Sand. All around him was sand. A storm of sand, which swirled and swept around him, like elegant silk; caressing him. No, not caressing. Clinging. Like a parasite, it bit into his flesh, and if it wasn’t for the little protection he had brought with him in the form of a head scarf and robe, he suspected it would have felt worse – like being scratched by a thousand tiny needles. But instead he trudged on, leaving hoof prints in the sand, his hand gripping tightly to his head-scarf in an attempt to keep it in place. Through it, he peered, with barely open eyes to the sand obscured horizon.
For how long he stumbled, he couldn’t remember. Time was fleeting in the storm, and every moment he felt he had gotten a little closer to his target, the sands would block his vision, sweeping away the image in the blink of an eye. So for hours he stumbled, leaving nothing behind. For some time, it all looked lost. Feeling out blindly before him, for some time, his hand had found nothing but pain as the sand rammed, and caressed and stabbed into his exposed flesh. He would have cringed, but he could only break into a weak smile, beneath the scarf. The blind being led by the blind. His hand was his only guidance in the storm. And so it was his hand that finally guided him to the tiny crumpled canvas tent, the only refuge in the sand storm swept land of Tanaris.
For a moment, he paused, a second of silence, before his hand in a moment of desperation, scratched and clawed for the entrance, where upon finding the edge, it tore backwards, revealing a glimmer of bright light in the dark of the storm, which blotted out even the sun. Swiftly Kharn pushed forward, entering it, before quickly releasing the canvas. His eyes burnt with the bright light of the interior of the tent, watering and causing the surroundings to blur. His hands moved ever closer to his head wrap which he promptly removed, before moving ever closer to his eyes. He was about to rub them, when a voice broke the silence, dragging him back to his senses.
“Don’t cha’ be rubbin yah eyes,” the voice said in a calm light manner “If da sand be enterin’ yah eyes, yah won’t be seein’ ever again. Come. Wash dem”
Briefly, above the din of the colliding sand on the canvas walls, Kharn could hear the sound of gentle trudging steps. Moments later, he felt his hands plunge into something cold and wet. He guessed it was water, but he wasn’t entirely sure, the smell of alcohol hung in the air, along with the smell of rich spices and herbs. His nose twitched in eagerness, not just at the smell, but at the growing knowing urge he felt to rub at his eyes. Moments later, his hands now wet reached to his eyes, where they rubbed at them rapidly, allowing him to finally see the place he could now call sanctuary.
He glanced around the large canvas tent, and all its furnishings with wide eyed intrest. Crudely carved tables, lays scattered with scrawled out parchments and books. In the centre was a clear space, a tribal rug which separated them from the sandy ground. Old cupboards and cases, covered in scratches hugged every wall, holding herbs, spices and potions of varying types – peace-bloom, ghost mushrooms, life-root and Captain Rumsey’s Larger. He smiled, a wide grin, baring his teeth.
“Didn’t know Captain Rumsey’s Larger was a typical medicine” he remarked, glancing towards the troll, who had greeted him.
She was tall, taller then he imagined. She easily stood as tall as him, her skin seemed unusually clear, though it appear scratched in places, the small gold tufts of fur seemed well kept, almost groomed. If it wasn’t for the possible wrinkles and tribal markings which stretched down the right side of her face, in jagged black lines, Kharn may have even found her attractive. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He refused to be a monster. Not anymore. Not ever. Yet even as he reminded himself of this choice, he continued to fight out against his instincts which constantly urged him to stare at her long bronze hair, which hung from her head in large scraggly mane. She was clearly a member of the Sandfury trolls, yet when she spoke next, her voice continued in its calm, light manner, like a mother to a child.
“Dat’s because, unknown tah some, da properties of alcohol can beh used tah protect and sterilise da most grevious of wounds...now let meh look at yah ‘and”
With that, she brought her hand to his own exposed hand, moving it close to her face where a keen wide eye stared and inspected it. But even Kharn knew something was wrong, for in the excitement of his discovery he had forgotten the pain, he had gone through to find the place. Even now, his hand felt numb, and upon closer inspection, Kharn could see his fur stained with blood. For a while she stared, before walking off towards the shelf where her hands briefly moved across it, touching each jar and bottle slowly, before she finally settled it on the rum, bring it close to her, as her other hand clawed at a bandage on the table nearby. Moments, later she returned, seizing his exposed hand again, removing the cork of the bottle with the other, before promptly pouring the contents of the rum over his hand. Searing pain seized Kharn, causing him to growl angrily, the pain pushing itself to the very front of his conscious, urging him to reach out and crush her. But then her voice returned once more, soothing him slightly as she shushed him before wrapping the bandage tightly around his hand. He stared at her:
“You used a whole bottle of Captain Rumseys?”
