The night was a canvas of black and violet, illuminated by constellations of stars as it wove gentle threads of silver over the lands with two pearl-like celestial bodies, one bigger than the other.
A caravan made of dozens of large wooden carriages pulled by beasts could be seen crossing through the verdant plains as a gentle breeze caressed the grass, setting it to sway in a tranquil rhythm.
Glowing with warm light from the lanterns adorning it, the caravan was nothing short of captivating.
The beasts laboring the carriages would have resembled bulls, if not for their thick hide, large three horns, three eyes, and the abnormal strength to move such huge carriages.
Having traveled northwest for three days from the south, with the destination being the biggest city in the southern region, the caravan is divided into three sections in an intentional fashion: the very front accommodating most of the guards and passengers, the middle is where the merchants, nobles, and their families are being accommodated, and at the back are the storage carts where food supplies and commercial goods such as crops are stored.
The carts came to a halt as it was time to take their stop and get their rest a fair distance from the great Ozarus, the great river, and the life vein of the whole continent.
The guards moved on and about as they scouted the area for safety.
Being a rare occurrence, the stop is a cause of celebration for most.
Passengers and guards became lively not long after, and sounds of chatter mixed with wood hammering as they prepared their campsite.
"The southern plains never fail to captivate me with its wonderful scenery; don't you feel the same, brother?" said a tall guard with golden hair and eyes like sapphire to the one walking by his side as they patrolled together, but no answer was heard.
"Come on, Shiraz, I know you are not thrilled by the south, but we have been here for almost two years by now…but currently all we can do is endure," said the golden-haired guard to the one named Shiraz, who appears to be his brother, and although they are separated by the age gap of three years, they look similar to each other, with the exception being that Shiraz is brown-haired and shorter in height.
"Sorry, older brother, it's just… I was wondering how father and mother are doing," he said as a somber shadow was cast upon his smiling face.
Only the sounds of their shoes stepping on the verdant grass and the gentle breeze could be heard for a while.
Then the golden-haired guard said, "Don't you worry about them, Shiraz… you know that father is a strong man, one of the toughest I have seen, and mother has a spirit that cannot be worn out by the trials of time," reassuring his brother… himself even, of the well-being of their parents.
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With beautiful engravings and vibrant colors, the carts in the middle of the Caravan drew a stark contrast from the others.
Those are the accommodations for people of wealth and nobility.
Merchants had been sanctifying this holy march, not for what it represents nor its theological and moral value to the people of faith, but for what it made of gold and silver.
Nobles, on the other hand, see this sacred tradition as a novelty. They join it for a variety of reasons, including sightseeing, boredom, and sometimes to visit relatives and friends in the holy city, but there are some who truly are religious, wanting to participate in the holy march on the basis of its significance to the faith.
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In one of those exquisite carts of nobility, two ladies of captivating beauty and elegance were playing a board game.
"That makes it two wins for me, nil for you, Lady Syre," said the lady with ginger hair and obsidian colored eyes that exuded intelligence, confidence and a fair amount of arrogance.
She had flawless olive skin common to the people of the south. And her body was covered with a silk violet robe embroidered with a golden rose and patterns of its thorny vines, following the trend of nobles across the continent.
"Oh, I just started learning the game, Lady Svant," said Lady Syre with a friendly smile to her irritating friend.
Lady Syre was a young woman of alluring beauty, with long, inky black hair and dark-brown colored eyes; she was wearing a robe similar to her counterpart's, except hers was azure in color.
Hearing her friend's comment, Lady Svant answered swiftly, "You know ... I did start learning the game with you," with a grin wide enough to show her pearly teeth and gorgeous dimples, and eyes that kept teasing her friend.
The friend in question didn't have the energy to argue with her, and even if she did have the spirit for a farce, knowing her company, it would be a losing battle, so she just sighed.
Such a splendid evening; it is going to be quite long.
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At the very back of the caravan are the carts where foods, water and cargo of merchants are, and the last few ones are where wheats and grains are stored.
Those carts are not just for storing cattle's clover and hay; they are where the poor but pious folk reside. They are people who cannot afford the hefty sum required to live in one of the passenger carts; all they can do is crowd with the cattle forage.
"Mother, is this truly the same path walked by the oracle?" asked a child embraced by his parents, and as all the others crowded within the cart, they were wearing rags that covered what needed to be covered on their bodies.
"Yes, child, our great oracle and his companions were banished and hunted by the heretics, and so they walked all the way to the Temple of Promise on foot," said the woman embracing the child.
"They walked?! By foot? How?" The idea of walking the appalling distance with only feet was utterly bizarre to the child, filling him with curiosity.
A sound of a grunt was heard in the corner before the mother could satisfy her son's curiosity.
A young man of twenty years old could be seen adjusting himself into a position of sitting, he was fairly tall with handsome facial features, with a head full of black hair, his eyes were nothing short of bizarre; emerald green Irises with a golden yellow corona around the pupils, he had an olive smooth skin of the southern population.
He was wearing some ragged tops with pants to match them.
Sitting while facing them, he stopped for a moment, looking at the family of three with a bit of irritation shading his face, then he stood up lazily, intending to take a stroll around the caravan and enjoy the pleasant breeze.
When he got outside, he heard a calm, hoarse voice: "Not a fan of the faith, aye?" It was the middle-aged guard assigned to keep watch over the poor, one among many.
The young man stopped for a moment to measure the man, then he said, " I have heard that story one too many times," and continued his walk.
The guard sighed, saying, "What an odd fella".