Memoirs of a nomad

[drachle]

THE KIPUCKA

With little time to think, all the years of practice come into play. In a fraction of a second, I swing one hand down to grab my magic amplifiers while my body bends down to a crouching position. Jamming my hands in the faithful amps I push with all my might upwards throwing myself up in the air. The Kipucka instinctively snaps its pincers around wildly and I feel a burning sensation on the sole of my foot. As the sap comes boiling up to the tips of my fingers and the spell come rushing out, I fall back down to the ground.

I scream from the pain and wobble disoriented for a second. No time to ponder on what has happened, but by the looks of it, I’m not going to win this fight if I stick around too long. I run past the Kipucka but she manages to slash me across the back. The scorching pain is almost unbearable but I must run like I have never run before! This is one time where all the running techniques will come in handy or never will. I see more Tyranchas to my left and right and I barely make it around them while I hear the tapping of the Kipucka legs on the ground just behind me. I keep running for what seems an eternity but never do they cease to tap. I’m growing tired and I can feel the cramps in my legs; I notice I am also slightly limping but the pain has gone. It must be the adrenaline. It starts raining.

I keep focussed on those Jublas ahead and keep running without thought to my discomfort. This is life or death. I must run. There is no negotiating here. No time to think.

I summon all my strength and feel it rushing in my legs, giving me an extra boost and then I start hearing the tapping getting lower and further. I think the Kipucka has abandoned the chase but I don’t turn around to check! The Jublas are straight ahead. Another twenty meters and I’m free!

I don’t dare look behind me but keep running into the forest of Jublas until I can’t anymore and just drop with a thump and roll over a few times on the moss. I end up on my side, stretched around the base of a Jubla, half circling it, my face hidden between my arms. I stay semi-conscious for a few minutes more. I gradually feel the pain again in my foot, my legs and my back. I can’t move yet. I’m just so happy to be alive, but so tired and soaked. I feel weary but I can’t go to sleep yet. I must make sure the danger is gone; that I am safe here and that my wounds are not too serious.

After a long time, I slowly uncoil and slowly stand up but find I have to lean against the Jubla with my hand flat against its bark.

Still propping myself with my hand on the Jubla stem, I balance myself on my right leg, bend and swing my left leg across my right knee and stare more closely at the side of my foot. The gash is deep and runs from my big toe to the back of my ankle. Blood is oozing out at a steady flow. A few of the sandal’s leather straps are segmented and thrown across the sticky blood. I can hardly walk like this. I’ll have to stop here and bandage my foot tightly and do some makeshift repairs on my sandals before I continue. I'm hoping my back isn't as bad. I look back into the darkness and curse aloud in the direction of the Kipuckas. “Damn kitins! Some day we will get the better of you!” “We”, of course, meaning all Atysians united.

The tingling sensation behind my mask is growing. The heat is almost unbearable. I feel it rising from my chin and over my cheeks to finally surround my eyes, a faint pain throbbing behind as if something was pushing against the back of my globes. The head ache is back. “The Kamis must not be happy…,” I murmur, “but why?”

Feeling dizzy, I bring my leg down. Then, holding my breath and squinting with pain, my back on the stem, I let myself slide to the ground to finally exhale heavily, as the pain radiates across my backbone when I hit the ground.

“This has not been a good fight,” I tell myself, “but at least I will live to embellish it on a stinga rum binge. I must get this all cleaned up and my wounds bandaged” but I can’t keep my eyes opened and fall unconscious.

[drachle]

Consciousness comes with the noxious smell of rotting blood. I keep my eyes closed and listen to my surroundings, trying to absorb what has happened. In the sinister darkness I percieve through my eyelids, I can feel the winds caressing my skin as I try to remember where I am and what I am doing here. I’m not sure if the heavy snake moving across my belly is real or a figment of my imagination.

Little by little, everything is coming back. I remember the Kipucka, the dash, the agony, the gash across my left foot. Am I half-dead and rotting here on the ground while scavengers are devouring me alive?

