Oasis City was a city with worn barbicans standing tall to ward off demons and raiders alike. The walls of the city were surrounded by four curtain walls. The North Wall consisting of battlements while the west and east walls were covered in ballista and cannons to protect the city from the side.
The City was surrounded by a vast winding desert that was like hills that would swallow the city. When the wind blows the sand would transform into still waves that looked like it would swallow the whole area. They are called the waves of Oasis, beautiful to look at as they sparkle but terrible if they strike.
The train caravan entered through the North Wall. The Caravan Master was perspiring as he felt the gaze of the hardened guards of Oasis City. His fingers interlocking together, his eyes reflected the tall walls. A guard stopped the caravan from progressing further. His rough arms, his strong gaze that would make one shiver. The Guard was a hardened veteran and many of them die just by patrolling the boundaries of the cities. The Caravan Master has journeyed through the desert and has survived for years. But will his luck continue? How can he compare to the Throes Guards? The guardsmen who face danger every day? The population of the guardsmen numbered thousands. They protect a million citizens of Oasis City from harm. There was no one that would be foolish to offend such men.
The Caravan Master's jaw tightened. His eyes trailed to the guard, his speech starting to look clumsy. The guard snorted, he inspected the caravan before landing his eyes to a young man with a rather eccentric outfit. He carried a spear on his right hand. He wore a hood and was covered in a cape that was stained with sand and dirt. The countenance of the young man was that of a skull. The grey hair and the jet-black eyes of the young man made the guard thought that this young man must have seen things that would break the soul and mind.
"Are you a bleak walker?" He said in the language of the Talons.
"Yes, hail the Talon King," replied the young man in the same language. "Thorned Dove, the Snake of Throes crawl the sand, in the dark, it patiently waits."
The face of the guard slightly turned solemn. "You know the words of the Throe?"
"The View From above shows our smallness. The premeditation of Evil says that one must imagine the distant bleakness," The young man replied while keeping his face bland.
"I see. A true Bleak Walker of the Throes, what is your name, Bleak Walker?"
"Nolan Salvatore, bearer of the Dove of Thorns and the Snake of Woes."
The sigil of a Thorn Dove appeared on his right eye. The Snake of Woes appeared on his other eye. The sigils circulated along his eye's iris. The guard gawked at the sigil that appeared before him. He knew that there are people who have sigils but it was his first time seeing two sigils in both eyes.
The Caravan Master's mouth opened wide. He thought that the young man was an experience wanderer but to think that he would be a bleak walker! A bleak walker walks the lands that no one dares to trek. And they are lone wanderers that would slay monsters and demons.
Nolan was a soldier of the Throes. He fought in many armies and finally walked with an army of bleak walkers who were trying to help save the world from the darkness. Nola journeyed far and somehow he ended up having the sigil of the Dove of Thorns and the Snake of Woes. But was he special for having those? Of course, he was not. The bleak walkers he fought with possessed the two sigils. They followed the Heroes of Mankind through thick and thin and were able to hold the line for them. Nameless file and rank soldiers who had nothing to lose raised their shields and welcome their deaths.
Towering behemoths and demons with skins that even silver could not pierce. Hides that even cannons couldn't penetrate. All of them didn't have the intention to retreat. Retreat to what home? The home where demons ran amok? Where monsters pick the corpses of the women and children? The Bleak Walkers planted their foot down and continued fighting back until they found themselves dying one after another. Nolan retreated because his fellow bleak walkers told him to fight the hopelessness. He wanted to die on that battlefield with his fellow soldiers. But he was sent away while they died. "Let the Thorn Dove fly!" shouted his comrades. "Hope lives! The Bleak walks!"
And so he reluctantly turned his back from his comrades and marched towards the place where the Heroes should be. He wanted to know if they won. But yet along the way, he saw the sky clear up. The darkness that covered the sky was gone and he died within the sands. Yet Nolan awoke in a world where the darkness was coming again. Most men would break at this thought. But not Nolan, he experienced death twice. He awoke in this world twice from death. He shall not fear the dying of the light. No matter how bleak it was. A bleak walker would walk on.
