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In the deep desert the only thing that keeps you alive is water. As the stinging sun beat down upon the vast dunes and the rolling wind cast the sand into the air, a lone traveler’s irregular footsteps marred their way through the shifting sands. His face hidden by a head scarf, the only thing poking through the wrapped fabric were a black pair of goggles. A nearby thumper brought the attention of the man away from his forced erratic pacing. He looked as best he could through the mid-day sun at the rocky outcropping he was heading for, then back at the rhythmic thumping behind him. Yellow lightning crackled through the air as Lucien set off into a dead sprint toward his intended location.
The ground buckled around him as more crackling electricity sparked through the air. Lucien hoped he could make it to the edge of the outcropping before the worm showed up. Lest he be lunch for something much bigger than he was and much more valuable to the people he was trying to find. He had only heard rumors and whispers about the Fremen people. It was through them that he hoped to partake in spice mélange and acquire some to barter with in Uruk for a place to stay. However, if the rumors were true, he would have to prove himself worthy of their trust. Something Lucien was not quite sure he could do. As he neared the edge of the rocky outcropping a massive sand worm burst forth from the ground one hundred yards behind him and roared its existence to the world.
Diving onto the jagged rocks, Lucien clambered his way into one of the crevices’ just as the giant worm slammed itself against the stone. The young werewolf fought to unravel the cloth around the blade attached to his back but stopped as another thumper began to sound in the distance. As quickly as it had arrived the worm retreated into the desert and was gone without a trace. Grasping onto a nearby ledge Lucien pulled himself from the crevice he had fallen into and climbed his way down onto a flat plateau. Taking a seat against the rocks the man pulled up the nozzle from his chest plate and took a drink from the water in his still suit. Stowing the tubing once more he removed his scarf only to find a bone kris at his throat. Somehow, they had snuck up on him, probably through the howling wind.
“You run faster than any man we’ve trapped that way.” It was a woman’s voice.
“Maybe I’m just fast.” Lucien replied, on edge.
“Well you’re a fool to use any kind of sword like that out here.” She probed the tangled cloth with her kris knife.
“The cloth you used to protect the blade from the sand just killed you, outsider.”
Her eyes were blue.
Lucien dare not look away from the woman as she walked around him, surveying him for weakness.
“What do you think Vincent? Shall we let this one live?” She asked.
Lucien suddenly became aware that he had indeed been surrounded. His life was in their hands and he was positive they would kill him on the spot if he were to reveal his primary goal. The man had to think on his feet.
“I’m a wayward traveler seeking enlightenment. The man who took the last of my money and provided me with this still suit told me legends of a great people who thrived in the deep desert.” Lucien lied, but only partly.
“You wear your suit in desert fashion. Who taught you this?” This time Vincent spoke up.
“No one. It seemed the proper way. Try as I could the old man who sold me the suit would not show me how to wear it.”
Vincent pondered the situation before looking out into the blistering desert. “A storm approaches. We take him with us. If he proves worthless, we can at least use his water.”
This response garnered a laugh from some of the men. Lucien was quickly mustered to his feet and shoved forward into a line of people that proceeded around the rock outcropping. He wrapped his head once more as the dust kicked up with the wind and placed his breather into his nose as they set off into the heart of the sandstorm. It was not long before the wind was howling and Lucien could barely see the person in front of him, but he would get a reaffirming shove in the right direction every time he would break pace. They marched for what felt like days before coming to another large outcrop of mountainous terrain. Soon they were walking on stone and…hand carved stairs?
Stairs that led into the mountain and beneath the ground. Howling sand filled wind gave way to damp cool drafts of air. Lucien removed his head scarf, shaking the loose sand from his black hair. Pulling up his goggles he let his eyes adjust to the darker environment as he was led down into the mountain, an outline of his eyewear apparent on his face. Shaking the dust from his beard, Lucien was led into an assembly area where he was immediately assaulted in the stomach by a fist. Vincent had struck the blow which sent the werewolf doubling over and to the floor.
“Alright. Let us see what you can do.” The young man said, his blue eyes looking down at the fallen Lucien.
With a gruff roar Lucien tackled the younger man just as he drew his own kris knife. They collapsed into a heap on the floor the two of them fighting for control of the knife hand. Striking Vincent square in the jaw with a left hook, Lucien took control of his knife hand and knocked the blade free sending it scattering across the floor. Vincent planted a foot square to Lucien’s chest and pushed him back as the younger man attempted to get to his feet. The woman had been right, there was no way to draw his sword. It sat wrapped beneath the cloth and attached securely to his back…completely useless.
With another low growl the two men collided against each other. Lucien led with his left shoulder, forcing his way into Vincent’s guard. Grasping the man’s left shoulder, the werewolf planted a first strike upon the bridge of his nose before kicking his assailant away to the floor.
“Enough!” An older man held up his hand which led Lucien to drop his guard.
Vincent spat out a mouth full of blood and stood up, his broken nose a gift from the werewolf newcomer.
“You show us you know how to fight. You also show us you do not yet understand the desert. If you truly seek to find your way, we will teach you so that even you can survive the deepest of desert.”
Lucien bowed his head as was traditional of people in Khitai. “Thank you. You’ll find I’m an eager student.”