I unhurriedly open my eyes, afraid for the scenery I will discover and all I see is a bluish grey wall of flesh undulating in front of me. Suddenly I feel a wet mektoub nuzzle interrogating my face while I hear its inquisitive grunts. I understand I am not in danger anymore. Mektoubs are social but more nosy than dangerous. I wait until it has satisfied its curiosity and moves away to prop my back up onto the Jubla behind me.

I remember my foot and bend my leg on the ground closer to me. Some of the blood has spread and dried into a scab.

“How long have I been out?” I wonder. “Have I lost a lot of blood?”

It is then I remember the Karavan Teleport Mechanism I had seen just before my dreadful encounter with the Kipucka. If I have gone in the right direction maybe I can get help from the Karavan. Though I am Zorai, didn’t the Karavan help all of us homins at one time? Maybe I can appeal to their will to help us or even flatter their ego if need be. Though my wounds don’t seem to bleed anymore, I’m sure a good healing wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I can coax them in sharing a bit of material to repair my sandals.

Putting both my hands behind me on the stem of the Jubla, I pull myself up on my feet and look around. A few Mektoubs, five meters away, taunt each other with their nuzzle.

“It must be mating season…” I force a grin.

I keep scanning around and the scenery is breath-taking. Beautiful phosphorescent green, purple and aqua blue medusas are floating above ground, their tentacles swaying under them, as ballerina arms undulate to the rhythm of an unheard symphony. In the distance, I catch a few Jugulas, ominously pacing around, waiting for their next lunch to deliver itself.
“What waste!” I tell myself, thinking of the beautiful scenery that can’t be appreciated by all. “I’m not going to investigate any further in that direction, that’s for sure.”

Scanning all around I spot the Karavan Teleport Mechanism. It is several meters from me but back towards where I had met the Kipuckas. I can’t afford another fight, but I must get help if I want to get out of here alive. I decide to take my chances on the Karavan though very prudently and start limping towards the worst deception yet…

[drachle]

THE KARAVAN AGENT

Nearing the Karavan Teleport, I notice the Karavan agent doesn’t even turn his head to assess my arrival. He is of Zorai nature. Completely oblivious to my presence, it seems, there is no movement of any type, not even the slight turning of his head. Of course, behind his mask, I can not clearly see if his eyes are following me but I figure they are.

I have managed to sneak my way across Shooting Meadows to reach here but the welcome is far from what I expected. I stand in front of the Karavan Agent and wait while peering into the mask. Nothing. No movement and not a sound.

I guess he's waiting for me.

“Greetings!” I start.

*Silence*

“Anything I can do to help adorn your quiet life at the moment?” I muse.

*More silence*

I think I hear a sigh but I’m not sure. With the echoing winds in these huge caverns, you never know where certain noises are coming from.

I think to myself that I could take this zorai easily, but then… I remember the Karavan are surely lurking behind him. A few more attempts at normal communication and I finally turn on my heals with a feeling of utter disdain for his unkindly attitude.

“So is THAT what the Karavan teach us zorais…? Inhomin!” I think.

That zorai is a little too proud for my taste. He could at least have told me I wasn’t agile enough for his kind of missions! I’m guessing this means I must gain in experience before I can be of any assistance in his endeavours, though I doubt I want to do him this pleasure. I turn around and take a glance at the Teleport mechanism and remember why I am coming in limited aid of some Karavan and Kamis. The one horned machine seems dead but I know it hides a power beyond my dreams. There is some self satisfaction in knowing I will use their “benevolence” at my will at some point in time.

“Maybe next time” I concede… and walk off.

I saunter in the direction of a little flickering light in the distance. Longing the wall to the left, I’m hoping it is the flames of a small friendly camp.
At this point, I might as well get help there or, if they are hostile, die trying.

