A Silent Return



The words offered here are the tale of Esebius' journey to Anjyarr once more. After being banished, he has roused a motley gathering of people both native to and foreign to Anjyarr. With great care, he has meticulously timed his return to the desert so that he might attend to the needs of the people once more. A great march is imminent, and the Sultan shall know the fury of a people beaten and forgotten. Esebius standing firmly in front, without tongue, with age upon him, and with great passion to continue the struggle he pointed out not many months ago. Much of the contents of this post are mainly for narrative continuity, but to those who are partaking or interested in the struggle of Anjyarr, know that Esebius has returned once more to Anjyarr. A new dawn approaches, and the break of tomorrow shall be set by the sands.

The Departure


In the early morning, the ship would be close to its arrival in Salus Limin with Esebius and his three students

The cool, salty air blew its calming presence onto the thick fabric of an orange tent. The sky was the gentle blue right before the crack of dawn. The sounds in these lands were gentle. Only the repetitive push and pull of the waves as they met the land. The rustle of the trees from above. The shifting sands that would peter their way throughout. Nature was taking its due course. Answering only to its own devices in this quiet time. And from within this orange tent, shuffling could be heard about. As the front flap would be gently nudged along, an older Azari’lunn would look out to the tender scene that laid before him. Not many paces before him would have rested the dying embers of a fire set the night before. Its seats reminded him of the countless days he sat and merely watched the ocean in its full majesty. Above was the sky that was soon to be broken by the rising sun.

The old ‘lunn carried one large pack on his back as he walked out the tent. He wore refined garments that were freshly sewn and pressed for him. The dark blue, dark red, and creamy white each offer a soft complement to one another. While the yellow sash that often adorned this older ‘lunn was worn with a great delicacy. The ‘lunn would set the pack down on the seats that have tended to him for near months now. With one deep breath in from his mouth and exhaled through his nose, he turned to face the ocean proper. As the great body, which rested on all sides if one was to be honest, made itself most known to him on his left-side. Lowering himself onto his knees, he stared onward for a moment, as his view was still obfuscated by trees and other structures, yet he kept his attention set on the water that rested right before him. He would finally prostrate before the body of water and rise once more, as his mouth would word something yet no words would escape his lips. This process would continue for sometime, as the rising sun would motion to its completion for the old ‘lunn. Finally rising from his prostrated position and turning once more to face his pack.

Behind him would be gathered a couple younger ‘lunn and a Khadan, his students. They looked upon their master with gleeful expressions, smiles all around for each. One spoke quickly as their master turned to face them, “Esebius, the time has come. We have our camels read for the journey in Salus Limin. Shall we be saying goodbye to anyone?” The older ‘lunn would offer a quick shake of his head, as he approached one of his students and placed his hand on their shoulder with a firm, paternal grip. A smile would break on Esebius’ face as he looked upon each of his students. But his grip would swiftly dissipate as he motioned them to follow him. And so they did.

They made their way onto the early morning ferry that would lead them once more to Salus Limin. One that Esebius had not boarded even when he first arrived on the island. The master would motion for his students to get aboard first, yet one forced him to hand over his large bag so that he could climb with ease. The ‘lunn, who was still caught in a way by his wounds from months earlier, acquiesced to the demand he felt so ludicrous. Noted through the momentary yet playful grimace he offered the student. But as he finally boarded, he turned to face the Sunscape once more. Esebius’ grip tightened on the railing, the sun rising behind the village that had offered him respite in the midst of uncertainties. The village that had tended to his wounds that surely would have left him unmade. It was his kin that allowed him to live and it was for them that he bound himself into movement. The sun rose, obfuscating his view of the village with its brightening presence, yet he still stared onwards with great compassion in his eyes. Only offering a dip of the head in its direction.

