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The steady rhythm of bumps upon the road, wake me from my slumber. I lie on a bed of straw; my body is stiff and unresponsive. I let a rasped grown from my parched mouth and dry air wisps down my throat. The heat is relentless- dirty cloth robes lie stickily upon my flesh. In this lethargic state, I open my sand filled eyes. Under a cloth roof, the light is dim although it doesn't stop me reeling back from the ambient glow. I feel no sensation in my brittle limbs but still, I see that I am bound and tied thus unable to move. Walls of cloth with curved wooden rafters inform me that I lie in a caravan of some kind. The sound of the frame flexing as the caravan travels is accompanied by the sounds of horses, meandering across a dirt road. There seems to be another similar caravan travelling along side the one I am in. Surrounding said caravans there are numerous other footsteps, human footsteps (some more heavy than others). The ensemble march is completed by a continuous, metallic drone- I would guess men adorned in armour. Propagating through the air is a strong and overpowering stench, the lingering smell of oil.
Remaining in a daze, I attempt to recall how I came to lie here. My mind draws...a blank. As I search my disjointed memories, a wind blows outside. The back curtain to the caravan is lifted up in a flurry. Cloaked in shadow is a warrior wearing a solid breast plate of steel; filthy, dishevelled beard brushing brazenly upon it. My eyes move to his side when the curtain falls upon both my view and my thoughts on his appearance.
As sensation returns to me, my face and hands begin to burn. This is not the burning I am used to but the feeling of fair skin that has charred under the southern sun. In moving my hands slightly, they are brought upon a cool surface. A curved dagger lies just within hands reach. The immediate reaction would be to take the dagger and begin to try and cut my bonds and ,in all fairness, that is what I would do, where I not surrounded by armed men. I should probably wait first to regain my strength but also for the convoy to stop. No, for now I must try to remember how I came here. It's a curved dagger, easterners use curved daggers...but the last place I remember begin was in a tavern somewhere is southern empire territory. I mutter to myself “that still doesn't explain how I turned up here. I wonder how long I've been out”. My stomach replies with a monstrous growl. The weakness in my body intensifies and my head starts spinning. I feel as though I haven't eaten for days. “Why, why I am here?”
I give up any attempts to continue moving my body and focus on levelling my head. In fact that's a good question why would I be captured by what seem to be eastern oil traders? That was a stupid question, for I am 16 year old boy blessed with golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes. What eastern oil barons wouldn't want an exotic beauty like myself at their bed? That said, rather than be for an filthy oil baron, I would hope for at least a desert whore. “Eastern palaces are quite nice I suppose”. Anyway, you never know what could happen with one being a concubine; I once heard a story about an attractive Rasrathi concubine named asharha and...
The name ,Rasrathi, triggers my memory. The southern state of Rasrath, home of the Rasrathi. It is where a lot of both western and eastern kingdoms get a lot their crude oil from. Rasrath a sole city state, acting as the only port along the southern shore to the great sea. Yes it must be a Rasrathi convoy, not an eastern one. The easterners have little oil to themselves. The idea that it could be a Rasrathi convoy did not immediately spring to mind, maybe because the procession is so small. Surely, larger convoys would be sent out when transporting such a precious commodity? Well maybe it is safer to travel with much smaller numbers, to mean there is less of a target for attackers? Anyway the Rasrathi, if only I could remember the first thing about them...A shout suddenly echoes through the landscape ”We're under attack!”
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