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Post by zuko on Mar 19, 2009 16:48:24 GMT -5
Sand in his shoes. Sand in his mouth. Sand in places he didn’t know sand could be.
Here he was, Prince Zuko, stranded in the middle of nowhere. He was in a desert, rather, and how he got there was far beyond his comprehension. He remembered going after the Avatar when he and his troops ransacked Gaoling. They chased and looked all over, but the Avatar had escaped once again. Zuko’s spirits were dragged by chains immensely and it must have been contagious, because not long after that, his crew abandoned him. Some men left for their duties at other ports – others merely told him that they had enough of all this chasing and just left. It wasn’t long before Zuko’s ship was completely empty of crewman. Even Sho, the servant boy who he promised to teach firebending to, left for another port as well. The only person who remained beside him was his uncle.
Zuko scowled at the thought of it all. Of course, he had pretty much been scowling this whole time. With his arms folded, hood pulled over his head to block the blistering sun, and sitting in an old, wooden chair in front of a shop where his uncle was currently interested in, Zuko’s mind recalled all that had happened. Being in this spirits-forsaken-land, it was quite easy to be angry.
He swatted a fly away from his face and cursed it all silently.
Looking back, the prince had wished they were able to bring more belongings from the abandoned ship, but his uncle said to pack things lightly, for they had no one to carry their belongings for them anymore (as if he was the one to talk). They had traveled for a while, being rather well off on their own. Of course, money was beginning to run low (thanks to Uncle and his spending habits) so camping out was their only option.
Zuko was still on his search for the Avatar. He wouldn’t give up; searching for that kid was the only thing he really knew how to do, despite not being so good at it. It was in his blood – he would hunt that little airbender down until, spirits-so-help-him, he was dead.
His uncle didn’t see much point in it now. He worried for his nephew, but at the same time, Iroh didn’t have the heart to abandon Zuko in his attempts to capture what he needed. It was his duty as a soldier and as an uncle to be with him at all times.
Zuko rocked back and forth on the back legs of his chair, the heat and flies making him more frustrated.
“Uncle! Let’s leave!” he called in a frustrated tone, swatting another sweat-fly away from his face.
His uncle raised an eyebrow.
“To where? Out in the desert to die? We should stay put until we find a lift out of this town,” Iroh said.
“…Then will you at least stop buying useless things?!”
His uncle blinked and looked down at the Gila-Cobra statue that he just bought.
“But look at it! The craftsmanship…” his uncle stared at it in awe.
Zuko smacked his palm against his face, groaning and doubling-over so his chair made a “thack” sound when it was set on all fours again. Zuko knew he would have to be in charge of the money from now on. He swiped the money bag away from his uncle and began walking down the sandy streets of the desert town, hoping that maybe while he’s here, he’ll find anything on the Avatar. But Zuko felt farther away from everything more than ever.
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Post by mulaqi on Mar 24, 2009 22:27:04 GMT -5
Stuck. Muqali was stuck forever in this sand pit. That’s what it felt like, anyway. Even his reunion with Manju and Nasrin had been brief. Exciting, yes, but still brief. Not to mention that when it ended, the pair had moved on and he was still here. Well, Nasrin may be, too. He didn’t know what happened to Manju. Selfish as it may be, their fates weren’t his focus right now, his was. He’d moved from being antsy to completely restless. He had argued with his father, but even he didn’t completely understand him. He’d thought his previous adventure had been enough, that he’d seen the outside world and now he needed to stay home, maybe finally settle down with a wife and have a family. That wasn’t what Muqali wanted, not at all.
So, he found himself in the Oasis whenever he could get there. It was the closest thing to the outside world the Si Wong had. This time, he’d even talked Gansukh into bringing the skimmer along. Normally, the large sandbender was too cautious, but Muqali had been so obviously sullen lately that this time he relented. Muqali didn’t even know what he’d do when he got there, maybe hang out it in the bar, maybe try to pick up one of the women passing through. Probably not the last one, he wasn’t in the mood.
As Muqali and Gansukh made their way through the “town,” there was little movement. There were loiterers, of course, either other nomads or mercenaries, mostly. Being the only known permanent settlement to outsiders, the Oasis was the best place to get good mercenary work. So, that lead to a lot of people who didn’t live their just waiting around for something. Only one other person was walking down the street, a young man with a hood over his head. Muqali glanced at him, then glanced away, but suddenly glanced back again. There was something odd with his left eye…he had a burn scar, a big one.
