Though a tad uncomfortable--both for the animal and the rear, it was possible for two people to ride on the camel. Pale felt relieved that she had encountered some good fortune on her journey, but knew that it was her own fault for not preparing adequately. Familiar with only the faintest amount of the Beastkin tongue, her guide had given up completely on trying to explain who he was or whoever he was supposedly sharing a camp with, and instead focused on making sure they were headed in the right direction.
It was soon after their meeting that the sun had set completely, and a chill comparable to the Steppe winters began blowing across the sands. A short lived relief from the unbearable heat quickly gave way to a desire for warmth of any kind. Thankfully, it wasn't a half-hour later when a light could be spotted rising from the shallow desert valleys as they peaked upon the dunes. Soon, the two of them were approaching a camp that appeared rather spartan from the perspective of a Beastkin, populated by a similarly-clothed group of travellers who quickly became interested in the passenger their comrade had so graciously brought along with him.
"------, ---- ---- --." As they dismounted, the nomad pointed towards the site's only standing tent, and struggled again to find the correct words, "Speak? Beastkin."
"...Speak?" She repeated.
He snapped his fingers, "--- -- - --------- --... Elder! Speak."
His gesturing made the point well enough. There was clearly someone more appropriate she could be speaking to inside of the tent. Feeling the gazes of the camp's dwellers as she walked, Pale moved the flap of the structure aside to expose a hideous, acrid smell that forced her to recoil. Within the tent, a number of tools, primarily glass and bronze, were scattered across the fabrics that had been laid to lend the enclosure some level of homeliness or order. A wooden table--one much too large to be ferrying around on the open desert, was decorated with similar accoutrements, attended to by a man wearing an embroidered cap. Raising his gaze as if disturbed from his work, the passing glance lingered on Pale for a few awkward seconds.
"...- --------? -------- ----- --- ----... ah-" His tone was distracted, "Uh- my apologies. I was not expecting a Beastkin to wander in."
"You can understand me?" She wondered.
"More or less. My tutor was a professor of languages, and he was quite insistent that being a polyglot would help with my studies." He clarified, "Still, it's been years since then, so forgive me if my grammar isn't excellent."
"No, it's perfect." Pale shook her head, "I was led here by one of your comrades."
"Shisha?"
"I never caught his name."
"I'm sure it was him. He wanted to search the camp's perimeter for flowers to use in his droughts. I told him it was a poor idea, but he is not one to listen. However, considering he happened upon you, I suppose all is well."
"I was attacked by some kind of gargantuan worm."
"A Hemli? If you were walking around haphazardly, I can only imagine you were." The man explained, "They are sensitive to vibrations in the ground. If you stand still, they will often ignore you. That is, if you have not already drawn their ire."
"Are you nomads?"
"Oh, no. Not in the slightest." He replied, "We are alchemists. I am a professor teaching at Anan-Daje's Institution of Alchemy, and my companions are students. My name is Majed al Jalil."
"Pale." As he extended a hand, she leaned forward to take it, "I was sent here from Tor."
"Is that so? This is my first time meeting a Beastkin fluent in the common tongue."
"Ah, no… I'm only proficient in the language of my homeland." She clarified, "Most of the humans I've spoken to are familiar with it. I'm here on King Granda's orders, you see--or rather, one of his advisors."
"King Granda!?" Majed exclaimed, "If you have come bearing tidings from Tor, then we must send you on your way to the Shah immediately! I have heard from some of my colleagues that the Demons of legend have returned!"
"They haven't reached this far already?"
"Thankfully, no. In truth, your report is considered long overdue."
"It isn't a very positive one, I'm afraid. King Granda has hopes that the Lunar Dominion will aid Tor in its protection of the mainland."
"A difficult proposition…" Majed stroked his chin, "But then again, I am no diplomat. You will need to take this up with the Shah as soon as possible. Anan-Daje is another three days' journey from here, at least."
"Is there any way I could get there faster?"
"I am surprised the reputable sorcerers of Tor did not offer you a magical means of travel."
"They did. But a treaty supposedly prevents them from using magic to travel beyond Khazman's borders."
"Is that so? Well, how honourable of them to uphold a no-doubt ancient agreement under such circumstances, but personally, I would have done away with it." He muttered, "Fear not. We intended to break camp and begin our return to the city tomorrow morning. You would be more than welcome to join us, if it pleases you."
"If there's no other alternative, then that would be splendid. Thank you."
"You must forgive this mess. But rest assured that cleaning it up will not be a problem."
"I'm surprised you somehow managed to bring a table with you into the desert…"
"Packing is made ever so simple by a Bag of Holding." Pulling a leather sack from his belt, Majed picked up one of the alembics from the table before stuffing it into the small container without any trouble at all, "It does take some effort to fit larger objects in, however. That is why I made the opening elastic, you see."
"I've seen one of those before. Are they that popular?"
"No respectable alchemist would be caught dead without one." He smirked, "As I'm sure you know, flowers native to the desert are the key to Khazman's advanced alchemy. We set out with the intention of gathering reagents for droughts to heal sicknesses, but our luck has been poor since setting out from the city."
"How early do you plan on leaving?"
"As soon as the sun rises, if fate permits it." He answered, "Your mission is an important one. We will travel as quickly as possible, but it is unlikely that we will reach Anan-Daje before the day is out."
"Do you think the Shah will offer aid?"