“I be ‘avin more from where dat beh from” she smiled back sweetly.
In a matter of minutes it was over, but the pain lingered for much longer.
-------
It was hours later before they spoke again. In that time, Kharn had been sent to rest in the corner of the tent on the make-shift bed. He’d quickly found slumber, but the nightmares which haunted his dreams continued to plague him. He woke with a start, sweat on his forehead, glancing around the tent in a panic stricken state before his eyes fell once more on the troll before him.
“I-I’m sorry just, a bad dream,” he said quietly, his one good hand reaching to his forehead where he wiped at the sweat again. “I-I can’t sleep” He smiled weakly, as he eyed the troll, who sat at the centre of the tent. She didn’t smile and simply nodded in response, before promptly responding.
“I cannah sleep either. Maybeh we can share our problemz, and cure em tagedah?” She patted the rug beside her, causing Kharn to smile as he stood up stiffly, moving from the bed towards the rug, where he slowly slipped down to sit beside her. With that he had a chance to finally inspect her eyes. They stood out, in a deep bronze like her hair, yet at the side, they appeared bloody, the veins ever so slightly inflamed. Before he could look further she spoke again, smiling. “I be t’inkin dats why yah be searchin out a Zufli like me”
He smirked. She was intelligent.
“You’d be right. But not any old Zufli, but the legendary Ru’ziz. They say you can cure anything. They say you know every ailment in the book,” He paused “And that’s why I need you, because there’s this thing. This big thing. Inside...” He poked his forehead and paused again “Here. It’s in here, and it keeps calling to me, it keeps calling itself -“
Suddenly he found his head in her hands. Her face peered close to him, staring into his eyes, studying him. He paused, and gulped slightly, edging backwards slowly.
“D-do you mind?”
“Course a’ do. Because I be sensin’ stuff on yah,” she mumbled, before taking in a large deep sniff. She paused “Yah stink.”
“Excuse me, I know I stink, I’ve been in a sandstorm for Earth Mother knows how long!”
“Yah, yah, but dats nah wha’ I be talkin’ bou’. Yah stink of fel.” She paused and stared at him, before standing up, and moving swiftly to the table, her tribal robe, flowing slightly, as she moved. She quickly grabbed a book and flicked through it, and began to speak swiftly.
“Ah ‘ere it be. It be a curse. Yah stink of it. Yah can’t sleep right?”
“No, I can’t. But that’s not it. It’s... lots of things. Like, I get these urges...”
“It says dat too...urges. Stinkin’ o’ fel. Yah t’ink yah be knowin more dan Ru’ziz?,” she smirked back “Yah be cursed mah cattle like friend. Yah be cursed by something, which won’t eva’ be lettin’ go of yah until...”
“So it’s a possession?” he said, standing up swiftly, and leaning forward, his injured hand stretched out towards her slightly.
“N’ah. It ain’t beh anythin’ dat easy...” she paused “It beh you. It beh yah hatred, yah jealousy. It beh everythin yah ain’t...” she smirked widely, and stared at him. A big tusky grin “And it beh callin’ itself dah...” she smiled, her tongue gently caressing her right tusk sensually “...d’ah Nigh’ Hauntah”
There was a pause. Kharn held his breath for a moment and stared at her, before his face broke into a wide manic smile.
“So you know of it?”
“O’course. Y’ah not beh da first. Y’ah won’t beh da’ last...”
“So how can I cure it? How can I stop it? I’ve had this...this thing for years and now...now...”
“The urges won’t beh stoppin’ it?”
“Not as well, and...,” He paused swiftly, his hands sinking into the pockets of his robe. “I want to stop it. Stop it all. Before I hurt someone.”
“Dere ain’t beh a cure.”
“There has to be.”
