Evenings on the Transdarian: Tale From Mwayambi

Outside the city of Drache lies a number of cities, towns and provinces of varying size and populace. Most of the people living outside Drache are natives who speak Arangothian and observe the native customs and rituals. Click here for a list Arangoth's locales, and here to view a map.
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Pigasus
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Preferred Title: Setting Whisperer

Evenings on the Transdarian: Tale From Mwayambi

Post by Pigasus »

As told by Uncle Brexil

Aldus Krim and Rehanjit Suresh sat on the heat-baked veranda on the edge of the Berjeron empire. Balagasi was the only viable port for hundreds of miles and it stuck out into the ocean like a shiv of white rock salt. Everything here was thirsty, whether for gold, glory or the watered down alcohol.

“What a shithole,” said Krim, an aging, white southlander.

“One shithole is worth another,” said Suresh, a peer and former tax collector from the Jahani habitation of dust. The fact that he was sipping hot tea slightly disgusted Krim.

They had come to make a profit from the gold, ivory and katana trade running through this waypoint on the road of the world. But both men had decided to make their fortunes incrementally, as middlemen, rather than going out with an expedition and grabbing fortune by its five-foot ivory tusks.

Krim, who was in a bad mood that morning, turned to the door to try and see if he could make the boy bring him more booze. Instead, he saw Thomas Donnovath, an Arangothian adventurer squeeze his big, earnest frame through the door. He was tall and broad-shouldered but few people saw him as a threat due to the kind, dreamy look on the younger man’s face.

“Lookit, Donno’s still here,” Krim said. “Still hoping to find a party and hit the uncharted lands for a big payoff.”

“He is out of season,” Suresh said, without looking over. “The hinterlands are becoming impassable from the heat and wild animals. It will be another four months before he can find an adventuring party.”

“He can’t afford four months here,” said Krim. “He’ll have to go back empty handed.”

Donnovath seemed aware of this, judging from his thoughtful, serious expression. Some imp of the perverse nudged Krim in the back. He in turn nudged his Jahani consort.

“Watch this,” he said. “Ay Donno! Get over here!”

Donnovath lifted his head, remembered to smile at his fellow expat and walked over to their table, sitting down with his mug.

“How’s business, gentlemen?” Donnovath asked.

Both businessmen mumbled something at the same time: ‘well enough’ and ‘praise the gods.’ “What about you,” said Krim.

“I don’t know, mate,” said Donnovath. “It seems everyone’s gone and I can’t find me any second hunters, quartermasters or tomb raiders and clerics. It’s disheartening. But I’m not ready to give up.”

“That’s what I like about you, kid,” Krim drawled. “You’ve got heart. Between you and me, I don’t know how much longer either of us is staying in Balagasi. But I did hear of a juicy secret I wanted to share with you.”

“I’ll hear it,” said Donno. “Gods know I can use a lead.”

“According to only the most distinguished Berj Ley Savants, there is a secret valley running through a piece of Mwayambi’s equatorial reaches, three week’s journey from here,” said Krim. “To date, no white explorers had found it except one, Hieronymo Greyes, the famous Arrant explorer.”

Donno perked up. Krim knew that he had his attention.

“Greyes called it Adoracion because of how close it was to paradise. It’s shielded from the desert wind and the boreal squall. Ribs of former monsters guard it like a cage and a thick bundle of ley-nerves run through its heart, through the magic streams that give it life unearthly. And it’s cultivated and tended by the offspring of Arrants and the Berj, the wisest and most beautiful mulattos in the world.” Seeing the look of wonder and doubt on Donnovath’s face, Krim kicked Suresh under the table.

“My people call it ‘Pendele,’” Suresh invented, reluctantly.

Donnovath’s eyes had lit up. “And it’s within a month’s journey to the northeast?”

“East-northeast. Now it’s a bit dangerous to go there. But the Berj in the know take a shortcut through it repeatedly. Now don’t tell anyone,” said Krim. “Lest people do bad things with the knowledge, you know.”

“I won’t, I promise,” said Donno, unable to sit still. “Thank you tremendously for the information. And now, if you excuse me.”

The businessmen watched him depart. Once he was out of earshot, Krim burst out laughing.

“I’ll never understand fools such as him. What the hell does ‘Pendele’ mean anyway?’” he asked.

“It means trail to nowhere or fool’s errand,” said the unflappable Suresh. “You sent him to his death.”

“He’s the idiot who sends himself to his death,” said Krim. “I merely nudged him closer.”

--

Five years later, on a gray, drizzly morning near the Transdarian estates, a balding, gray Aldus Krim was dressing in front of his mirror. He had a slight headache, a remnant of the heat stroke that rendered him incapable of traveling by ship any longer due to severe vertigo and nausea. Then, he received a visitor’s card from his butler. On it was written a single word: “Donnovath.”

The taut spring of tension that had sat within Krim’s heart for the past five years finally uncoiled. He put on his best clothes and came down into his visiting-room, where he recognized the visitor’s frame, if not his face. A thick but well-trimmed beard now covered Thomas Donnovath’s face, hiding multiple scars. His aquarelle eyes fixed on the older man and he stood up.

“Vorfon Donnovath,” said Krim, with cool self-control. “I am surprised to see you but I am responsible for my words. I am at your service, if you desire satisfaction.”

But to Krim’s astonishment, the big man crossed the room and grabbed the businessman’s hand in a hearty shake as a broad grin broke over his features. “Satisfaction? No! I’m here to tell you about Pendele!”

“Pendele doesn’t exist,” Krim said, uncertainly.

“It didn’t,” Donnovath said. “I realized it as I was past the halfway point. I forgot how many times I had almost died but it seemed, like Greyes, fate had given me a purpose.”

“What are you talking about?” asked a flabbergasted Krim.

Donnovath sat him down and told him a tale of such horrific trials and perils that Krim could only wince. He was set upon by every beast and lethal plant of the Bakbe veldt. He was chased into a clutch of fanged venom-apes by a megahippo. He was stalked and mangled by raptors and dire lions. He laid dying on the cracked sand, hallucinating home and his son Gordy bringing water to his lips.

Then he saw the Great Mammoths. They were larger than many fortifications he’s encountered. Their pale shapes through the shimmering heat made them look like clouds. Donnovath crawled after them, encountering bits of water and shoots in their wake. The herd descended down a natural slope which led to a valley similar to the one Krim had described – uninhabited but filled with unearthly beauty and abundance.

“I knew you had deceived me. But there was poetry in a way, to your cruel joke. I ate, drank and recovered myself, then found my way back when the veldt calmed down and linked up with some adventurers. I had some gems to trade that I had found in the vale.

“Gathering the artisans and horticulturists to build the houses and clear away some brush took long; getting the shamans and ley savants to bless the place and turn the mammoths into the guardians took even longer. But with the convenience of the midpoint to the road of the world, there was enough money to buy them all in the end.”

Donnovath smiled. Krim stared at him and brushed his hand across his eyes. The knowledge that he could never see this place fell on him with leaden certainty.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“You’ve said it already,” Donnovath said. “And now, your words will live on in beauty. I thought this should cheer you up.”

Donno stood up and Krim finally understood him.
Last edited by Pigasus on Tue Nov 13, 2012 1:45 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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