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Abu-Bakr

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Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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Hallo good friends.
It's been a while since I've written something for these forums. As of recently I've been busy writting for outside purposes (mostly the pleasure of making a story and getting some of these out of my head). But recently I had a story in my head that I started writting. It wasn't until I started it that I should decide to make it for the forums here.

But anyways, this is likely going to be one of the shorter pieces I've done. In my own oppinion the rate at which the story has progressed was far faster than I thought originally. But considering the circumstances it isn't at all surprising. This might make for a nice casual read for anyone without the attention span long enough to read a longer one. But, I don't care. I've read stories about this length that could be read in the length of a day or two.
So I present to you, my newest piece: Abu-Bakr
----------- Table of Contents -----------
Post 2 - Opening
Post 3 - The Circumstances
Post 5 - Nights in the Desert
Post 10 - Knights in the Desert
Post 13 - Abu-Bakr
Post 15,91 - The Mamelukes
Post 92 - In the Presence of Abu-Bakr
Post 119 - In the Desert Ghost's Service
Posts 129, 139, 160-171 - Sand's Embrace
Pages 20-22 - Honor

07-Jul-2009 03:32:35 - Last edited on 04-Feb-2011 02:29:03 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Opening
Opening
The expanse of the desert is flawless and ever shifting. Like the long body of the asp and the adder, the dunes slither and shift along the desert floor. It is these forever shifting sands that sap unprepared men dry. A sole person may not survive out here. To do so with no camel and water is to exile one’s self from home. To forever recite poetry under the burning eye.
You will forget your name. You will forget the comforts of home. You shall forget the taste of bread and good drink. Then you will forget your life as your bones are bleached. The desert and her gods have a way of giving out unforgiving punishment to the fool-hearty, such as the group below.
Below the falcon*s eye the remnants of a tattered northern army ride through the desert on dry horses. Their armor gleams blindingly under the sun and the tunics draped over them are dirty and shredded. There are four riding on dying horses. Three from the metropolis Varrock and one from the city of Falador.

Their names, unimportant to the desert, are:
James Chandler. He is the tall skinny man with thin brown hair. Of the age of nineteen, he belonged to the ruling Varrockian merchants. He was inducted as a full fledged Knight of Saradomin at the appropriate age of eighteen after a life of training to serve under the cross of Saradomin.
The second is Johnson Millard; he too is of the Varrockian merchant class. He was brought into the knighthood after he displayed adequate valor in battle. He is of twenty-two, originally a member of the city’s militia for three years previous. He is of the short brown hair with the bandaged arm. Blood seeping through the mail onto the cloth from an arrow wound formed several hours prior.

07-Jul-2009 03:32:43 - Last edited on 27-Dec-2010 01:56:51 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The third is Michael Goswick. Unlike the two previous he is of nobility and the boys’ superior. Of the well endowed age of thirty-five, he saw to their survival through the worst of the events that gave Millard his arrow wound. He is pompous and hard, to only please his father back home so that the crown may go to him next and not his idiot of a cousin. He’s the short-haired blonde one, with the beard and crooked nose (the result of an injury in a previous skirmish).
The final is Louis DeLoren. He is the skinny boy of Falador - a home now far and unreachable. Of the three wanderers he is like an outcast, disconnected from the rest of his fellow White Knights when his foolish horse took to joining his new companions in flight. He is the second youngest, he is twenty; fresh blood in the white knight order. His hair is also brown, but wild and curly. His green eyes still swim in the sudden horrors of earlier in the day.
____________________________________________________________
The Circumstances.
It was mid-day when the combined force of Varrock and Falador’s little crusade into the desert was attacked. The sun continued it’s hot, baking torment on the men much as it has throughout their tours. They were set on a pilgrimage to a shrine. Charged to reinforce and protect for other pilgrims. They were to defend it against the very fore that caught them in route. The following slaughter and routing of the men did not disturb the sands which only hid the carnage after it had ended.
They came like ghosts over the dunes. Bone chilling and ghostly war cries rolling over the sand. They came shrouded and hidden in veils and robes. They held their sabers tightly in their hands as they descended first into the rear guard, cutting off the auxiliary. It was soon after that a flurry of spears charged the front taking the cavalry by surprise. These men who had turned to look for the screams and battle cries were toppled off their horses and ruthlessly skewered...

