The timekeepers say it is ninety days into the 514th year of Jeytelh's ride.

-

At the southwestern edge of Protectorate City, near the wall, was a restaurant.

At the table closest to the wall, sat two thieves.

"No. I don't believe in it," stated the first.

"'Don't believe in it'? In tipping? Are you serious?" the other one shot him an odd glance.

"Dead serious. They have a wage, why do they need charity from me?" the first thief wiped his hands.

"Well...because they bust their ass for you. Serving others is a hard job. It’s even worse when you live in a place like this."

"In the past hour that we've been sitting here, he's only refilled my canteen once. Once! I don't think he’s doing a good job of servicing. For all I know, he spat in our food."

The second thief folded his arms, "One. You know that water is a scarce resource right? And two, that..that’s just gross."

An explosion ripped through that portion of the wall. Smoke filled the sky, and debris littered the ground. The restaurant that stood there, along with everyone inside, was completely obliterated along with the wall.

---

Drakyvaria

"Aware. Indeed, I am."

The magnificent palace of the Primarch sat at the very end of the long central road that stretched from one end of the Drakyvarian capital to the other. Along the way, the central road was bisected by various other smaller roads and alleyways that made up the heart of Drakyvaria.

The Primarch's palace was an agglomeration of many spires that stabbed into the brown sky with great red banners at the tips of those spires bearing the Primarch's sigil, a Draconian countenance marked in pure black. The great stairs rose from road level and went up many steps until they reached the great entrance of the palace.

Flanking the open entry way were rows of guardsmen clenching their pole-arms with solid faces. While the desert wind blew and the banners flapped, their faces remained the same.

It was another day as the sphere of Jeytelh rose across the sky slowly. The merchants and the bazaars were lively, and they should be. Their great nation was thriving; there was peace with the Protectorates and peace with the Solarians.

Who would have thought that those two other kingdoms could be such lucrative trading partners?

The Drakyvarians did not when they went to war with those kingdoms. Twice with the Protectorates, and thrice with the Solarians. There would have been four wars with the Protectorates had the young city been established sooner. Of course, the city of thieves and swindlers had thieves and swindlers for their leaders. And those leaders were among the best of swindlers and thieves when handling diplomatic matters.

The Solarians on the other hand, a great plague should befall them, thought the average Drakyvarian. They won one, and lost two against the collective of pinks, blues, yellows, browns, grays, and whatever it was that made up Solaria.

The Solarians would not yield their precious crystals, and they understood nothing about honor. Drakyvarians understood much about honor, they claimed that it was bestowed upon them by the Gods, and that every Drakyvarian youngling was born with it in his blood. And that the substance of honor was what created their Xth metal. They thought they knew what they believed to be honor.

They were prosperous under the magnificent reign of their Primarch, Aug'Feyleth. He who commanded the sky and wind as the common Drak claimed to other kingdoms.

In truth, Aug'Feyleth should be known for his shrewdness of character. A trait perhaps not inherited from his father, but has saved his life from many assassination attempts since the day he took to the throne.

-

"Then, Lord Primarch, we must make haste to your retreat in the south."

The prime adviser of Aug'Feyleth was an old Drakyvarian perhaps in his early eighties. Compared to humans and other species, Drakyvarians had long lifespans. The old lizard walked with limber movements, spoke in staccato, and bore paranoid eyes that darted around the great chamber.

He had been a great counselor of Aug'Feyleth's father, but he continues to blame himself for the last Primarch's death. To some degree, he has made it his life's goal to protect the younger Feyleth and ensure that he does not have two Primarchs die during his tenure as prime adviser.

The old Drak paced about before Aug as the monarch sat on his throne in battle dress. Drakyvarian Primarchs were always expected to wear armor in the court, or out in the streets whenever they paraded. It was meant to show strength, but also to protect the Primarch from assassins in the streets.

The only place they were allowed to wear anything else was their private chamber. Sleeping in armor was uncomfortable. And should a Primarch not get enough sleep because of this, his disposition would be affected the next day. The following result would be the rolling of heads. The royal servants knew this better than anyone.