“Gansukh…does that guy seem familiar?” he asked, the boy still walking in their direction from down the road.
The bigger man frowned, “I’m not sure. Why do y-”
“The board,” Muqali hissed in realization. “He’s on the board, I saw him last week.”
The board was what people called the little information pylon outside the bar. It was always covered in job offerings, most of them bounties. That scar had been on the board, for sure. The boy must not have seen it yet. He probably wouldn’t, either, he was heading in the opposite direction. Muqali glanced around with his eyes towards the loiterers. They’d seen the boy, too, or a lot of them had. The boy was being watched like a wounded gazelle. Muqali suddenly turned left and ducked into a small shop. Gansukh followed. Pretending to look at some animal skins near the window, Muqali glanced out at the boy.
“What do you think?” Gansukh asked.
“I don’t know. That was a Fire Nation poster…” Muqali remembered.
He’d seen a Fire Nation prison on the inside. It wasn’t pleasant. What the Fire Nation had done in Omashu…he wasn’t about to bring in their bounties after that. Not a chance. Besides, if they approached the boy to collect the bounty, that would be it: there would be a free for all over him. Some idiot would do it eventually, though…and what then? Was it worth trying to help this kid? Maybe not…but he could he just sit and let him get massacred? There was no good decision here, and time was running out. The fool had been found, a bald man with a dragon tattoo on his bare chest. Earth Kingdom. No sand nomad would go bare chested at high noon. Still, there he was, walking right towards the boy and fingering a sword at his hip. Muqali tensed. He needed to make a decision…
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Post by zuko on Apr 25, 2009 20:06:56 GMT -5
The unbearable heat was probably the only thing on Zuko’s mind at the moment. He tried to think of other things besides his uncle’s occasional rant about something, but it proved to be very difficult. However, when Zuko’s eyes began to wander around, he soon began to feel…very conspicuous.
Tilting his hood down a little further to conceal his eyes more, Zuko looked to his left. He saw a hoard of men staring right at him and his uncle as they passed by. And they didn’t stop looking at them either. Zuko looked to his right: the same thing. A nasty, ragged group of sandbenders and earthbenders glared hard, some fingering their weapons as they stared. Zuko didn’t like this. What was wrong? He hadn’t done anything…right?
Apparently Iroh noticed too, because he walked closer to his nephew, his eyes occasionally looking up and to the scattered crowd.
Zuko pulled his hood further down and murmured to his uncle:
“I don’t think this place welcomes strangers…”
“No,” his uncle murmured back, “Something does not feel right.”
And as soon as Zuko lifted his head again, he immediately stopped in his tracks. A large, bare-chested man stood in his way. All Zuko could really see was the dragon tattoo covering his whole torso and the sword by his side (which the man currently had his hand on).
The prince stood back and looked up from underneath his hood a little to see the man’s face. He wished he hadn’t though; he wasn’t a welcoming sight: bald, scarred all over, had piercings in his eyebrows, and none-too-friendly looking. Zuko knew this wasn’t going to be good, but he remained calm.
“Move,” Zuko said, his voice and expression rather frustrated and firm. He wasn’t in the mood for putting up with this guy. When the man didn’t move, Zuko tried getting around him, but he was blocked off by the large man. Zuko kept staring forward and not at the ugly thing in front of him when he spoke again. “Listen. We don’t have any money to give you, so just get out of the way.”
The man smirked and spoke with a husky accent:
“Oh, no. Not yer money. But I will be gettin’ payment today.”
And before Zuko could move or say anything, the man quickly drew his sword and pointed it at Zuko’s face. Quickly, the prince stood back, his uncle doing the same. He stepped backwards, hoping to turn around and get away, but before Zuko knew it, every man that was staring before had all stood up and began moving toward them. Their weapons glistened in the desert sun, sharp and dangerous. Some didn’t approach with weapons at all, indicating that they were most likely benders.
Damn. They were in a tight spot. What had he done to start this, anyway?
Zuko and Iroh stood in their stance ready to take them on, but from the looks of it, the odds were not good. But if these thugs wanted a fight, then they would get one.
