and those that remained, barely seven of them left of all the caravan, and they were immersing themselves in the cool and freeing waters.
The skies behind them still burned of smoke, but dark clouds were rolling in and there was the promise of rain. Evelyn took a moment to thank whatever Gods she could for that day. Though much was lost, she was still alive. To think, she had worried so much about bandits or tribesman. SHe hadn't even considered once that the weather could have been the thing to do her in.
She told her men to relax and they'd travel at nightfall. By the time they returned, she promised them three times the gold she originally had planned, and extra luxuries for her few remaining slaves.
She owed them all so much for remaining by her side, and as they all wallowed in the waters and reveled in the fresh air and cool harbor this little lake afforded, Evelyn began to take note of the uniqueness of this little watering hole and all of the strange carvings in the rocks.
One in particular, she found herself swimming up to, appeared to be a man on a horse. But the longer she studied it, she began to see it wasn't a man on a horse, but a man who was a horse....
A centaur, if her memory served her correctly. A fascinating thing to see. Never had she seen one in real life before. Then again, this was a carving. The real thing... well, if some still existed (which she believed they very well did), she knew would be even more captivating of a thing.
But it was getting late, and she was wet and pruning in the waters. She supposed she ought to corral her men and organize some sort of a hunting party. But as she turned around to observe her men, the looks on their faces had her smile fading away.
And slowly she turned around, and that's when she saw him-
a proud man of all muscle, but with no legs of a man at all-
For from his waste down he possessed the powerful body of a horse.