The court room was quiet with the exception of the wind that rolled through. The great banners were partially bathed in the filtered light that shone through the opening in the ceiling.

"They present no serious threat to me at the moment," the Primarch reasoned, "Just another sword above my head like so many others."

"Lord Primarch, your policies as of late have not appeased them. In public they may seem firm. However, within their homes they whisper about how you anger them. We stand upon the threshold of a golden age that could simply slip away if they manage to kill you."

"Manage to. There's really not much to fear as I've strengthened the guard. My own House supports me, as well as our allies. I think that is enough for me to move ahead with our current plans."

"Lord Primarch, your father said the same. For all we know, they might have loyalists within the ranks of your guard. I, for one, am surprised that you see no fear in our current state of affairs."

A smile grew on the Primarch's face, "What is it that those humans often say about fear?"

He stood up from his cushioned seat, his leathery hands knobbed behind him as he strode to the edge of the atrium and looked down the great steps and into the fluttering marketplaces down below. The wind had slowly carried the sand of Ba'Gatha onto the little nooks and crannies of the steps until they were no longer as white as before when the city was first built.

"Fear is a choice, Rielc."

"Lord Primarch," the advisor replied with his own smile, "The humans...they should be the last place that you draw enlightenment from."

---

Protectorate City

"Order please, everyone."

The Dome was the council chamber where the head council met. It was there that they discussed, disbanded, and decreed laws.

The Dome was shaped like a dome, if it was anything else, it would be a misnomer. The dome itself was supported by giant columns planted in a ring at equal intervals to distribute the pressure out from the center of the dome as well as give the structure a feeling of space and openness.

The former being something that denizens of Protectorate City craved, while the latter being something that they disdained when it came to the personal sense of the word.

It was for that exact reason that they decided to keep their meetings in open air. It was one of the few things that put people at ease in a city that tends to distrust itself.

Of course, the Dome had metallic folds that automatically created an interior once they seal off the outside, letting no light or air in except that which comes through the various vents located on the roof of the structure. These serve for privacy purposes, and more often than not they were used. Not only to hide from the city's own eavesdroppers but the spies of other nations as well.

Protectorate City was known as a haven for all, and thus it became home to many types of people from both Solaria and Drakyvaria. It was often hard to identify a Protectorate citizen from an outsider spy. Any critically classified discussions that the council held were to be behind closed blinds.

Inside the Dome was a wide and round central table made of metal with seven seats planted around with equal distances apart similar to the columns that held up the dome.


Each of the current council members were prominent men and women. However, due to the quick rotation of regimes, the only law that prevailed in Protectorate City was the minimal tax needed to fund the Guard. That was barely enforced though. Beyond that, the incumbent members usually devolved into managing their personal affairs and economic territory.

On this day, four of the seven were meeting in the Dome.

"From Cloud Hills to Razor Mesa, my territory."

Abaryn Fells was just one among the seven ruthless merchants, traders, backstabbers, swindlers (the list could go on) gathered around that circular table. He had an eye patch, although people doubted he was blind. He had a blonde goatee with long flowing hair. Many a woman has fallen for his dastardly charms, except for the sharpest of them.

"The hell you are. We all agreed on no claims for Cloud Hills, it was supposed to be fair game for everyone."

And one of the sharpest of them, Cidny Kaith, was there. Jet black hair, trimmed according to Guard regulation. She was a Protectorate Guard captain for a time during the Second Drakyvarian War. She had been successful in swaying the majority vote of four to three for the City to keep the taxes to support the military. Her agents were within that arm, and they funneled part of the funds back to her. She was shorter than everyone else there, standing at a mere sixty two inches, but she spoke with a screechy voice.

"You mean like the Guard?" Homar Noktios interjected with a condescending glare.

Noktios was one of the minority members who voted against the raising of taxes. He was one of the first who became aware of her operations within the Guard. He sported loose light brown garb that draped across his pauldrons, but left most of his tanned torso bare. He also wore thick contraband vambraces. He had a tattoo design that circled his eyes and met at the center of his forehead. His red mane was tied down to one pony tail.