[drachle]

THE CAMP

As I get nearer and nearer, I realize there is no one at the camp. There are two tents, a flaming fire (sign of an owner not far away) and an old shattered wagon. A black pan lies beside the fire ready and waiting for the sizzling to begin. I’m thinking there must be a hunter not far away. I ponder on the decision to wait for its occupant and leave before I get into trouble but looking down at my foot I feel the need to take a few minutes and check it out. I sit near the fire; the tents and wall are behind me so I can see dangers from far. This place seems relatively quiet.

I look down at my foot. The gash seems to be healing on its own quite nicely. I look closer at the scab. The blood is almost black in the dark and I can see sparks of greens. Am I infected? A closer look shows herbs or a root-like substance mixed in with the dried blood. “Hmmm…” I wonder what to think of it. Maybe, while I was unconscious, the moss crept in the wound. I must wash it out thoroughly as soon as I can but I haven’t seen any water area in Under Spring so far. Prying around the camp I find a gourd and old cloth which will have to do. I wash the wound as thoroughly as I can but the substance seems to be incrusted into the scab. I think I will let it heal. I’m afraid to pull the scab away less it starts bleeding again and make things worst. Maybe the moss is actually helping. At this point, I’d believe this is a small way in which Atys is actually helping me heal. I don’t feel the pain anymore and the scab seems pretty strongly set to the adjacent darkened skin. Let’s hope for the best. My back does not feel any soreness so there’s hope yet for me.

“As long as this homin is friendly!”

I have acquired this weird habit of talking out loud. I think it is ok, as long as I don’t start answering myself, I guess. *A little grimace*

I turn back to the area and contemplate, once again in awe, how beautiful this Under Spring is. There are numerous radiant, greenish-white, semi-transparent plants that look like they were splattered on invisible walls. Their centers are a ball of sparkles flashing like multifaceted crystals of aqua.
As the fire dances before my eyes, it throws its shadowy arms across the ground towards Mektoubs and Yelks. They are wondering about among gigantic mushroom trees rooted strongly from the ground with huge necks of bark. Giant protractions emerge from the stem with small openings at their tips that seem to breathe in the air.

“Where have I noticed this before…?”

Suddenly it dawns on me. I seem to recall that the Jubla where I fell had similar protractions that seemed to breathe. Too dizzy and uncomfortable to notice details then, I had still registered this oddity before slumbering into unconsciousness. Everywhere there are reminders that Atys IS alive!

On the ground, not far ahead of the camp, are the traces of kitins: sticky webs that spread in circles on the moss. Were they left by Kibans or other kitins? I have no idea but it sure is worrisome to know they migrate around here sometimes. I feel for the homin who camps here… unless he is a nomad like I, and moves around. It dawns on me that maybe he is a kitin hunter and it might not be too safe to stick around, but it’s too late.

Just when I am thinking it might be best to leave the camp and try my luck on my own (Atys has taken care of me up until now), I see a homin’s shadow languidly walking towards me, holding a something dangling in one hand and a gun in the other.

[drachle]

THE SCOUT

A stout homin, the Fyros comes up to me with a smile. I can’t imagine why he feels so comfortable in front of a stranger. Maybe years of hunting in these parts had made him over confident or simply fatalistic, accepting new arrivals with a touch of philosophy. He throws his kill down and holsters his gun. I haven’t had time to notice what type it is. Bof! I would not probably recognize it anyways, it being of Fyros craftsmanship. Furthermore, if he was to use it, he would have done so already.

“So what brings you around these parts?” he bellows.

“I’ve heard of Fyros fame and wanted to come see for myself” I venture, testing him at the same time.

“Bah! You’ve heard much and not enough, if that’s the case.” He seems so detached from the outside world, I wonder how long he has been down here. “I am thinking you be wanting to get to the other side of Under Spring then?” he questers without hesitation. “That’s where all the dust and cavalry is” he beams.

Not too sure what he means, but unready to question his sanity just yet, I try: “Of course, if it’s no bother to you. I bet you could get me in contact with your...” I hesitate. “kinship.”

