[D9 LE] Wants

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

Bomilcar had been piecing as much together as he could with his mind. He was trained to look at things as threats. But now he needed to see something else. The Fremen were potential allies in this, but the responses he'd gotten in regards to freedom from overseers varied from confidence in self, willingness to be patient, and shifts in attitude that suggest there was more to it. They wanted their freedom from oppressors, like any reasonable person, but it's not something they want from the off-worlders.

He continued trying to form ideas and thoughts outside of his normal way of understanding. What would these people that worship water and the worm. The sources of life and death. The spice... they use it regularly and consider it just an every day material if the food he'd eaten was any indication. It wasn't nothing to them, but they had no desire for what they already had. What they didn't have was water. What they coveted was water. They reclaimed it from everything. From everything?

The prisoners, they were worth more as water to the Fremen than any ransom that could be paid. They keep them around for some reason, perhaps leverage or political value with their group or leader. Not that Bom could do anything about that, since he didn't know their leader. His mind raced as he went looking for the man that had seemed most like the leader.

[Kannon]

Instead, a familiar man would find him instead, right when he'd get into trouble by walking where the Fremen weren't allowing them to enter.



"Careful." The man who, upon dropping the face flap revealed himself to be Korba, said. "Not every sietch can you just walk into." There was a tinge of amusement in the wiry man's voice.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

"So run instead?" Bomilcar replies, with a smirk. He was careful not to break the territorial line, finding a spot with a wall he can put his back to for the conversation.

[Kannon]

"That would be even more foolish. If you aren't afraid of our warriors, you should be of our women and children." Korba chuckled. "You have a way of going around though. We're far away from Harg Pass. This is the moment for the naibs to decide whether to let you outworlders run around more, or stop you." Korba seemed to be selecting his words rather carefully.

[Understand 2]

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

"Decision for us too then," he replies.

He looks at Korba, his smirk fading. "Expectations. Unspoken."

He didn't know how to explain it in words because he was bad at them. But he suspected that the Fremen did not truly comprehend the politics and what could happen here. How they might move forward with whatever they did if the Harkonnen were displaced by imperial power. He was still trying to figure out what drove them beyond faith and survival. He wondered if they simply lack the perspective to understand what imperial power is. Hell, he didn't really understand.

"Fremen seeking... something. Naibs decision... based on if we can help. Our goal means nothing. Yours means everything. You chose it."

D9 LE, Understand + Truth, TN 10, +1 threat for die, Difficulty 2: 3#1d20 1 2 9
4 successes, 2 momentum to figure out what can be offered in return for assistance, suspecting it is someone's water

[Kannon]

What Bom realised was that he was among a collective of Fremen here who belonged to different tribes, had different naibs, and those naibs represented non-identical outlooks, perhaps even belonged to rivalling factions. Korba wasn't Stilgar's, so he must be here at the behest of another naib, as could be many of the people here, now watching them. He couldn't extrapolate too far from his experiences with the Fremen up to date. What was present here was perhaps a set of starkly opposite opinions. By endearing one naib or tribe he could antagonise the other, and force them into rash actions. Perhaps this notion of careful balance was what kept the Fremen from more coordinated activities.

Not unlike the Houses in the broader Imperium, ironically.

But Bom somehow found it hard to surrender the idea that people of such consensual adherence to common ways didn't have a common platform. And he was right that neither simple survival nor faith cut it, at least alone. There had to be more. Perhaps there was some leadership over the naibs, a soft spiritual one? There was also the phenomenon of several tribes gathering exactly here far away from their sietches. Was it another custom, or has someone actually called them?

And then he recalled Mapes' word: Liet. Was it a human or a concept?

"What we want is far away." Korba said, somewhat cryptically, but a level of patience and resolve rather than longing to the voice told him it was a plan rather than a form of nostalgia.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

"Liet guides to that goal," he says, giving a nod. He may not know what Liet is, but from the context it was a guide of some sort. Whether a leader or a belief.

"If I... offered water to Liet?" he said, placing a hand on his chest, indicating he meant his own water and not water in general.

[Kannon]

There was a murmur and shuffling of feet around them. Korba was half-abashed by this turned, but he composed himself quickly, though Bom could see him religiously awakened.

"Then you'd be asked: where is your crysknife."

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

He didn't know anything about crysknives. None had ever mentioned them, despite the fact that more than a few probably considered using theirs on him. But the point is that he doesn't know what one is, so context. It was a knife presumably. And it would be expected of someone swearing themselves to a leader of the Fremen. So it was earned. As survivalist people it likely was something that came from the desert. The specific function and makeup of a crysknife seemed less important than the symbolism it likely represented. So...