"Two sigils...you have journeyed far, Bleak Walker," said the guard. His countenance was that of respect. He nodded and said. "You can now pass!"
The Caravan Master who has his mouth opened nodded. Nolan dismounted and sauntered to where the caravan master was. His perpetual calm face showed no emotion. "I thank you for taking me here, Caravan Master."
"It was nothing. You helped us along the way," said the Caravan Master with a weary smile. The train of caravan slowly entered the northern gates. Nolan watched the train of caravan go. His hand holding his spear he looked at the gates with melancholy. It has been quite a while since he stepped into the gates. His cloak fluttered, revealing the dagger behind his back, the belt where his bandolier was tied. Nolan thought of many things from his memories. How he arrived here and how he met her, the Burned Woman who did her best in a world where people would spit on her face.
...
She walked into a store. A man with a full beard was sharpening a sword with a whetstone. She paced herself near the weapon racks, her eyes gazing at the weapons. The man with a full beard narrowed his eyes. He stopped sharpening the sword on his hand. "Are you going to buy some, Cursed woman?"
The woman clicked her tongue and pointed at the rack. "How much for the sword?" the woman with the left part of her face burnt said. The left arm she used to point was fleshy pink and it was disturbing to look at. The right part of her body wasn't burnt but her appearance made people around cringe with disgust written on their face.
The man with a full beard winced. He pushed his hands on the counter and said. "One hundred Talons take it or leave it!" His face was stern.
The woman eyed the man for a long time. She grabbed her pouch and untied the string. She started picking up the Talons from her pocket until her pouch was withered. The man with the full beard assumed that she only had those coins on her. "Will this do?" said the burned woman.
The man with the full beard eyed the talon coins. "Take the weapon. Get out of my store."
The burned woman took the weapon and grabbed the sheath with it. The full beard man pushes his cheek with his fist and stared at the burned woman tying the sheath to her leather belt. She wore a brigandine and her cloak was stained with sand and dirt.
She walked out of the shop. The full beard man's expression turned solemn as the door of his shop closed. Women with burned features were 'cursed' according to the beliefs of the people of Oasis. Most shopkeepers won't allow them to stay too long in their shops in fear of the 'curse' that they harbor.
The Burned Woman walked through the sandstone street and took a left to where the low districts are. The low district consists of slums and poor people who spend their lives in poverty and backbreaking labor. There are about four districts inside Oasis City. The Noble District is where the nobleman's and royals live. The Market Districts are where most of the trade happens and finally the Throes District where the military and residential houses are. The place was built for those who have uplifted themselves from poverty. She passed by a tall brick and stone building with a cone-shaped structure where a cross was placed. A man holding a sand stained bible preached at the men and women walking by. She ignored the man and walked to a back alley. Dirty gutters, rats loitered, and trash was scattered around this alley. She put her right hand on her sword as she carefully took a step forward. Her movement was rather practiced and she didn't even make a single noise as she walked towards the dim-light area.
She spotted three men surrounding a woman. She was placed on top of a crate, her legs spread, her skirt ripped open. A big man was thrusting his hips at the woman. Another man was pleasing himself with the woman's breast. The last man was rubbing his cock at the woman's mouth. Streaks of tears ran down upon the woman's cheeks. This vile scene made the Burned Woman slowly sheath her sword. Her posture lowered as she stands on toes, not making any sound as she could.
Most would shout and charge like some fool. But the time she has spent in Oasis City made her learned how stupid it was to do so. If she wanted to help this woman she would need to be careful. So she crept up behind the man thrusting his hips. She pulled her sword and sneered inwardly at the three men who were lost in lust.
"Die," She said coldly as her sword pierced the heart of the man thrusting his hips. The man jolted his back as he spurts blood from his mouth. He tilted forward and fell down on top of the woman who screamed at the sight of blood. The other two pulled back and tried to cover their cocks. The Burned woman sneered as she chops down the man on the left at the pelvis area. The man screamed in pain but the Burned Woman stabbed her sword on the man's throat. The last man who was still alive was able to back off. His face was fuming with utter rage. "Bitch, I'll fucking kill you!"
