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  1.  
    I see you don't have any qualms about killing people in your stories either.

    What a group!

    I'll show you all!

    wait a minute, does that mean that I actually have to write?
    hmmm I'll have to think about that.

    oh and btw, GREAT STORY!

    D.J.
  2.  

    Oooh.. I like the story!  Keep it going!

  3.  
    *note* This hasn't been edited since written years ago, so please feel free to bring deficiencies to light.
  4.  
    The pack containing Drahc's food and supplies was quite heavy. In addition to this he a strapped on a number of smaller weapons and attached a small coil of rope, for snares, to the pack’s exterior. It weighed in excess of sixty pounds, but he would still not have enough food to reach the edge of the desert. This shortage could be overcome easily if he managed to bring down some game or collect roots at the water holes. He expected the trip to take a month and a half.
    At dusk of the day after he buried his father, Drahc set out across the sand with his burden on his back and quarterstaff in his hand. He traveled at a fast walk, since the desert nights were quite cool, alternately scanning the sky and consulting his map. The first water hole was two days distant, and he would need to make camp in the open. Although the night advanced swiftly, it stayed fairly light with the moon nearly full. Grethum rarely strayed from their roosts on such brightly lit nights. Drahc almost wished they would attempt to attack him so that he could let out some of his distress and anger. Slowly, however, he settled into a steady pace and plodded on determined to fulfill his father’s last request.
    One month later his food had run out, his clothing was ragged, and his appearance that of a common ruffian, except the fact that he shaved with a small dagger. He also kept his hair chopped short, but it was wild and unwashed. There was little enough water in the deserts limited springs, and it wasn’t to be wasted on washing. Only at the one large oasis could he bathe. According to his map the edge of the desert was slightly over a week’s journey distant. There was one last water hole five days from the border and then the cavern at which he and Gahc sought refuge over fourteen years earlier.
    Drahc gathered his bedding and doused the fire with sand before beginning the march that would take him to the last water stop. The pack weighed about five pounds now, and most of that weight was from the pack itself. He had moved the rope to its interior, and also carried his canteen there.
    Thankful People: Dynamic Juggernaut
  5.  
    As he marched he noted that the moon was again full and this time felt thankful that none of the Grethum would be attacking. He had been set upon twice, but only by lone animals, and had crippled both before they managed to escape. One arm had three scars on it where it had been torn by a beast’s claws. He also believed that he might have a cracked rib, since a kick from one had knocked him down as it hurried away.
    Several times he had supplemented his diet with saraben meat and the roots of desert plants. Any extra body fat had long been worn away, but he was still strongly muscled and able to continue rapidly.
    The sun had begun to make its appearance when he spotted the small oasis, with the few green plants uncharacteristic to the rest of the desert, surrounding it. Instead of walking straight to the water, he left his pack and staff by a rock and crept up. Previously he had seen and taken saraben that were busy drinking or foraging nearby. Once he had startled a carnivore also stalking them. He had thought it looked similar to a creature his father had called a wild dog.
    This time as he approached he took his larger throwing knife in one hand, a slightly smaller one in the other, and stuck his slingshot loaded in his belt. He held the smaller knife by its blade, since it flew straighter when released from that position.
    A large boulder with a young ironwood tree growing by it served as his cover. After reaching the boulder, he moved aside some small branches with his palm and surveyed the pool and its surroundings. Two medium sized saraben were devouring some shoots near the spring, and a bird without wings was digging around in the mud on the other side.
    Knowing that the saraben were edible his first attempted action would be to take them. He would use the knives, since they would be easily recovered from that area. If the strange bird should stick around, he could try to get it with his slingshot.
    Thankful People: Dynamic Juggernaut
  6.  

    So glad to be reading more!  We are finally making some headway towards where you left off last time, eh? 

    I hope he's handy with that knife, if he's going to be using it to shave and water is too valuable to use for washing his hair ... I expect he's dry-shaving.  *ouch!*

    •  
      CommentAuthorSpareChange
    • CommentTimeJan 21st 2009 edited
     
    It's a very sharp knife ;)

    And anyhow, he isn't in a very particular part of society atm.
  7.  
    He balanced the large knife carefully in his right hand. It was a long throw. Pulling back his arm, he released it at the first saraben and before it struck, the other knife from his left hand was following it through the air. As he pulled out the slingshot he noted that the first had struck its target perfectly, but some movement had given him away to the second animal, and his other knife sunk harmlessly into the soft mud hilt first. Four seconds after his first throw, he had let off a shot which took the bird cleanly in the head. It had been startled by the actions of the other creatures, but had failed to discover the danger before being added to the night’s menu.
    Drahc was feeling cheery that night for the first time since he left. The bird that he’d killed was extremely good, and a welcome change of diet. He had also managed to partially forget, at least temporarily, the incident which had made it necessary for him to set out on this journey.
    When the leftover meat was packed away and his canteen refilled, he rested for the night.
    It was two days later that he lost his canteen. The last thing he could remember was placing it on his belt where it hung by a leather strap. Sometime during the night it had fallen of, and a short, yet violent, wind storm had removed any chance of his recovering it. With three days left to go there was less than one chance in five that he would make the edge of the desert.
    Thankful People: Dynamic Juggernaut
  8.  
    He is gonna die. I just know it!
    •  
      CommentAuthorTrenchcoat
    • CommentTimeJan 24th 2009 edited
     
