geeman
02-14-2004, 05:14 AM
OK, this one took a bit longer than normal. I pretty much wrote the whole thing, decided I liked the idea of another awnshegh occupying the provinces I was going to put the Sandman in, and that changed the character's background, so I had to rewrite him. Here's the finished first draft of the intro, character description, and his location/domain along with some notes and references.
---oooOooo---
THE SANDMAN -- Background
There was a thick susurration, like the sound of the wind over the dunes, and he was there. At first there was no physical form, just a presence as palpable and invisible as the air itself. Then the sand before me bulged and began to defy gravity, falling upward like the flow of an hourglass in reverse. The grains hovered in a nebulous cloud that began to take on a vaguely humanoid form. It gathered into the shape of a skeleton, and for an instant I could see the outline of what seemed to be organs; lungs, a liver, a softly beating heart, all defined by dust as it coalesced. Then the sand took shape around them, the body grew solid, and the being known as the Sandman stood before me.
His body had the general shape of a tall, thickset man, but there the resemblance to humanity ended. His “skin” was rough and fissured, like the surface of a cliff come to life. His limbs were heavy and misshapen as if molded by rough or childish hands. His face had all the features of a man but of contour and shape out of all proportion to any human form. It was the face of a wax statue melting in the sun. Not even his eyes retained a human semblance about them, for they were nothing but hollow pits, black as caves, deep and forbidding. Despite that void I could feel his gaze fall upon me like a prophecy of doom.
“Greetings,” the figure said.
How to describe that voice? The winds of a sandstorm can strip the flesh from bone and wear down the stones of a mountain. It was that sound, harsh as the desert’s fury, yet smooth as the aged stones of the steppes. It was a voice without breath, as if made from the shifting sands themselves. Despite myself I trembled at it, for in that voice I heard the primal ring of death, inevitable, implacable and pitiless.
I averted my eyes and made abeyance. The Sandman is now the power in the Wastes, and is rumored to suffer no insolence or lack of decorum. Even had I not been there to negotiate safe passage for my caravan and myself I would have taken the greatest care in addressing him. His bearing demanded it, and the power of his presence was tangible. I knew that my propriety might be the only thing that could preserve my life.
“Most noble and revered lord of the shifting sands,” I began, “I come before you a humble supplicant to beg for your mercy and benevolence. Please look upon me with compassion and allow my meager troop to pass through these, your rightful and undisputed lands.”
The Sandman seemed satisfied with the form and delivery of my request for he made no move to destroy me. He questioned me about the nature of my goods and travels. I answered with as much circumspection as possible, for I did not wish to seem in any way loquacious or otherwise offend him. His queries were insightful and direct. When he learned of our destination his interest piqued, and he questioned me further as to the latest news from that land.
“Are… are you Zikalan, my lord?” I immediately regretted the query. The Sandman was silent for what seemed a long time, and I trembled for fear that I had offended him.
“It is hard to say now. I was from there in a manner of speaking. You say you know members of the royal house in Zikala? What of the Grand Vizier Tuarim?”
“He is dead, my lord. His son Omar now rules in his place.”
“And Jayim?”
“Yes, my lord. He is hale and remains at court.”
“Ah, then the plotter has failed… for now. It was my cousin Jayim who slew the Grand Vizier I am sure. I cannot prove this, but it was he who convinced Tuarim to send me away. I know not what his plan was, but my death can only have suited him, for I have always hated him and his poisoned tongue. He was a serpent in his youth and he remains one to this day.
“There had been many skirmishes with bandits from the lands of Irbouda. The Sphinx was still consolidating his power. He had dominated the brigands and murderers of that land for centuries, yet his control of them was still tenuous. ‘King of the Desert’ he styled himself. I doubt he could truly lay claim to that title then any more than he can now.”
“The duty should not have fallen to me, though I accepted it readily enough, for I was a soldier at heart. Jayim convinced my honored lord and uncle that these raids were of little import and that I might take only a retinue of soldiers with me. It was a paltry force to be sure, but I was proud to lead it and too inexperienced to see my folly.”
“It was not difficult to find the trail of one of the Sphinx’s marauders for they left a path of destruction in their wake. They had no interest in fighting a determined force, however. They only sought to plunder, so they ran from us and we chased them for days. They made for the Tarvanian Hillslong the refuge of thieves and murderers. It was a small band of them that we followed, no more than a score, but they were willing to ride their mounts to death, and were inured to the hardships of the desert. They could not run from us forever, and we caught them as they crossed into Meid Tarvai. That is where I met the monster who would seal my fate.”
