II. Desert-dwelling creatures were often nocturnal--resting someplace out of the sun during the day and hunting at night--and the natural inhabitants of the Sograt were no exception. Brightly colored scorpions, the elusive lizard frilldoras, the insectile metallers...they all made the desert come alive during the hours of darkness. One notable exception would be the nomadic warlike tribes of sandmen--for they have little need to conserve moisture.
Tonight, as the moon hung low in the cloudless sky, as the desert nightlife continued its never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, and as the eastern horizon glowed light with the heralds of dawn, a transient traveled through the desert. A cloud of dust trailed Fynn Elenium as he ran across the sand dunes, the open leather half-skirt of his form-fitting suit flaring out behind him. The cold of the desert night hardly made him sweat.
He wore a broad-brimmed conical straw hat--a sakkat--useful for protection against the direct glare of the sun. That is, if ever he needed to travel during the day. As it was, he was near the Ruins, which meant he would reach the Oasis City of Morroc, Jewel of the Sograt, tomorrow morning. He'd have to stop and rest for the day, and that was why he chose the path that led through the Ruins--tumbled-down remains of a long-forgotten civilization, now being simultaneously buried and eroded by the desert sands.
Two days ago, in the darkly lit halls of the Temple of Assassins, he was summoned to an audience with the Grandfather of Assassins. "Fynn Elenium," the wizened Grandfather had begun. "Darkness grips the city of Morroc. A threat much more immediate than this impending Ragnarok. A company of swordsmen from Prontera is already on their way. Work with them." And with that, he took leave of the Grandfather and immediately prepared for the journey.
He had packed light: enough food and water to last the five-day run towards the oasis city, his pair of katars, and a pouch filled with zeny. Dawn found him already many miles from the Temple, making good time across the desert sands of the Sograt.
The journey proved to be uneventful. He had acquired much desert lore since he came to the Temple nearly two years ago. Not much, but enough to know that insisting on traveling the desert during the day would be death. He nearly died once, out here. His knowledge of the desert also allowed him to avoid roving bands of sandmen over the last couple of days.
Funny. To grow up in Morroc and flee across the Sograt, with no knowledge of how to survive in the desert, Fynn thought. He didn't know there was still so much to learn. Not until he joined the Assassins and received training in the ways of the shadows.
To gather intelligence and fight against the Darkness, Fynn repeated the Assassins' Code in his mind. It was his mantra, his source of strength these days. Something in the Grandfather's tone of voice during the briefing gnawed at him, something he couldn't put a finger on. Is it because this is my first mission? No...it's something else.
He ran as he mentally chewed upon everything he'd been told about this mission, leaping to avoid the challenging stinger of a stray scorpion that lay in his way. All around him, the sculptured granite bones of the Ruins rose, bleached bright by dust-laden winds. Up ahead, hidden behind tons of broken masonry, he found a cave breaking up the sheer rock cliff that thrust up out of the sands.
Just in time, he congratulated himself, as the sun broke through the eastern horizon and began to color the ancient architecture of the Ruins. The air was still brisk with the almost-freezing cold of the desert night, but soon, Fynn knew, the sun would bake everything with its scorching heat. He planned to catch some sleep and resume travel at dusk.
He ducked inside the low overhang of the entrance and into the cool darkness of the interior. The small chamber beyond stretched on into the bowels of the rock. Towards the rear of the cave, a faint gurgling sound can be heard and Fynn could only barely see the clear pool of water that was fed by a natural spring. Along one wall of the cave were lined battered books of all sizes, and sand lay in piles upon the uneven floor, as if the wind frequently blew dust inside.
Taking off the sakkat, he walked towards the pool. Running was a very strenuous mode of travel after all, even when done during the night. He dropped his leather knapsack to the sandy floor, and knelt at pool's edge, taking off his gloves. He began to drink handfuls of the refreshing water.
And then he felt it with senses honed to near-perfection by the Temple. Someone else was in the cave with him! He crouched, all muscles tensing, ready to react to whatever danger was coming. And relaxed a split-second later.
"I said I'd return for a visit, and here I am, Grist," he said quietly, then scooped another handful of water into his mouth.
The voice that answered simultaneously came from the walls, and the floors. It was as loud as the rumbling of an earthquake, yet as silent as shifting sand grains.
"So you have, Storm of Sorrows, so you have," it said.
