The Rise of an Empire (TKoP Main Storyline)

A warm wind blew across the sands of the deserts near Khopshef Province causing them to shift and slither like the many creatures that crawled amongst the dunes. The setting sun shining upon them cast a blood red hue giving them the appearance of a vast sea of blood. It was quiet with a sense of tense expectation as it came time for the creatures of the night to creep from their shadows. Upon these sands sat a woman of dark complexion, her legs folded beneath her. Wisps of dark hair, having fallen loose from her jeweled bun, brushed across her cheek as she stared blankly before her. Standing behind her were three rather grotesque creatures that may have once been living men but were now nothing but animated rotting husks. Their stench alone masked that of the woman's but she seemed not to notice. In fact, she seemed not to notice anything around her. Her body was slack and her mouth hung open slightly giving her the look of someone who had gone comatose.

Though her body was still, her mind was racing. Racing with images and events she had never witnessed; at least not yet. Faces of various people swarmed in her consciousness until one in particular became the dominant. His was a strong, chiseled face. Long, scraggly black hair hung to his muscular shoulders and fierce gray eyes glared out in defiance. A shudder coursed the woman's body as a blazing sword came into view behind the man's face; shining like a beacon. Suddenly the vision was swept away and replaced by ones of a world burning, people dying, and terror on the faces of those still living. In the sky the dark figure of a giant hooded cobra rose. Beneath it stood the gray eyed warrior with his flaming sword lifted in challenge. The serpent's head struck down in a flash just as the mighty warrior's sword rose to meet it and....

Neithatep came to awareness with a jerk. A gasp left her sensual lips as she blinked rapidly. Her head pounded painfully as it always did after the visions came. She turned her head to look one way and then the other in slight confusion. It took her a few moments to remember that she had been out hunting lions for one of the citizens in the province when she had been overcome by an unexpected vision. Apparently she had fallen to the ground and remained there. She'd have been helpless had her undead guards not been there. Neithatep was suddenly very grateful for her knowledge in necromancy. Her thoughts were stuck on the vision though. What did it all mean? She knew the prophecy but what did the cobra have to do with it? Would there be war before the dawn of peace? After a few more moments to gather her composure she shakily pushed herself up to a standing position and looked out over the sands. It was getting quite dark now and she didn't want to be in the desert at nightfall with the rumors of a demon lurking in the province. So it was, with a troubled mind and a face set in silent contemplation, that she turned back towards the village with her minions shuffling and groaning behind her.

((This is a repost, putting Lindol's post in the correct thread. ))

“Wasting time”, He considered as he shuffled his feet across the hot sands somewhere in the Khopshef Province. Now feeling the weight of the sun drift off into night he stopped to rest under seemingly the only tree for miles. The wind blew gently across the sea of dunes and carried with it the smell of death. Lindol slides his helm off his head and shifts it in the sand as to keep it in place. Slowly he learns his back against the tree and slides down sitting on his helm. The gentle breeze brushes against his sweat soaked head and still the smell of death carries with it.

Looking out across the dunes he can see nothing. No person or animal in sight just rolling dunes as far as the eye can see. The smell lingers in his nostrils burning with every breath. “Time to keep moving before that smell becomes me” Lindol thinks to himself. He decides to pick up his helm and continue on with his journey across the desert. Word is, a man named Faris lives in a village to the west and can tech him to make bricks from sand. Now racing against the end of day Lindol wonders west in search of a small village said to only be marked by the growing population of lions and dieing men. But what would carry such a foul odor of old rotting flesh? The question remains stuck in his mind as he moves on against the wind.

Nightfall is almost come and several slender figures in the distance skittishly jerk across the sand. Lindol stops in his tracks and lowers himself until his chest plate rests softly against the cooling desert sand. Lindol watched as the figures twitch against themselves seemly fighting their desire to stop yet forced to move against their will. The remains of once strong men he thought to himself yet without life now and still alive in some fashion. He continued to watch as the figures followed a slender figure towards the torches of a small village. The torches still being lit as he looked on at the figures in shallow fear of them. Lindol now resting flat in the sand praying the chain link of his armor doesn’t find some lone rock buried beneath the desert sands.

Looking around he noticed several feline carcasses lying across the dunes in front of him. The wind blows again and the smell of wood burning carries with it. Then it sinks in, A Village! Forgetting his fear of what can only be described as he walking bodies stolen from the afterlife, He scrambles to his feet and runs happily towards a lit torch.

Some days had passed since Neithatep's last vision. Pieces of the puzzle had began to fall into place leading her to take what was left of her previous wealth and purchase a nice amount of land in Poitain. It wasn't a bad plot of land. A river flowed through it as a source of water and food. She intended to have a well dug also, though, in case of sieges. It would be too easy for an enemy to poison the river or dam it. It was not to untowards to have a secondary source of water. Wildlife was aplenty here and the land was rich in resources. She had been rather satisfied with the purchase.

Neithatep had sat her tent down near the river because she found the sound of the rushing water soothing to her headaches. Late night Poitain was quiet other than the sounds of nature and the muffled sounds coming from Neithatep's tent. In front of the tent stood two undead servants. Undead mages that gave a hint at Neithatep's growing control over her necromantic arts. Inside the usually tidy tent silk pillows and covers were tossed askew and in the middle of the mess of material Neithatep tossed and turned and clutched at empty air as though trying to obtain something. Her eyes were wide and lips moved as she mumbled. Despite the cool Poitain air, a thin mist of sweat dampened her soft, dark skin. Wisps of hair stuck to the moistness on her face but she didn't seem to notice. She pulled and tore at her silk robe as though it was some hindrance. She very much had the look and sound of a woman in the throes of madness and it was only accentuated by her sudden screams.

