(Pimp: I know some of you out there who read this pimp's blog will not get what I am typing here, but it's really a story that I am currently doing as part of my magazine work. It's currently in its 17th chapter and I want to document it all in this blog. I remember I left it off at Chapter 9 the other time so here's the rest of tale that I will be posting up now and then...)
...With much traveling, Tellerin arrived at Morocc amidst all the clashing socio-religious sentiments and it was here too that he was shown a glimpse of the harsh realities of life which he had been so shielded against in his Basilica days. The mage, Elihu leaves the desert city after a brief discussion with the young acolyte about idealism and pragmatism in his journey to Geffen to warn the magic city of the impending invasion across the ocean. Tellerin barely had time to sound his goodbyes before hastily trailing after a red-robed figure into the crowds – a red-robed figure he knew only too well…
The Awakening of The Scourge of Morocc…
The scarlet-garbed figure slinked through the marketplace crowds with an ease that is not unlike a well-oiled piece of machinery that left Tellerin breathless in pursuit. Down the lanes and blocks went the acolyte, pushing aside stray merchants and hawkers while desperately trying to get his bearings. Navigating in Morocc can be rather daunting and tedious especially when you are lost in its haphazard streets that were the product of bad city planning in ages past.
“I must not lose the person, even if it’s not the rogue from the Night Masks, surely it must be somebody from that organization,” muttered Tellerin as he narrowly missed being scalded by a street peddler selling local cuisines.
“Perhaps, I would be able to uncover the location of their hideout.”
As the acolyte followed the rogue deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city’s avenues, the look of the much polished city square soon gave way to a more derelict and unkempt part of town that nobody in the right mind in Morocc would ever want to be seen in.
“Bedlam alley, ha, how apt,” commented the first-time stalker as he caught a glimpse of the wooden street sign that has somehow escaped all attempts of defacements and vandalism that the other street properties had suffered, it was as if the denizens of this sector were proud to be living there.
As he looked on, the first sight that greeted Tellerin was the fact that he had somehow been led to the outer reaches of the city, evident by the fact that the streets were strewn with layers of sand, dirt and grime. Here, the doors of the houses remained perpetually closed, a stark difference to the welcoming feel that the main city-square exuded. The citizens of Bedlam also walked around with caution in their steps, eyes shifting nervously for signs of the next hoodlum or cutthroat.
It seemed to Tellerin that the district has obviously been largely ignored by the central government, probably due to the overpowering presence of the local gangs. It also occurred to him that he was also nearing the desert once more as he spied two pyramid spires a few hundred feet away from him – the rest of the structures being lost in the swirling sands. Judging from the position of the sun in the sky, Tellerin deduced that he should be in the North-West quadrant of Morocc.
“Darn, I lost the fellow,” grunted Tellerin as he shielded his eyes from the grains of fine sands that threatened his line of sight. But just as he was about to backtrack, he caught sight of the silhouette of the rogue as the buffeting wind died down a little, revealing the dwindling figure of the rogue walking on towards one of the pyramids in the horizon.
Tellerin picked up his pace.
***
As soon as the red-robed figure entered the cool of the pyramids, a voice boomed in the darkness that caught the rogue by surprise. “So you have returned, Serephine, the Order has been starved of your news since you left, we feared the worst.”
“Oh, do stop that, you know I rarely stumble but the quarry was exceptionally skilled, you sure he was supposed to be just an ordinary clergyman?” replied Serephine as she downed her hood, revealing her locks of auburn hair. Serephine was not someone you would associate with an organization like the Night Masks. With her small build, almost porcelain complexion and girlish looks, she looked almost too aristocratic for an underground movement. Such were the grounds that the Night Masks took as the basis for taking her in when she arrived 18 years ago, carried by a dying maid.
A frail-looking flower would almost attract no attention to its thorns until you touched it and Serephine was such an example. The Night Mask needed Serephine to carry out covert operations and Serephine needed them. To her, the Masks were her family, a surrogate one that replaced hers that perished years ago as told to her by the elders. It all went smoothly for her until she was given this assignment two months ago – to assassinate a high-ranking church leader that the Night Masks have detected to be of threat to the continued peace of the land. The task seemed simple enough until she was almost defeated by this young, fiery acolyte who looked nothing like the weak old men that Serephine thought her target would be.
Perhaps an explanation of the backgrounds of the Night Masks was in order. Founded in the days of the first Moroccan King as part of his elite guards, the Night Masks’ main purposes were to quell the internal strife and restore order to the newly formed city. The Masks were respected by the citizenry and feared by the hardcore law-breakers. The signature red-robes were normally the last things you would see irregardless of which side of the law you were on when they visit as the rogues went about their business with skilled silence and an almost brutal efficiency.
The trend ended during the reign of the fifth King who abolished the need for the Masks as peace has been maintained in Morocc after the iron-fisted rule of the fourth monarch. Disbanded but not destroyed, the Masks were driven underground as they continue to keep watch over the desert city and the land of Rune-Midgard in general, vowing to uphold the fragile state of peace and balance. Lately, the scales were tipped with news of an imminent act of treachery in the folds of the Pronterean Church and the Night Masks were mobilized to deal with the threat under the current Moroccan King, Al-Fahad who was keen to revive the Order but was apprehensive of the political consequences.
“A more pressing matter now threatens us all, my young one,” spoke the voice as its owner stepped out of the shadows, revealing a buffed man with an otherwise bald pate save for a long scalp lock. “It is good that you have come back, for we need your skills in this hour, in fact all the rogues have been called back to Morocc. The Ancient has been awakened,” revealed the bald man grimly.
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