HISTORICAL TERVIK: Prologue

Prologue
Sulvik

There was the afternoon sun beating down on the golden sands of the desert, the cloudless skies hanging over the city with its sun-dried brick edifices and elegantly painted walls. There was also the river, marking the western border of town, giving life and color to both the city and its people. The grand city-state of Cur was coated generously by the bushes and palm trees provided by the great body of water that ran miles wide and split the entire country down the middle, creating two equal halves north and south. The city of Cur was a mosaic of tiles richly colored by the water, it was a thick medium smeared across a yellowed canvas, creating perfect harmony and combining desert life with the advantage of living along the banks of the Serpius, so named after the elegant serpents that snake their way along and create distinct tracks in the sand. 

The people of Cur flooded the streets, simply living and going about their business in a routine fashion. It was the day of the market and the streets were overflowing with shops, of merchants selling their wares and craftsman selling their creations. Farmers selling their crops, which were grown close to the banks of the rich Serpius and were watered by complex irrigation systems. Basketweavers, who made containers and even small boats out of tightly woven reeds. Leather workers, who made things like shoes, hair bands, even tools and smaller weapons from the hides of animals indigenous to the area. Men who sold clothes made of cotton made by women, who were expected to do little else. 

Even though there were so many people out and about, the crowd thick and the chatter reaching a boiling point, the movement was uniform. All the men of the working class dressed with the same basic fashion; they wore long, patternless, ankle-length skirts made of cotton sheared from the locally raised sheep and a large piece of fabric they wrapped around one shoulder, which partially concealed the skirt, and left one arm and shoulder bear. They wore their hair long but up, often in one or two ponytails as was the most common style. Their sandals were made of leather and always tied around the ankle. The wealthier would dress their garb up with large, brightly colored jewelry. Women, who were not allowed to show their faces in public, kept their hair braided and wrapped around their head and wore special head fabrics designed to hide themselves. They always wore loose-fitting and figure concealing dresses, and the only thing to differentiate between them was the color and design on their dress. And so the crowd moved, synchronized, as one culture and one being, speaking a strange and complicated language and dominant over their land, with skills only the people of the desert could master. 

Within the city limits stood a large palace located directly in front of the river's bank, its walls painted with reds, blues, yellows, and purples, and decorated with statues of the animals said to be great protectors; Lions, and even tigers. This palace housed the man given the right to call himself the protector of the great city-state, and he called himself Ambassador. It was he who was in charge of ruling over Cur, and it was a position given to him by the Almighty Ruler of the great desert country. The very same Ruler bestowed upon every one of the country's city-states its own ruler, who worked directly below him. The Ambassador of Cur was a rough-faced man by the name of Hat'os Amar, who was both feared and respected. He kept a heavy law, and devoted his life to serving his king. Hat'os Amar lived in the palace beside the river with his family, his wife and two sons, his many servants, and the many rooms the building had to offer. 

The eldest of the sons was a man, a child in his father's eyes, by the name of Tempest Amar. And both Tempest Amar and his father Hat'os were inside the mighty palace, facing each other by the large door, a single bag swung over his son's bare shoulder. Not a word had been said for quite some time now, and they stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak but knowing they would not. Tempest stared at his father with his maroon-shaded eyes, felt his sandy-blonde hair that was pulled back and high brushing lightly against the nape of his neck as he raised his chin to meet his father's threatening brown eyes. Father and son continued to stare until the son caved in and decided if his father would not initiate the conversation, he would. 

"I am leaving this place, Father," He spoke, looking straight through his father rather than directly at him. "And I have only one request. That you leave my belongings where they are untouched, for the day I return." 

"It is simple. I will leave them until they become a nuisance, and the moment they do I will sell them for profit." His father wore the garb typical of a nobleman of his status; a long, short-sleeved and loose fitting tunic gathered at the waist and tied back. Hat'os Amar wore bracelets and necklaces of many different colors and designs, including a necklace in the design of an eagle with its wings spread out. He looked down upon his son, who showed no signs of being annoyed. 