"Not the one! Not the one! Lies! Lies in the mind!" She tore at her hair as she rocked back and forth mumbling to herself again. As she lost herself in her current state the undead outside slumped to the ground, her control over them lost as her mind was focused elsewhere. Her face contorted in horror as she threw her arms over her face as if warding off some kind of monstrous entity. "Lying snake! Thoth-Amon!" Venom dripped from her hoarse voice as she glared forward...at nothing but the other side of the tent. "I will wash away your lies. Your veil will be lifted and your days numbered." Just as sudden, her demeanor changed again to the frightened woman, scampering about her tent as she whimpered to herself and held her palms over her ears. "Quiet! Stop screaming stop screaming....Ibis...Ibis, father of prophesy...help me...help me..." She collapsed on her pillows and sobbed her anguish, her body trembling as though caught by fever. Were the skeptics correct? Was Neithatep naught but a madwoman? Even though her screaming had ceased she was still rather pathetic as she hugged her pillows to herself and hid her muffled sobs in their depths. How could she lead anyone when she did not even have control of herself? It was then that she knew. She had to leave for a time. She needed a place of complete solitude. Someplace she could focus and garner control of that which plagued her sleepless nights. What better place than the endless sands of her homeland?

Peregrine's once-small tent had been replaced by a much larger one with three rooms. The center room had a table with rolled maps, chairs ringing it, a lantern holding down the corner of one of the big papers. To the left of the entrance were her sleeping chambers, to the right, storage of some of Neith's more critical items.

It was very late, and Peregrine, only lately having escaped Tortage, hunched over the paper. She had gone from half-drowned slave to leader of a fledgling empire in the space of days, yet somehow, the administrative tasks soothed her, reminding her of her old responsibilities, her old and much-beloved life. She jotted notes, the tent-flaps thrown back so people could see that she was awake and accessible.

A young boy, no more than ten years old, sat in a chair nearby, his bored mind wandering to thoughts of adventures yet to be had, treasures yet to be claimed. He had been an urchin in Khemi, plucked from the streets by Peregrine herself, hired as her message boy. Peregrine's soft voice pulled him from his reverie, and he silently acknowledged how spooky it was that although she always spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, it startled him as if she'd screamed his name.

"Yes, Countess?" he asked, on his feet immediately. The noblewoman's gold eyes seemed to cut right through him, as if lies would be impossible because surely she would know.

"Summon Lindol, and Jalen. Ulot, and ... well, truthfully, find what leaders you can here in our tent city, and tell them I'd like them to check in with me."

The boy saluted, a gesture that made Peregrine smile, though she held it in until he was gone, certainly not wishing him to feel mocked. She leaned back in the chair, pushing her slim fingers through her long loose curls. She stared up at the peak in the tent's antechamber, thinking of her last conversation with Neithatep, her thoughts hanging heavily in the room. It seemed Neithatep felt called to the desert, seeking clarity for the prophecy that plagued her, the very prophecy that had brought all of them together. Who was the Sword, the presumptive head of this leaderless empire? Peregrine nor Neithatep knew, and so, the prophetess left them to seek spiritual clarity.

That left the group of them leaderless, and so it was that Neithatep tapped Peregrine to be the interim leader, the countess taking over all of the leadership duties. The people meant to help her were virtual strangers to her. While the situation was fragile, Peregrine knew that the group of leaders were going to hold it together in Neithatep's absence.

The countess continued to sit back in her chair, mulling things over as she listened to the rush of water from the cold clean river, and the night-creatures as they went about their business. Sleep was far away -- there was so much work yet to be done.

The sun was high in the sky, it's rays lashing down upon the desert like the tail of a whip. Neithatep sat near the edge of a mesa overlooking the rock and sand for miles. Her form was bared to the sun's cruelty, her robe tossed aside carelessly. Her dark skin was blistered and her lips so parched they had begun to split and peel. She had not drank or eaten for three days and nights, fasting as she searched for an answer. She sat crosslegged with her shoulders hunched down in exhaustion as she stared blankly out over the terrain. Clarity. It was all that she asked for. No longer could she tell what was true vision and what was the lies of Thoth-Amon. Her mind was plagued by his conjured mental demons to the point that she feared the loss of sanity.

Like this she had stayed for most of the day, unmoving. Her dehydrated body grew weaker and still no answer came to her. It was not until she was on the edge of collapse that she finally received some sign. At first she thought herself to be imagining it. It was to deep in the desert for it. She reached her hand out and would have cried at the feel of the smooth white feathers beneath her fingertips, had she not been so dehydrated. The heron turned it's head and seemed to look directly at her for a moment before taking to flight. Neithatep's parched throat struggled to work as she crawled to the edge of the mesa desperately. "I...bis...Ibis!" As she reached her hands up towards the fading figure of the heron Neithatep's mind was assaulted by an onslaught of various visions. The difference this time was she felt a gentle presence. A presence that made her feel safe and secure in the midst of chaos. She embraced this presence and let it envelope her and in doing so found her strength and clarity. The visions seemed to slow instead of rushing by. She could more clearly understand the purpose of each face that came. She more clearly understood her purpose. As she stood at the edge of the mesa on her knees the answers became all to clear but still those answers formed new questions that mere visions could not answer. The point was, though, that Neithatep knew and the knowledge changed her.

So it was that the Prophetess arose and made her way out of the desert. Upon the back of her hand the image of the heron had seared itself into her flesh as testament to her ordeal. No longer did she seem agitated and overly stressed. She knew her path and the path of others and with it came a peace of mind. With other knowledge and understanding came a wisdom that she knew she must share. It was time to return to Poitain.