Ballad of the Brothers: The Lion

Chapter One

Caiaphas drained the last few drops of his waterskin and groaned. The last oasis was two days ago, and he still had at least another day in the miserable heat until the next one. It was a month since he left his village in search of the Temple of Memories, and he was lost since the first day. That was because nobody could remember where it was. How he survived that long to begin with can only be described as deus ex machina, but Caiaphas was used to it. He didn't like to rely on his foresight, but he had to if he wanted to make it out of the desert alive.

Out of the sand shot a shadowy hand, covered in plumes of dark mist. The area around the hand seemed distorted, as if the very fabric of reality was being violated by it's existence. Caiaphas let out a grunt of surprise as he was dragged down into the scorching sands. The moment it touched his skin, it got burned. Luckily, he was prepared for the desert sands, wearing robes and wrapping his hands and feet in bandages every morning. He ended up in the beast's den of sandstone with only minor burns to his fingers and a pair of broken wooden sandals.

Still having his ankle in the beast's grasp, he fumbled around for his dagger as it was bringing him into it's mouth, which had the darkness of the void itself inside of it. He cut through the hand, slashing furiously at it, and falling to the floor. He rolled to the side as a claw nearly impaled him. Hopping to his feet, he focused on avoiding the beast's attacks as he surveyed his surroundings.

The cave itself was a cleverly hollowed out alcove under the desert sands. There was a sort of tunnel that led to the surface, and the roof was supported by natural sandstone pillars. The beast had hollowed out the rocks to set a trap for him, it seems, as it seemed hurriedly built. Small amounts of sand leaked in through the tunnel, but not enough to flood the place.

Caiaphas began to formulate a plan after getting a grip on his surroundings. The beast was enraged, having lost an arm, and so it was charging blindly after him. He baited it into attacking a pillar whenever he ran past one. Eventually, though, the beast had him cornered. Or so it thought. He had cleverly ran to a corner of the cave where the collapse wouldn't happen, observing the cracks on the ceiling. He threw his knife at the cracks as hard as he could, sending the roof crashing down on the creature's head. He wrapped his cloak around his face hurriedly as hot sand flooded the place, and trudged up the slope into the daylight, where he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Thinking back on the situation, Caiaphas wondered why he didn't know when he was being ambushed. He could normally react before things even happened, due to his fast reflexes and his gift of foresight. Was it because he was distracted when he attacked? He pondered this as he sat on a slab of sandstone and began to repair his sandals.

He wasn't able to get too much of a good look at the beast due to how fast the entire situation happened, and how frantically he had to search for a way out. What he did know, however, was that the aura surrounding the beast matched the description given to him by the other seers of creatures that suddenly appeared out of nowhere one day. No one was able to see them coming despite being able to look as far into the future as the moment of their death. Not even the chief, although he was acting strange when questioned... Caiaphas just chalked it down to him being stressed out. After all, for someone who was prepared for everything their entire life to be taken by surprise for once...It must have been extremely shocking.

He slipped into his sandals and began to walk into the direction of the next oasis. That situation had wasted an entire 10 minutes, including repairs. In the desert, that much time can mean the difference between life and death. As Caiaphas peered into the future, he noticed slight changes in his visions. For one, the sun was noticeably lower...

He grinned. All this did was give him hope that he could indeed change the future.

He wondered how long the sand would delay the beast. His guard was up the entire time that he was fixing his sandals. After watching the sandy slope for another few minutes he cleaned and sheathed his dagger and began to walk towards the setting sun once more.

Jagd Sanguine sat on a massive plateau surrounded by a sea of magnetic sand, formed from the erosion of a large amount of lodestones. The result was an eclipse shaped desert and savannah. To the west was the Hill of Swords, a garden devastated by a recent war. Nobles turned scavengers were abundant in those lands. Needless to say, bartering was a popular pasttime among them.
Further west still were the nations that made up the Holy Alliance. They were fighting the eastern countries for centuries.
To the south of the Jagd was the Ururu Archipelago, a strange collection of obsidian islands in an ocean of fire. The much feared Reindeer People shepherded their Woolen Dragons to graze on the rich minerals. To the north of the Jagd was the Cleansing Sea, a sea with vicious winds that obliterated unweary vessels on the daily. Across that sea was the neutral kingdom of Kili, a sort of cultural melting pot and haven for adventurers of all kinds.

As the sun was setting, Caiaphas came across a bowl shaped sandstone pit with a raised centre. He decided to set up camp there for the night. He got out a large sheet and nailed it into the stone on the inside of the bowl using some nails he brought with him and the hard pommel of his knife, making a draped section. He then set up a simple hammock made out of a sheet nailed to either side of the interior. He knew better than to sleep on the desert floor. He had lived there all his life.
His stomach growled fiercely. He was out of rations and the last light was fading over the horizon. He began to scavenge the inside of the bowl for life. He found a handful of scorpions. He broke their tails off and tied the critters into a rag. He put the tails in a seperate rag. He could dry them out and use them for a variety of things.
He heard the squeaking of bats and said a quick prayer of thanks. He chased them into the bowl and got them into his rucksack when they were cornered. He sustained a few bites but he was just going to rub herb spit on them later.
He held the closed bag which practically lifted him off the ground with all the struggling in the air. He was winding up. Then came the messy part. He slammed the bag repeatedly against the floor until the commotion stopped. The gritty smell of guano and the irony smell of blood seeped through the bag. He felt bad for doing it but it was survival of the fittest. Other living beings die so that the consumer can live. He could only do the bats the mercy of stunning them before slitting their throats.
After the smelly and slippery work of dressing the corpses and straining the blood into his canteen, he wrapped the bats and scorpions in a roll of parchment and buried them in the burning sands. He chewed an antiseptic herb and rubbed the juice into his wounds. It stung. Badly.
After taking a nutritious, disgusting swig from his waterskin, rolling the bat excrement into pellets, and dusting the sand off of himself, he fell into a brooding sleep. He dreamed about all the comforts of home he was leaving behind. Strangely enough, though, he did not miss them.