“Dere ain’t beh a cure bar death mah bovine friend. Dere ain’t beh a cure in da’ world for anythin’ dat me and you ‘ave got.”
“Oh and what exactly have YOU got little miss “Zu’fli”, that is as bad as this hmm?,” he shouted, his voice echoing around the room, as he breathed in and out rapidly. “What illness have you got that threatens everyone you ever loved? Ever cared about? Everyone in fact?”
She paused and stared at him.
“I beh a failure. Because yah said I can cure everyone. Dat beh wrong. Because I couldn’t cure everyone. I couldn’t cure does dat mattered to me. To people I loved. To people ah cared about. Everyone in fact,” she eyed him again, tears forming in her eyes “I couldn’t save aneh of meh husbands, brodahs, mah famileh, when dose goblins be building dere town of stone and steam. Dey came in and dey killed dem with spears and guns,” She spat. “I couldn’t beh savin’ dem from death. Dey’ died. And I couldn’t save dem.”
Kharn eyed her slowly and paused, stepping forward.
“I’m sorry...”
“Dat’s alright...” she sniffed slightly, her left arm, clutched to her chest, slowly rubbed the top of her right arm as she stared down at the floor. Kharn continued to step forward...
“But there is a cure,” he said slowly, as he came to stop before her, his face mere inches away from hers. He removed his hands slowly from his pockets, placing them gently on her arms, just beneath the shoulders. He tried to make contact, but she avoided it, instead starring at the tear stained rug. He sighed, and began to speak “Because what you need is someone to help you just...’get over it’.” He slowly moved his hands to her hips, smiling lovingly as he once more tried to stare up into her face.
Her face twitched and moved up swiftly. But it wasn’t what he expected. Instead of the normal loving face he expected, instead what stared back was a grim angry visage. She stared at him with rage fuelled eyes, as her hand swiftly moved from her arm to smack at Kharn’s head, causing him to stumble back, staring in shock. As he did so, he just stared at her as she stood before him, his hands clenching and unclenching as she stared at him.
“Yah be a monstah...”
He paused and suddenly spoke rapidly...
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me...”
She growled loudly, the growl covering the din of the storm outside.
“No yah not. I know about yah’ “Night Hauntah”. I know yah be Kharn Blackeye. I know yah’ reputation and yah disgustin’ habits. I ‘ad to ‘elp yah victims, yah know dat? Yah so called “Lovahs”, which you left behind. Yah would ‘ave done dah same to me. I ‘ad thought dah rumours yah changed were true. But dey weren’t, were dey? I would ‘ave lost anodah ‘usband, anodah lovah tonight, ‘ad yah ‘ad your way...”
She stared at him, with bloodshot eyes, her tusks bared. Her arms hung by her sides, where her fists rapidly clenched and unclenched. Her hair, once so beautiful, now hung before her eyes in a tangled mess...
“Look, I’m sorry, please let me explain...” he pleaded, hands extended towards her, eyes desperate.
“Get out...” she whispered her voice barely audible over the roaring sand outside.
“Please-“
“
GET OUT!” she screamed, a feral battle-cry, as her fists clenched. She walked towards him swiftly, causing Kharn to stop, quickly scrabbling for his head scarf before swiftly turning towards the door of the canvas tent. Moments later he was engulfed in the storm once more, walking towards the next destination. As always he was alone, and apart from the roar of the deadly sand, it would have been tranquil. But pain walked onwards with him. Pain was his only companion, and the pain of his mistakes would haunt him to his final days.
-------
That night, Ru’ziz, drank her entire stock of Captain Rumsey’s Larger. She should have been worried, drinking the stock. But she wasn’t. Nothing mattered anymore. All she could think of was her husbands. Her brothers, sisters and family. All those she had failed to save. And she’d fail to deal with Kharn. Failed to prepare herself for him. Failed to even help him. All she’d done, all she would do, would fail. Tears formed in her eyes, and it was tears which helped guide her into a hazy sleep.
Sand. All around her was sand. It stretched from horizon to horizon in the calm Tanaris desert. As she stared around her, she began to walk towards the horizon, the fabled mountains of time, jutting out over the horizon. Why she was walking there, no one would have known, but as she did so, she left great footprints in the sand. Footprints to remind her of where she’d come from. What she had been, what she was and what she would always be.
A failure.
To be continued?