Instead of retorting, Tempest said nothing. His eyes, as they often did, spoke for him. Surrounding the two were many servants, who had come to see Tempest off. They stood in silence, hardly moving, not having anything to do now that he was practically out the door, but they had much to do in the morning. The servants had to get his meal together, pack the food that would last him the journey, provide him clean clothes, dress him, feed him, and Tempest himself ordered half the group to tidy up his bedroom when he was gone. He was even given one final tutoring session not long after he woke up. It was early afternoon now, and Tempest needed to get a move on if he were to make it in time. Without warning, his father cleared his throat, breaking a heavy silence. 

"I have nothing else to say to you. Be on your way, or else you will be late. Though even that would not be much of a surprise, would it?" His father turned around and walked off, waving for a servant to follow him, a young girl with short curly black hair who had been there the longest, though was forgettable and not even Hat'os remembered her name. The rag-dressed servant hurried after him with a quickness, not wanting to anger her master. 

"Yes, Father." Tempest stated plainly, barely loud enough for the tall, strong-shouldered man to hear. He turned on his heels and, without giving his father a chance to look back, not that he would, Tempest left through the door and he stood facing his entire city. He left without saying goodbye to his younger brother, but felt no need to. Tempest did not like Varos, and felt justified in his reasoning. Because Tempest was leaving the country, the position of Ambassador would be going to Varos when the time came, since they assumed Tempest would not be coming back for a very long time, years and perhaps even longer than that. Tempest objected, naturally, but there was nothing that could be done. His father had made his decision, and Tempest could do all the kicking and screaming he wanted but nothing would change. Once Hat'os Amar made a decision, his mind was made permanently. 

His father would disown Tempest if he could, had said so many times. His son had become extremely involved in a certain League, thanks to his Grandfather who had been in close acquaintance with the League's head. It was ruled by a man referred to as Father Ramnill, and the League was the world-famous Assassin's League, founded out of necessity after the race of orcs known as the Ray'as rose to conquer the world only a few decades back. In the initial battle, Sulvik lost nearly half of their territory to them. That same battle began the war between the Orcs and all of Humanity, and eventually the League became Sulvik's main military power. Shortly thereafter, the great kingdom of Euphasia became involved, with their League who arguably held more power than Sulvik's own. 

Euphasia was where Tempest was headed now- a country of rich, green forests and endlessly fertile soil, of trees 
that were rumored to stand twice as thick and thrice as tall as the desert palms. A landscape of great rains and white snow, of storms that lit the sky and the entire town in the dead of night. It was a strange country too, of a culture unlike any other. Euphasia called no single man their king, and instead every grand city was self-sufficient and self-governed. Because of this, the Assassin's League there was able to establish bases in many towns, and in doing so connected the continent, twice the size of Sulvik even before the Ray'as claimed half the land for their own. After connecting the country, the Assassin's League itself became something close to a king. It became Euphasia's military, the navy, the king, the Royal family, the Royal guard, an omniscient power they said that only the Gods would dare to reckon with. And the Father of that League was treated like a God; respected above all other men, even worshiped by some as the one who would finally put an end to the war, rumored to live in a palace even larger than any king of Sulvik. That man's name was Father Arin. And recently, Fathers Ramnill and Arin have been putting their forces together, sensing that perhaps it would be better to work as one rather than two, to combine their power. Therefore, Father Ramnill of the desert was in even higher standing as of late. It was rumored that even the king feared Ramnill may rise one day to have more power than he, though Ramnill was a loyal and just man. 


The outside air was clean and still, which was the first thing Tempest noticed. The sun rays beating down on his tanned skin was life, and he was used to that. With his single bag slung over his shoulder, he easily found his way to the market and passed by without stopping to glance at a single stand. Seller shouted but did not dare force him to stop, for he was the son of a nobleman, therefore a nobleman himself, and they could not force this man to give them his time. So Tempest walked on with his head held high and ignored them, passing through his home city of Cur and eventually reaching the gates, large and painted blue. Just outside the gates waited an escort and a camel, a lot less than Tempest had expected, but he had been instructed by Father Ramnill that he would be traveling light. He tolerated it and hoped on, and made his way through the desert sands in the early afternoon.