Eeri's logbook
End of Nivia, 4th AC 2619. Or 2620 already?
Here we are, we are at the Marauders.
Since we arrived, we go from surprise to surprise. Some more unpleasant than others.
The most unexpected one is that Azazor has been in a much better mood these last days. Our talks are quieter, and we have agreed on our course of action. It's about time. I didn't believe it anymore. The bodoc even asked my opinion, and not just once. I thought he was scheming something, but I guess I was mistaken.
So. We spent a night stuck on the side of a cliff. I've never climbed a cliff so high. We stopped about halfway up, following the directions the homins at the Halt gave us, when we could find a suitable platform. Then we walked for a few more hours in the morning before we found this famous pod. There, it hasn't been that easy.
First, we had to understand what they were saying. The further away from the New Lands, the more atrocious the accent. Toub, and we realized that it was mutual. That we had to speak slowly, with simple words, articulate. Not to speak fast and eat words as I had become accustomed to doing among the Trykers, by contagion.
So they descended the pod, and shouted things from above. By dint of shouting from each side without understanding each other, they finally put the pod back up with us in it. It was much wider than the one at the Halt, which allowed us to get into on with the two mektoubs. When we reached the top, we immediately felt that the homins in front of us had a different build than those of the Halt. The system of pulleys was however similar, so it should be believed that they were able to pull harder.
They looked at us with slightly startled eyes, probably because of our attire or what we'd yelled from downstairs, and then one said they didn't expect to see a convoy from the Halt for several weeks. I let Azazor do the talking, as agreed. We are not a convoy from the Halt, though coming from. We are Fyros scientists from the New Lands, heading for the Citadel. They were visibly confused, as expected. They asked if we had any goods, we vaguely explained what we were carrying, a mektoub loaded with bags of armadai meat. From behind them came a Matis with a somewhat hurried step and a stern look.
"This one I don't like," I whispered to Azazor. Two hours later, we were sure, I was completely right not to like him.
This one is Ostini. He's a sort of chief of guards, or rather he's one of the minions of the chief of the clan that owns the outpost, the Passers, as they call themselves. It's always like that with the homins. Give them a little power, and they'll work to devalue others to keep the little bit of privilege they have. In the end, Ostini asked the same questions as his homins, using a condescending and obsequious tone. A good Matis, the kind I had missed since we left. After a few minutes, we understood that he was only interested in the goods we were carrying, and understanding that we were not merchants, he then asked us to pay for our stay here. One bag of armadai meat per person per night. We gave him two bags of Titus' mektoub, without begrudging. This one will not come to claim them anymore, except in my nightmares. Ostini gave us a briefing on the rules of the Outpost. We will be allowed to keep our weapons, but must keep them stowed away when inside the compound, as well as a couple of relatively logical things, water is rationed and we will have to pay for it. We are free to use the dormitory, the tavern, and a partly open hall that serves as a place of exchange, as a market. He showed us the dormitory where we could stay, specifying again: as long as we have enough to pay.
So we were able to get to the center of the outpost. There are indeed six buildings, two of which are obviously reserved for the clan members, arranged in a circle inside the surrounding walls. A watchtower, the market, the inn, the dormitory. Nothing very pretty, like at the Halt. A rather functional style, whose some details vaguely resembling what the Marauders build in the New Lands.
"Two bags per night… we won't last long here," I whispered to Azazor.
At that moment my eyes fell on two strange figures passing further on, between two buildings. Two strangely familiar figures.
Disturbed, believing I was dreaming, I had a moment of inattention, and Azazor told me things I did not take in at the time. He repeated them to me afterwards: maybe we would spend more time here than planned. And that we should get hired as butchers or cooks at the tavern to pay for our stay, the time to organize and especially to recover our energy after several weeks in the Sea of Wood.
