The Puppeteer of Sands

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NathreeDe'Shezbron
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Posts: 1259
Joined: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:13 am
Location: Dublin CA

The Puppeteer of Sands

Post by NathreeDe'Shezbron »

Apart from the general location, and names of cities, this story has no impact on Forgotten Realms, I could have set this in some other place, but Elwyn is a character I played in the Forgotten Realms setting, and I'm truly horrible with making up names. No "big league" characters are used or in any way referenced. Even though I don't think this will be an issue, but I would very much like it if this story was kept my own, and not used with out my knowledge. This is just for fun, not really meant for anything but entertainment. But, anyone is welcomed, and encouraged, to post any critiques or general thoughts in the OOC thingy I'm gonna put up... sooner or later :D.

The hot dry sands of the Calim Desert drifted silently on the wispy breezes that occasionally blew through the small encampment of tents. At the center, was a roughly circular oasis, not even a dozen feet in radius. Yet even that meager plot of fertile land served the purposes of this extremely small community. There were perhaps only twenty or so living in the half dozen tents, and though the majority was children, no laughter could be heard through the thin cloth walls of the tents. Only clinking of metal on metal, and the occasional fizzle of electricity. Much more common was a soft cry of pain and surprise, as a stronger jolt of electricity arced through the air. Usually followed by a scuffle of feet, and some words of comfort from an adult. This was obviously a community with a purpose other than simple survival, in the harshness of the Calim Desert. In fact, it was a school, of sorts. It taught only one art, however, the skills needed to become a puppet master, a user of corpses more limber and much more deadly than the common undead created by wizards and their like.
[t:wld1o007]Of course, as with any school, there were teachers and students. And amongst the students there were varying degrees of skill. A lad by the name of Abdul-Azim, a fourth year student, was the golden boy, favored by the head of the teachers, he had already crafted his own flesh golem by the end of his first year of school, and would proudly ride upon it, from one tent to the next, even if the distance was only two of the golem's strides. On the other end of the spectrum was a fairly scrawny little child, his long dark hair was incredibly unkempt, and always seemed to stick out of his head at the most strangest of angles imaginable. His bright green eyes instantly alienated him from the rest of the students, and the fact that his eyes seemed to always dart about the place hadn't helped much either.
[t:wld1o007]This boy, it seemed, was more interested in learning the makings of the weaponry, that all the students were taught to use, as opposed to the crafting and controlling of the puppets themselves. The teachers would always shake their heads about his lack of progress in the "important areas" and the other students constantly derided him, as worthless, and lazy. Yet, by the end of his second year, Almahdi has more than surpassed all that the school could teach him in the arts martial. However, all of the second year students were required to pass a test of sorts. It was a duel, where the first day's participants were allowed to choose their combatants. The second day was mostly for those who had been defeated in the previous day.
[t:wld1o007]That fateful day dawned, and by the time the teachers had come around to raising the second year tent, Almahdi was already fully awake. Customarily, the first challenge of the day was decided the day before, but Almahdi had no use for customs. As soon as the ring of onlookers and challengers, had formed, he stepped in. He turned around, looking at the shocked expressions of the teachers, and the whispers of the students. His smile was the first any had seen on that youth's face, and as he completed his turn, Almahdi's eyes settled on the face of Abdul-Azim. Even though he had spoken no words, or made any other gestures, his challenge was clear to all present. A smug smile creased the face of Azim, and he leisurely slid off the back of his golem. With no particular hurry, he stepped into the ring, "Ah, I see that the serpent wishes to soar with the hawk." A smattering of laughter from the students echoed back at him. "Very well, I shall oblige you." He pulled out a scroll of parchment, and unraveling it on the ground, jerked his hand upwards. The surface of the paper rose, and fell away, revealing a small dark skinned man. The person was obviously dead, and was, in fact one of the bodies kept in stock by the school for such occasions.
Lightnings crackled and flashed between the finger's of Azim's hand, and as they arced into the dead body, its limbs started to move, and when Azim stepped back, with a flick of his wrist, it took a step forward. There were whispers of praise amongst the students, and even a small chorus of applause amongst the teachers. It seemed everyone was waiting with some anticipation as to what Elwyn would do.
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.

Zyeke
NathreeDe'Shezbron
Lord||Lady
Posts: 1259
Joined: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:13 am
Location: Dublin CA

Post by NathreeDe'Shezbron »