“The cowards ambushed us, of course. My mount collapsed beneath me, a bolt in his neck. My men fought well, but it seems the bandits we chased had come upon another, larger group of brigands and joined forces with them so we were outnumbered. I fought as well as I could, determined to die in battle, but when my men were routed I was left alone. One of the brigands dismounted and came toward me. He removed his Khimar and I saw that it was not a bandit that I faced, but some horrid leonine man-beast. It was one of the Sphinx’s spawn. You might imagine the mix of man and lion would create a creature of noble bearing, but the Sphinx’s brood are not noble beasts. The monster I faced was bestial and degenerate. It was like a man but without a man’s morality… a creature with the trappings of humanity, but the soul of an animal. He faced me holding a blade stained with blood.
“’Good eating tonight, boys,’ he said in a deep, guttural voice. ‘Bring me a spit for this one’s arse.’ They roared with laughter.”
“Rage overtook me and I struck. To be sure the man-beast was stronger than I, but he had little skill with a blade. He swung it like a cleaver, or perhaps more like it was a claw, with no finesse. I had studied under some of the finest fencing instructors in Zikala. I quickly pressed the attack and backed the vile creature over the edge of the hill upon which we fought where a precipice gave him no further retreat. Unable to give any more ground he soon left an opening for my blade and I buried it in his chest. His cat-like eyes went wide, he dropped his blade and let out a sound that was almost a sound that was almost a purras if death were something he had long anticipated and now embraced. A gloating smile came to those feline lips and at that instant I realized that though I had slain my foe, it was he who had won.”
“The beast I killed was a scion of AzraiI was a fool not to have seen it beforeand in death his blood overcame my own. Can you imagine your soul being perverted by a force stronger than anything you had ever imagined? The Corruptor is dead, but his corruption lives on undiminished. All that had once been pure and noble in me was torn away as if by some fetid claw. I felt the Shadow itself overcame my heart. I could do nothing but cry out in despair as the spirit in my blood was defiled.”
“It was that cry that may have kept the remaining brigands from slitting my throat. These were hardened killers all, but they did not approach me, and their eyes were filled with fear. I know not what it was they saw in my face, but I could see the horror it inspired in theirs. One dropped to his knees and gagged, several others turned away unable to look me in the eyes.”
“I stood and looked out over the cliff. The desert stretched out before me as far as I could see. I could feel the taint of Azrai coursing through my veins with every heartbeat like the writhing of a maggot in my chest. I stared out over the clean sands of the Tarvan Waste and knew what I must do. I looked down at sheer face of the cliff at the jagged rocks below. There was a moment of weightlessness after I leapt out into space, then my weight seemed to catch me and I hurtled towards the ground.”
“I fell from the height amongst the detritus. My body shattered and the stones that were as sharp as knives pierced me as I rolled down the talus. The impact had not killed me. Instead, I was dying the death of a thousand cuts. Strangely, I felt no pain. I could feel only my heartbeat growing fainter as my life drained away. The grit of the sand beneath my face seemed a comfort to me now. It was in my mouth, my eyes, and the wounds of my shattered body. I had always heard that the sun-baked sands could grow hot enough to bake bread. I felt that heat pass through me as my life bled away into the sands. That was the last thing I knew, the heat of the desert mingling with my own blood and body in an embrace more full than that of any lover.”
“I do not know for certain how long it was that I remained insensate in the sands. I have only the vague impression of time passing. It was weeks or months, I am sure. When I finally regained consciousness and stood it was amongst the broken stones at the base of the cliff where I had fallen. But there was something more amongst the rocks. Bones. Picked clean by the scavengers of the desert, they were like whitened sticks scattered about my feet. I saw a bit of blue among them. I looked at it more closely and realized that it was a shred of what had once been my own silken robes, stiff and faded now by exposure to the desert sun. I reached out and picked up the skull that lay at my feet. As I looked into the empty eye sockets of that hollow shell I realized that the bones at my feet were mine. The skull I held was my own. The fall had killed me, but my soul had lived on. It had bled into the sands and I substantiated into them. I had become one with the desert itself.”