"As I have said, I am no diplomat." He warned, "-However, the most gracious Emir Bin-Amashiri is a merciful man. Ever since his crowning, he has desired to mend the fractured relationship between our people and those of Tor. It is difficult to say how much help he will offer, but I would not expect him to refuse you outright."
"The Holy Alliance will need to cooperate if we wish to eradicate Demonkind."
"Yes… I have heard of the newfound alliance between Tor and the elusive Elves of the eastern peninsula…" Majed recounted, "We live in truly remarkable times. What intrigues me, however, is why His Majesty insisted that a Beastkin be sent to negotiate on his behalf."
"The Steppe is lost. Countless Beastkin lost their lives defending the plains of Ip from Demons during this year's Summit. I was there." Pale answered, raising her silver arm, "-I now know all too well the danger Demonkind poses to this world. My tribe, and the tribes of my people--slaughtered like animals, without remorse or meaning. The same fate awaits all nations, if we allow ourselves to become frozen with inaction."
"That material… Elven Silver?" The ageing alchemist muttered, "And such fine craftsmanship… the alchemists of Tor have been doing more than simply twiddling their thumbs, I see."
"Not quite. These prosthetics were made for me by an apprentice of the alchemist Yamora."
"Yamora? The very same who deciphered the mystery of the Emerald Tablets?" Majed sounded amazed, "Is it possible that anyone alive could call themselves her apprentice?"
"Her name is Fusala. I came to know her days before the battle at the summit." Pale explained, "Not only that--the Hero of legend, Barion, still lives. He's currently investigating something in Branda."
"Barion… I am afraid my knowledge of Tor's ancient history is rather poor. I presume you mean the fellow responsible for supposedly vanquishing the Demon King 500 years ago?"
She nodded.
"What a troublesome world this is, that a man who should have passed centuries go yet lives." He waxed, "But no matter. Your journey has been a tiring one, I imagine. Feel free to rest until morning, and help yourself to anything you may need--besides our alembics and distillers, that is. Alchemists tend to be rather protective of their tools."
"Thank you. I'll do that."
With her fortune having taken a turn for the better, Pale didn't hesitate to make herself at home within the camp. Many of the alchemists present for the expedition would approach her with questions of her homeland, and of her silver prosthetics which stood out in the low light of the fire. Anan-Daje's Institution of Alchemy was apparently quite the pedigreed school, having birthed many of the Lunar Dominion's brighter minds since its construction. Almost as soon as Pale found the time to lay down, sleep took her almost instantly, and it wouldn't be until the first light of dawn when she was disturbed again.
Whether desert nomads or alchemists, the Khazmani people were experts at navigating the desert which surrounded their settlements, using the cover of night to estimate their positions using star charts and travelling during the day. Alongside alchemy, astronomy was a rapidly-developing field of study in the Lunar Dominion, and the country's thirst for knowledge was quick to expand ideologically to Tor in the west, the researchers of which having a comparatively simpler understanding of the stars. Pale was astounded at the group's expertise in narrowing down their precise location. Despite setting off towards the dunes once more, she was relieved that her journey would no longer involve any guesswork.
But even so, the desert heat continued to pound down as the day progressed. Their pace wasn't especially hurried, but moreso than it would have been had Pale not turned up. The mysterious Beastkin who had arrived with news for the Shah, whether they liked it or not, had altered the alchemists' goals somewhat. Over the course of that day's beginning and end, she learned a surprising amount regarding alchemy from the overenthusiastic Majed and was fortunate enough to witness a few examples of chemical distillation and concentration when they stopped for the night. It was a strange feeling--being so far from the homeland she had dwelled within her entire life. The richness of the world beyond her meagre ideals astounded her.
When all was packed and ready, they set out once more the following sunrise. As the time was spent speaking, laughing and discussing, the morning quickly turned to afternoon, then evening. It seemed like they were fated to spend yet another night on the unforgiving sands, until the group's spearheading troop of camels hollered from the top of a particularly large dune.
"...What are they saying?" Pale couldn't understand a word of their shouting.
"Anan-Daje is within sight, apparently." Majed answered, "Come. Let us have a look."
Cresting the shard of billowing sand, Pale was at first struck with a certain unbelief as her eyes wandered to the horizon. A grand river, enshrouded with greenery and life, was juxtaposed against the harsh, dusty winds. Along its plentiful bank ran homes of mud brick and lime--the wide source alive with fishing vessels casting nets into the water. In the far distance stood a city of impeccable size, crowned by a palace of polished white stone.
"Unbelievable…" She muttered.
"Quite the sight, is it not? Poets from around the world have likened Anan-Daje to a jewel rising from the unforgiving sands." Majed commented, "The Nobahan--this mighty river, is a bounty we have exploited well. You could perhaps say that it is as important to the wellbeing of Khazman as the blood running through the veins of its people."
"A jewel…" Pale lowered her gaze, "The Steppe has nothing like this."
"I am aware that your people are reluctant to join together as one nation." He replied, "It may not be my place to say, but the beauty of my homeland--seeing what we have accomplished as a cohesive whole, brings me great joy. I am certain that the Holy Alliance would welcome the Beastkin, if they so desired."
"We don't have a leader." She stated, "No King. No Shah. Only Elders. Many have tried to unite us, but our differences have driven us apart every time. Once, that was a point of pride for me--our individualism. But I know now that we are all individuals, only seeking reasons to stay apart. What method other than violence would bring people like that together?"
"I cannot say." Majed admitted, "But if there is a single man who can answer that question, His Eminence would certainly be a contender. You should take this opportunity to discuss your woes with him. He is Shah for a reason, after all."