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From Ashes

Western Province

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a part of From Ashes, by The Adversary.

The burning hot seas of sand that are Mephisto.

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over Western Province, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

173 readers have been here.

Setting

The west is the hottest location in the world. The seemingly endless dunes of sand are broken only by the rare tundra and oasis. There is the occasional outcropping of stone hills and small mountains. The land is dotted with camps and large fortress cities.
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Western Province

The burning hot seas of sand that are Mephisto.

Minimap

Western Province is a part of Arhk'morina.

2 Places in Western Province:

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Lucinda Zelpher [0] I shall invoke love from my diety's, bringing hope and fortune into the eyes of my people.

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The reason that the west was the most inhospitable land in the world was the heat. The north was cold and dark, but by bundling up and carrying a torch - unless you were a Saetesh or Hieme - you were likely to survive the cold of the higher lands. In the west water was scarce. The sun beat your skin mercilessly, cooking and burning all who dared live under its intense glow. The west was filled with raiders, and packs of large, fast, and lethal animals. But the Djinn and the Saetesh had lived here since their beginnings, and they had lived in harmony. They had managed to carve out a living from the land. As well as a rich and powerful nation, to boot! The land here was alive, because here the land was the deity. Mephisto was the force that guided and defended the west. The force that punished the raiders who escaped the long arm of the western army - for the god's arm was even longer.

Dom Draegg Amon wiped his arm across his forehead. His bare arms and face were covered in a thick layer of sweat. Though the Djinni could better tolerate the heat, they still felt it. Unlike the Saetesh, who did not feel the heat of the sun at all. He lifted a skin of water and uncorked it. His slitted eyes narrowed as they swept over the flat stone covered by a thin layer of sand that was carried away in small waves by the wind. He took a small drink of water from the skin and corked it back before tucking it into a pouch on his horse's saddle. He glanced down at the animal and muttered, "You need a name." With a snort he looked back up at the land ahead. It was still morning, and he had plenty of sunlight left before the sweltering day gave way to - ironically - freezing night. In the near distance he could see: Dunes. They rose and fell; dipping and curving; sloping and spiraling. The most unlikely maze in the world. With luck he could reach a camp by nightfall and seek food and shelter for the night. It was an unspoken law in the west to take in travelers, and he needed to conserve as much food as he could for when he could not reach a camp for the night.

Dom gently spurred his horse onward. Desert horses were hardier than eastern horses. They could go longer without food and water, they could go farther without tiring, and were nearly impervious to the heat of the desert wastelands. They were fearless and strong animals, though not deadly like the giant wolves of the north. As the horse trotted forward, Dom noticed it was turning slightly to the left. Tugging on the reigns he managed to get the animal back on the right path. His eyes went back up, and with a grimace he said, "If you keep doing that, horse, I'm going to call you stupid."

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Somewhere along the line the western nation started sending out their soldiers en mass through the desert complete with provisions, materials for camps, food for horses and even materials for crafting and repairing weapons and armor. These soldiers were tasked with the killing of raiders and the wild animals of the west that threatened citizens. They marched all through the day and then stopped to rest at night and repair any damaged armor and weaponry. Dom had stopped to watch as one of these groups marched by less than a third of a mile away. He took a short drink from his skin flask before corking it and tucking it away again. He grasped the reigns with his left hand and wiped his right hand over his brow. He could hear the sounds of orders being barked and armor and weapons clanking as horses pulled wagons and carts of materials. The soldiers all carried huge packs on their back as they trudged on through the sand.

Like all soldiers . . Dom had hated the daily marching.

But, it did keep him in shape. That was something he was thankful for. It boosted his resolve and his willpower. It taught him to push on no matter what the obstacles and no matter how tired you felt. You just had to keep moving. Dom's lips twitched into the shadow of a smirk before he grabbed the reigns with his right hand and spurred his horse on. The soldiers had their destination, and he had his.