The man with the dragon tattoo was the first to make a move, lunging with his sword to strike at Zuko’s back, but the prince was faster. Zuko swung around quickly after hearing him move and narrowly avoided the sword going into his back. He took hold of the man’s wrist and twisted it hard, making the tattooed man howl. Zuko yanked him forward, rapidly landing a kick in the man’s face as he then took the sword from him.
It was good that he had a weapon now other then firebending, because all at once, the thugs came rushing at them, waving their weapons. Zuko clashed with many at once, using his swift swordsmanship as best as he could. His uncle, a lot faster than he looked, threw flames at a few men that came his way – he turned, twisted, kicked, and punched with the highest of skill. Some thugs feared the flames as they watched others get burned, but the thirst of wanting money was enough to overwhelm the firebenders greatly…
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Post by mulaqi on May 9, 2009 0:51:36 GMT -5
There’s a saying about it taking a single pebble to start an avalanche. Muqali didn’t think he’d ever seen a situation where it could be better applied. As soon as the first man made his move, every other watching predator lunged towards their prey. Muqali gritted his teeth. The boy looked skilled, but there were an awful lot of them.
“They’re going to get killed,” he muttered. “Maybe we should…”
Then the old man firebended. Muqali’s eyes went wide. Hadn’t the poster been posted by the Fire Nation? Were these two traitors?
“You see that?” Gansukh asked hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Muqali answered with a nod.
It was an interesting moral dilemma. On the one hand, they were wanted by the Fire Nation, who Muqali regarded as not the greatest of people since his excursion to Omashu. On the other hand, they were Fire Nation themselves. He gritted his teeth. No, no, he shouldn’t think that way. Even if they were Fire Nation, it wasn’t right to stand there and watch because of it. Would it be right for them to watch him die because he was from the Si Wong? His mind made up, Muqali pulled his tonfa from their holsters.
“Muqali, I don’t think we should get involved,” Gansukh advised. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“Greatness doesn’t come to people who don’t take risks, Gansukh,” Muqali replied firmly. “Besides, it’s the right thing to do.”
“Muqali…”
He ignored Gansukh’s plea. “When I get out there, whip up some cover and head to the skimmer. I’ll meet you there.”
Muqali put on his goggles and his head wraps as Gansukh sighed and nodded reluctantly. The sandbender was a big man, but Muqali had the guts and charisma. Even if Gansukh thought him rash sometimes, where Muqali led, he followed. Once Muqali’s head wraps and goggles were on, he and Gansukh exited the building they were hiding in and Muqali set his feet, coiling as though getting ready to run before turning and nodding to Gansukh.
Taking a deep breath, Gansukh raised his hands into the air, and then brought them down suddenly. A sudden storm of sand rushed through the street, encompassing the brawl and inspiring several shouts of surprise. At that, Muqali burst forward, flitting his way around the crowd. With his goggles, he could see clearly even though the sand blinded most of the thugs. One of them did happen to have goggles however, and was rushing towards the scarred boy before Muqali gave him a swift crack to the back of his head with one of his tonfa and collapsing in a heap. Coming to a stop within mere feet of the boy, Muqali took a stance halfway between relaxed and defensive, staring at him from behind his goggles.
“You sure are popular, huh?” he joked. “If you want to get away from your fans here, you should probably follow me.”
With that brief introduction, Muqali started to jog towards the alleyways, motioning for the boy to follow him and clubbing a second thug with his tonfa along the way. Hopefully, the boy and the old man could not only see well enough by now, but also realized that by not immediately hitting them in the face, he didn’t intend to try and capture them. Granted, there was still that possibility, but even so, two on one was more appealing than two on thirty, right?
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Post by zuko on May 19, 2009 20:27:38 GMT -5
And just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, there was sand. Everywhere, there was sand – swirling all around him, stinging his eyes, scratching his skin, choking his lungs.
“Augh!” he shouted, ducking and putting his hood over his head again after it flew off. He tried to hold it up as best he could in order to see. And just as he turned around to defend himself from a giant thug raising his sword, something unexpected happened.
The thug’s head seemed to whiplash and the man fell to the sandy floor like a heap of dead meat. Zuko looked up to see who caused this and it was a younger man from what he could barely see. The scarred prince raised his arm up to his face to block the swirling sand from getting into his eyes, but all he could make out was a voice calling out to him.
The young man said to follow him. Who was he? Could he be trusted?