The figures, meanwhile, had disappeared. At the time, Azazor didn't believe me. "What? Fraiders? What the hell would they be doing here? Are you sure? What would they be doing in a Maraudeurs camp?"… We went into this dormitory. It's very basic, but it's still better than spending a night down there. I'm taking a moment of rest to write these lines, then we'll go to the tavern. I have a plan.
Later, the two Fyros were heading to the tavern:
"Well, first we're going to find out how to pay our stay," said Azazor.
"We offer them our services, you said… But they probably already have cooks…"
"It would not be a good idea to spend all our stock of dried meat. Keeping a few bags would be better for us to help cross the Desert."
"That's true. But let's ask first what they serve. I'd give an arm for a shookie… Or rather an eye, that's less often used.
Eeri then closed his left eye, opening his right eye to the maximum, which made Azazor laugh slightly. The situation could have been worse. A little further on, from the window of one of the Clan halls, Ostini was watching the Fyros who were slowly crossing the deserted square of the Outpost, chatting.
"So, these Fraiders?" Azazor asked.
"This is our chance," said Eeri. "I've spent so much time with them, I know enough of their dialect, one of my hatchets is from them, I have it here. I mean, it's from the Fraiders in the New Lands, not from those living here, but it's probably not much different."
"But why were you hanging out with them? What's so special about them?"
"Have you ever seen a Karavan agent or a Kami at Fraiders'?"
"Hmmm…"
“Although it is said that the Fraiders were once approached by the Karavan, they probably broke away from them over time."
"I had read something about them at the Academy, saying that they collected quite a few Kara artifacts. It wasn't so much by faith as by some sort of addiction."
"I never saw that kind of thing in their camp."
"So you had Tryton meetings there?"
"Not even. Got there just to be quiet, to think, to train. In the neutral zone. You'll laugh… But I find in them a wisdom that homins don't have."
"Oh, that's easy. They're probably less corrupt, and less power-hungry."
Eeri smiled, nodded, and added:
"They are greedy for rare raw materials to supply their crafts. But they maintain a balance and share the riches within their tribe."
"Well, but then, how to convince them to help us?"
"Let's see what is traded here, what they are looking for and what they offer. If I show them my axe and tell them about the New Land tribe, if we're lucky, we'll get some allies."
"And if we are not lucky?"
"We can always do business with them."
"What do we have to trade with them?"
"To be seen. I have some rare materials left on my mektoub. Some zun ambers, which I'd rather keep in case we need new amplifiers… Two maga creepers, some vedice. So far, we've worn our weapons out less than I expected."
"Do you have this in your Mektoub?"
Eeri smiled and answered in an undertone, stopping.
"In a pocket hidden under the saddle. The ambers are in the padding. Enough to make two pairs."
The Fyros, without saying anything, gave Eeri a sidelong look as she added:
"Hey, I told you about that, that I was bringing in stuff to make new amplifiers. I just didn't tell you where it was stored."
"I must have forgotten… As long as it's not a third goo bomb," grumbled Azazor."
"But I only brought one, I promise!"
Meanwhile, Eeri and Azazor had arrived at the Tavern. Azazor pushed open the door and entered, followed by Eeri. After a few seconds, the few homins present fell silent, some turning to stare at the newcomers. Around the few tables were Marauders, recognizable by their gleaming armor, and some homins with more discreet outfits, as one could see at the Halt. Rangers, perhaps, thought Eeri. A number of them were dressed in long tunics and turbans that covered most of their faces. A Fraider was even sitting with one of them.
The travelers slowly made their way to the counter where, to their relief, a massive Fyros was standing looking at them, knife in hand.
"oren pyr, what do you serve here?"
"I'll call you the boss," he replied. "O'Teelo?"
A few seconds later, a Tryker homina came down the stairs and walked behind the counter, her expression slightly pinched, but smiling, while the customers gradually resumed their conversations in a slightly more hushed voice.
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Eeri"Quand on a le nez trop près de la bouteille, on ne voit plus le bar"