    Now, now. Just because every other character in the story is dead? We shouldn't jump to conclusions, even if they are logical.
  9.  
    The evening after he lost his water he started an hour earlier than he had been, traveling while there was still light in the sky. As it neared morning his throat had become completely dry and his tongue felt sticky. He had been sucking on pebbles to draw moisture into his mouth the whole night long. While he prepared his camp his heart began to sink with the thought that he would not succeed even in getting out of the desert in which he had lived for so many years.
    Within three hours of the next night’s trek, he knew he would not make it. His pace had slowed considerably without water, and he was still three days from the edge at his new pace.
    This time he did not stop when dawn came around. Another night without water would find him to weak to continue. Instead he rested for an hour and then kept on into the rapidly growing heat of the desert morning.
    He passed out twice before noon, and his tongue was swollen hugely from the lack of moisture. When at last he gave in and collapsed for the last time it was early afternoon. He managed to roll into the partial shade of a stand of small cacti before the brilliantly lit sky went totally black.
    Thankful People: Dynamic Juggernaut
  10.  

    Noooo!!! You can't kill him off! *pouts*  I like him.  He gets to live.  I demand it!  :-D  The tongue thing must be very uncomfortable, I hope it never happens to me.

     

    So ... is this the part where a beautiful young maiden rescues him?

     

    Animatronic Anemone

  11.  
    Hmm so I thought I had posted more. . . must of just been reading it to myself.
  12.  
    The small caravan had been taken across the desert’s edge to make up for lost time. Its leader and owner was cunning and greedy for all his pretense of jolly friendliness.
    When a scout spotted the figure lying in the sun, a victim of its pitiless rays, he trotted his horse over and began to check its pockets. As he searched, however, he noticed that breath still entered and exited the man’s lungs. Quickly taking out his canteen, he sprayed his face with liquid and held up his head, getting him to swallow a small amount without choking on it. Then he hefted him onto his horse, and took him to the caravan owner’s wagon.
  13.  
    Hann Trimend viewed the figure which he had ordered placed on the wagon floor craftily. He then motioned off the scout with a wave of his hand, and rapidly set to work removing all objects of value from the man’s (or was it a boy?) clothing. He found several hidden daggers of excellent quality and a book which contained some interesting writing and diagrams. Secreting the stolen items, he summoned a maid in to care for him, and told one of his workers to move the unconscious figure to the supply wagon.
    The name of the scout who had found Drahc was Yole, and he returned to the location where Drahc had been lying to retrieve his staff. He returned to the wagon where he had laid him in time to see the Merchant hiding some items which he was unable to identify, although it made him suspicious. His approach had been silent and he backed away and came up noisily, deciding to act unaware of what he had seen.
    When he again reached the wagon he pulled aside its entrance flap and laid the staff by his unconscious discovery. Then he returned to his task of scouting.
  14.  
    Drahc awoke with aching eyes and a severe headache caused from dehydration. He sat up groggily, and realized that he was lying on some old matting, and that the room was shaking. After discovering that he was in a wagon he attempted to rise, but cried out when his swollen feet would not hold him. The soles were dry and blistered, and felt twice as large a usual. He set his teeth as the pain hit suddenly.
    A flap at the front of the wagon opened, and a young woman plainly dressed hurried to where he lay and said, “Oh, you’re awake, good. Don’t move, you will hurt yourself. Here, have some water.” He drank thirstily from the small wooden cup, not having realized just how thirsty he was. The water hit his scorched throat like a soothing ointment on a wound. He greedily drained the cup of its contents three times without even taking time for sufficient breath in between gulps.
    Laying down the cup he sighed thankfully, and asked. “Where are we going, and where did you find me?” He stopped questioning her for a moment, glanced at his feet, and then asked one last question. “Where are my shoes?”
    The maid smiled slightly and replied, “I will tell what I know, but you will have to speak with the caravan master. He ordered us to place you in this wagon after you were found by one of the scouts. Yole, I believe his name was. He brought you to Hann Trimend, that’s the caravan master’s name. Then he went back out to where you were and returned with the staff he found there. We were unable to find any other identifying objects on you when we were told to move you here.”
    At this point she paused a went over to some baggage and started rummaging around. Then she returned with several large pieces of cloth, which she rapped around his swollen feet and ankles after soaking them in warm water. After this she continued her explanation.
    “You were in almost critical condition, and I doubt you would have lasted for more than another hour out in the desert sun. When Yole found you, you were lying where some cacti cast shade over your head, but only for a short while longer. We had to cut your shoes off of your feet because they were so swollen.”
    •  
      CommentAuthorTrenchcoat
    • CommentTimeMar 28th 2009
     
    Evil merchant. :D
  15.  
    Baaaad. >:| Admonitory Anemone
  16.  

    *is pondering blistered and swollen feet  - and doesn't think anything could sound much more painful*

  17.  

    *has fallen asleep, for waiting so long*