02-29-2016, 04:31 PM
Paul was born on Caladan- a lush and green world but he had become more a creature of the deserts of Arrakis that the green lands of Camelot that stretched before him were a burden upon his eyes. So long had they gazed upon the dry Arrakeen landscapes that he could hardly accept the breathtaking natural beauty of the world around him.
The stranger walked through the splendid greenery with an easy, rhythmless, economic step in his black stillsuit and worn desert cloak. He left the mouth and nose pieces off, the need for ease of speech far outweighing the need for flawless water conservation in a place like this. Beside him walked an ugly lump of a man, Gurney Halleck. The warmaster of House Atreides was stocky, had an inkvine scar across his chin, and wore an outfit similar to that of his Duke.
Paul had been following... something. He couldn’t see the path ahead of him in his mind but something urged him in the direction of this glade. He had described it earlier to Gurney as desert wind blowing him ever closer to... something. If he examined it with his mentat faculties he could draw no conclusions- it was far too literal and this was a very abstract concept. Still, ever the dutiful man, the warmaster at his side had accepted his leadership without question and accompanied his young master from the major city of Camelot to the outskirts. He knew Gurney would not follow anyone’s whim- it was an honor he bestowed upon Paul for his family’s kindness and respect. This was far more valuable to Paul than all the water on Dune and the reason why he had been first summoned of his friends.
After a time, the two came to a hill that crested a sight that told Paul his intuition... or whatever it might be... had guided him true.
“It look’s like a battle.” Gurney Halleck said stiffly, shouldering the strap of the heavy lasgun he carried. Paul knew it would do little here, Omni had implied as much, but Gurney had insisted on Paul summoning such an unwieldy and intimidating weapon along with the old warmaster’s favored instrument- his baliset.
“No Gurney, it looks like the aftermath of one.” He said in a prophetic and dry tone as his eyes took in the details. Ruined stonework, smoke, bodies. His mentat faculties were crunching the numbers on several lines of thought but he already knew the outcome. This had been some sort of raid.
“Best go around it m’lord.” Gurney stated wearily and began to make preparations to set off on a long circle around the carnage. Paul just shook his head.
“No, I’m afraid not. We must press through. I suspect this is where the wind is blowing us Gurney...”
There was a resignation in Paul’s voice, ominous but resolved. Gurney chafed against this decision for a moment but resigned himself as his Duke had.
“If that is the way master Paul.”
Without another word Paul began his slow, methodical descent of the sloping hill with economic ease, and soon found himself amongst strange green skinned men who had tusks and bodies proportioned strangely to his eyes. His deep blue in blue eyes regarded them with cunning but he held his tongue until they had surrounded him and Gurney. They had penetrated deeply by a combination of natural guile and by simply appearing to belong there (It was quite amazing what people will accept if you act like you have a job to do).
When finally challenge Paul stopped and turned upon the man,
“You! What are you-”
Paul’s voice tonally adjusted and binding by ways taught to him by his Bene Gesserit mother cut the orc off,
“You will take me to your leader...”
The words were insidious, modulated in a way as so that the command could not be ignored. The effect was instant and stunning, despite his lack of mastery. As he had suspected, none here had formal training against it so even his sparse knowledge of the art landed like a hammer blow against the orc’s mind. Gurney crossed his arms, clearly disapproving of the use of the “witchcraft” he practiced.
A short distance ahead a woman in armor atop a horse and one of the green skinned ones were bickering. His escort lead the cloak-clad stranger up and he waited for the situation to resolve itself.
When their battle cries finally split the air Paul suddenly “slipped” from the spot he was in and appeared between the two. To the untrained observer he had appeared to teleport from his place behind the guards to a spot between the two adversaries. To those in the know however, he had simply moved quickly, bending his body in an impossible fashion and jumbling the stages of cause and effect- appearing as his intent to move manifested.
“Stay your blades.”
Paul’s voice was laced with “voice” but he doubted it would work quite as well on minds more developed than the grunt’s. Still, he needed information and bloodshed meant he would get none...