“HAHA!” he bawls again. “I recon I could do that or something close to, but not before we share a bottle of the finest.”

A jolly homin, if I say so myself. Is he trying to get my guard down? He seems sincere. Well, at this point, if he says he will help, I just have to be discreetly alert at all times and go with the flow I guess. If I don’t, he might become suspicious and by the looks of his stature, that wouldn’t be good even though I am taller than him. Somehow, I feel he has a lot more experience as a ruffian than the peaceful I.

I watch him get up and go into one of the tents. I figure one is for sleeping; the other is for his paraphernalia. A glance back at the broken wagon makes me wonder how he manages to move around with all the dangers that lurk around every corner.

“I may not look it, but I’m nimble with my way around here” he startles me. I remind myself to be more attentive. Has he noticed my glaring at the wagon? Is he referring to his offer of guidance? I have no idea.

“So, the hunt has been good, by the looks of it?” I say, while nodding at the kill he threw down near us, as he crouches back down on one knee. Now, I’m thinking for once it may not be a good idea to be sitting in mediation poise as I am now. He seems to keep his alertness on a high level though he tries to sound very self-assured. I can’t very well change my position now, less he thinks I’m suddenly on alert because of him.

Trying to distract his attention while I swing my legs around and crouch uncomfortably like him on one knee, I continue while pointing at the raw flesh morsels:”Looks like he cut himself to pieces for ya.”

I’ve never been much with humour. I’m learning since I’ve spent some time with trykers during a good stinga rum splurge. Well, according to him, it seems its going to be Firewine from now on.

He grins half-heartily. “Nothing better than firewine, hearty meat and good company to warm yourself out here!” I believe him.

*Another roar of joviality*

He really is starting to sound like a good guy. I hope all Fyros are like him, but somehow I doubt it. He throws a few slices of meat on the pan and puts it atop the fire across two burning logs. It immediately starts to sizzle. Now I know why he has been keeping the fire going while he was gone hunting.

“What kind of meat are we having?” I question. “I’m not too familiar with the preys around here.”

*Another bellowing laugh.* “Might want to try it out before I share this bit of information!”

Decidedly, I’m getting funnier and funnier and I don’t know how.

“So what name you go by? I’m Kyllo Ibirian” he almost boasts.

Not certain about which name to use, I test him again: “Drachle.”

His eyes grow wide and piercing all of a sudden but almost imperceptibly. He’s trying to hide his surprise but why? Does he know me? …or maybe my name is similar to somebody he knows? I risk it: “Have you heard of me?”

A little uneasy, he spurts out: “Why? Should I have?”

“Well, it’s just that you seemed a little surprised at my name.”

“Actually, you remind me of someone but I guess I was wrong.”

I have a feeling he doesn’t want to push this further and for all the help he can give me and this hearty meal, I think I owe it to him to be honest.

“Alright. I won’t push it” I say with understanding.

“Nah! It’s nothing really. Did you know that’s a Fyros name…? At least… I know DRACHLE means dragon or dragon’s scale or something, but you’re zorai, I’m sure somebody has already told ya that.” he spurts kind of amused. Now the roles are inversed and he’s the bad comedian. A little awkward.

“I’m game for another drop in the gutter if you are.” I say, nodding at the bottle. He seems assured by the turn of events and decides I should see the bottom of that bottle that night, while he’ll tell me a little about the Fyros history.

My recollection of that night is a hot humid tent, smelling of old tanned mektoub skin and fibres dropping from the seams and tickling my face as I fell asleep.

[drachle]

THE HUNTER

“Alright, Tyrancha. Grab your belongings and let’s get this packer going.”

