Tale #1b: The Searchers

[Samwell Turleton]

The cloth of the serpent is splattered with vibrant multicolored pigments and the dancers beneath are as well. The blues blend into reds blend into ochres in large swathes across its body as it processes into the crowd. The full body of the serpent now is dancing in a circular movement through the crowd. The drummers have all found their way to the edges of the crowd and their steady beating is continuing to gradually increase adding to the drama of the dance and the excitement of the throng. You are absorbed in the show and dancing along with the other's actions. A drummer pauses to offer you a drum and a thick syrupy liquid from a pouch at her hip. She takes a glob of it and presses it under her tongue.

You look away for a moment uncertain that she is addressing you and you notice a camel passing behind the wall of tents. It seems out of place.

An elderly woman emerges from a tent nearby dressed in a more richly woven blue cloth. She jangles as she moves but you can't see what causes the sounds beneath the folds of cloth. She moves carefully heading towards the crowd and people begin to reverentially acknowledge her when they see her.

[thenewflesh]

Old Munkley blinks at the camel for a moment. Then he resolutely looks away: it's usually at moments like these that he wakes up. The old man nods, places a glob under his tongue and thanks the drummer. "Who's she?" he asks the drummer, pointing at the jangly woman.

[Samwell Turleton]

She is our eldest, the drummer says. She carries in her the stories of our past. She is our heart. She is our mother.

The syrupy substance sits under your tongue and has a mildly bitter taste to it. After only a short time you begin to feel a little more alert. You feel a little more awake and sensitive to the sounds of the drumming. The sound of the jangling of the elder woman become a little more pronounced to you. She continues her walk through the crowd and then speaks, We gather together like we have gathered together for generations before us. We celebrate the land. The drum beat softens at the beginning of her speech and changes to accentuate her declarations. The land.. Ba Boom Boom Boom ...that we have lived off of for generations. We sing to the spirits of the land. Ba Boom Boom Boom We sing to the spirits of the sky. Ba Boom Boom Boom

You hear the grunting of camels. It is coming from the direction that you saw one passing behind a wall of tents from before. There appear to be more camels in that direction than before.

The serpent puppet is lifted and lowered to the beat of the drums and the head swings back and forth with the Ba Boom Boom Boom. Powder continues to fly up in little clouds and puffs from the crowd. There isn't a spot of the cloth puppet or the dancers beneath that is without a splash of color.

Ba Boom Boom Boom We sing to keep the spirits happy for the spirits' happiness is key to the health of our land and our sky, the eldest declares.

[thenewflesh]

The camels claw and tear at Old Munkley's subconscious till he finally shakes his head vigorously. "Excuse me..." he mutters, and limps off towards the camel-grunting.

[Samwell Turleton]

Old Munkley presses his body along the heavy red cloth of the tents, ducking under rope tethers, to the area behind. The commotion of the festival behind you fills your ears.

Ba Boom Boom Boom

You hear the old woman's voice continuing her declarations but you can't make it out clearly from this location.

The swirling red dust wall is one half of the background. The red cloth tents are on the other side. Milling aimlessly between these are some bewildered camels tethered together by rope carrying crates on their backs.

[thenewflesh]

Old Munkley approaches the camels, and cautiously lays a withered, gnarled hand on them. If they let him, he examines the crates.

[Samwell Turleton]

Old Munkley approaches the camels carefully. He carries the smell of the camel he traveled with and encountered outside of the Casketlands on his clothes. A faint smell of rot wafts up from you, masked under the other fragrances from the foods you have eaten, the salves applied to your wounds, and the bitter syrupy substance on your breath. Old Munkley carries a familiar smell to the camels and they don't seem agitated by your presence. A few of the animals are milling around, rubbing their bodies against the supports of the tents, making the thick velvety fabric undulate. There are two resting with their legs folded under their bodies, their heads lolling from side to side, crates sitting atop their backs. You approach the crate of the nearest resting camel, realizing that you aren't feeling fully yourself, and fumble with the clasp. Your ears are sensitive to the sounds of the drumming. Your nostrils are sensitive to the smells of the animals and of those coming from your own body. Your eyes are sensitive to the swaying of the camel's heads and the wall of swirling red dust at your side. The clasp is stubborn and hard to open. You pause in your struggle with the contraption and a faint glow through the wall of dust catches your attention. Clunk

The plate of the clasp swings open on a sprung hinge and hits the wood of the box. You ease the lid open and see a layer of folded cloth. Removing the cloth reveals a decorated, carved wooden container in the shape of a bird with a long curved black beak. The lid slides loose to the ground as you pick it up revealing the mummified remains of a bird. Below the wooden container and filling out the rest of the crate there are thick plates of copper with elongated corners.

[Samwell Turleton]

Old Munkley abruptly hears the sound of yelling from above him. He looks up and sees a man hurtling through the air. The figure arcs through the air and crashes into the cloth roof of a nearby tent. The tent collapses under the weight of the impact. The stakes holding the tent tethered to the ground pull up from the ground and the taut ropes whip through the air as the fabric folds in on itself. Old Munkley hears the dazed sounds of the man in the fabric.

[Samwell Turleton]

As Old Munkley examines the objects, a shadow moves across and covers him, the objects in front of him, and the tent at his side in a dimmed light.

[Samwell Turleton]

Old Munkley hears more yelling and a few more figures arc through the air crashing into the cloth roof of the tent at his side. The ropes pull taut and the stakes pull up out of the ground. The fabric of the tent collapses around Lenny, George, Wyatt, and Jeremiah and they are in darkness struggling against the thick cloth.