“What about the Guard? I barely get shit from them; nobody bothers to pay taxes except for the idiots…good people, still idiots.”

"She's right about the Hills though. We all agreed on fair play. Whatever fair means these days."

Quinta Valorum, diplomatic, deadly with knives, and despite her amputated arm which she kept wrapped in silk, she was still eye candy for many men in the city.

Abaryn scratched his jaw, trying to determine his options.

"Fine. But tell your people to stay out of Razor Mesa," he jabbed at Quinta.

Quinta simply smiled, "I can't guarantee that hon'."

"Well then I can't make any guarantees about the Hills can I?" Abaryn said.

"I don't think you can make any guarantees about Razor Mesa either. From what I hear, a Drak lord has had his eyes on it for quite a while now," Homar grinned.

"And from what do you hear?"

"Oh…from a couple of ears that I have around," Homar shrugged.

"I thank you for your concern, but that's my business that I can handle," Abaryn concluded.

“So what do you guys think about Jolo?” Cidny asked.

“A threat,” Quinta planted.

“I agree,” Abaryn continued, “If we can reel him in…remove the head and the body will follow. Those rangers of his…”

As Quinta was about to speak, a large explosion in the distance disrupted their little meeting. Smoke billowed from the site as they stood from their seats, unsure of what just happened.

"...By Jeytelh..."

---

Dunes Near Protectorate City

"Don't die on me boy."

Jolo’s voice would not be enough to deliver the man from the grips of oblivion. The ranger's hands were covered in bright red as he tried to hold his intestines in. Jolo's own was drenched in the dying man’s blood as he held tightly onto his free hand.

Wounded. The ranger was clawing for breath. He leaked blood into the sand upon which he laid.

Another ranger shadowed the men; she stood a couple of steps away. This was the first time that they had actually gathered in number, most of the time the Rangers acted independently, but within the confines of their credo. However, this...situation…warranted a different approach.

“What do we do?” she asked as she looked around.

Jolo cradled the younger man within his arms. The veteran knew by then that the dying ranger was very likely…gone.

Jolo remained silent until, “We’re dealing with something else entirely here.”

The dying man choked and gasped while looking at his chief.

Jolo saw the man try to speak. He knew that the ranger was begging him.

It only made things worse.

He pulled out his knife which he laid at the man's throat.

The man twitched lightly as he tried to raise a hand toward his boss, grasping for his coat. One last plea.

-

Once the deed was done Jolo stood up, "Which way did they go?"

The ranger pointed in the direction of Protectorate City.

---

Solaria

"Where am I, Khundis?"

"Why, your majesty, in the Palace of the Sun. Why do you ask such a question?"

At 26 years, Haniea looked out the balcony of her grand palace and into the rest of Solaria. A brief wind touched her face as she pondered how she came to be where she was. Some say she had the look of a goddess.

"My queen," the head servant paused, "You need to get dressed in order for your address before the representatives."

The other servants moved about her chamber gathering her clothes and dress.

"Do you not think that I belong elsewhere?" The young queen turned from the balcony and strode to the center of the chamber.

"My queen, the High Lord himself has made you our queen. He who carries the light of day has chosen you. Please your majesty, stand still."

"No, the Matriarchs chose me," the servants quietly undressed the queen as she stood perfectly still.

"Your majesty, don't be blasphemous," the head servant whispered.

The queen stood there naked before the servants as the sun shone in from the east. They pulled her within the long white robe which she slipped into snugly. It was a dress fit for a queen, with a collar ruff that flared in the back with an air of elegance. It was a simple dress, meant to play a subordinate role to a queen's character.

To adorn her dress was the Pendant of Jeytelh. A fine jewel, it was shaped as a smiling sun with stretching flames. Embedded within his eyes were two Solarian crystals. The pendant served as a royal heirloom, passed down from one ruler to the next. It was a symbol of Solarian royalty, and excellence.

---

“You are still young, so remember not to speak out ahead of the elder representatives.”

“I will remember.”

“This will be your first impression with them.”

“I understand.”

Haniea moved through the hall, escorted by a royal entourage of servants who followed behind her carrying the tail of her dress. Guards stood on both sides of her path to the assembly hall.

