Thread: What the Desert Lord Wants (w/ Chaos)

Blistering Sun. Sand on her lips. A man with golden hair. When Eliana came to, that was all she could remember. Slowly she sat up and let her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. Immediately the feeling that she was someplace unfamiliar overwhelmed her. This was not the lofty tower keep of her home, nestled safely into the mountains of her fathers kingdom. Neither was it the seaside villa of her Aunt, whom she had been visiting. Beneath her there were soft silk cushions, embroidered richly with indecipherable symbols and patterns. On the wall were hung plush tapestries, their scenes illuminated by shining gold oil lamps. Her heart thudded in her chest. Where was she? Nervously, she ran her fingers through feathery auburn locks, trying to retrace the events of the day. She had been vacationing in the independent province of Theussa, a large and important port city governed by her Aunt's husband. It was a bustling metropolis of hundreds of races and cultures, teaming with wild eyed beast children, elves, dwarves, and humans of every ethnicity- a stark contrast to her own tiny, sheltered country. Eliana had been enthralled. However, circumstances had forced her to leave far too soon. Rumors were spreading of a mysterious threat to her safety, the city no longer a welcome place for her. It seemed laughable at first. Her father had enemies, certainly, but they were a small, relatively unimportant country. Who would want to harm his beautiful daughter? But one night, it was discovered that her evening wine had been spiked. It was only a sleeping drought, but plans were swiftly made to whisk her back home immediately. Fearing the ambush of mercenaries in swifter vessels, they chose to cross the desert. It should have been a relatively short journey, but an unseasonal sandstorm and a series of other small disasters had forced her caravan off course and deep into unknown territory. Eliana remembered being miserably hot in her thick, overly modest dress and tunic. The clothing of her country was not designed for the scorching desert. Shakily she stood up and started to look around the room. There was a door, but a quick test of the knob proved it to be locked tight. Not surprising, really. Suddenly, the memory of her lead guard's voice rang in her head. We should turn back, he had said, This is the territory of the Desert King. She had heard of this person. He was an elf lord of some renown, a wild, mysterious figure, his silver drow hair yellowed by the sand to match the landscape. Some said he was cruel, others said he was kind. It was said he was wealthy beyond imagine and owned a harem of incredible size. Women from every race were in his possession and his desert palace was a den of lust and debauchery where acts of unimaginable hedonism and depravity took place. When in the city, she had listened to the stories with a mixture of horror and curiosity. They had been only stories, though, hadn't they? Then she remembered. Outside her tent, she had heard the cries of guards. The clash of steel. A man - no it wasn't a man - an elf in desert garb leading the attack. Had she fallen? Had she fainted, overwhelmed by the heat? Or something else? Her memory was still blurry, but one thing had become clear... She was in the Desert Lord's keep.