“The winds blow so hard that the sand can rend skin and flesh from bones sometimes.”
“Oh, lovely,” Malik swallowed, wincing as Altair tied off the binding tightly.
“It is to early in the season for such a storm. But the sand can still be painful,” he said and went to work on the other arm.
“So we’ll survive this?” he asked looking towards the column of sand and wind rushing towards them.
“Yes,” Altair said. “Aquila, are you done?” he called to Ezio who had been helping Parker.
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” Altair stood, “The storm is still a ways away, he should keep going until we can’t anymore. When the storm hits drop, immediately or you could be blown away. Remove your pack, it will act like a sail on top of you, and put it against the wind. It will act like a buffer. I suggest putting it near your head,” Altair said in an official tone as though he was used to giving such instructions.
“How long do these storms last?” Pseudonym asked adjusting her back pack.
“It can takes hours or days for a sand storm to blow itself out-
“But at this speed it should only be over us for an hour or so perhaps,” Ezio cut in.
“Do not try to move during the storm once you’re down,” Altair called as they walked, his voice dampened by his muffler and by the wind that snatched his words away. “The wind can get under you and in some cases pick you up.”
“This sounds wonderful,” Night said sarcastically from his own wrapped up head.
“This is why you must respect the desert Night, for if you don’t it will eat you,” and they all knew what he meant.
It was surprising at the speed in which the storm did hit and as soon as Malik saw the Rifters drop he did as well, yanking off his pack and putting it into the wind by his head. Around him the wind howled like wolves, only worse, and it became dark as the sand blocked out the sun. He pressed his back into the wind and slammed his eyes shut so sand couldn’t get in.
The wind streamed over his body and he felt sand gathering up behind his back. Above the storm raged and it didn’t sound so much like wolves now as it sounded like a monstrous creature that was bearing down upon them. He opened his eyes but could see nothing, no figures, so sun, no horizon, just an endless storm of sand that washed over everything in its path.
There was no time within a sand storm and Malik didn’t know if it had been a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours since it had come upon them. The only way he knew up from down was because he was lying on the ground but even then he was confused and disoriented. There was no sound save for the howling of the wind and the screaming of sand and nothing to see save for the drab golden-gray of the flying sand. It was like hell, maybe, or purgatory, where one was sent adrift and there was nothing until all your sins were gone. That was what the Rifters believed at least, he knew because Altair had told him and because he’d wanted to see what it was people like him believed in, what he knew his brother believed in. It was hard to find text on such an old religion, at least text that wasn’t filled with lies and fairy tales, but he’d found it.
He didn’t know if they were true stories, though he knew the Rifters believed them, and now he couldn’t help but believe a little himself. It was hard not too when so many stories spoke of their land, this vast desert beyond the Rift, as if it were alive. Something that could destroy so easily as if it were nothing yet was a paradise for those who followed the word of God. They did not want for what they already had, food was given to them and there were not famines or wars or cruelty of men. That all seemed to belong on the other side of the fence where people bought and sold other people like cattle, like animals and treated them just as poorly. There wasn’t any such thing like that for the Rifters, instead they had to rely on each other and each man had to find their own place in their world under God or else the desert would consume them for their greed or their maliciousness.
Re: Clipped (18c/?)
“Oh, lovely,” Malik swallowed, wincing as Altair tied off the binding tightly.
“It is to early in the season for such a storm. But the sand can still be painful,” he said and went to work on the other arm.
“So we’ll survive this?” he asked looking towards the column of sand and wind rushing towards them.
“Yes,” Altair said. “Aquila, are you done?” he called to Ezio who had been helping Parker.
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” Altair stood, “The storm is still a ways away, he should keep going until we can’t anymore. When the storm hits drop, immediately or you could be blown away. Remove your pack, it will act like a sail on top of you, and put it against the wind. It will act like a buffer. I suggest putting it near your head,” Altair said in an official tone as though he was used to giving such instructions.
“How long do these storms last?” Pseudonym asked adjusting her back pack.
“It can takes hours or days for a sand storm to blow itself out-
“But at this speed it should only be over us for an hour or so perhaps,” Ezio cut in.
“Do not try to move during the storm once you’re down,” Altair called as they walked, his voice dampened by his muffler and by the wind that snatched his words away. “The wind can get under you and in some cases pick you up.”
“This sounds wonderful,” Night said sarcastically from his own wrapped up head.
“This is why you must respect the desert Night, for if you don’t it will eat you,” and they all knew what he meant.
It was surprising at the speed in which the storm did hit and as soon as Malik saw the Rifters drop he did as well, yanking off his pack and putting it into the wind by his head. Around him the wind howled like wolves, only worse, and it became dark as the sand blocked out the sun. He pressed his back into the wind and slammed his eyes shut so sand couldn’t get in.
The wind streamed over his body and he felt sand gathering up behind his back. Above the storm raged and it didn’t sound so much like wolves now as it sounded like a monstrous creature that was bearing down upon them. He opened his eyes but could see nothing, no figures, so sun, no horizon, just an endless storm of sand that washed over everything in its path.
There was no time within a sand storm and Malik didn’t know if it had been a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours since it had come upon them. The only way he knew up from down was because he was lying on the ground but even then he was confused and disoriented. There was no sound save for the howling of the wind and the screaming of sand and nothing to see save for the drab golden-gray of the flying sand. It was like hell, maybe, or purgatory, where one was sent adrift and there was nothing until all your sins were gone. That was what the Rifters believed at least, he knew because Altair had told him and because he’d wanted to see what it was people like him believed in, what he knew his brother believed in. It was hard to find text on such an old religion, at least text that wasn’t filled with lies and fairy tales, but he’d found it.
He didn’t know if they were true stories, though he knew the Rifters believed them, and now he couldn’t help but believe a little himself. It was hard not too when so many stories spoke of their land, this vast desert beyond the Rift, as if it were alive. Something that could destroy so easily as if it were nothing yet was a paradise for those who followed the word of God. They did not want for what they already had, food was given to them and there were not famines or wars or cruelty of men. That all seemed to belong on the other side of the fence where people bought and sold other people like cattle, like animals and treated them just as poorly. There wasn’t any such thing like that for the Rifters, instead they had to rely on each other and each man had to find their own place in their world under God or else the desert would consume them for their greed or their maliciousness.