From above, Rowan Oasis is rather hard to make out. But then, of course, the hot air balloon is the pinnacle of aircraft technology in 1825.
Other people, of course, are a bit more evolved...
Overhead, a griffon vulture flies. He's not what he appears. For many moments, he flies in circles around Rowan Oasis. Sometimes, he gets too close for comfort...or would, rather, if anyone else down there saw him.
Soon, though, he's sure he's got what he needs. So, he flies off. He's got a beach date with a hot black chick, farther south...
These are the white shores of the Horn of Africa. They're easy to come by, up here. Most lands along the Horn's coast are desert. For many centuries, the great Somali race has called this home. If only they could keep a king on their throne, though... Or a xeer, even...
Alas, it's just as well that they can't. Oman rules them, too.
Out here, surrounded by sand, there's a beach chair. It's surrounded, for clicks, by sand...except just off its owner's bare feet. There, the Arabian Sea makes waves. Alternating, they crash onto the shore...and bring more with them, from where they come from.
Face clad in shades, Maya Sarabi soaks up the Somali sun. She's a mature-bodied black female...who looks great in a swimsuit. Her suit is red...just like the blood of her Bloodforce magic.
It still disturbs her, that her daughter is a slave in some godforsaken land across the ocean. Alas, she's almost sure she's past that. She...might even be past her daughter's father...who left her a long time ago, when he was offered a big promotion at work.
Indeed, Ms. Sarabi's a very mysterious blood witch. But then, Bloodforce magic tends to prefer such types...
Not too far from here, there's a strange-looking machine. It looks like a giant kettle. It's got a mortar barrel and a crossbow coming out of it. It ticks like a clock.
In its side, an hourglass streams its sand. The top chamber is nearly empty...
As you can see, Sir Joachim is nowhere to be seen. Ms. Sarabi has sent him on a very special mission.
All around her, a great shadow circles her. The shadow gets smaller and darker, as its maker descends towards Ms. Sarabi.
Soon, he's nearly landed. As he hangs from a strong wind blowing against his wings, he shapeshifts...into an angel with griffon-like wings. He falls into the sand, and stands.
He marches up to Ms. Sarabi's chair. She grins, and tips her shades a bit, to acknowledge that flaming hot hunk of Greek that dares approach the side of her chair...
He stands at attention, and salutes her. "Reconnaissance complete," he reports. "Ready to report."
She grins. "Report demanded."
"With all due respect, Ms. Sarabi...can't you read my mind?"
"I'd be more assured of your loyalty, Sir Iorgos, if you said it to me verbally."
Iorgos commences the report. "He's hiding in his lair, as usual. He's cooking children and forging firearms."
She studies him. "And when you say 'cooking' children...what kind of oven is he using?"
"Can't say for sure."
"Describe it for me, then."
"It looks like a miniaturized ironclad battleship, has hourglasses built into the sides, with some hourglasses where the sand falls up rather than down... (More of them just trickle down, just to be clear.) And there's a porthole in the top, through which one can see the babyface of an unborn twenty-two-year-old male."
All at once, Ms. Sarabi doesn't seem as confident. "I see," she mutters. "And, does he still, by any chance, eat those annoying orange grapes?"
"Those," Sir Iorgos admits, "and sometimes the wine his maids brew from it."
Ms. Sarabi scoffs. "Those maids... I'm starting to wonder why the bastard ever gave wedlock a try at all. Thank you for the report, Sir Iorgos. You may fetch your carrion from the baggage claim now."
He salutes her again. "Thank you, Ms. Sarabi." With that, he turns, spreads his wings, and glides on over to what appears to be a baggage claim from a port. On it, a conveyor belt constantly turns. On the belt, the carcasses of many dead beasts lie; most notably Cape buffalo, elands, and especially kudus.
He lands, grabs a leg of buffalo, and chows down. He may look like an angel...but he sure doesn't eat like one.
In the side of the kettle, the hourglass's sand runs out. A whistle blows. Atop it, the mortar revolves on a swivel, aims, and fires a shell towards the sea. Before it gets there, though, a portal opens. Here, the crossbow rolls around, on the same swivel, and fires a trick bolt; it's got a message in a bottle attached to it. The bolt flies right through the portal, and vanishes.
Moments later, the portal vanishes. The kettle deactivates itself...as it seems to have run out of steam.
"Now," Ms. Sarabi smiles, lowers her shades, lies back, and crosses her thick and bare ebony legs. "All I've got to do is wait...and see if Recruit 3 is biting..."