She entered the chamber with her hands clasped before her. She was expected to show strength with grace.

The light filtered through the openings in the ceiling. The young queen took her seat on a raised platform. The chamber was filled with drapes that hung loosely for aesthetic purposes. Several support beams stretched from the walls and formed a web in which a giant blue crystal was embedded.

The representatives from the various quarters were there. They were situated at their tables, which were positioned to form a pentagon with the platform upon which the young queen sat.

-

“Desert raiders and our water supplies, they have been sabotaging our canals. As of late the marauders have been hitting closer to our territory. How should we address this?” asked one of the representatives.

“The Protectorates seem to have handled the problem well,” replied another.

“In their territory…we can’t trust a city of thieves to handle our security,” the first said.

“Your majesty, do you believe in the ability of the Sunfires to handle this new threat?”

Haniea paused for a moment, “Yes, I do. This threat is nothing new.”

“Nothing new? These raiders have become bolder with each passing day. They’ve grown cunning. And what of the assassins?

“The Sunfires are patriots of our city. They will handle these matters, as they always have."

“I see…” the Vaul delegate replied.

“We care for your well-being your majesty. The passing of the late queen…has been a terrible tragedy.”

“Thank you, representative Aureliar.”

The delegation concluded once they finalized the funeral arrangements for the late queen.

---

Outskirts of Protectorate City

Mox Ierba had no idea what he had gotten into. In hindsight he realized he should have just hid behind his forge when they came.

Not that it mattered anymore. They came out of nowhere and he had hoped that he wasn’t the only remaining decent citizen in that part of Protectorate City. But he was.

There was an explosion. Everything seemed a blur.

He managed to fight off a couple of blows until they surrounded him, he did not really remember what happened.

All he knew was that the sand and wind kicked in his face, and his hands were bound at the wrists as he was being dragged by some creature. They were taking him somewhere he did not know.

He fell unconscious.

-

The band of twenty or so finally came to a stop at some checkpoint.

The head of the group raised his hand to signal a halt. He was mounted atop a grey quadruped desert beast that had conspicuous curved horns protruding from above its eyes. In fact, each of them was mounted atop these beasts. They served as rapid transport bearing loads of items.

“We’re going to split here to lose them,” the head gruffly voiced.

“Who? The rangers?” asked one of his henchmen.

“Not just them, by now, they’ve probably got the Guard out too. Cover your tracks; we’ll meet on the far side of this desert.”

They disappeared beyond the scarves of sand.

90th Day

Dunes outside Protectorate City

The sun scorched the deserts of Protectorate City. One could often wonder why people fought so hard in their revolutions to secure a rather useless field of desert and a trading hub. But the Solarians with their oppressive loyalty to their monarchs and the Drakyvarians with their rather snide look upon all others didn't offer many better choices.

A figure stood upon a long canyon wall which split into two ravines, one leading towards Solaria, the other acting as a sort of boarder with the country once you went out far enough. The canyon seemed to be carved out by an old river which has thinned increasingly more over the centuries. It was only about knee deep and ten feet wide now, and is said to be tainted with mysterious Solarian substances to kill the Protectorate population. But Kaidman had relied on the source for some years to come, and knew this was only myth, like his secrets are said to be.

The long road Kaidman stood by a road that went along the canyon wall from the depths of Protectorate City. A large cloud of dust was kicked up by some animals rushing along the open land. Squinting at the horde, he could see large rugged animals carrying their mounters. As they came closer, he could finally see someone they had taken hostage, and the insignia the animals and had carried seemed to be indicative of a bandit group.

Finally, the group began to pass him, animals stampeding. He saw the beast in which their prisoner had sat on, near the back of the group. Keeping his technique rather discrete to the band, a shock wave concealed by the dust kicked up by the blast was aimed at the rider carrying their prisoner tipped the animal as it ran. With a some sort of grunting as it fell to the ground only some feet up the road. Running to where he had fallen, Kaidman reached for the bound man, pulling him back and noticing he was unconscious.

Looking up, the group had rounded about to notice their fallen companion who struggled to his feet.