What Tyrancha. What Packer? Where are my belongings? I am totally lost when I wake up to his bellowing laughter again. I slowly get my senses back and recognize the day has started already. Though it is still quite dark, daylight streams through openings very far up in the cavern and the light beams reflect around us. I guess that,s as much daylight I can expect in Prime Roots. My head is outside the tent and my feet stick out from under the rim at the other end. It’s kind of comical to see a giant of my stature sleeping in so oddly a position as this. Of course the Fyros are smaller than zorai so that tent is just what the lonely hunter favours.

“Today, you get to grab your own meat and we get to escort you to the other side of Under Spring.” He smirks.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m ready for a hunt just yet …and who’s we?” I babble like a fresh refugee from Silan. Did I say this out loud again? I curse myself in sounding so childish. From his joviality, I’m hoping he hasn’t heard me.

I can see he has been up for a while and waited as long as he could before waking me up. A kind gesture considering my state. A quick glance at my foot tells me it is healing well. The greenish herblike substance seems to have disappeared into the flesh, but I do feel much better. The numbness has also vanished. Maybe that goo was only a natural atysian anaesthetic. Nevertheless, I’m glad it is gone.

“One less thing to worry about” I whisper to myself.

“You ready yet? I’d hate to rush ya, but the morning is ripe for action” he says, “Before the Kipuckas get restless…” he leaves it at that. As if I would know what he means.

*sigh*

Having gotten my entire gear ready, we leave the camp without a thought to the night before and how close we have become. That Fyros ahead of me is a stranger once again. He hardly looks back at any moment, keeps alert at all times searching the darkness for dangers I am oblivious about. Watching him zigzagging and circling the predators is a feast to see. He seems to know every nook and cranny of this area. We keep hidden and all seems so easy from now on. The next thing I know, we are meeting up with his hunter friend (the one who gave him the meat yesterday night). Now I understand his joking around. He didn’t really hunt prey but got the meat from this Matis hunter called Dioron Pelorus from the Root Tappers tribe. Kyllo, I was to learn from Dioron, is a scout, whatever that means.

We exchange a few grunting goodbyes and hellos and off I go with Dioron towards the exit from Under Spring. I feel like a stick being passed around. As agile, if not more, as Kyllo, Dioron avoids all traps and points to a few huge creatures from afar so as to let me enjoy the trek and appreciate the dangers I am avoiding in his company. Lector, a huge Kiban towers over a bunch of Kirostas. He asks if I have met Ryx but of course I don’t even know what he is talking about. As we pass an old abandoned outpost he tells me of Deadtree Stronghold. He is full of hunting stories. You can tell he loves this area and it has grown on him.

In no time at all, we are facing a path that leads to the exit (so says Dioron). I thank him for the safe trek and meat he has provided and he’s off. As I watch the huge shoulder pads hopping away, a quick thought for Sigio and I scream out: “Do you know Sigio Nirini?” but my voice is lost in the dark and I am left with only an echo of my request in the air.

[drachle]

Alone at last and so close to my goal; I feel like someone has taken a fully loaded packer off my back. It is certain I will remember Under Spring, but not with the longing I have for Darkmoor. I am slightly torn between the urge to run towards the portal and that of staying a few more minutes to admire the Prime Roots for one last time.

I decide on walking a little to the left towards very high ferns. Peering through the veil of filaments that unite their stems, everything feels like a dream. Names like Raj, Ryx and Lector remind me of the dangers I have so luckily avoided. There were so many plants I couldn’t take the time to examine. What knowledge I could have gained! It makes me sad that I should not be able to learn so much in a land I will no doubt rarely visit in the future. … But then again, who knows? Atys willing, I may be back for reasons I can not fathom right now.

I realize I have made it alive and that is enough to keep me very happy right now. Atys wills me to go forth on my quest. In true symbiosis, she helped heal me and took care of me using several of her life forms. I am now refreshed and well nourished. I have made new contacts that may come in handy some day. I have learned another bit of information on my name and have breached another great barrier to my destiny.

As if Atys agrees, a few cylindrical plants bulge up from the ground, elongating their neck until the top bursts and spits out multi-coloured, drop lings that fall in arches towards the ground all around, bursting into greenish gas. For some odd reason, it adds to my merriment.