Almahdi was obiously impressed with Azim's work, who wouldn't be? But Almadi was sure of himself, and sure in the long hours and years he had spent learning, and practicing this style of fighting. A slight upturning of his lips was the only indication of his self assurance. He slowly placed his hands together, and curling his fingers inwards, sharply pulled them apart. Then he sank into a comfortable fighting stance, hands held as if his nails were sharp claws, in front of his face.
[t:3uex87c1]After a few seconds, of nothing happening, whispers, chuckles, and soon laughter rippled through the ring of onlookers. Azim too tried hard not to laugh, but this was too funny, to the sensibilities of the star pupil of the school. Wiping the tears from his eyes, with one hand, and with a flick of his wrist, Azim sent the puppet running at Almahdi. It raised a fist, and pulled it back, a powerful punch that was aimed at his head. The green eyed boy didn't even move, as the puppet closed the distance between the two of them, and only at the last second did he step forward, cupping the puppets pulled back hand with his own. Yet there his inaction ended. His other hand steaked forward, a small amount of electricity sparking form his fingers, to run along the nearly invisible wires that stretched from the gloves on his hands. The boy used the charge to attract the wires to his open hand, and gripping them, he gave a mighty jerk. The arm of the puppet split with a crunch, as wires severed the bone. Elwyn tossed the hand he held to the ground, and once again assumed his crouch.
[t:3uex87c1]The shocked expression on Azim's and the other students faces were so sweet to the boy who had been ridiculed all his life, yet he couldn't let his concentration waver. The puppet straightened, unconcerned for the loss of its limb. Azim nodded approvingly, "So the serpent does have some venom after all. But, it's hardly enough." Once again, the puppet barreled in, its other arm raised. Almahdi couldn't keep a smile off his lips, as he saw the same thing being used against him once again. As the puppet raised its other arm, Almahdi stepped forward, and just as he was about to cut its hand off, he felt a sudden blow to his ribs, and he felt himself being lifted off the ground by the power of blow. The air was blasted out of his lungs, and he was fairly certain he heard a faint crack.
He landed on the hot sand, and as he instinctively tried to take a deep breath to refill his lungs, he inhaled a mouthful of sand, and as he tried to cough to clear his lungs, he felt a sharp pain in his side with each breath he took. Dimly, Almahdi could hear the voice of a female teacher, something about a dangerous wound, and then all faded to darkness.

[t:3uex87c1]Almahdi awoke, looking at the white top of a tent, and feeling the warmth of the sand on his back. Dimly his mind registered that it must still be day, or else he would be sleeping on a reed mat. That was good, he hadn't been out long, he hoped. He tried to sit, but a sharp pain in his side had giving a small groan of pain, and he decided to accept his fate. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, and the face of Afya, one of the few women in the teaching staff, and only one of two healers the school kept on staff. He felt her hands softly probing his side, and when he cringed from pain, she shook her head, "That was an incredibly foolish thing to do, Almahdi, even for you." He looked at her mutely, and she only shook her head, "You must not move for at least seven darknesses, or else you could worsen your injury. During the fight, you took a direct hit to the ribs, and you could have easily pierced your heart. Thank the gods you were spared. Now sleep." She said, waving a hand over his face. It seemed as if little motes of light were left behind in her wake, and Almahdi felt his eyes close. "Yes, sleep would be nice" was all he could think, before the darkness fell again.
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.

Zyeke
NathreeDe'Shezbron
Lord||Lady
Posts: 1259
Joined: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:13 am
Location: Dublin CA

Post by NathreeDe'Shezbron »

When Alhmadi awoke, he felt the texture of cloth under his skin, and assumed he must have been dressed as he slept. He tried to sit again, and it didn't particularly hurt, so he stood up, and pushing aside the flap of the tent, he walked out onto the warm sand. He had to squint his eyes in the bright midday sun. While he slept, life had gone on, and now the school was a solitary island of life in the barren sea of sand. As he looked around, he saw Abdul-Azim, riding around the camp on his flesh golem, and Alhmadi bowed his head in the traditional sign of defeat as the boy passed by. Alhmadi walked out of the tent, and straightening, felt a pang on his side, and putting his hand on it, he felt the bandages that were wrapped around his chest. He made his way to the tent that housed the teachers, and making sure he didn't disturb anything, pushed the flap aside, "Excuse me, masters?" He asked quietly, "May I ask what happened during that fight?"

Without even looking at him, a large balding man said, "You were beaten by your own pride. Puppets are as much a weapon as those strings you use, and yet you toss them away. Why did you not summon a puppet?"

Alhmadi looked at the floor, and could only whisper, "I cannot."

"And why not?"

"I didn't learn..."

"And why not?"

Alhmadi couldn't answer. He only stood mutely staring at the floor. "Let me tell you something, young lad." The man said, "In the desert, such things as morality or honor do not apply. There is only to survive, and to die. A dead hero isn't worth a living coward."

Alhmadi could only silently leave, a mixture of emotions whirling around in his heart, and a single thought blooming in his mind. He would become the best.
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.

Zyeke
NathreeDe'Shezbron
Lord||Lady
Posts: 1259
Joined: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:13 am
Location: Dublin CA

Post by NathreeDe'Shezbron »

The next day, instead of training with his wires, Alhmadi took out the little iron doll that all students were given, and sitting cross legged on his reed mat, he cupped his hand, and furrowing his brow, caused sparks to fly. The little doll levitated slightly, and very shakily, rose its left arm. And even more shakily, it rose its right arm. Suddenly, a bright flash lit the tent, waking the other three boys who slept there, and the doll was shot through the tent roof. Alhmadi stared at his hand, as the lightning flashed and sparked along his skin. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, and his skin returned to its normal shade. He heard the whispers of the children behind him, but he hardly cared. There was power in this style of fighting too, he realized. Not being on the front lines had its own advantages. The pain in his side was evidence of that.
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.

Zyeke
NathreeDe'Shezbron
Lord||Lady
Posts: 1259
Joined: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:13 am
Location: Dublin CA

Post by NathreeDe'Shezbron »

Ok, sorry, but I found another fun little RP website, and I've continued this story in their Stories section. Here is the link:

[url=http://www.faerunrp.com/viewtopic.php?f ... 9:34qd3kx2]www.faerunrp.com/viewtopic.php?f=133&t=839[/url:34qd3kx2]

If you liked it so far... well send me a message or something of the like, and I'll probably relocate back here if I get enough responses :D. This is the place where it all started for me :P
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.

Zyeke
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