“My name is Stilgar. What is yours?” The older man spoke with authority.
“I am Lucien.” The werewolf replied.
“Lucien. That is your name to the outside world. If you wish to be one of us, you must pick a name that we may call you in private.”
Lucien pondered this for a second before arriving at his choice.
“Call me Sima’a.”
The ground buckled around him as more crackling electricity sparked through the air. Lucien hoped he could make it to the edge of the outcropping before the worm showed up. Lest he be lunch for something much bigger than he was and much more valuable to the people he was trying to find. He had only heard rumors and whispers about the Fremen people. It was through them that he hoped to partake in spice mélange and acquire some to barter with in Uruk for a place to stay. However, if the rumors were true, he would have to prove himself worthy of their trust. Something Lucien was not quite sure he could do. As he neared the edge of the rocky outcropping a massive sand worm burst forth from the ground one hundred yards behind him and roared its existence to the world.
Diving onto the jagged rocks, Lucien clambered his way into one of the crevices’ just as the giant worm slammed itself against the stone. The young werewolf fought to unravel the cloth around the blade attached to his back but stopped as another thumper began to sound in the distance. As quickly as it had arrived the worm retreated into the desert and was gone without a trace. Grasping onto a nearby ledge Lucien pulled himself from the crevice he had fallen into and climbed his way down onto a flat plateau. Taking a seat against the rocks the man pulled up the nozzle from his chest plate and took a drink from the water in his still suit. Stowing the tubing once more he removed his scarf only to find a bone kris at his throat. Somehow, they had snuck up on him, probably through the howling wind.
“You run faster than any man we’ve trapped that way.” It was a woman’s voice.
“Maybe I’m just fast.” Lucien replied, on edge.
“Well you’re a fool to use any kind of sword like that out here.” She probed the tangled cloth with her kris knife.
“The cloth you used to protect the blade from the sand just killed you, outsider.”
Her eyes were blue.
Lucien dare not look away from the woman as she walked around him, surveying him for weakness.
“What do you think Vincent? Shall we let this one live?” She asked.
Lucien suddenly became aware that he had indeed been surrounded. His life was in their hands and he was positive they would kill him on the spot if he were to reveal his primary goal. The man had to think on his feet.
“I’m a wayward traveler seeking enlightenment. The man who took the last of my money and provided me with this still suit told me legends of a great people who thrived in the deep desert.” Lucien lied, but only partly.
“You wear your suit in desert fashion. Who taught you this?” This time Vincent spoke up.
“No one. It seemed the proper way. Try as I could the old man who sold me the suit would not show me how to wear it.”
Vincent pondered the situation before looking out into the blistering desert. “A storm approaches. We take him with us. If he proves worthless, we can at least use his water.”
This response garnered a laugh from some of the men. Lucien was quickly mustered to his feet and shoved forward into a line of people that proceeded around the rock outcropping. He wrapped his head once more as the dust kicked up with the wind and placed his breather into his nose as they set off into the heart of the sandstorm. It was not long before the wind was howling and Lucien could barely see the person in front of him, but he would get a reaffirming shove in the right direction every time he would break pace. They marched for what felt like days before coming to another large outcrop of mountainous terrain. Soon they were walking on stone and…hand carved stairs?
Stairs that led into the mountain and beneath the ground. Howling sand filled wind gave way to damp cool drafts of air. Lucien removed his head scarf, shaking the loose sand from his black hair. Pulling up his goggles he let his eyes adjust to the darker environment as he was led down into the mountain, an outline of his eyewear apparent on his face. Shaking the dust from his beard, Lucien was led into an assembly area where he was immediately assaulted in the stomach by a fist. Vincent had struck the blow which sent the werewolf doubling over and to the floor.
“Alright. Let us see what you can do.” The young man said, his blue eyes looking down at the fallen Lucien.
With a gruff roar Lucien tackled the younger man just as he drew his own kris knife. They collapsed into a heap on the floor the two of them fighting for control of the knife hand. Striking Vincent square in the jaw with a left hook, Lucien took control of his knife hand and knocked the blade free sending it scattering across the floor. Vincent planted a foot square to Lucien’s chest and pushed him back as the younger man attempted to get to his feet. The woman had been right, there was no way to draw his sword. It sat wrapped beneath the cloth and attached securely to his back…completely useless.
With another low growl the two men collided against each other. Lucien led with his left shoulder, forcing his way into Vincent’s guard. Grasping the man’s left shoulder, the werewolf planted a first strike upon the bridge of his nose before kicking his assailant away to the floor.
“Enough!” An older man held up his hand which led Lucien to drop his guard.
Vincent spat out a mouth full of blood and stood up, his broken nose a gift from the werewolf newcomer.
“You show us you know how to fight. You also show us you do not yet understand the desert. If you truly seek to find your way, we will teach you so that even you can survive the deepest of desert.”
Lucien bowed his head as was traditional of people in Khitai. “Thank you. You’ll find I’m an eager student.”
“My name is Stilgar. What is yours?” The older man spoke with authority.
“I am Lucien.” The werewolf replied.
“Lucien. That is your name to the outside world. If you wish to be one of us, you must pick a name that we may call you in private.”
Lucien pondered this for a second before arriving at his choice.
“Call me Sima’a.”