I’m hoping Pyr isn’t that far from the exit and I can reach it fairly easily. Nothing seems to prevent me from a quick contact with Ibillo. I am ecstatic at the moment.

The only thing that’s slightly bothersome is my face. The heating sensation has come back and is more pronounced than before. I’m hoping it has nothing to do with the desert which is just around the corner. I look around for a somewhat secluded, peaceful area and leisurely take a meditating poise on the abundant moss. The moss is cold and damp under me but I know it will be a long time until I feel this refreshing temperature. I am gone into a blissful communion with Atys as I sense her rumbling under my bosom. There is always enough time to thank Atys for her generosities.

[drachle]

THE DESERT SANDS

Going through the portal to the desert is quite easier on me than the one I took coming in Under Spring. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling better about it. Of course I was filled with apprehension back then but now I can’t wait to see what lies beyond this area. The disorientation doesn’t last but a few seconds and my eyes quickly start to focus on the huge opening in front of me. I stand amazed at my first impression of the desert. The first thing I see is an enormous root shooting across the sky. Here too? Those roots are everywhere! Is it Atys’ way of telling me I am still under her protection? Something stays fascinating about those roots. Atys willing, I will pierce their secrets some day, I am certain of that.

The cold tunnel air whisks against my back while the warm air ahead is reaching in to swathe me. I advance slowly as I scan the area ahead to find anything familiar. Of course, I was very young when I was in Pyr and was never aloud to go out. I vaguely remember my protectors had many fears. I don’t expect to recognize much, but anything that can bring me back to my past may help me in my quest.

There are huge herds of Shalahs thumping around a tower far to the right. I would learn later that they are actually called Aranas here but they do look extremely like the Shalahs of Enchanted Isle in the Lakeland. As I reach the tunnel exit the warmth envelops me, but I have to squint to keep my eyes opened. I realize then, I have spent much of the last days in the dark and this will need some getting used to.

I sit down to meditate and assess my surrounding more carefully. To the right are the Aranas which I take for Shalahs and therefore see no danger in walking past them. To the left, I notice tall, two legged hominlike creatures with an extra length of pink skin that covers their body like a cape. They don’t seem friendly so I settle on my right side as more favourable to start my trek to the great city. Besides, I can long the wall as I have been accustomed to for safe keeping. At some point, when I meet up with other homins, I will ask my way to Pyr.

Deciding I better eat before I get started and before the meat gets spoiled in the hot sun, I start a fire using a few twigs I find nearby. They are very dry in this arid desert so it is no feat. I’m thinking a Shalah or two thrown in that fire would keep it going for days and grin to myself. After the meal, I’m feeling energetic. It is time to get on my way. I hug the wall to my right and am bound southward. I only have to leave the wall a few times to contour a few herds that are grazing what little grass can be found in the desert sands. I see strange new creatures from where I run. There are enormous orange creatures with terribly massive jaws and big yellow dogs with black spots and white bellies. I see kitins of several types I know of: Kipees and Kirostas, to name a few.

After a while, I find an old abandoned post. It is falling in ruins. I came here thinking I may find homins but I guess I’ll have to keep looking. I find there is way fewer dangers here than in the Prime Roots. Just when I think the heat is becoming unbearable, I reach an oasis called Dyron. Here I meet the gigantic, slow moving Ploderos; though it seems very strong and has tough skin, I doubt it can defend itself very efficiently. I will learn in due time all that can be hunted around here.

Here, I will also find out reaching Ibillo will not be as easy as I had thought. You don’t just come up to an Imperial Guard and ask him a favour… But here, I will also make a few new friends who have traveled like I and who can teach me much about desert harvesting skills.

[drachle]

Days have passed and I am still here at Dyron. I long for the moist, fresh, Darkmoor air. The scorching desert sands have taken a toll on my health and harvesting this unstable land has worsened my aching back. Every time my pickaxe goes down I suffocate in the cloud of dust that rises. My nostrils are black with dust and still I have to toil. It is the only way to even get close to Ibillo.

