VI. He rested atop a rocky promontory, looking down upon the sprawling city of Morroc. Behind the tall walls that enclose the Oasis City, people swarmed through the streets like andre ants from Ant Hell.
Travelers added to the already crowded population of the city; for today was the Day of the Dead, a yearly festival honoring the deceased. Merry-making would invade the streets of Morroc by dusk, when people would come out masked as one of the Dead. Most businesses would close early today, except for those that would cater to the nightlong revelry: taverns and mask vendors. Hanging skeleton decors decking the streets made Morroc look like some garish City of the Dead.
Fynn Elenium sat with folded legs under the shade of a palm tree, resting a bit before climbing down the plateau towards the city's southern gates. A faint wind stirred up eddies of dust in the air. The earth was just starting to bake; the sun had begun its upward climb to its noon throne but an hour ago. He adjusted the sakkat upon his head, thankful for the added shade it offered. At the south gate, guards were inspecting a merchant train of pecopeco-drawn carts.
He had run through the desert the entire night, after he left Grist's cave yesterday. His brief stopover at the sandman's abode brought more thoughts to his troubled mind.
"You still don't belong" were the sandman's first words after he had listened to Fynn's account of his year-long training at the Temple of Assassins. It was a flat-out declaration.
As always, Grist had spoken in riddles. Fynn couldn't decide if it was done deliberately or because the sandman just wasn't a native speaker of the human tongue. Either way, Fynn was incensed by how close the sandman always got to what was on his mind.
Of course, that was Grist's talent. Unlike normal sandmen, Grist possessed a ruby-like glowing gem upon his forehead. From the day he was born, his fellow tribesmen had feared the strange mental powers imbued by the crystal birthmark, and Grist was soon forced to flee and live in isolation.
"You still don't belong."
"What do you mean? I've journeyed across the world for this. I've found the Temple. I'm now an Assassin."
"And yet you know that what you truly seek can't be found among the sands of this-realm-called-Sograt, Storm of Sorrows."
The sandman did indeed have a point. Fynn had accomplished all the goals he had set for himself: find the Temple, become an Assassin, and work for the common good of all Rune Midgard. The artifact--which he had promised Spinner he would destroy, but had proven to be impervious so far--was safe in Grist's cave, concealed beneath magical sands; only the sandman himself could retrieve it without harm. All his were goals complete, save for one. And briefly, he wondered what had happened to her, after he left Alberta. Had she married another, for her father?
But Alberta was half a world away and he had things to do. Venris Dastonia would have to wait. What if he had chosen the wrong path? Would he even know the difference?
Once more, Grist's reply from the previous day echoed in his mind: "You can't be sure. Just like everyone else. It's the limit of life. You'll just have to keep on living, trusting what you believe in. What do you believe in, Storm of Sorrows?"
He rose, dusting the seat of his form-fitting suit. He needed to make contact with the Sword of Valor's commander, this Valcrist.
Heheh. She's back! Our only commenting regular reader! XD
Thanks for catching the tense lapses once again.
Fynn just completed assassin training just now, and this is his first mission. The Temple Assassins are a clandestine group that wants to preserve balance on Rune Midgard, though they favor the Good side rather than being purely neutral. Venris' bounty was announced in Alberta and environs, and yes, Fynn had wandered far from the port city since he wanted to start fresh. But still he thinks of her.
Yup. Venris did seem to forget about that thief. You gotta love women, no? *ducks quickly* XD