The man charged the burned woman. He was fast and this made the Burned Woman guard against. She stumbled back as her sword met with the man's sword. The man sneered and lifted his leg, kicking the Burned Woman away. The Burned Woman took three steps back, her hands on her stomach as she gritted her teeth, trying to stay focus. The man didn't let her. He tackled the Burned Woman to the wall. The pommel of his sword hit her left shoulder. The Burned Woman kicked the man's crotch. He took two steps back and stayed within arm's length.
"You fucking cursed whore," he cursed. His eyes grew chilly as the pain on his crotch subsided.
The Burned Woman's expression was that of exhaustion. Her chest was heaving up and down. Her sword hand was trembling as she felt her muscles ache. The man she was facing wasn't a greenhorn. If the other three weren't sneak attacked by her she would have surely had no match. She realized that despite being blessed recently by the Fire that burned her. She was still a fledgling who still lacks experience. She cursed inwardly as she wonders how she could get out of this situation.
The man charged at her. She was in thought so she wasn't able to properly deflect. She tripped and her back smacked hard. Her hair got ruffled, as she looked and saw the man that was about to strike her head. His arms were raised as he was enveloped by the searing sun. She thought that it was the end until suddenly a spear exited out of the man's throat.
The man let his sword go as he tries to cover the wound on his neck to no avail. He kneeled, his eyes rolled as he fell on a pool of dirty water. The Burned Woman' eyes were wide opened. Her beating heart soothed as she cranes her neck to where that spear came from. A man garbed in a hood and a cape was striding towards her.
Out of caution she regained her senses and placed her sword in front of her chest. The man who was striding towards her looked with his jet-black eyes. The strands of his grey hair swaying as he stops four steps away from the man who he killed. He scanned the surrounding. His eyes were observing the three men before landing at the woman who was hugging her knees in fear.
The Burned Woman looked at the man cautiously. She curled her fist on her sword, ready to act if he does anything. Now, come and look at me with the same eyes as everyone! She thought. The hooded man slowly turned his eyes towards the Burned Woman. She expected him to cringe or wince at the burned look on her. But yet what she saw was something she didn't expect at all.
The hooded man looked at her with melancholy. His eyes showed sadness, longing, and warmness. "Are you okay?" said the hooded man.
"I am," the Burned woman said immediately. "What do you want?"
The hooded man didn't reply for a second. "Nothing, I saw you were in trouble and I thought that you needed help."
"You want me to pay you?" she wheezed. "Rob them, take their coins. I have no coins in me."
The hooded man's expression was still as water. She thought the man by now would cringe or look at her with disgust with her attitude but instead, he kept a perpetual calmed countenance. "Not everyone wants coin. I came here to help, you wouldn't believe me?"
"Are you a cleric? Some sort of good Samaritan?" she said coldly. "Well good for you."
"Not at all," he mouthed. "I am merely someone who wanted to help. Not everyone in this world is a cruel person."
"How would you know?" The Burned Woman sneered.
"I know."
The Hooded Man's eyes suddenly transformed. His eyes revealed two sigils that made the Burned Woman froze. The Dove of Thorns and the Snake of Woes were the signs of a Bleak Walker. "Two Sigils...you're a bleak walker?"
"That I am. So now do you believe me when I say that the world can be good? You probably won't but not every person is cruel. Not everything in this world is evil." He pointed his finger at the sky. "View the World from Above and you would realize how we are specks of dust in this world. Life's a cruel game, and acting bitter about it will do you no good. Take my words and be lenient."
The Burned Woman stood still. Her eyes showing different emotions, her heart like a storm. Bleak Walkers were people who trek through forbidden lands and experience the worst of the worst that could break the mind and soul. She heard of the Sigil and the Bleak Walkers she knew only had one. But the hooded man was different; he had two sigils on him, showing how much he suffered as he walks bleakly.
"I," her mouth moved. She looked at the direction where the man left. If a bleak walker could say those words then why should she not listen? She has spent the last two years of her life in discrimination. But the calm and peculiar look of that Bleak Walker made her smile slightly. It could be said that Ciara, the Burned Woman felt something change on her. A warm feeling rose on her chest.