Uncharted

[Caira Ayryn]

...

A shadow fell hauntingly against a weather tattered wooden doorway, quickly, the figure borrowed a nearby man’s pistol from his position at the bar of the the saloon and aimed it above the gap in wood-planked half doors that separated the room from the dust in the hot street. With the instrument Caira shot at the bell on the steeple across the street; it was large and made out of dense brass and the bullet projected from the revolver, small. Despite her lack of aim, it hit the bell and caused a loud chime to ring through the town.

“I, Ayryn am going out there!” she pointed beyond the door she had shot above and to the light of the outdoors and also returned the male his pistol minus one bullet, “If someone comes searching for me, take the liberty of telling them exactly where I am, and have them leave a note with you, for when I return.” she asked the bartender before tipping him with a shining currency that fell quickly into his grabby hands.

The entire bar was watching her now, as Caira proclaimed her own death sentence boldly- especially for one who was rumored to have just sprung a man from jail- as Merik had left to rent the camels and gather supplies for their journey. Caira confronted the people in the saloon that was filled with the pungent stench of cigarette smoke and the musty of men whom responded as they laughed an jeered.

One man asked, seeming concerned and cooed, “Yer' going out there missy?”

“Yea’ ain’t the first to try and fail. Many people haven’t come back.” One warned before drowning a bitter swish of hot ale down his gullet.

“Hah!” The stirs of the bar began as eyes sized up her stature and attempted to guess her experience.

“D’ya think she knows ‘bout the bandits?” The tavern full of masculine rogues, outlaws and bandits erupted with laughter at the bold sarcasm interwoven in the comment and tapped the tables with their hands or empty glasses.

“Real strong one disappeared many years ago. ‘E had great blonde hair and demon red eyes. I’d say he were a vampir’ but they can’t walk in the sun.” One man said with a cigar protruding from his lips.

“That’s no place for a girl like you, stay in my bed instead.” Someone had made a come-on.

Caira scowled and shifted uneasily and wrote down something to the bartender before turning away.

“Won’t last a day.” Another lifted his glass from the wooden bar and sipped his ale. A bet was made.

“Too damn’d congenial," another offered a reason, "Thems’ with reform and self control are the first to-”

“Betcha a week.” Someone upped the ante.

“-Well she is a Prime.” Another chimed in. "Girl can always come back."

“So? Nothin’ prepares you for the hell out there.”

“She’ll be lucky if its the heat that kills ‘er.” Most of the men agreed to that.

“We’ll see if ye' decide to come back ‘ere after you respawn. Or if yer too haunted to ever come back to this barren verse.” A blatant challenge.

The men had started to talk amongst themselves and make bets on her head, as though she were a bounty. How ironic.

The stolid Caira had heard them, yet they spoke as though she was already gone. Gambling. People liked it because of the thrill, the risk, and because they liked to win. The Prime was sure that she would be the one to triumph, her prize was one she viewed with greater reverence than the bet itself.

“I’ll last longer than you think. I’ve a guide and I’m going to the edge.” With her final words she exited the now hushed bar. Little did Caira know precisely what edge -perhaps it would symbolize the brink of her own destruction- which she would soon be balancing on.

“Nope. Won’ last over a week.” One agreed through the closing of doors behind her, that let in a flutter of sunlight as the man placed a currency on his words.

“Buy ya’ a drink extra if she looses her head!”

“Yer on!” Laughs filled the wooden room as the spirits they drank flushed their faces and they waited for news of her return.

[spoiler]It had been a while since a female Prime had ventured far out into the desert, but by a few hours most of the townsmen knew of her insane journey. Rumors of who she was and what she sought grew more fabricated as the bets grew out of proportion and they simply waited for her next visit. Their eyes were particularly keen on keeping an eye on what direction she would return.

“Yes! I ain’t kidden’ a Prime gal was in here claiming she would face the mighty desert on her own! She seemed pretty educated, too smart to throw her life away, but her goal- I hear’ her say that she was venturing to excavate the ruins o’ the old tankers!”

“I heard she left jus’ fer the fun o’ it!” Hearty laughter was mused by the crowd of men with facial scruff whom listened enjoying the myth they had created with words they had passed over booze, and spoke of a woman they had never met. While they were free to imagine what she looked like, they mixed their self-inflating stories with their own desired amount of ruthless courage that couldn’t be stopped. Ayryn grew to be a name that was mixed with a bit of lore and associated with that of a powerful woman with silver eyes. The goddess carried some well-known lore in a few of the saloons, the stories only continued to further in extreme, prompted by some of the passing rogues who ventured into town and left as soon as they came..

“Naw, I heard ‘er say she were gonna go after the men who killed her daddy!”

“I heard one strong lookin' guy say that she broke someone out of prison!”


“I met ‘er once and we fell in love before she gave me this scar here!” He would pull his shoulder to reveal what looked to be a small freckle, but he treated his shoulder gingerly, as though the flesh had tasted warm lead.

“You both are liars and cheaters! She’s from the Kingdom- I could tell by the way she walked and the inscription on her sword! An’ she is investigating the oil tanks! Said there was a conspiracy and that what is left of them might have some sorta bomb in em’!”

"But no one knows which one..."

People oohed and awed as they imagined the silhouette of a woman narrowly evading the fiery embers of a great orange cloud of destruction.

“Hah! You’re all wrong.” One tall figure spoke, “She is searching for her friend who is cursed to walk the dunes, t'inks that the Ghost of the Mountains is behind the curse!”

“Ghost of the MOUNTAINS?” an exasperated exclamation of a man’s voice looked horrified.

“She’d give a thousand lifetimes to kill that creature, I hear.” One added with an ominous scowl.

“Nary a man whom has passed through those mountains ever survived because of that Ghost!”

“Only warriors can bare their fangs against the Ghost and live to tell the tale!”

“That’s why it takes a woman.” Patty said with a smile as she visited Artie’s brother and gave a boisterous wink to the men, provoking their fun. All good lore started in taverns and was carried by the intrigued words of travelers. And only the best tales were carried far beyond the horizon's reach.

Folklore mixed with her goal as the stories grew crazier by the day, though the female Prime wasn’t there to defend herself as some had placed bets on her head, others bandits quickly left town, following inklings of stories to try and track the girl but they could only guess which way she traveled and created new stories to be told by the unknowing bartenders in order to warn their bandit brethren of her arrival. Others whispered of her sanity and still some, seemed concerned for the gal’s health.


Patty and Artie listened to the rumors and had realized that the girl they had looked after had grown out of hand, though the rumors were all under the name of a mysterious ‘Ayryn’ none every delved into her exact reason of venturing to the edge. They could only guess what her fate would become, having many of their own scars from blaster pistols and other unsaid close-calls, covered up by the flamboyant plaid clothing they wore as they exchanged a look.

“Some men at Georgie’s bar were tellin’ that Ayryn was gonna meet the Ghost of the Mountains.” The mountains, where the cannibals ripped people limb from limb, without sparing a bullet to put people out of their misery first.

“Ain’t no Ghost an’ you know that Patty.”

“Yea’ but what actually dwells in there is much, much worse.”[/spoiler]