The Fyros’ honour system is very elaborate but starts first and foremost by your being a good harvester. If I manage to become an advanced desert forager, I gather I will have no problem in seeing whoever I want in the intermediate spheres of this autocracy. That means, I will have access to Xyla, the Frontier Messenger for the Imperial Hall and Ibillo’s mistress, and consequently be able to do her a few deeds. That, in turn, will help get me recognized as honourable enough so that Ibillo will even consider my approaching him for a glass of firewine at his usual pub. A complicated approach but nonetheless efficient and it will not put them on their guard. The direct approach used with my half-sister hasn’t been really successful so I’m hoping this more subtle approach might do me right. He is my last hope, the only other name given me by my father who knows something of my past.

Incidentally, I have learned why my mask burned me so in Under Spring: I was getting closer to the desert. It has grown since but I have become accustomed to that feeling. It is due to Kami intolerance which is greater in desert lands for some reason. It is the only explanation I could find since I have never felt this sensation before and it seems to grow when I harvest the ground here for too long. I can fathom that as true after what little history Kyllo has shared with me during that firewine night in Under Spring. For some reason I think the Kami do not really accept the Fyros as well as we Zorai might think. Maybe it has to do with their interference into Atysian prime roots, but I can’t be absolutely certain.

I must get more protection from the sun. My Tryker vest does not cover my burning shoulders and trees around here are scarce. Though I often jump into the oasis lake, my skin is still peeling away down to my forearms. I think we zorais are too often covered under our mage gowns to have toughened skin as the Fyros do. Well, if this continues any longer I just may get tougher skin myself.

[drachle]

THE DESERT FORAGERS

Phew! I finally made it. I have learned advanced techniques in desert foraging and I have to admit the Fyros are real experts at it. Living on the delicate balance between Kami tolerance and the hidden treasures one can extract from the desert has become almost an obsession. It is better than playing that old Fyros kid game: Smack the Gingo. I may write about a few Fyros traditions I’ve learned some day but for now I have more pressing matters at hand.

I can say finding Ibillo was not so difficult; coming up to him and saying hello is another thing altogether. The Fyros are fierce warriors and the Imperial Guards are untouchables. You have to have a good reason to officially address one such. On the other hand, their reputation for holding firewine is unprecedented and their habits are like clockwork. I’ve learned Ibillo rarely comes out of the Great City but I have also been told he has a nightly habit of lifting the elbow a few times at the Royal Pub. That is where I will most certainly be able to meet him.

All this desert foraging has given me lots of time to meditate and get ready for that encounter. I have had the chance to examine the Fyros around Dyron for quite some time now. Incidentally, I have also met quite a number of new homins I can call friends and acquaintances. Some, though we spoke very little, I consider companions of arms. For months now, I have had to watch their backs during our foraging side by side in Dyron and they have returned the favour tenfold. The dangers of the desert are not as visible as in Prime Roots, but they are nonetheless present. The Kirostas around the oasis, for instance, always sneak behind you and can come right up the beach and enough into the water that an unsuspecting homin can leave his flesh at their mercy more often than not if he is not absolutely aware of his surroundings at all times.

Physically, I am doing better than ever. My skin has grown tough and doesn’t peel off anymore. It has darkened under the sun. My resolve has also grown for some reason. Maybe it has to do with the Fyros persistence which is rubbing onto me. They are a proud homin and so dedicated to their seeking truth that a Zorai can only be proud to have them as friends rather than enemies.

For now, I must get my new gear together and my mind prepared for tomorrow will be my first trek to the Great City of Pyr. I can’t wait! I am hoping just the site of the city will bring back those blurry memories I have of my past as a child. I am also hoping the Frontier Messenger will accept that I do a few deeds for her and thus, get closer to Ibillo.