“They shall be aiding the cause, right?” One of Esebius’ students would ask as they walked up beside their master. The older lunn only offered a nod. It was customary at this point to only ask Esebius yes or no questions unless he carried his journal in hand. Yet in the mornings he preferred the simplicity of yes or no queries, so no journal was ever in hand. These times offered him a moment to merely be within himself and communicate through himself. With the gentle placement of his right hand on his forehead, Esebius rubbed and slid his hand off to his right-side. The journey was to begin, and prayers were not enough anymore. Actions and uncertainty laid before him, that is what the old scholar knew.

The Journey


Esebius and his students atop their camels about to depart
As the camels were packed with the new bags from the Sunscape. Esebius pushed himself atop the first camel, an old friend of his at this point. With a few gentle pats, the beast would let out a low grunt, as Esebius nodded in tow. Each of his students prepared their respective camel, as folks passed by in the rising day with brows arched at the odd display. Though word had reached many of the great dispersal of Anjyarri in the midst of struggle. None had truly expected to see the folk amongst themselves. As people passed with befuddled looks, Esebius would only offer curt nods to each. Finally, as the last of his students was prepared to travel onward, the older ‘lunn raised his right hand half-way to the sky and gestured his students to follow him. Though slow in their steps as they left the city, their haste would develop once outside the bounds of people.

One student shouted not too far behind from the older scholar, “Esebius, do you know where the encampment is?” Though the query was muffled partially by the wind, the scholar made it out regardless. With a quick shake of his head, he would raise his hand once more and lower every finger except his index. That gesture would cause his students to slow their camels’ respective pace. Esebius doing so as well. The older ‘lunn gestured to the student that asked him the query and motioned for her to move ahead of him. Without any question in mind, the student would lead the group on the journey from this point on.

Even with a few breaks and encampments later. The group had made quick pace, arriving within the bounds of the Anjyarri desert on the Hadrian border in the early morning of the third day. Though many had expected this journey to take much longer due to Esebius’ recovering state. The older ‘lunn was in good humors and seemed healthy of mind and body. But he was still caught by the state he was bound to, at times his expression would be dismal in the later evenings after his prayers. But he kept such feelings to himself, as he only ever wrote in his journal on the matters of study or the struggle that was to come. This journal was the only way he consistently shared his thoughts with others.

One evening, prior to their arrival at the dissident encampment, Esebius stared off into the deep darkness of the night. The winds offered him only the small pittance of sand that continually graced his face. Each of his students were reading their respective scrolls that he had instructed them to annotate. While the older ‘lunn sat outside without any other, the bright flame that laid before him offering heat to push against the cool winds of the desert’s nights. Though the struggle of the fire was sure to dissipate in due time, Esebius sat there rather aimlessly. No prayers came to mind. Just the hardened reflections of what was to come. The dark was deep and his light so small in comparison. Tears arrived as he stared onward, though his hands were quick to wipe their presence from his face. The dark was so proud, so certain. And the light from the flame only offered a momentary course. Respite that was bound to the unstable sand.

These thoughts bound the scholar into stasis. A great war raged within. An unspoken war. Though struggle was sure to come and the Sultan was to be deposed. The query never failed to bind him. The failings of the future were imminent even in freedom. The binds so quick in their make. But even still, Esebius shook his head at the whirlwind that approached. A cyclone to catch him and place him elsewhere. This was what the night had to offer. But words came to him, gentle words in the tender winds that graced his cheeks. He was reminded in that moment of his mother’s touch. And from these winds the gentle words would be offered, “Do not forget them.”

The old ‘lunn’s eyes would burst open from an overwhelming darkness. A dream! He threw his woolen blanket off of himself, and rose quickly so he could make his way outside into the desert he knew all too well. But instead of the dark he saw not moments prior, it was only the break of dawn that was upon them. And the fires were only the remnants of embers and not any blaze. With a soft gasp, Esebius just stared blankly at the camp for several moments. Words never came, they could not. But with the soft shuffle from within another tent, one of his students arose to meet their master outside the tent. With a hushed tone gracing the scholar’s ear, his student asked rather simply: “Esebius, are you fine? You fell asleep early last night, we were worried.” Only a simple dip of his head would be offered in response, for his gaze would not meet the students. The ‘lunn was instead caught by the soft blue dunes that reflected the sky’s hue. The winds of change were upon them. And the old ‘lunn was not to forget his people. Yet what people?

