Post by Ismaea & Tingitanaea on May 27, 2012 9:47:41 GMT -5
Life in the desert is simple. You find water, or you die. All else can be left until tomorrow.
The ethos of the Bedoueen once seemed crude to me, in the time before I began this journey. I had spent some time in the wilderness, to fast and pray before I first took my vows, and when the Holy Father bade me spread the word of the Blessed Iesinor into the heart of Ismaea I accepted my mission with a light heart. In my pride I thought I understood the burden of my task. Ha.
A week after entering the desert, I disgraced myself by falling asleep in the saddle and awoke to find myself alone among the dunes. There was no sign of the caravan with which I had been traveling, and the only prints in the sand were my own. It was at that moment the brutal logic of the desert set in: you find water, or you die.
I cannot say how long I wandered in that unholy waste -- I remember nothing but the thirst. My waterskin ran dry soon enough, and it was not long after that my horse sat down and would go no further. I began to walk, then to shuffle, and then to crawl. It was at that moment, when I could do no more than lie back and prepare my soul for the Blessed Iesinor, that the Bedoueen appeared.
Why they did not leave me to die I still do not know; I had no riches upon my person, and would bring them no hefty ransom. And yet they gave me water and nursed me back from the arms of Our Lord into the realm of the living. Perhaps they found my delirious ravings to be amusing. The children certainly seem to find me a source of great hilarity, and their laughter follows me wherever I go.
The leader of these Bedoueen is a man named Lucas, son of Nameth, who I am now told is the power in this country. His family, the House of Lai, control the caravan routes from the south, and I have learned quickly that this victory is due chiefly to Lucas himself. He is an exceedingly intelligent man, and speaks to me every day to practice his Amoraean. He listens politely when I talk of the Blessed Iesinor, but asks me questions about the world that lies beyond the desert. He is fascinated by my tales of the sea, of great battles and the fall of the Empire. I would like to have an empire, one day, he says with a laugh, but I am sure he is only half-joking.
As the weeks wear on I begin to wonder if it had been the will of the Blessed Iesinor that I find myself among these people. They are a simple, stubborn, and fractious people, and yet the desert is strewn with the bones of the mighty armies they have vanquished. If a clever and ambitious man could unite these parched and broken lands, he would wield a mighty and terrible force. Perhaps Lucas is such a man, or perhaps there is another.
Only time will tell the will of the Blessed Iesinor.
-Brother Josephos of Nafur
The ethos of the Bedoueen once seemed crude to me, in the time before I began this journey. I had spent some time in the wilderness, to fast and pray before I first took my vows, and when the Holy Father bade me spread the word of the Blessed Iesinor into the heart of Ismaea I accepted my mission with a light heart. In my pride I thought I understood the burden of my task. Ha.
A week after entering the desert, I disgraced myself by falling asleep in the saddle and awoke to find myself alone among the dunes. There was no sign of the caravan with which I had been traveling, and the only prints in the sand were my own. It was at that moment the brutal logic of the desert set in: you find water, or you die.
I cannot say how long I wandered in that unholy waste -- I remember nothing but the thirst. My waterskin ran dry soon enough, and it was not long after that my horse sat down and would go no further. I began to walk, then to shuffle, and then to crawl. It was at that moment, when I could do no more than lie back and prepare my soul for the Blessed Iesinor, that the Bedoueen appeared.
Why they did not leave me to die I still do not know; I had no riches upon my person, and would bring them no hefty ransom. And yet they gave me water and nursed me back from the arms of Our Lord into the realm of the living. Perhaps they found my delirious ravings to be amusing. The children certainly seem to find me a source of great hilarity, and their laughter follows me wherever I go.
The leader of these Bedoueen is a man named Lucas, son of Nameth, who I am now told is the power in this country. His family, the House of Lai, control the caravan routes from the south, and I have learned quickly that this victory is due chiefly to Lucas himself. He is an exceedingly intelligent man, and speaks to me every day to practice his Amoraean. He listens politely when I talk of the Blessed Iesinor, but asks me questions about the world that lies beyond the desert. He is fascinated by my tales of the sea, of great battles and the fall of the Empire. I would like to have an empire, one day, he says with a laugh, but I am sure he is only half-joking.
As the weeks wear on I begin to wonder if it had been the will of the Blessed Iesinor that I find myself among these people. They are a simple, stubborn, and fractious people, and yet the desert is strewn with the bones of the mighty armies they have vanquished. If a clever and ambitious man could unite these parched and broken lands, he would wield a mighty and terrible force. Perhaps Lucas is such a man, or perhaps there is another.
Only time will tell the will of the Blessed Iesinor.
-Brother Josephos of Nafur