"Haven't gotten yet," he says, curious how that would be taken.

But then a second thought strikes him. The crysknife is likely to them what his own seax was to Thorvald. It's likely not just a blade, but a tradition. He slowly moves to draw his blade out non-threateningly.

"Have symbol of Thorvald warrior. Not Fremen warrior... yet."

[Quality 1 blade with Traditional]

[Kannon]

There was tension, but none jumped to their feet. It looked like they didn't misread the intention. Or it was some other reason.

Korba looked at it. "It's a good knife." He said politely. "But it isn't a crysknife. And Liet is not here. Sheathe it."

There was insistence in his voice. "Fremen wouldn't draw a blade unless they meant to use it. For once it's good they see you as an offworlder who doesn't know our ways."

The wiry Fremen sighed. "But I see you are on a path that must yield either to the left or to the right. Is it my naib that you seek?"

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

The blade was tucked away.

"Differences. Thorvald more open," he says with a shrug. They are competitive and militant, so flashing steel and showing off was common among his fellow warriors. Just another difference in cultures.

"Naib," he agrees with a nod.

[Kannon]

"My naib is Merkur." Kroba said, waiting for the tension to abate. "He's not like Stilgar." Whatever that meant.

Korba made way and gestured into the entryway into the caverns below the landing plateau of the ridge while looking around to the shadows among the rocks that most certainly hid sentries. The temperature was dropping, and the retreating sun was casting long shadows. The dunes beyond in the great open desert were an irregularly checkered space of orange and black.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

Bom followed along, quiet and respectful of the space. His eyes watched those spots where a surprise attack would be most effective from.

[Kannon]

There would be no attack even though the options for one were probably at least twice as numerous as what Bomilcar managed to notice from the subtle signs of presence in the shadows between rocks. Descending in silence, he noticed that even though the moisture seals were in place Korba didn't relax the water discipline, like at the Harg Pass. Neither had his leader, naib Merkur, squatting in perfect balance in one of the yali. He was desiccated even for a Fremen.

Merkur.jpg (37.14 KiB) Viewed 4117 times

"How I call you, alien?" He asked in a very broken Galach, his tone a mixture of hiss and grit, like wheels on gravel. He gestured for Korba to leave, and there was no hesitation. Bom was on his own with this man.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

After watching Korba leave him with the naib, Bomilcar cleared his throat with a twitch from the corner of his mouth. He had been speaking a lot. He knew he'd have to in this situation, and it hurt. He could feel a bit of wetness draining in his through from some minor bleeding but it's definitely not the worst of he's been. As he calculated, and was left to his own devices with Merkur he decided that this was not just an opportunity to figure out what he might be able to offer... but to learn from the head of a sietch in order to understand the fremen.

Things start clicking into place, as he thinks. These were patient and observant people and there was no way that he came to this place with all of these naibs and their trusted followers without all of them knowing at least something about him. They had to be whispering about him when he wasn't paying attention at the very least. I have to stop treating this like a curiosity and start doing what I'm good at... what they're good at. I am a bodyguard... I observe. That is how they must learn everything.

So before saying a word, Bomilcar lowered himself into a similar crouching position. He was a warrior and understood footing and balance. It wasn't a natural or overly comfortable position for him because it's not how he usually rests, but his balance was a warriors balance so it wasn't hard to maintain. It was obvious that there was more effort on Bomilcar's part to maintain his crouch, but he was probably suprisingly adept at it compared to most offworlders, if Merkur had ever even observe off-worlders mimicking body language of his people.

He kills the immediate thought and replies and realize he needs to eliminate this crisis of identity when he's among the fremen, "Buzmali." But Merkur knew that. He definitely knew that. Assuming he didn't was foolish. Bomilcar thinks, He's asking my identity, not my name. He knows my names. Or it's simply cultural tradition to exchange names on first meeting and polite? No... the first, had to be.

[Kannon]

Merkur's eye corners twitched at the appellation, but his second thought straightened back his already wrinkled face.

"Shed water heat, trap water cool. Useless Tanzerouft, guard wormline Pole..." Merkur seemed to be contemplating the meaning of Bom's chosen name, filtering it through his own cultural-religious context. The paradox the nature of ice presented here on Dune seemed to satisfy Merkur. The Ipyrite's warrior's position - and scars - only made him more alien AND familiar.