But Zuko did not linger on these thoughts for very long. No, all he really wanted was to get the hell out of this sandstorm and out of this brawl. If he could get away far enough from the other thirty-or-so thugs, then maybe he would have a chance to take on the stranger if necessary. Zuko hesitated, then turned around and called to his uncle who also seemed blinded by the sand.
“Uncle! This way!” Zuko called, running over and tugging his uncle’s sleeve.
Iroh managed to see well enough to follow his nephew through the sandstorm. It was a curiosity to be seeing someone ahead of Zuko, motioning for him to follow. Who was it?
Zuko’s burning eyes told him to run faster, trying to keep up with the stranger until they all turned into an alleyway. They ran a little further, twisting and turning through narrow passages until they came to a stop. The wind was calmer, but the streams of air created strange howling sounds in the abandoned alleyway. Dust floated in the air, which didn’t help Zuko stop his coughing.
Violently, he rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. A plum of dust came off of his hood when he did that and he coughed some more. Iroh merely dusted himself off and shook his beard free from sand.
When Zuko’s eyes managed to be free of enough dust and dirt, he looked up at the person who had led them out of the storm. He was right: the person was a man, older but not old, and very…rough-looking. Then again, the thought in the back of Zuko’s mind said that he himself probably didn’t look any better than a peasant too. He narrowed his eyes, giving his good eye one more swipe with his arm before asking:
“Who are you?” His voice sounded rougher, probably because it was still choked with sand. His tone also made it sound like he was asking 'what the hell do you want?' instead of questioning for a name. Zuko also stepped back a little; honestly, the man didn’t look intimidating, but Zuko wasn’t willing to underestimate anyone. He had made that mistake a long time ago.
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Post by mulaqi on May 29, 2009 0:18:27 GMT -5
Pleased to see the boy and the old man following him, Muqali picked up the pace for a bit, putting distance between the trio and the brawl behind them. Only when they reached the edge of town did he stop, peering out from behind a building to try and spot Gansukh.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who you shouldn’t stop following just yet,” Muqali replied before turning around and pulling down the wrappings around his face to reveal a lopsided grin. “But you can call me Muqali, if you want.”
The old man spoke now. “Why did those men attack us?”
Muqali sighed. “Guess you didn’t see it after all. There’s a Fire Nation wanted poster for you two hanging up by the bounties board. Worst place for that to happen, too. The Oasis is pretty much the bounty hunter capital of the whole damn region.”
Muqali glanced around the corner again, looking off to the left. He didn’t see the skimmer parked where it had been…where the hell was Gansukh? Turning back to his right, his eyes went wide as he found him, careening towards them on the skimmer at top speed, and crashing through a small wall in the process. Hopping back into the alley to avoid being taken out, Muqali looked up in surprise as Gansukh brought the bending powered vehicle to a stop.
“Gansukh…” he breathed, still shocked. “That’s…that’s pretty ballsy for you.”
“Well, I had to,” he answered simply.
With that, the big sandbender gestured behind Muqali, and again Muqali found himself agape. Dozens of thugs could be seen weaving through the alleyways. Their escape hadn’t bought them as much time as he’d hopped. Jumping up onto the skimmer, Muqali frantically beckoned to the two fugitives.
“Come on! Come on! You don’t want to fight that many sand benders in the desert!”
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Post by zuko on Jun 5, 2009 16:02:14 GMT -5
Wanted posters? Wanted posters for what?! he thought in haste. But after thinking for a quick moment, his eyes narrowing and flickering from side to side in absolute and terrible disgust, hate, fear—alright, so he had screwed up. Again. But why would his own nation set up wanted posters for him? Exiled as he was, he was still the prince of the Fire Nation.
Zuko glanced at his uncle, but for some reason his uncle didn’t seem as surprised as he was. Perhaps it was disappointment flickering across his face; he couldn’t tell. But he wasn’t looking at him.
Before it could really settle in his mind, his focus was brought back to reality in a rather shocking way. The sound and sight of a stone wall crumbling and smashing in all directions caused Zuko to hide his eyes in alarm. Sand sweltered up around them again and he stumbled back, but when Zuko looked up he saw…a big man on what looked like a sand skimmer. He had seen a few of those sand-sailing boats around the desert since they got here.
Zuko glanced at the young man; he obviously knew the guy driving the skimmer. But before he could ask what the hell that was all about, he knew immediately why when he turned and saw a hoard of thieves and hunters bounding for them like a pack of hungry tiger-wolves.