“I began to sense the sands beneath my feet. Indeed, I felt through the sands…. I began to feel them as if they were my own flesh and blood. The sun beat down upon the dunes. A lizard scurried away behind me. I felt these things as if there were on my own skin. These shifting sands are my body. I am not merely lord of the desert, you see, I am the desert itself.”
---oooOooo---
THE SANDMAN -- Background
There was a thick susurration, like the sound of the wind over the dunes, and he was there. At first there was no physical form, just a presence as palpable and invisible as the air itself. Then the sand before me bulged and began to defy gravity, falling upward like the flow of an hourglass in reverse. The grains hovered in a nebulous cloud that began to take on a vaguely humanoid form. It gathered into the shape of a skeleton, and for an instant I could see the outline of what seemed to be organs; lungs, a liver, a softly beating heart, all defined by dust as it coalesced. Then the sand took shape around them, the body grew solid, and the being known as the Sandman stood before me.
His body had the general shape of a tall, thickset man, but there the resemblance to humanity ended. His “skin” was rough and fissured, like the surface of a cliff come to life. His limbs were heavy and misshapen as if molded by rough or childish hands. His face had all the features of a man but of contour and shape out of all proportion to any human form. It was the face of a wax statue melting in the sun. Not even his eyes retained a human semblance about them, for they were nothing but hollow pits, black as caves, deep and forbidding. Despite that void I could feel his gaze fall upon me like a prophecy of doom.
“Greetings,” the figure said.
How to describe that voice? The winds of a sandstorm can strip the flesh from bone and wear down the stones of a mountain. It was that sound, harsh as the desert’s fury, yet smooth as the aged stones of the steppes. It was a voice without breath, as if made from the shifting sands themselves. Despite myself I trembled at it, for in that voice I heard the primal ring of death, inevitable, implacable and pitiless.
I averted my eyes and made abeyance. The Sandman is now the power in the Wastes, and is rumored to suffer no insolence or lack of decorum. Even had I not been there to negotiate safe passage for my caravan and myself I would have taken the greatest care in addressing him. His bearing demanded it, and the power of his presence was tangible. I knew that my propriety might be the only thing that could preserve my life.
“Most noble and revered lord of the shifting sands,” I began, “I come before you a humble supplicant to beg for your mercy and benevolence. Please look upon me with compassion and allow my meager troop to pass through these, your rightful and undisputed lands.”
The Sandman seemed satisfied with the form and delivery of my request for he made no move to destroy me. He questioned me about the nature of my goods and travels. I answered with as much circumspection as possible, for I did not wish to seem in any way loquacious or otherwise offend him. His queries were insightful and direct. When he learned of our destination his interest piqued, and he questioned me further as to the latest news from that land.
“Are… are you Zikalan, my lord?” I immediately regretted the query. The Sandman was silent for what seemed a long time, and I trembled for fear that I had offended him.
“It is hard to say now. I was from there in a manner of speaking. You say you know members of the royal house in Zikala? What of the Grand Vizier Tuarim?”
“He is dead, my lord. His son Omar now rules in his place.”
“And Jayim?”
“Yes, my lord. He is hale and remains at court.”
“Ah, then the plotter has failed… for now. It was my cousin Jayim who slew the Grand Vizier I am sure. I cannot prove this, but it was he who convinced Tuarim to send me away. I know not what his plan was, but my death can only have suited him, for I have always hated him and his poisoned tongue. He was a serpent in his youth and he remains one to this day.
“There had been many skirmishes with bandits from the lands of Irbouda. The Sphinx was still consolidating his power. He had dominated the brigands and murderers of that land for centuries, yet his control of them was still tenuous. ‘King of the Desert’ he styled himself. I doubt he could truly lay claim to that title then any more than he can now.”
“The duty should not have fallen to me, though I accepted it readily enough, for I was a soldier at heart. Jayim convinced my honored lord and uncle that these raids were of little import and that I might take only a retinue of soldiers with me. It was a paltry force to be sure, but I was proud to lead it and too inexperienced to see my folly.”
“It was not difficult to find the trail of one of the Sphinx’s marauders for they left a path of destruction in their wake. They had no interest in fighting a determined force, however. They only sought to plunder, so they ran from us and we chased them for days. They made for the Tarvanian Hillslong the refuge of thieves and murderers. It was a small band of them that we followed, no more than a score, but they were willing to ride their mounts to death, and were inured to the hardships of the desert. They could not run from us forever, and we caught them as they crossed into Meid Tarvai. That is where I met the monster who would seal my fate.”