"My tribe strict water discipline. Water belong tribe. I punish waste water, kill. You stay cool and not shed and guard, Buzmali, live then." He produced something from a pocket of his stillsuit, a small bundle, and stretched his wiry arm to put it halfway between them. "Better nose plugs."

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

Bom nods, accepting them, thinking about it and then speaks an observation wondering if he's beginning to understand some more basic Fremen principles. "To protect water. More for tribe. When I don't need anymore," he says, his voice feeling a little raw by this point, but he doesn't let that stop him. Bom puts the new nose plugs in. His expression is more contemplative than confident, since he's still not sure he's figuring this out right, but hoping and believing. "Plugs for tribe, not me."

[Kannon]

"Water manage well or not at all." Merkur eventually nodded, having watched how the new plugs were being applied and adjusted to the tube. This man seemed very set in his ways, but also capable of some interpretive flexibility, perhaps reading intentions no worse than words they tried to express.

"You want both worlds." The skinny naib observed.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

For Bomilcare, it's all about understanding, bridging a gap, creating a path between Thorvald and Fremen. He was already looking at ways to smuggle water, at building something on Arrakis, trying to become the link between his home and family with this place of unimaginable importance in the universe. If their positions were reversed, if a Fremen came to Thorvald worlds they would be almost equally inhospitable in comparison, likely to freeze and starve in the cold outside of civilization. Two very different ways of life.

Taking a moment to think about how to respond, he realizes... do any of the Fremen he's spoken with actually know what that other world he's devoted to is? Do they understand that his loyalty was never to the Emperor, but to his house and Earl? So he tries a new tack, trying to figure out a way to communicate his true intent. "Which two worlds?" he asks.

[Kannon]

"Duy punra hin mange. Man have two feet."

Bomilcar may have forgotten that asking big questions could trigger a canto and respondu exchange among the Zensunni, their spiritual exploration of life's dualities and paradoxes. Back then it had been Edwell who had navigated them through the rite...

"Three men and storm. One went rock find cave. One dug stilltent in sand. One stayed between rock and sand."

Was it a call for Bom to self-identify, to solve a riddle, or to reflect on his personal journey?

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

I fucked up, he thinks to himself. This was higher level introspection than he ever really did. His brain didn't function so well at this level. So it felt like now or never to him in this moment. If he couldn't at least be conversational at this level he'd never be able to be diplomatic among the Fremen and would always be fully an outsider... by his own estimation. And so he thought.

And then he stopped picturing this in the desert. An epiphany? Three men and a blizzard. One went glacier find cave. One dug igloo in snow. One stayed between glacier and snow... that's it. Use what you know. I've been there. I've been stuck in a blizzard during survival training without protection. I got frostbite and nearly died. But I didn't. Because I didn't give up.

"Between rock and sand, between ice and snow, can't live in storm, perhaps weathers it, proves strength. Perhaps foolish, maybe storm takes. But faces challenge to understand self." His voice is rough, the pain is bearable but unpleasant, and he feels the blood dripping like stuffed sinuses.

[Kannon]

Merkur thought about this, satisfied by the answer in some way, though the blood loss wasn't to his liking.

"There was man who survived open storm. He lost eyes and skin. God tested him and he lived. His sacrifice made him saint among people. But then man decided test God and put life to greatest trial. One do not test God. Man's name remembered in whisper, not chant. His water was poison."

Was it apocryphal or a real story? Hard to tell. The naib thought some more. He seemed to be drawing lessons from the encounter, perhaps devising plans. There was cleverness in his Ibad eyes.

"Your tahaddi al-burhan between God and you. We wait and we see."

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

An apocryphal story may as well be a true story when applied to the realities of the world. Undoubtedly many had been exposed to such storms and adversities over so much history. Uncountable many. Who knows how many survived, even if most died. The danger is real and the resilience of those that live among the danger is just as real. How many had survived such storms only for the landscape to change so much that they got lost and starved or dehydrated trying to find home? Sometimes it's not the test you think your facing that ends up being the test that kills you.

"Many tests," Bomilcar replies, placing his hand on his neck and rubbing it. "Won't quit. Keep trying until failure. Survival is everything. But tahaddi al-burhan... we don't know which one. Only God knows."

[Kannon]

"Bi-lal kaifa." This signified Merkur giving the matter of Bom's relationship to Dune and its people a temporary closure.

"What next, Buzmali." This one sounded practical.

[Bomilcar Thorvald]

"Education," Buzmali replied. "Still like child learning desert," he admits. "Maybe worse. Must improve. Confidence isn't capability."