redsoil | 「OPEN POST.」

Entry tags:

「OPEN POST.」

{ CONTACT, VISIT, MEMES, ETC. }

The sun was low when Ashraf came at last to the temple — to what remained of the temple. The western sky flamed, splashing the sand with blood, and the shadows stood long and cool in the mouth of the temple as Ashraf stood before it. This was the oasis Isis had whispered of in his dream three weeks ago, he recognized the ridge of stone that protected its eastern flank from the dry desert wind. It was this same ridge that had gathered sand, half burying the back of the ancient structure in a sloping dune. It was still and quiet, with no sign of human life, the only motion being the sway of green fronds sprung up around the promise of water. The night air was slow to cool after the heat of the day, and the dark interior was inviting.

Ashraf pulled a lantern from his pack and took a moment to light its wick. Warm flame soon flooded the entry hall, and with quiet steps Ashraf ventured deeper. He lifted his lantern to the walls as he passed them, and frowned at the damage slashed across the stone there. This was more than just the wear of time, this was intentional damage by human hand. Recent, he thought. This must be what Isis had called him for.

"You know I'm not much a stoneworker," Ashraf muttered to the empty temple. He'd come across a carved scene, the body of Isis depicted graceful among reeds and pillars — all of it splashed with a dark stain that must recently have been bright and red. It was unmistakably blood, Ashraf could even still taste a coppery scent in the air. The stillness lingered here too, suggested whoever had done it was long gone. He listened cautiously just in case, and after a long, watchful moment he added, "But I guess I can start with washing that down."

This wasn't his most glamorous errand, but he would see it done. And he may as well start now — all work for the gods was worthwhile, even this. Ashraf left the lantern in the middle of the entry hall and began to prepare, shouldering off his pack for the necessary supplies within. A rag to start with, a small bucket for water from the oasis. Whatever other damage he might find further in would be tomorrow's project, to be assessed by the light of day. In the meantime Ashraf straightened and turned to make his way back outside for water.

Edited (ok not much of an edit but i am satisfied) 2023-07-04 00:26 (UTC)

Night was never silent. ( Once, he had known every paw, claw, scale or feather that had brushed over the dunes. He had felt the rumble of throats as animals cried and shrilled in the evening hour, as predators collided with their scampering prey, as migrant beasts traveled too and fro in the hours where Ra descended behind the horizon and cast the world into chilly night. ) And because the night was not silent, the sound of feet softly crunching upon shifting sands might not be heard until a second individual dipped low into the yawning, dark mouth of the temple.

Fingers sought the torn walls, pressing briefly into imagery hewn from the stone, the old scent of blood and offal heavy in a temple that ought to have been untouched. With Isis upon the throne, her cult and followers were retaking the land. Perhaps not fast enough, and perhaps not well enough along the edges and borders of small, unknown towns that had yet to get the memo. The splashed blood, the intentional damage — they are signs he thinks he might recognize, these days. The desecration of someone's image all-too-familiar to him, who holds no image anymore.

Dressed in a draped, off-white linen shawl — the figure at the mouth of the old, half-buried temple is wrapped from head to toe, to disguise themselves from knowing or thoughtful eyes, but is otherwise heedless of the approach of the individual from within. The muttered self-held conversation more of an idle curiosity, as they draw their hand down from the battered wall. Heavy brows, dark in the night atmosphere, knit as they focus a stern gaze upon the man coming out.

" — you had better not be looting the place," a man's voice scowls, low and dry.

Ashraf paused, his dark eyes sweeping a quick assessment of the figure come into sight before him. Wrapped — against the sands for travel, he might think, but this was excessive. The day had been mostly placid and still. He'd know, having traveled it himself. Perhaps then it was some ailment or disfigurement kept hidden. It was what served as a greeting that set him at ease, and the brief wariness that had stilled his gait left him again. Whoever spoke such would have some attachment to the temple, which made him someone Ashraf was glad to meet.

"I'm afraid it already has been," he called back, his voice as clear and earnest as his face. The beard couldn't detract from the regret the damaged temple had written there, and he came to a stop a respectful ten or so feet back. Of middling height, Ashraf's well-worked muscle was deceptively lean, easily hidden under the drape of his heavy traveling wrap. He didn't cut a particularly intimidating figure, particularly not with a bucket and rag at his side.

"But I haven't confirmed it yet. Do you keep this temple?" He looked ready with sympathy, only waiting to extend it.

"What the hell is their problem," he exclaims instead, glossing briefly over the pleasant sympathies of the man before him in favor of complaining about the situation that presents itself. "They are running around doing these things in the name of someone who no longer exists! It is embarassing."

Clearly disgruntled, he reaches down for the draped linen that envelopes them, hiking a handful of cloth up from his bare feet — as if unused to having it all following in his wake. He does not march upon the man with his bucket and rag, so much as... advance with stiff intent, the line of his nose lifting below the obscuring veil to give a. Well. A sniff of the air, animal-like in motion; the backwards cant of his head, the way his eyes close to better scent the lean figure found in the temple.

When he drops his chin, it is to fix Ashraf with a narrowed gaze. Mildly suspicious but also just, naturally annoyed by all things in the world: "Who are you, then? Strange men in a temple like this better have good reason."