07-Jul-2009 03:32:49 - Last edited on 27-Dec-2010 02:02:27 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
... Faces contorted in sudden horror as they lay helpless on the ground. Next came the arrows, they sailed through the air like birds and found their marks in the startled infantry at the middle. They dropped like rocks in the water. The remaining panicked and began darting. Adrenaline ran in the air much as it did their viens.
IIt was here that Chandler and Millard attempted to flee – in their cowardice - to escape the carnage. It was also here that an arrow pierced Millard’s arm shedding his blood. The column had quickly turned to chaos and began to scatter like ants after the disruption of their hill. Goswick soon followed the two boys as they fled the scene.
As the three rode dishonorably away with the horses of their fallen brothers’ close behind, DeLoren joined the flight. But not by his choice, but by the choice of his foolish and ill-trained horse which eagerly followed the routing soldiers. Behind them the battle cries of these desert ghosts echoed after them and chilled the retreating troops like the screams of banshees. Metal between the two sides were traded, but only for a short while before they were overcome. The horns of the commanders’ blared, summoning the broken to them. But in quick time these were silenced.
It was of the arrogance of the generals that led to these men’s defeat. The four who managed to flee rode solemnly on. Occupied by their guilty and foolish thoughts. It was too late and they were too far to turn back. It’s something heroes would do – yes – but it was something they would lose if they tried. Running was now the only thing they had left to do, to return to civilization.

07-Jul-2009 03:32:55 - Last edited on 27-Dec-2010 02:06:54 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Nights in the Desert
As the hours dragged on and the sun sank below the horizon the knights slowed to camp. The coolness of the night quickly set in and relieved them of the burdening heat. With relieved sides they cast off their equipment of war. Chain mail and sword hit the ground. As did their helmets. They groaned in glorious satisfaction as they stretched their backs out. Relishing the moment of the freedom from their burdens.
But, looking into their eyes one could see the pain from the defeat they suffered. They were swollen with tears that were held back for their fellow soldiers and sagging with weariness. Even as the elatedly shed their armor their tears still watered for their dishonor. Sweat from the day’s cutting heat still trickled down their backs. It soaked into their shirts and trousers.
“Millard,” croaked a bruised Goswick, “light us a fire.”
“Yes my lord.” Millard replied quietly and respectfully. He reached into the packs that hung on his horses’ side and produced a box of tinder along with dried wood. He laid them on the ground and began to light their small fire.
Goswick turned to DeLoran who – after traveling through the hot desert - still wore most of his armor. His hands shook nervously in front of him and his eyes were opened wide. “Faladorian,” said Goswick in an accusing tone, DeLoren jumped slightly at his name, “why did you follow us and not stay with your unit?”
“It was not my fault,” said DeLoren behind a stuttering and nervous tongue, “it was my horse, he saw the oncoming men – if they can be called that – and ran the other way. It was no command of mine, it was of my horse.”
Goswick glared at him unbelievingly. “Such is a bad excuse for a dishonorable act.” he said in a cold biting tongue, “In doing so punishment is in order once you return home.”

07-Jul-2009 03:33:00 - Last edited on 29-Dec-2010 02:28:09 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

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“But is this not what we are doing?” shouted DeLoren in a panicked rebuttal, “Aren’t we all committing this dishonor! And who are you to say what punishment I deserve? You are not my liege!”
“Faladorian, I am a lord!” Goswick shot back, “And as of now I am your lord! It is common to execute a man for dishonor in the field. Despite the excuses. Last I checked with your people it is the same thing with them as it is us.”
DeLoren raised his arms in submission and walked away in despair. He stopped on a nearby dune and scanned the distance.
“Why don’t we return to civilization?” asked Chandler
“It is the idiots move; so no, not at such a moment. We must think on this. If we go home to our families we risk being tried and executed. And our spirits will be forever cursed for turning on the Crusade we so willingly joined. Or at least all you three will face the rope.”
“And what of you master Goswick?” asked Chandler irritated at the arrogance of his superior, “Will you face the rope too or get a slap on the wrist.”
Goswick looked disapprovingly at his subordinate. In a sharp accusing tone he made his return: “Such words sting yourself more than they do me. It is wise to see where your loyalties lie and look to it as something higher than yourself. You swore an oath to me when you were knighted and I expect you to follow me and my word.”
Chandler made to again counter argue. But from his side Millard said, “Don’t bother, it is fruitless.”
The argument ceased, and the group put their attention to the fire.

07-Jul-2009 03:33:06 - Last edited on 29-Dec-2010 02:28:40 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The four sat huddled around the fire. Soaking in its welcoming warmth as the desert turned to ice. The day played over and over in their memories. So much so the scenes played in the small fire. The sudden attack from nowhere, as if invisible to all sight and man. Then, the screaming. The sudden explosion of battle cries. following that were the spears. It all happened, suddenly. As if they were a spirit manifested on the wind. Flanked and trapped, caught in the middle were the foot soldiers. Trapped between the two punishing forces of malice and vulnerable to the world.