The stranger walked through the splendid greenery with an easy, rhythmless, economic step in his black stillsuit and worn desert cloak. He left the mouth and nose pieces off, the need for ease of speech far outweighing the need for flawless water conservation in a place like this. Beside him walked an ugly lump of a man, Gurney Halleck. The warmaster of House Atreides was stocky, had an inkvine scar across his chin, and wore an outfit similar to that of his Duke.
Paul had been following... something. He couldn’t see the path ahead of him in his mind but something urged him in the direction of this glade. He had described it earlier to Gurney as desert wind blowing him ever closer to... something. If he examined it with his mentat faculties he could draw no conclusions- it was far too literal and this was a very abstract concept. Still, ever the dutiful man, the warmaster at his side had accepted his leadership without question and accompanied his young master from the major city of Camelot to the outskirts. He knew Gurney would not follow anyone’s whim- it was an honor he bestowed upon Paul for his family’s kindness and respect. This was far more valuable to Paul than all the water on Dune and the reason why he had been first summoned of his friends.
After a time, the two came to a hill that crested a sight that told Paul his intuition... or whatever it might be... had guided him true.
“It look’s like a battle.” Gurney Halleck said stiffly, shouldering the strap of the heavy lasgun he carried. Paul knew it would do little here, Omni had implied as much, but Gurney had insisted on Paul summoning such an unwieldy and intimidating weapon along with the old warmaster’s favored instrument- his baliset.
“No Gurney, it looks like the aftermath of one.” He said in a prophetic and dry tone as his eyes took in the details. Ruined stonework, smoke, bodies. His mentat faculties were crunching the numbers on several lines of thought but he already knew the outcome. This had been some sort of raid.
“Best go around it m’lord.” Gurney stated wearily and began to make preparations to set off on a long circle around the carnage. Paul just shook his head.
“No, I’m afraid not. We must press through. I suspect this is where the wind is blowing us Gurney...”
There was a resignation in Paul’s voice, ominous but resolved. Gurney chafed against this decision for a moment but resigned himself as his Duke had.
“If that is the way master Paul.”
Without another word Paul began his slow, methodical descent of the sloping hill with economic ease, and soon found himself amongst strange green skinned men who had tusks and bodies proportioned strangely to his eyes. His deep blue in blue eyes regarded them with cunning but he held his tongue until they had surrounded him and Gurney. They had penetrated deeply by a combination of natural guile and by simply appearing to belong there (It was quite amazing what people will accept if you act like you have a job to do).
When finally challenge Paul stopped and turned upon the man,
“You! What are you-”
Paul’s voice tonally adjusted and binding by ways taught to him by his Bene Gesserit mother cut the orc off,
“You will take me to your leader...”
The words were insidious, modulated in a way as so that the command could not be ignored. The effect was instant and stunning, despite his lack of mastery. As he had suspected, none here had formal training against it so even his sparse knowledge of the art landed like a hammer blow against the orc’s mind. Gurney crossed his arms, clearly disapproving of the use of the “witchcraft” he practiced.
A short distance ahead a woman in armor atop a horse and one of the green skinned ones were bickering. His escort lead the cloak-clad stranger up and he waited for the situation to resolve itself.
When their battle cries finally split the air Paul suddenly “slipped” from the spot he was in and appeared between the two. To the untrained observer he had appeared to teleport from his place behind the guards to a spot between the two adversaries. To those in the know however, he had simply moved quickly, bending his body in an impossible fashion and jumbling the stages of cause and effect- appearing as his intent to move manifested.
“Stay your blades.”
Paul’s voice was laced with “voice” but he doubted it would work quite as well on minds more developed than the grunt’s. Still, he needed information and bloodshed meant he would get none...
Quote:TL;DR: Paul and his attendant Gurney approached. Paul is following a "feeling" and infiltrates the camp by use of Voice. Upon the two, in his voice, important people beginning to fight he uses a burst of speed (apparently teleporting) between them and calling for a halt- his voice laced with the power of an untrained Bene Gesserit.
![[Image: AXsJ8wI.png]](http://i.imgur.com/AXsJ8wI.png)