Pact with The Tempest of the Desert

[GrenadierGaming 54]

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dawn was a brilliant fiery red. The open sky streaked with the rays of the rising sun over the distant horizon. Clouds vacated their place high above and floated to unknown lands. The dunes of the desert rolled for as far as the eye could see, like waves upon a vast ocean. It was a sight Rakhnar took in as he crested the hill of a dune. The wind blew faintly, kicking up small swirls of sand from the slopes. Not a bird or insect in sight or ear, nor even a rock to break up the monotony of the landscape.

 

The dwarf’s shoulder sagged low as he held onto his walking stick. He’s long lost count of the dunes he’d crested. He’d even lost count of the days he’d been wandering the deserts. Had it been weeks? Months? Years? His brilliant red beard, now nearly brown and gritty with sand, told him only one thing: it had been a long time. 

 

 ‘You’re mind isn’t right.’ Rakhnar had been told, ‘Wisdom and Peace are to be found in the desert.’ The desert was a holy place, the favored land of the Gods, and the rightful home of the Rah’mun. It was here Ka’tau dwelled, and it was wisdom and peace Rakhnar sought more than anything. But now, he was hopeless. Foolishly wandering from the lands he knew into the scorching seas, he’d long ago lost his way back to civilization. His waterskin was dry, and his bread had gone bad. So, he drifted. Cresting dune after empty dune in some vain attempt to find a road, or even just a cacti to quench his thirst.

 

So, it was now as he watched Ra’s sun rise that he slumped down. His cracked lips trembled in thirst, and he cried out with a parched, scratchy breath, “Ka’tau, hear me!” He cried, “I’ve been a fool! In search of yer’ wisdom, I’ve found only my death! Save my wretched soul!” Rakhnar was answered only with the faint howl of wind, and cupping his face with his hands he wept. 

 

But, his sand infested hair whipped suddenly, his loose toga fluttering behind him, and he looked up from wet hands. What was at first a sudden gust of hot air, suddenly burst forth a whirlwind. Sand clouded his vision, and the scorching winds burned his lungs to breath. Rakhnar raised his hands in an effort to shield his face, and the sands cut his bare flesh as the light of the sun became clouded over by this sandstorm.

 

“Dare not cower before me, Priest.” A voice boomed, carried in the roaring winds. “Stand, or my storm shall consume you.”

 

Rakhnar instinctively opened his eyes, for he had not heard a voice in far too long. The sands parted, as if he now stood in the eye of the storm, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him: it was a tall man, with the head of a magnificent lion. A golden toga was wrapped about him, with assortments of jewelry hanging from his form. In his hand he held a long spear, most of his form clouded by the sands.

 

Rakhnar weakly got to his feet, hunger and thirst weighing him down, his stick barely holding him up, “W-who are you?”

 

 

The figure grunted, his fine mane fluttering in the winds, “I am disappointed to hear a Priest of Te’uth to not know my name. But, I expected no less.” He paused, “I am Shab, Tempest of the Deserts, Lord of the Scorched and Chilling Sands, The Bringer of Sandstorms, The Fire of Ra, The Settler of Debts, The Bringer of Vengeance.” Shab announced, tapping his spear into the sand. “The desert is still cold from the night, but shall soon be hot in the day. I am this transition made manifest.”

 

Rakhnar didn’t know what to say. He’d read the Books of the Gods many times, and never heard of this god before, “What do you want?” He croaked out from a scorched throat.

 

“The People of Ka’tau have suffered much at many hands. Orcs, Dragons, Demons, Angel-Worshippers, and Liches.” Shab boomed, “So many wrongs have yet to be made right. So many misdeeds have gone unpunished. Countless beings of Isfet that assault the Chosen of the Sands from dawn until dusk. It is unacceptable.”

 

Shab didn’t move, or at least he didn’t physically, but he appeared closer now to the dwarf, “The desert burns with anger at these slights. It has been watered with the blood of Rah’mun, and it seeks vengeance for this wretched act.” He pointed his spear at the dwed, “You shall see its cry answered.”

 

Rakhnar recoiled at the command. The dwarf had fought many battles, had taken much life, and as such was no stranger to violence. But, he felt himself level-headed, he always sought a peaceful solution first, and never instigated violence if he could help it.

 

Perhaps sensing his uncertainty, Shab growled, “You have witnessed first-hand the pain and terror the enemies of Ka’tau have wrought upon your brothers and sisters. Yet, you hesitate to accept my decree? You know what must be done. When the words of Te’uth and Hesthor fail, the action of the Protectors must be done.” He tapped his spear again.

 

“The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” Rakhnar muttered with a nod. The words of a man meant nothing, if he wasn’t willing to fight for it. “I shall right the wrongs done upon us. I shall avenge every slight, every drop of blood...” He felt the words spill forth. As if a wrathful corner of his soul, long buried, had suddenly been unbarred and allowed free reign. 

 

Shab nodded, “Then accept my boon, and walk this world as my warrior priest.” He raised his spear high, “I shall guide you through my dunes, and save you from a pitiful death here. So that your khopesh may rain the blood of our enemies.”

 

 There was a violent crash of air upon the dwarf. It felt beyond hot, as if he’d just been sprayed with molten iron. Then, not a second later, he was chilled to the bone, as if his very soul was iced over. Rakhnar’s eyes clinched, his teeth chattered, and his hands reached out for relief. “You shall command my tempests. Your words shall burn the souls of the unjust, and chill them to their core. From your tongue shall whirlwinds howl and sandstorms cloud out the skies. They shall all know my name.” 

 

Then, it was all over. The feeling of scorching fire and chilling lashes upon him ceased. The sand settled, the skies became clear, and the winds slowly calmed. “Vengeance takes their damned souls.” Shab echoed upon the distant winds.

 

Rakhnar opened his eyes, and gazed about. He felt something…strange within him. A fire. A purpose. Newfound. He stood up, his hunger and thirst forgotten, and breathed in the hot air of the desert, now a comfort as he watched the sun rise once more. “So it shall.” Rakhnar nodded. He took notice of a distant cloud of sand, a twister that ran across the dunes, and something within his soul urged him to head there. “The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” He repeated, taking his way down the slope of the dune.

 

There had been wisdom to be found after all.

 

 

 

[Spirit Pact with Shab, lesser of Urin, 2/3]

Edited April 20 by GrenadierGaming

[Boknice275 1186]

((Sheer beauty manifest into words. Rah'tuma rising (: ))

[TheCaptain 403]

(This is damn good, I do like :D)