The men had stopped their route a half an hour’s ride from the battle. They could still hear the shouts and, carried aloft by a steady wind. Each of them anonymous, for a time. The only tell-tales of identity or allegiance visible only in uniform. As with Goswick. The cloak he wore was emblazoned with Misthalin’s crest. And out of the four his armor was the finest, a symbol of wealth and status that could be so easily spent on such displays.
All of them wore the same tunic that hung over their armor. Plain white with the stary-cross of Saradomin stitched in red cloth on the front. It was the sign of a crusader, a warrior of faith and for the protection of the people who worshipped him.
DeLoren was also easily made out to be different due in part to his clean, bright white chain armor. This obvious difference made it known he was someone different the same way Goswick’s armor did for himself. Although his face still remained hidden under his helmet, his companions still knew him of Faladorian origin.

07-Jul-2009 03:33:12 - Last edited on 29-Dec-2010 02:29:08 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The four solemn men sat around the fire. DeLoren volunteered to keep watch as the three slept. The offer went well over the men and one by one they slipped off to sleep. DeLoren scanned the visible distance. If such monsters that attacked them earlier could appear out of nowhere then it is only sense to be on the lookout. The desert carried on throughout its cold night with not so much as a curious wolf passing by.
By will of the desert the following day went much the same. The group wandered dis-heartedly through the desert. All the time the sun beat down on them. On the third day of their travels a wild sandstorm blew through catching the four off of their guard and forced them to cower at the desert’s furry. It was also that third night that they had decided to plan for their survival, bringing up the idea of seeking out civilization.
“Now look here, it was here we were attacked,” Millard said leaning over a map of the Khardian Desert, pointing at a spot in the middle of the desert. A solemn red line marched near to that point, “we could have only traveled a short distance for our three days of travel. If we traveled east or west we would come to either the ocean or the Elid. We could go both ways and use them to reach civilization.”
“We could,” said Goswick, “but there’s the matter of two things. One being we don’t know where we are exactly. The second being the point I brought up several days ago, in doing this we would put us in danger of being caught and hung for treason.”
“Either way my lord Goswick,” Millard respectfully responded, “we die. And as for the accusation of treason couldn’t we just say the enemy let us to wander in the desert after we tried to put up a valiant effort in fighting. We would be safe with that and they’ll free us. We might be assimilated into another force of knights from our respective orders but we won’t be killed.”

07-Jul-2009 03:33:18 - Last edited on 29-Dec-2010 02:29:38 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“It’s all very well and good.” Goswick sharply disapproved, “But how do we explain the lack of wounds? None of us but you escaped without so much as a cut. And it’s known that Abu-Bakr does not let anyone live after anything he’s won. Command receives word of the battle but no news of survivors released, ransomed, or otherwise. Everyone is slain on sight. If we were to walk into Pollnivneach, claiming we’re survivors of his latest battle there will be suspicions.”
“Well where else do we have to go.” replied Millard, “We are dooming ourselves to death out here the same way we may run the chance of being executed when we return.”
“That,” said Goswick, “is the nature of exile. It is slow death and displacement.”
“Well I think we should go still.” said Millard, “We’re not exiled exactly, and I say we act diplomatically on it. Who amongst us agrees we go to Pollnivneach?”
Chandler silently raised his hand with a minute of hesitation. DeLoren just said, “Yes” under his breath.
Millard nodded in victory and looked his superior in the eye and said, “You’re opinion is drowned in that of the opposition, you are also out bladed. People can be convinced. But the nature of the wilderness can not.*
*Saradomin damn democracy.” Goswick muttered in defeat.
The group then set course to the east. To the Elid, with hope in their eyes.. To the security of a town. The comforts of home-life. And the good of being put back onto the right path.

07-Jul-2009 03:33:23 - Last edited on 29-Dec-2010 02:31:15 by Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Smok Taunter

Posts: 58,107Emerald Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Knights in the desert.
As much as the travelers wished for it the desert never stayed the same. It’s forever shifting sands buried landmarks putting them out of sight. This inevitability rendered maps useless. The advantage provided by such familiar shapes taken away from them. Another disadvantage the misplaced adventurers had was knowledge of the night sky. Such a simple tool of navigation without aid of a compass was lost to the warriors. As a result, they never had the idea to travel at night. They instead went by the sun – a blazing and crippling thing - and trusted to see a familiar mountain that was marked on the map, or rock, or old well. But all was buried under the sands.

On the second day after planning to set out for the Elid their horses began to show signs of weakness. First was DeLoren’s who slowed and would refuse to go only so far a half a day. After a number of minutes of urging the horse did not move. It was Sir James who suggested putting it down. So with a flash of his long sword it was sent to lie in the sand.
Its flesh was split amongst each other and smoked above an open fire until it cooked thoroughly. A handful more was salted to also be preserved. The blood of the horse also went to satisfying quenched thirst. The water had already reached dangerous levels. What were left were only small drops, it had over time, was stolen from the men by the desert. They were now only left with the sustenance that was offered by horse blood. An offering Sir. Louis took with apprehensive hands and saddened thanks.

07-Jul-2009 03:33:29 - Last edited on 13-Feb-2011 01:07:54 by Smok Taunter

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