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| Unto the Wastes; Open | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 23 2010, 03:44 PM (95 Views) | |
| Marx | Sep 23 2010, 03:44 PM Post #1 |
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Vault idiot
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Amar Ehsan looked out in to the moonlit wastes, hapless prey in the mouth of the cave he called home. He'd been out before, to hunt, to search for water. But every time he had laid himself to sleep, it had been in the comforting darkness of the cave he had been born in. This was utterly new. A journey in to the unknown. The unknown terrified him. Of course, he was a man. On the outside, while his heart pounded furiously, his face was calm and serene, his eyes twin pools of dutiful confidence. The cloth wrapped closely about his figure was a fortress, his blade an indomitable weapon. The flask in his water was the mighty river, not a scant day's worth of nourishment. The dried jerky in his satchel was a feast, not the pitiful provision that could be afforded him by a hungry clan. His guitar, safe in its case, was all the music in the world, and his hands were the hands of a conductor. They were the same hands that he would put to the ground to pray, invoking protection from the Most High. This was all true. All true. "Are you ready, Amar?" The other man in the mouth asked. He was Mirza Narzeem, elder of the clan, respected as its imam. He was old enough to remember coming to the cave- some said old enough to remember the time before the War. He was one of a handful of survivors from those times, and a bastion of sacred knowledge. Amar had always respected him the way youth respected their greatest elders. But now, he felt as though the man had signed his death warrant. "As I am needed, Imam. God willing." Amar did not tremble in his speech. He was proud of himself for that saving grace. Even if he felt he was going to die, that was no reason to show cowardice in front of such an honored one. Mirza put a hand on Amar's shoulder, gripping it tightly. Amar looked up at him- not too high, which surprised Amar. The great ones always seemed so much taller in the mind than in being. "You have been given a mission, my son, from God," he said. "As many before you have. Know that these times of sin are the most dire for the ummah. Sacrifices must be made. Desires restrained. The self questioned, and the needs of the people of Ishmael met through the suffering of the chosen few. And you, Amar, have been chosen." Amar sure felt chosen. To die. Absolutely to die. "You are the most fit of us all. While the old must be preserved for their knowledge, we have not the luxury of going out to serve in this capacity, and what very few strong men we have left we need for common defense. Do not think this is an act of betrayal; know that no matter of the fruits of your journeys, your selection has been met with the envy of us all." OhgodohgodohgodIamgoingtodie. "Go now, while the night is young. Let it shield you as it shielded the flock in the times of the Prophet, peace be upon him. Allah'u'akbar." "Allah'u'akbar, Mirza Nareem." "God willing, you will return with whatever it is you seek. Goodbye, my son." The hand dropped from Amar's shoulder, and quiet foot steps told him Mirza Nareem had left him. He stood still for a moment, contemplating the vastness of the night outside, the crescent moon in the sky. The thousand shining eyes of God surrounding it. Every moment he wasted brought the hell of day closer. He stepped out from the cave. |
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Amar Ehsan SPECIAL: S 4, P 5, E 4, C 7, I 5, A 7, L 4 Level: 1 Bucket town reputation: 0 Equipment Weaponry: Knife Armor: Tattered Wasteland clothing, face-covering scarf Inventory Water flask, knife, guitar, rations, compass. Looks Persian Teenager of moderate height and build. Dark eyes, short curly black hair, olive skin. | |
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