The desert wind; furiously blowing, tearing the skin off of anyone who dare not wear protective veils and long-sleeved clothes. Even with this; the sandstorms of the Goburi desert are unmerciful, and unrelenting.
"This is just one of the examples," Stefan Tryan mumbled to himself, "Why no one can escape death."
He trudged on; knowing that if he stopped, who would continue on? I fhe stopped, who would stop death? If he stopped; who would get to Byfen's Treasure first; the Militia or the people? He dare not let the militia get to it first. He had come too far to let such a thing happen, just because he was exhausted.
"If I stop here, then there'll be no one to continue on my search." Or so he thought.
Creora Tryan, the top dog of the militia, and a vicious one at that. She would rip the throat out of the one who would even utter the beginning of the name 'Stefan Tryan.' She was so anxious to kill him, and for what she thought a good reason.
"He invaded my family," she told herself, "And that cannot be forgiven."
She didn't do so much that her brother betrayed her father and the military, no, that was just a bonus. She was doing it because of nineteen years ago, when Stefan was born. She scorned him for being the child who ended her reign as the only child. She walked down the hall of the HQ of the Cro-An Militia, which was reformed from the temple of Akihos.
"Creora, Sir!" A guard addressed Creora cautiously, hoping he wasn't next to be slaughtered. "Intel has informed me that you brother has been spotted near Provaran!"
Creora snickered; "Well then, why haven't you gone yet, Master Sargeant?"
He tried to think of a reason, but before he could, he was caught by the icy grip of Creora's small, but powerful hands.
"I thought I had told you all that I wanted no mistakes; no slip-ups?" She squeezed harder on his throat. "But you've disappointed me, and that is not tolerated." She gave one last good squeeze, and pop went Master Sargeant.
"Commander Jareld!" Creora barked at a man who was standing close to her. "Prepare your best airship, immediately. We're going to Provaran."
Jareld stumbled in his place; "But Sir, the sandstorm could-" He too, had been gripped by Creora's inhuman strength.
"What was that? Commander?"
"I will have it ready shortly!"
Creora released her grip, and he ran off like a scared little rat. Creora kept going down the hall and told the nearest janitor to clean up the 'mess' that the Master Sargeant had made of himself. The janitors knew the drill all too well.
Stefan wandered into the small city of Provaran, his face completely hidden from the sandstorm. But as he walked by the big gates of the city, which were held up by a giant wal that completely blocked out the storm, he ripped off the veil and unfurled his long, black hair. He sighed in relief;
"Five more seconds under that veil and I think I would've been fried for sure!"
He looked around and saw that people were staring at him strangely.
"Nothing to see here folks, keep movin'!" He kept walking, shrugging off any stares or looks people may have given him.
He walked by a pub door, almost ignoring it, but quickly turned around in happiness when he saw there was sign that said; "If you beat our strongest man, then you can drink, eat, and sleep here, for free!"
Stefan couldn't pass a moment like this up, and so he slammed open the door and ran inside.
"Alright, where's this strongest man of yours?!"
There was silence, but when everyone got a good look at him, they laughed hard.
"Oh please, a stick like you? Taking on our strongest man? Yeah right!"
Stefan couldn't understand; perhaps they needed a demonstration. He dashed from where he was standing, and flipped over a very large man that was laughing so hard, he didn't see it coming.
Silence, so much so, it was eerie.
"Ha! Now where's that strongest man of yours?!"
They all pointed to the man he had just flipped over.
"He's the one..."
Stefan sweatdropped; "Whoops...didn't mean to take him out before the fight... Is there anyone else here I can fight? Maybe like a second strongest man?"
The pubkeeper just handed him a key with a scared look on his face; "Just take it and go...suppertime is at seven o' clock."
Stefan took the key and walked up the stairs with a triumphant stride. He couldn't bleive that it was so easy! He unlocked the door and saw why; the room looked as if the sandstorm had it hit; the bed was in shambles, the wooden floor was broken in some sections, and the book case they had in there was smashed on one side. He wondered if this was even worth the trouble of flipping that guy over? He didn't care, at least he had a bed to sleep on instead of sand of a rock. He walked over to the bed and sat on it to test it.
"Hm...seems alright..." He laid down and took in a deep breath. "Ah yeah, this is good..." As he tried to shift from his position, the bed collapsed on him.
"So much for a good night's sleep...." He moaned.
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