One would think that in such a place, the winds blew harsh. But that was untrue in these vast, untamed wilds.
Living in the steppes was not an awful experience, but it felt rather mundane. Not mundane in a bad sense, of course, many were content with such a lifestyle. They would wake up, get out of their yurts, move their herd around a bit, and then sleep. For food, they would eat what they could hunt, or expend. And for entertainment, they would find company in those around them. The most pleased with the pastoralist lifestyle, of course, were always those with a family. Most others just coped with what they had. The lonesome either stayed as such, or they made it their goal to find company. Of course, some people could neither find solace in others, nor theirselves.
The city of Cascar was a beautiful place. Though it lacked grandiosity, one could say that what made it beautiful was complex. Its simple, long-standing architecture? Its people? The historical significance of it? No, its beauty lied in its location. Cascar was an important spot on the Trade Route. A sort of bridge between many places. To the West and North lied the steppes, to the South, the loosely unified dominions of the Maharaj, and to the East, a mountain range which acted as the entrance to many great empires. Because of its location, it also had one of the biggest bazaars around. At times, it received so much traffic that the streets smelt of horse shit rather than sand. So obviously, it was a go-to spot.
The path from the north received sparse visitors. If you were to look from miles away, only a few silhouettes would be visible. 4 sheep, and a man next to a laid down horse. If you were to look from a few kilometers away, you would see the same thing, maybe a bit more clearly. But now: If you were to look at the same scene a few yards away, you would see something horrifying: An oriental man in a loose-fitting, blue garb, clutching his dying horse in his left hand. Now, if you were to go just a few inches away, you would hear him muttering something equally horrifying under his breath:
"So long, my love."
For this man in particular, other than his navy deel and the saber underneath his sash, this horse was the last remaining memento of his home. Despite his name, Nergüi Ganbaatar, meant to ward off bad spirits, for as long as he has lived, he has been cursed. As a baby, he was dropped on his head and then was almost kidnapped by a giant goat. As a preteen, he was engaged to a beautiful girl and sent to work with her father for 3 years, before she died of tuberculosis 2 months later,
And just 3 years ago, he was involved in an intense dispute with his brothers and father over something or the other, and ended up fighting with one of them. That did not go well, however, and when the fight was finished, he narrowly escaped death by hopping on his horse and scurrying off. Knowing the chance that he would encounter his family again, Nergüi took on the duty of traveling southward, in pursuit of more finer pastures. But soon he discovered that he had lost all control in his dominant arm, and so, the journey became much harder.
After so long, Nergüi had reached his destination, but at the same time, his horse had died. With no sure way of carrying it to Cascar using just one arm, he decided to cut his losses. Getting on his knees and putting his head on the ground for one quick prayer, he quickly cut out the edible parts of the horse and stuffed it inside a container hidden under his sash, before continuing his journey to Cascar.
On his arrival, Nergüi was startled by the amount of people flowing through the city. Since he had left, and for most of his life bar a few instances, he had never seen such a big city. Clutching the rope in his hand tightly, he carefully made his way along the path of the city, looking around for what he wanted. Though fighting with a saber was something that he could still manage, it was not preferable when hunting, for it weighed him down against faster animals. On his back was a fairly large bag filled with cow-hide, wool, and various other things. Nergüi was sure that it was worth its weight, after all, he had spent the better part of a year preparing for his arrival. Perhaps he would even get something personally made for him. Haha, that was a nice thing to think about.
Pausing at a local vendor to ask for directions, Nergüi struggled for a second to find his voice, before speaking as he felt something slide off his back. "Do you know where I can find a weapons salesman?" For a moment, the man looked on confusion, before his eyes dilated and he looked to the side, saying something in an unintelligible dialect.
It was Nergüi's time to be confused, and the vendor sighed frustratedly, before pointing behind the man, where, upon turning, he spotted a thief running away at full speed, with his bag in hands. Looking back and forth, the vendor took initiative, grabbing the rope from his hands, and pushing him forward, where upon stumbling a bit, Nergüi immediately began running towards the thief. Though it didn't take long, due to the weight of the bag slowing him down, another problem arose once he had cornered the thief.
"I don't know what's in this bag, but," The thief pulled out a weird device through which he put his finger, "I'll burn whatever's inside if you inch any closer with that sword in your hilt." From a hole in the device, a small flame was emitted. Nergüi looked on for a moment. Was this the work of sorcery? Just what kind of technology did they have here? Putting his usable hand up as to signal defeat, the man took a moment to speak, noticing how the thief continued to stand in place. "Take my bag. Just don't burn it, I won't raise my sword against you."
The thief blinked a few times in surprise, as if he didn't expect that answer, before narrowing his eyes and looking at Nergüi's right hand. "Hold both hands up then. I'm not stupid, as soon as I put this device back in my pocket, you'll... Take my head off." The man stepped back, looking around him to make sure nobody was coming their way, before intensifying the flame. "I can't do that, please don't burn my stuff. Come on man, I've had a bad day." Nergüi may have whined, but the thief wasn't having it.
"Last chance, you stupid fucking retard. God, I swear, you countrymen are so dense." The bandit complained a bit, before moving his finger closer to the bag. Nergüi said nothing, only wincing at what was about to come as he moved his hand down to grip his saber. "Alright, that's it. Whatever's in here is probably cheap anyways." Just as the thief was about to move his hand to burn the bag, he felt a grip on his shoulder and turned around. Evidently, this wasn't the right choice, as a moment later, the flame burnt out, and his head fell to the floor.
Standing behind him was a man who looked as strange as the one whose stuff he had saved. Alhough he was bald, on the back of his head he wore a man-bun, and though he was clearly a man, for some reason he was wearing a weird dress. Not that Nergüi could talk. Coughing a bit in his hand, the savior spoke up.
"A shame that I'd thought you mindful enough to depose of a simple thief. Tell me, northerner, what'd you please to have, and I'll be your guide."
