Messages

Perhaps it is the heat of the desert. Perhaps it is the influence of more sinister things. But, for whatever reason, there are people who let themselves be motivated by petty, malicious things.

Sometimes it feels like abandoning civilization to live the life of a hermit out in the sands is the better operation. But, despite remembering little, I remember that the Rider of Winds always offers a helping hand. I need to remember sometimes help is needed not just because the environs can be harsh, but because people can make a dangerous land even worse.

There are those who appreciate the offered hand and are thankful.

The principle intent to do good is, on some level, in some amount, inherit in most--but not all--people.

But layered atop that are questions upon questions of practicality, means, and morality. And layered beneath are numerous other factors such as temptations, greed, and commitment.

Leiah gave me more to think about than I anticipated. I merely thought to itch my curiosity regarding the purple brooch she wore upon her and instead we discussed the Leagues, the other settlements in the ash desert within caravan distance, and the geopolitical web that ties them all together.

And, of course, there is the web within my own being. After speaking with Leiah, I must admit that my heart pulls in one direction while my mind another.

How I will untangle it all remains to be unseen, but Leiah gave me a new thread to pull upon. Qa'im, Kha'esh, Qadida, Alkab, Baz'eel. The desert is vast and its oases plenty. To focus upon the Well alone may be foolish mistake. There is much more I ought to see. Many more places for my feet to take me.

Ephia's Well is a font of life and safety, especially compared to the surrounding ash desert, but like many things it is a few steps away from calamity. Blades and speartips are dangerous things but the words of the powerful and decision makers can be just as deadly regardless of how sweet or comforting their words may be.

I last wrote that to travel is to change position in relation to another thing. It is not just people that move, however, but places as well. A place such as Ephia's Well may always physically be in the ash desert, barring some geographic calamity, but it can move much more easily through attitudes and thoughts.

The spirit and political climate of its people will be key in determining where Ephia's Well goes.I have been thinking about my place here, among the other people of Ephia's Well. Each of the coloured leagues have their arguments and their flaws. I know who I am and it is easy to come to quick conclusions to what I think about Purple, Gold, and White, but I should still not rush headlong into a commitment that would be difficult to extricate myself from.

Alternatively, add a "foyer" to this QA so that those who enter aren't attacked 3 steps in.

The centre of my existence. For now.

To travel is to move in relation to a place, a beginning, a start, a home.

Death is always a risk in a desert but the danger is compounded when those threatened by said death are desperate to avoid it.

Whether it be bandits holding a granary hostage or monstrous little lizards hoping to unearth hidden power, the desperate are the quickest to look to those standing to their left and right and seeing someone possessing things they could use for themselves.

I spoke matter of factly when I stated we had no means to rescue those fallen. No means to overcome the numbers. To avoid further death, retreating back to the Well was the only option. I am glad I saw, some time later, that our companions managed to survive and crawl away on their own.

Guilt, afterall, is another thing that compounds danger and hurries death along.

What memories I can recall of my existence before my time in this world is full of sand. Of sun-coloured dunes holding the heat of fire. Of moonlit mounds as cool as the night. Rolling hills of sand hiding oases--and dangers--over each crest, around each bend.

But the sand here? In this world? In this place? It is uncomfortable. It is very much the same but also very much entirely different. It feels wrong. Something about the texture. The weight. The smell. The sand of this desert is too light and too soft, but also too heavy and too compact.

The sand in this world--or at least in this desert--has the aura of ash. It is, physically. sand. But, really, it is the ground up cremated remains of living things now dead and gone.

"Rider of Winds, guide me to shelter from these burning, biting sands."

These were the first words I spat out with a groggy grumble as I awoke face first in the sands. It was only many hours later, after I had found water, food, and safety within Ephia's Well, did I realize how nonsensical they were. Who even is the Rider of Winds that I referred to? Why did the name--the title(?)--come to my mind in my first moment of existence? In that moment of desperation?

I have no idea who I am, except for a name I could barely recall. Sand is familiar to me but the desert I awoke in was entirely alien to me. The people I have met have been--for the most part--friendly despite being strangers. I have been lurched into this world that is not my own with little to no memory but I remember the Rider of Winds.

Why?

Looking upon this new world, I am stricken with the thought that perhaps I will never discover the answer. But, regardless, I will walk the trails between the dunes and search.