“The cowards ambushed us, of course. My mount collapsed beneath me, a bolt in his neck. My men fought well, but it seems the bandits we chased had come upon another, larger group of brigands and joined forces with them so we were outnumbered. I fought as well as I could, determined to die in battle, but when my men were routed I was left alone. One of the brigands dismounted and came toward me. He removed his Khimar and I saw that it was not a bandit that I faced, but some horrid leonine man-beast. It was one of the Sphinx’s spawn. You might imagine the mix of man and lion would create a creature of noble bearing, but the Sphinx’s brood are not noble beasts. The monster I faced was bestial and degenerate. It was like a man but without a man’s morality… a creature with the trappings of humanity, but the soul of an animal. He faced me holding a blade stained with blood.
“’Good eating tonight, boys,’ he said in a deep, guttural voice. ‘Bring me a spit for this one’s arse.’ They roared with laughter.”
“Rage overtook me and I struck. To be sure the man-beast was stronger than I, but he had little skill with a blade. He swung it like a cleaver, or perhaps more like it was a claw, with no finesse. I had studied under some of the finest fencing instructors in Zikala. I quickly pressed the attack and backed the vile creature over the edge of the hill upon which we fought where a precipice gave him no further retreat. Unable to give any more ground he soon left an opening for my blade and I buried it in his chest. His cat-like eyes went wide, he dropped his blade and let out a sound that was almost a sound that was almost a purras if death were something he had long anticipated and now embraced. A gloating smile came to those feline lips and at that instant I realized that though I had slain my foe, it was he who had won.”
“The beast I killed was a scion of AzraiI was a fool not to have seen it beforeand in death his blood overcame my own. Can you imagine your soul being perverted by a force stronger than anything you had ever imagined? The Corruptor is dead, but his corruption lives on undiminished. All that had once been pure and noble in me was torn away as if by some fetid claw. I felt the Shadow itself overcame my heart. I could do nothing but cry out in despair as the spirit in my blood was defiled.”
“It was that cry that may have kept the remaining brigands from slitting my throat. These were hardened killers all, but they did not approach me, and their eyes were filled with fear. I know not what it was they saw in my face, but I could see the horror it inspired in theirs. One dropped to his knees and gagged, several others turned away unable to look me in the eyes.”
“I stood and looked out over the cliff. The desert stretched out before me as far as I could see. I could feel the taint of Azrai coursing through my veins with every heartbeat like the writhing of a maggot in my chest. I stared out over the clean sands of the Tarvan Waste and knew what I must do. I looked down at sheer face of the cliff at the jagged rocks below. There was a moment of weightlessness after I leapt out into space, then my weight seemed to catch me and I hurtled towards the ground.”
“I fell from the height amongst the detritus. My body shattered and the stones that were as sharp as knives pierced me as I rolled down the talus. The impact had not killed me. Instead, I was dying the death of a thousand cuts. Strangely, I felt no pain. I could feel only my heartbeat growing fainter as my life drained away. The grit of the sand beneath my face seemed a comfort to me now. It was in my mouth, my eyes, and the wounds of my shattered body. I had always heard that the sun-baked sands could grow hot enough to bake bread. I felt that heat pass through me as my life bled away into the sands. That was the last thing I knew, the heat of the desert mingling with my own blood and body in an embrace more full than that of any lover.”
“I do not know for certain how long it was that I remained insensate in the sands. I have only the vague impression of time passing. It was weeks or months, I am sure. When I finally regained consciousness and stood it was amongst the broken stones at the base of the cliff where I had fallen. But there was something more amongst the rocks. Bones. Picked clean by the scavengers of the desert, they were like whitened sticks scattered about my feet. I saw a bit of blue among them. I looked at it more closely and realized that it was a shred of what had once been my own silken robes, stiff and faded now by exposure to the desert sun. I reached out and picked up the skull that lay at my feet. As I looked into the empty eye sockets of that hollow shell I realized that the bones at my feet were mine. The skull I held was my own. The fall had killed me, but my soul had lived on. It had bled into the sands and I substantiated into them. I had become one with the desert itself.”
“I began to sense the sands beneath my feet. Indeed, I felt through the sands…. I began to feel them as if they were my own flesh and blood. The sun beat down upon the dunes. A lizard scurried away behind me. I felt these things as if there were on my own skin. These shifting sands are my body. I am not merely lord of the desert, you see, I am the desert itself.”