ALAAM, honoured guest from the Realm.
Andos the Desert Scribe is my good name. I lived here, at the edge of Al
Qassam Desert about half a day's ride from where the dunes meet the rocks of the
Umm Futaim Mountains, beyond the edge of what you call the Lands of the
Risen Mist.
This is my home. This is where I died.
Please, take a seat in my humble tent and let me offer you fine biira and
sweetmeats while I tell you what has come to pass. Here, itfaddal.
Some two seasons ago I was visiting the souq at Umm Sequim, trading
dates and frankincense for news of far
distant places, such as your Realm (news is my interest and stock in trade). I was away for no more than, oh, one or two
moon quarters and had seen many fine things and learnt much.
But on return to my village there was a sight to make the very rocks weep ...
this home where I lived since childhood was broken and defiled. Inside I knelt
beside the mutilated bodies of my grandparents who had raised me. At that place
I died.
HE trolls (similar to those that plague your Realm) had come down from the
mountains in a raiding party with no other thought but to destroy. They crushed
and burned my home and defiled it with their rancid spoor, which leaves the
ground it touches barren forever. I have no need to tell you, fine warrior, how
those fell beasts stink with the stench of decay and mould and hatred and putrid flesh.
From the cleft-footed tracks I could tell their leader was one Garanaaj, which
in their foul tongue means "Crusher of Bones". It was this beast of great ma'aas
who had dealt with my grandparents before their humble altar to AmonRa and left
them almost unrecognisable as being once human.
And so the beast had also dealt with my young sweet sister Zeena, who fought bravely.
Beside her body I died.
Sparing none, the bodies of the villagers were strewn like broken toys, their
blood dried forever in the sand where they lay. Thus it was I found my beloved
Jasem, down by the stables where we first lay together listening to the desert
wolves crying in the night. There, at her side I died.
Even the date palm grove, which since childhood I had watered in the cool of
every evening, was smashed and splintered -- and of the fowls and goats there
was nothing left. Yes, here I also died a little death.
Of the tribe Al Andos I am the only remainder and so I alone bear the name with
pride.
HUS began my quest, not so much for revenge but for ... nawwartu
beetna, in your tongue it means "honour", I think. The tracks of the raiding
party headed out into the desert, recently revealed in the rising of the Mist, that
now allows trade and travels to your Realm.
In the desert I met some Bedouins who, on their way to Al Khaleej to trade in
pearls, had also stumbled on the tracks of the trolls and were trailing them, so
we traveled together, stopping at the watchtowers of Al Daghaya and
Ras Al Fadael along the way for news of our quarry.
But it was in the old fort town of Fujeirah we caught them as they were again
ending their cruel work. You, Realm warrior, would know the fearful sound of the troll battle
chant, "Zaakin, zaakin, za'al" as they club and kill. But infinitely more
chilling is their soft "gnoor, gnoor, gnoor" as they deal with the dead bodies
most horribly. Thus we found them, and joined battle.
Of the Bedouins, it was here brave Yunus died, as did Abdul Khaliq, Al Hajjan,
Hadeeth, Ghazal, young Al Koohiji, and Khudhigia's luck finally left him being
killed by a stray arrow at the death of the fight.
T the fort gate I met the great Garanaaj and killed it ...
A few of the troll band escaped howling into the desert towards your Realm, but
we left them go for now. My Bedouin zimiil, what remained, decided to continue
their journey to Khaleej, while I had to stay and heal my wounds before
continuing the pursuit.
That was in the cool season of Ishshita; it is turning hotter now and I must
again take up the quest and head into your fair Realm. Look for me hunting in
the deserts or woods, but always alone in the cool of the night. Bid me Salaam if we should meet.
My sword, my service is yours.
Andos the Desert Scribe is my good name.
biira (beer)
itfaddal (help yourself)
souq or suq (market)
ma'aas (size)
Ishshita (Winter)
zimiil (comrades)
Iddiini (send to me)
By Andos the Desert Scribe: The Trap.
If you would do me the honor of contacting me, please write your words here in the sand...
(This form does not capture your email address, if you would like me to reply to you, please include your email address in the body of the message. Salaam.)
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