"Oh, you are awake.. Tell me your name."
The old man's words brought focus to her eyes and she began to notice the padding beneath her, the dingy hempen blanket that wrapped her tightly, the cold stone of the floor - long dirtied and left unclean. Her eyes flicked to the man. There were rusted metal bars between them. Fear. Pain... and she remembered:
A task like any other. A night like any other. I was beside my father - but our "Brothers" were all around -and we had covered ourselves in sand. We were watching the road from our place above it, waiting. Father grinned that old wicked grin, yes, with love - but not at me, no, but for the blood that would spill. A caravan was drawing near, and soon it would be time for us to strike. The jackals were set loose first, giving halt to the pack animals, but soon we followed, yes, and joined in their howls..
The Pain, would not fade. In fact, it was growing more complex with every conscious moment - every small, unknowable movement of her left leg, of her abdomen.. Every wince in pain, brought more of the thing to her face. I am dying, She thought. The old man stared down quietly. His flesh was pale. His eyes looked more closed than opened. He spoke my tongue, but not with it. Old, rusted armor he wore - and he stood in it like it was nothing, looming.. and she remembered:
I was faster than my brothers, and I was howling. I pointed my blade below to a boy - perhaps my own age, claimed him my first. From behind, my father blew his war-horn.. That terrible sound, yes, but so powerful. I had seen this thing buckle the knees of men before.. But not this time, no. The sound stopped so suddenly. A wet, choking noise. I turned and saw him, falling - I saw the bolt in his neck. I saw my brothers in terror. I saw more bolts swarm from every direction, and I fell.
"You were the only thing still breathing when I had happened upon the carnage.. but just barely.. And you may die still, little girl. Tell me your name."
His voice was hollow, yet booming - Sad, yet uncaring. Behind him were many great stone slabs at table height, a heavy wooden door. Candles were lit all over, flicking the room in and out of existence, giving the girl an impression of great black shadows laying atop the slabs. She worked her mouth, the dry tongue within - she tasted copper. Her words came out as a rattle, "I am.. Oriah yr Nassef Al-Xareem", she was almost in relief as fresh blood wetted her throat.
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((WIP and TBC in the coming days. Please do not hesitate to provide ANY sort of input - I haven't done this kinda thing in a while and could use some pointers. To the DM's: I plan on essentially writing my own cannon about the "Black Raiders" of Calimshan. They are said to exist, but I can find no literature to learn more about them and better add to my story - so I am loosely developing them in a way I hope is acceptable. Will be glad to discuss further with you on this matter!))