The night was unusually warm considering not a cloud was in the sky. The day had been overcast, but the desert breeze had long since cleared the sky. The wide vista lit up into an eerie yellow by the low and very full moon. Here and there across the open desert of the as-Sahra al-Gharbiyah, the soft breeze whipped up small wind-drifts of sand into tiny twisters. To the west, a long way off, was the infamous Libyan Frontier and to the East, well before the Suez Canal, lay the plush banks of the Nile, said to be kept fertile by the manhood of Osiris, hidden from Isis by Anubis.

It was from this direction that the young boy had travelled. Three days of trekking alone, his food and water carefully rationed out, very aware of all the dangers of the desert. As he broke out from the green belt of the Nile onto the harsh desert plain, he paused to wipe his forehead on his sleeve. He looked up to the fat moon and smiled, breathing in the pure air before adjusting his rucksack and marching purposefully forwards.

A good hour and a half later, the boy stopped suddenly, sidestepping a darker patch of sand. He walked a further hundred yards and then knelt in the sand. He swung his rucksack to the ground in front of him and checked his bearings from an old, brass compass. Nodding to himself, he took out a battered scroll of parchment, unrolled it and began to read the old language. When finished, he took out a number of items from his bag and deftly smoothed the sand around him with a stick. Much like the way a modern plasterer might finish a wall.

He checked every direction minutely, his every sense attuned to the sounds of the desert. Satisfied, he set to work...

((Is this his idea I wonder???...Sor IM me if your online

:smile: :smile:

The boy looked about 13 or 14, he stood at about 5' 8" and a life of heavy farm work had given him a muscular build already. His jet black hair was tied neatly in a short pony tail by a scarlet ribbon that encircled his head, keeping any stray locks from blowing into his face. His dark skin glowed in the yellowish light from the moon as he worked. He had never really had a faith to speak of, until last year that was, when the stranger had approached him muttering what he thought to be garbage. Well, now he knew better, but this was not the time to reflect on such things, he had a job to do and do it he would.

Taking a small, glass, phial from the objects in front of him, he uncorked it and slowly began to pour the dark, red sand around him in a circle. As he connected the two ends of the circle to make it complete, he began to recite words, studied and learned by heart, as was the way of things now. Slowly and meticulously, he dug five small holes into the sand, placing a candle into each, so that the desert breeze would not extinguish the small flames and, of course, so that the light could not be seen from any distance.

Carefully, he lit the five candles, muttering a different phrase for each as he did so. Then he took what appeared to be a bunch of twigs and lit the ends, fanning them roughly to make them glow. He blew out the flames and tapped the ashes inside the circle of sand, putting the bunch to one side. He sat crossed legged, as though meditating and began to chant softly, raising his head to the moon, letting his lilting voice carry in whispers. On the fifth repetition of the verse, he traced his index finger in the ashes, drawing out a symbol.

His finger retraced that symbol exactly, on every repetition he spoke. His voice grew louder, crescendoing up to a peak and almost a scream. At that precise point, he drew his finger sharply from the symbol, drawing the ash away from him and breaking the circle of sand. He fell silent and sat quite still for a few minutes before blowing out the candles and settling down to sleep inside the circle.

He woke just before dawn and looked about him quickly, trying to see in every direction at once. His eyes pierced the already shimmering sands, from the odd Acacia to the few Markhs, their leafless, thornless branches, reaching up like skeletal hands. Content that still nobody observed him, he stepped carefully out of the circle and walked exactly 13 feet to the rare Poinciana tree. Usually fairly bare and orange, the lone tree glistened with scarlet flowers.

The boy knelt before it and placed his hands on the thin trunk. Again he repeated the chant of the night before, just as then, he now ended with a near scream of the words and hugged the tree, his ear placed firmly against it. For a few moments there was nothing and then low and deep, there came a soft rumbling noise and the tree shuddered ever so slightly, then all was silent once more. The young lad smiled with as much warmth as a young mother might to her newborn child, packed his things up, removed all trace and set off back the way he had come.

Things had gone as expected and he had to report to that effect...

:smile: :grin:

((Nice posts man :smile: ))

((Amen to that :grin:))

((Hmmm...isn't Sorenti's body somewhere in the Egyptian desert?))

((yup in Giza...under a pyramid...Gabe will get out there sooner or later...

((so that boy....he doin' anything related to Sorenti??))

((intirely possible as it is very common for powerful kindred in torpor to use others for things they cant do

((dunno about the rest of you, but i'm excited...POST RAY POST!!!!!!

((hope its that,sure would be nice to have Sorenti back))

((::chuckles quietly, not saying a word::

((you are a bad bad man Ray