Great.
He wasted no time following the young stranger’s pleads. Zuko, along with his uncle, raced to the skimmer and jumped on. The prince didn’t care who this stranger was anymore, just as long as he got out of there alive.
“Go!” he shouted as he narrowly avoided an arrow that whizzed past his face from the oncoming mob.
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Post by mulaqi on Jun 24, 2009 12:56:54 GMT -5
Gansukh didn’t need to wait for the scarred boy’s signal, starting to bend even as he and the old man climbed aboard. Arrows, stones, and sand flying around them, the skimmer turned sharply and started to speed off into the desert. Glancing back, Muqali could see the town already getting smaller. No doubt, some may try to pursue them, but they seemed to have a pretty good head start. Sighing in relief, Muqali briefly took off his goggles to rub his eyes, and then put his tonfa back in their holsters.
Turning to face the wanted Fire Nation men, Muqali regarded them carefully for the first time. They seemed a little bit haggard, like they’d been traveling for a long time, and not in the best conditions. They were Fire Nation in appearance, now that he could see their eyes, but the scar on the boy’s face was obviously from a firebender.
“That was close,” he noted, almost offhandedly. “What’d you do to get a Fire Nation bounty like that? It must be pretty big if it got that many people after you.” He paused, suddenly realizing how his statement could be misinterpreted. “But don’t worry, we’re not into that, not for the Fire Nation anyway. Some of us sand nomads still have principles.”
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Post by zuko on Jul 2, 2009 19:41:35 GMT -5
Zuko wasn’t fond of trusting people very easily. He saw it as a weakness, really. He wasn’t very good at talking to strangers either, mostly because he never had the interest of stepping out of his way and doing so unless needed to.
However, the prince couldn’t simply brush off this stranger completely at the moment. He had saved them, but Zuko really didn’t like the way he stared at him and his uncle, as if they were precious cargo on this skimmer of his. Despite whatever the sand nomad said to make up for it, Zuko couldn’t help but be wary.
But…in truth, why had there been wanted posters of him and Iroh? Zuko went over his thoughts again, looking away from the stranger, his brow furrowing in confusing and maybe a little hurt. He didn’t recall doing anything seriously wrong. Perhaps his father was sick of him failing all the time and wanted to lock him up somewhere. Maybe Azula was behind this – maybe she was looking for him right now.
Zuko looked back to his uncle for an answer, but for once, Iroh had the same look on his face.
Zuko glanced down, then back up to the sand nomad.
“We didn’t know about the posters, because we didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his voice tinged with a little anger. As if things needed to be any worse for them. Of course, with his luck – his damn luck—this would happen. The spirits were out to get him. He just knew it.
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Post by mulaqi on Jul 9, 2009 23:59:43 GMT -5
The boy’s wiords were interesting, considering his scar. Muqali had immediately assumed that the scar had come from the same thing that was the cause for the posters, but now that didn’t seem as clear. It could still be the case, if the boy was just lying through his teeth about not knowing why he’d be wanted. However, Muqali liked to believe in people, and so he took his words as honest. If that was the case, then the scar had nothing to do with the poster. Interesting. He grinned lopsidedly.
“With the Fire Nation, it’s more likely that you did something right than wrong,” he countered. “I know people who have been on those posters of theirs, and not one of them had done something I'd call wrong.”
Given the state of war in the world, that was a little bit up for debate, but the people he’d met and helped in Omashu were not bad people by anyone’s standards. They were just defending their home, helping their families. Yet surely they were enemies of the Fire Nation. Hell, if the Fire Nation had known what he did, he, Manju and Nasrin would probably have their own wanted posters too.
Glancing back at the vanishing Oasis in the distance, Muqali didn’t see hot pursuit…but that might be to throw them off. They would need to change course.
“Gansukh, take us east,” he called. “We can’t bring a battle back to the camp.”
“The border of the sacred land isn’t far that direction. What would you propose, to go around it?”
Muqali shook his head. “No. We go right through it.”
For the better part of a half a minute, Muqali and Gansukh stared each other down. Finally, the larger man relented with a sigh and began to change the skimmer’s course. Gansukh was the bigger man, but Muqali was the one with the daring and charisma, even if he lacked the brains or tact. But hey, you couldn’t have anything.