The Coming Storm


Esebius amongst the small encampment that was located near an oasis in the Anjyarr desert
“We have arrived, Esebius.” The words were spoken in the high rise of the day. The sweat having pooled on the older 'lunn's brow, as the ‘lunn wiped it as his student offered him the notice. The encampment was small. A surprise to Esebius. For this was the lot that would depose the Sultan? The question came to him and left him not many moments after. For the small bunch, many old friends, former students, and some even strangers stood in an open circle awaiting him.

Shouts could be heard from the distance as the group's camels staggered their pace. The old 'lunn's ears would flicker, as a smile would break with the coming whirlwind of voices.

“The old master is in the dunes once more!”
“Aye, a new tomorrow is here!”
“Good Esebius!”
“Old Esebius!”

The last shout would make the gathered bunch break into boisterous laughs. Esebius, as he approached, was near smiling from ear to ear. For so serious a ‘lunn as many had taken him to be, a great ease caught him as he saw these disparate faces. The common folk. The people he grew up with and helped raise. His kin, his friends, his compatriots. The words caught him once more, the one’s from the night before. To him these were the people he could not forget. Though he could offer no kind words to the gathered bunch from his own mouth. The ‘lunn, once he lowered himself from the camel, would raise his hand in their direction, as he offered a wave of sorts. Before approaching, he would pat himself about before taking out his journal, opening it, and handing it to one of his students. As this student looked down on the page, she offered a quick nod as she understood what she was to do.

Esebius stood before the huddled masses, small in count, yet proud in their make. The scholar offered a simple nod to his student, as she began to read aloud. The old ‘lunn stood before them, his face proud as they. The sun beating down from above, heat a blazing, and no winds to cool them. Yet even still, the words were spoken with the aura of the great times that were to come. Even if he could not speak the words, his passion was evident as he attentively listened and stood before them. His written words were offered as such.

“The time has come, friends. We the huddled masses. So forgotten. So used. So tired. We arrive now. In these deserts that we were born in. In these lands that we have tended to with great fervor. We arrive now and stand tall. For even if they dare break us. Even if they torture us. Even if they kill us. We move onwards. We move for tomorrow. We die for tomorrow. I, my friends, my kin, my compatriots, am prepared for the time to come. I am prepared to see a tomorrow in which we shall be led not by the treacherous will of the few. But the benevolent will of the many. And I, dear friends, shall not stand silent any longer. Even if my tongue is severed. I shall continue to serve as guide in these trying times. I shall continue to speak unto you without tongue. I shall continue forth. The winds do not bind, they guide. The waves do not cease, they break. The masses do not defy, they testify. The times are changing, friends, and so must this change account for the will of the people. It is there that we rise! So hold true, friends, hold true. As our friends come from the North, from the East, and from the West. Know that we are not alone in our plight. Know that this Sultan is alone, even amongst his mottled and ill-informed few. But we, we have one another. We have tomorrow. Even if today marks seeming ends, these losses only sow the seeds that are to come. The ease for the children. It is with love I move, and it is with a tender heart that I live. I shall not forget you. I shall not forget Anjyarr. We rise, dear friends, we rise!”

With a resounding applause, the huddled masses would approach Esebius and hold their hands out to him. And in turn the scholar would take each and offer them shakes. As his students brought the camels within the bounds of the camp. More work was to be done in these times still. And the days that would come offered no ease to the old 'lunn. The words of the desert still present in his mind. But as many more of his friends began to descend upon the encampment, the old 'lunn called forth his students and gave them respective parchments, then he would communicate across, through his journal, that they post these parchments in Al-Jabrid and Al-Khadir. The wave was soon to crash.

The parchments that his students posted within Anjyarr would read as follows:

Dear people,
I am within the desert once more.
Prepare yourselves.
We rise in the coming days.
Know that we are not alone.