Fragments Gallery
Dusty Roads
Dust rises off the desert road as a caravan rides out. The twin line of horses rides slowly alongside the heavily laden wagons. The riders joke casually as they ride out; they’re expecting this to be an uneventful journey and it shows in their demeanour.
A man sits on the wall high above the gate and sullenly watches them leave. He idly twirls a strand of his long black hair between his fingers as he stares after them. He wished he were out there with them; he didn't care where they were going so long as it was away from here. Far away from here.
He reconsidered as he thought of the stories he'd heard of caravan work, maybe joining a caravan wouldn’t be the best idea. But still... even the caravan work wouldn't be so bad if it got him away from this hole of a city. He had visited many places in his travels, some with whichever mercenaries he had been with at the time and other places he had seen his own. Of all of them he hated this place the most. That being said this was the first time he had been to the desert. Previously he had always found some way to avoid the great sands. However of all of the desert cities he could have been forced to come to this one was most preferable just because of the history. But still… if he could have avoided it…
"Never again," he muttered.
The dry wind and unceasing heat made him long for his old home in the mountains with its cool mornings, trees to provide shelter from the sun and even the occasional storm. That would be much preferable to this.
The city itself was dry; the blazing sun had long since sucked all of the moisture from the rough stone.
He imagined that from a distance these buildings, with their white walls, would look as though they were nothing more than parched bones scattered carelessly across the parched desert. The city didn’t look too impressive but what it lacked in appearance it more than made up for in history.
The city had started as little more than a trading post near an oasis. That was long ago; that was before the war. When the war had broken out armies had looked for the fastest route across the desert. The route the commanders had decided on had been that small road which had went past the trading post. The legions of the empire had marched that road for the duration of the war. Along its route they had built areas for encampments and found new sources of water through a combination of spells and ingenuity. The road had grown quickly. As the route had grown more and more popular the trading post had grown into a village, the village grew into a town and then eventually expanded into a small city. The city had grown to be important enough that during the war many battles had been fought over its ownership.
Even when the war had ended the city continued to grow. Merchant caravans began to use the roads instead of the imperial military. The trade routes shifted to take advantage of the enhancements made to the road. The city had continued to grow as well and eventually mercenaries had started to build permanent barracks at the edges of the city. It was convenient for them since, as it had burgeoned into a merchant’s city, the city was easily accessible from all directions and it was fairly central in the empire. From there the mercenaries could easily march anywhere in the empire.
In spite of its growth rate the city had remained officially nameless for many years but its citizens had come to call it "Fortune." Eventually the name had stuck.
A shout from the bottom of the wall drew the man's attention.
"Hey Fafnir, aren't you supposed to be keeping watch?"
"I am bloody well keeping watch!" he roared back, irritated by the man's tone, "Our employer is not yet in sight. If he bloody well were I would have sent word! You think I'm waiting up here for my bloody health?"
"No need to get huffy!" the other voice yelled back, "I was just wondering if you were, I don't know, sleeping or something. It can't be too exciting up there."
Fafnir didn't bother to respond as he frowned at the empty road before him. A moment of silence passed and then the owner of the voice, Varo, emerged from the nearby gatehouse tower.
"I'm here to relieve you," Varo said quickly. He seemed nervous; he probably didn't want to get yelled at again. The man was a good soldier, but he like many of the recruits seemed to be quite intimidated of Fafnir. The momentary courage Varo had possessed when he yelled up to Fafnir seemed to have faded. Fafnir let his anger dissipate as he nodded and rose to go. Varo did mean well enough even if he was annoying.
Fafnir cast one more glance at the empty road before he entered the tower. For all the history this place had it sure seemed boring now. During the war there had been many battles fought here, many legends had been created on the ground surrounding this place. But now it was just quiet; much too quiet for him.
Maybe the time had come for him to move on.
Fafnir shook his head as he entered the relative cool of the tower, that was not a decision he should take lightly, and neither did he plan to.