“So, what do I call you two?” he asked, finally taking a seat with his back against the skimmer’s steering platform. “I didn’t catch too many of the words on those posters.”
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Post by zuko on Jul 21, 2009 18:37:29 GMT -5
Zuko watched as the two men interacted. The one driving the skimmer was a large man, quite different-looking than the younger looking one. Who were these guys anyway? Bounty hunters? They seemed like a strange pair but they had helped him and his uncle escape. For now.
Zuko listened to their banter a bit more. Headed to the “sacred land”, huh? What was so sacred about it, he wondered. Was it dangerous? And how far was it going to take them? The last thing Zuko wanted to do was get further trapped in this stupid desert.
“So, what do I call you two?”
Damn. He hadn’t thought about that.
What do I tell him? Zuko desperately thought. The man said he hadn’t gotten a good look at the wanted posters – only seen the picture to recognize his face. Everything else was blank. But what if they ran into another wanted poster and these two caught a glimpse of his real name? They would know who he was or at least that was the probable outcome. And then what? Well, Zuko knew he wasn’t planning on staying with these guys longer than needed to anyways.
So he needed to come up with something. Something, just a name, a name, a name, a na--
“Lee,” he blurted out. “Just Lee.”
“He’s a little bit embarrassed with his family name. Sometimes we just call him Jr.” Iroh grinned widely, slapping Zuko on the back. The prince just turned to him, glaring daggers; this was no time to be cracking jokes.
“And you can call him Mishu.” Zuko tried not to smirk. And he probably would have if he saw the frown appear on Iroh’s face in a gesture of showing just how stupid that name sounded.
As Iroh lamented about his horrible, fake name, Zuko paused and glanced between the two men.
“…You never told us your names.”
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Post by mulaqi on Jul 26, 2009 23:48:18 GMT -5
Muqali gave the boy an odd look as he seemed to have to think before giving his name. What a strange person, and yet with such a plain and boring name. Mishu, on the other hand seemed more normal, but had a much stranger name. He’d never heard anything like that one before.
“Lee and Mishu…” he pondered, scratching the back of his head.
“…You never told us your names.”
Muqali blinked for a moment and then lightly smacked his forehead with his palm, chuckling. “Ha, you’re right! Now I just feel rude.” He directed a thumb towards his chest. “I’m Muqali, and the big baby up there is Gansukh. We’re members of the Kiyad Tribe.”
Gansukh scoffed at the prod, but being far more mature than his cohort, didn’t bother to respond. Meanwhile, Muqali grabbed a small supply bag and started to pull out some cloth bundles. As he did so, he continued to speak.
“Since you’re from the Fire Nation, you probably don’t know this, but the Si Wong isn’t really part of the Earth Kindom, I mean, maybe it is on a map, but they never come here except to use our caravans,” he continued. “So we’re basically split up into a bunch of smaller tribes. Some are basically just gangs now, but a lot of us are like small nations ourselves, I guess.”
Having pulled the bundles out of the sack, it was clear they were no more than a pair of cloth sheets. He held them out to Lee in offering.
“Cover yourselves with these. Helps you stand the sand and sun.”
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Post by zuko on Aug 16, 2009 19:45:12 GMT -5
Zuko didn’t react much past a simple nod to Muqali and Gansukh (what strange names) but was grateful that the strangers didn’t seem too suspicious of them as of yet. He and his uncle had some sort of guidance now; that was good, because as Zuko let his eyes wander his surroundings, listening to what Muqali was saying about this vast and open desert, the prince was relieved that they could follow someone – someone who wasn’t trying to immidately kill them.
This desert was hardly on maps, Muqali said. Zuko could believe it. Sand – everywhere, just sand and a burning sun above their heads. Zuko was used to heat, but this heat was suffocating. It choked his lungs as he breathed in, sand trying to leak its way through and the feeling of emptiness was easy to understand; no one and not a soul seemed to be in sight.
How tribes of people could survive out here was beyond Zuko’s imagination.
When Zuko looked back to Muqali, he was holding out a headwrap of some sort to him and his uncle. Zuko gratefully took it and handed the other to Iroh who seemed equally grateful.
“Thanks,” Zuko said as he pulled down his worn hood from his scarred face. He cringed at the sun’s light; his skin was sunburned from what it felt like and his lips were cracking in the heat.
He tried to put the wrap around his head quickly, but he had trouble folding it in the right places so it would stay on. Eventually he seemed to have it right. His whole head was covered except for his face. Although, he took a loose flap of the cloth and pulled it over his mouth and nose, tucking it to the side of his headwrap.
He felt better this way, but his thoughts wandered somewhere else other than about the lack of comfort.
“Where are we going?” he asked, a little curious, but also a little worried. How far would he be taken away from his goal? How far had the Avatar escaped his grasp this time?
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Post by mulaqi on Sept 8, 2009 21:06:02 GMT -5
Muqali put on his goggles and started to replace his headwrap as he answered Lee. “Eventually, my tribe’s camp. Like I told Gansukh, though, we have to make a little bit of a detour to avoid our pals back there.”
Once he’d gotten his goggles on, he gazed out at the desert. The sacred land…he’d never been there. No one had from his tribe, the best he could figure. It was forbidden. The legend said a god slept there, one who would destroy any who awoke it, but that couldn’t be true. Really, what was breaking one little rule to save a couple strangers?
“The whole trip will probably take a couple days, so try to conserve your energy,” Muqali advised. “Oh, and never gulp water. You only sip in the desert.”
At that, Muqali leaned back, and did his best to relax…
*****
Come nightfall, the group had crossed into the Si Wong’s sacred ground. While Gansukh set up camp, Muqali did his best to calculate their position using a star map. In the Si Wong, you had to learn how to use one if you had any hope of navigating the ocean of sand.
“We’re making good time,” Muqali commented as he double checked his work. “Unless I’m getting rusty, we should be able to reach camp before sundown tomorrow.”
Gansukh grunted as he finished setting up the tarp that covered the skimmer, turning it into a makeshift tent. “If we make it to tomorrow.”
“Oh stop being such a baby,” Muqali taunted. “If there were really anything dangerous here, we would have seen it by now. Just look around! There’s nothing here!”
Fortunately or unfortunately, Muqali’s power of perception wasn’t as good as he would have liked to think. For just beyond the crest of a nearby dune, a pair of eyes peered out at the camp, but they weren’t human. They were the eyes of a fox…
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Post by zuko on Oct 10, 2009 23:20:25 GMT -5
Zuko barely managed to make a decent fire – he was only able to find small twigs and one large tumbleweed to keep the flames alive. He had made another small pile of twigs beside him, occasionally throwing one into the fire and then giving the gentle flames more life with his own hands.
He shuddered in the cold of the desert night. It was a relief from the blistering heat of the day; at least now he was able to keep himself warm via firebending. He brought his hands to his mouth and breathed slowly into them, light suddenly flickering between his fingertips. Heat felt good now – he could deal with the cold this way.
Zuko continued to silently watch the flames of the pathetic fire in front of him, listening to the banter of his rescuers. He didn’t talk to them nor did he look at them very often. He was too tired and too distracted by the tormenting thoughts in his head to focus on much else. The Gods, as far as Zuko was concerned, were definitely out to get him. They wanted to destroy his life little by little, take every scrap of hope away from him. Zuko concluded that they were very good at destroying his life indeed.
And as he glanced toward the starlit sky during these thoughts, he thought he saw something from the corner of his eye. Zuko looked to his right where there was a large dune of sand in the distance. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of light and a shadow move behind the dune. The ex-prince shook it off – must have been a trick of the light.
But that night as Zuko drifted off into a fitful sleep, something was moving underneath the sand. It was fast, but cautious and very quiet. Who were these intruders? It mattered not – the desert fox was hungry, so hungry. It sunk further into the sand as it approached the strangers…
Zuko felt the ground moving in his dreams. It was like he was on an ocean, drifting in the waves. And then suddenly his eyes flew open. No, the ground really was moving! Or at least that was what it looked like….for a second. That was when he felt the breath tickling against the back of his neck. It was hot, sticky, and it smelled something awful. He could hear growling, soft but anxious just behind his head, like it was centimeters away. Zuko froze, his eyes wide, jaw clenching, not wanting to turn around and see what was behind him, whatever it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. Move, he told himself. Just turn around…
Zuko lit flames in his hands, and with as much willpower as he could, he fearfully turned and punched his flames at the thing behind him. But…there was nothing to be seen behind him at all. Just sand and darkness...until the ground began to move again.
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