"I wouldn't mess with people that aren't yours," he told to the bandits as they approached. "Having lived out here my whole life, I'm quite interested, where are you taking him? There's nothing interesting around these sands." The question was designed in such a way it could only incriminate them, so Kaidman thought. Perhaps they were trying to tie up loose ends with mysterious deaths or assassinations in Solaria, or were organizing a sort of slave trade. About ten of them encircled Kaidman.

"Listen kid," one of them said to the warrior, "I wouldn't bet on you getting out of here alive... you chose the wrong business to but into."

"You'd be surprised."

90th Day

Solaria

“Well one would assume they will lay her out and the viewings will be first.”

There were sipping noises and the clanking of glasses.

“Oh of course. Do you think they will let the ‘others’ in with us at the same time?”

Alleara raised her glass to her lips once more to stifle the almost growl of indignation that threatened to escaped. It was Meldra that was the worst, holding herself above everyone else in Solaria. She would have put herself on the same level with the Queen if it wouldn’t have been considered a treasonous offense. The fact that her mother socialized with Meldra and these other women bothered Alleara but worse was that she made her social with them as well.

”t is to keep your good standing. A man will marry for family name and by keeping good company we keep our name in a positive light.”

“And if I do not wish to marry or I wish to marry a man who values my intelligence?”

Her mother’s horrified look said it all.

They clucked like hens discussing the timing of the viewings and the organization details. Alleara rolled her eyes and looked to the window.

A lovely breeze blew through the open portals and cooled down the room, excising it of the women’s hot air.

Alleara didn’t care about things like the funeral organization or what food they would serve. She was already going to have to dress up, walk past the Queen’s laid out body and then mingle with those she found the most annoying and pretentious in the whole of Solaria.

“Do you think they will put the Queen in white?”

“Oh yes, that would be traditional. I wouldn’t think they will break from that.”

“I don’t know the new Queen is so...’young’ what if she is not overly familiar with tradition or worse what if she thinks to be progressive?”

By the mutterings someone listening might have thought that progressive thinking was akin to murder by the way the women reacted.

Alleara frowned. Would a change of things be ‘so’ bad?

“Well that begs the question what do we wear?”

Alleara’s body slumped in her chair and she almost groaned aloud. She couldn’t believe they were discussing the clothing options for the funeral. Did they really have nothing better to discuss?

“Well I would think a purple or blue would be respectful. Staying away from yellow or white of course.””

“But of course....” Alleara mocked under her breath.

“What was the Alleara dear?”

Her mother addressed her and Alleara silently cursed her good hearing. If there was one thing her mother did well it was hear ‘everything’. From the quietest secret or the sneaking of her feet down the hall her mother heard it all.

The look in her mother’s eyes told Alleara that she had indeed heard her daughter’s mocking though her face was the perfect mask of politeness.

Alleara shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I think red would be a poor choice as well, given the talk that her death was murder.”

The women began mutter.

“Too true...too true.” Meldra agreed. “If one wore red it would be like saying they know it was murder or worse that they were involved.”

One of the women gasped. Another fanned herself.

“Well we all know it is the truth. No one has come out to take responsibility is all.”

“You mean, assassinated?”

“Of course. Protectorate likely.”

“You think so?”

“Or maybe someone here in Solaria....” The woman leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “The Queen was not always favoured by everyone. She did too much at times. I heard there were some who felt as if they did not get a fair share of her time or her ear to voice their concerns or needs.”

“I think it was Drakyvarian assassins.”

Meldra rolled her eyes. “Really and do you think they are responsible for your backside growing so large in the last month? Honestly Petrie. There aren’t any even in ‘Solaria’. Do you think they somehow disguised themselves?”

The woman looked fearful for a moment. “Can they do that?”

Alleara’s mind immediately began working. Would it be possible to create a device that would allow one to be invisible? She frowned, her mind working out all the issues and problems that would come from making such a thing happen. What of a mask? Something made to cover ones face? But you would have to cover hands...the material would have to move with the person...

The women around her clucked on about mysterious assassins.

“It matters who but it also matters how. I heard it said there was not a scratch on the Queen.”

“I heard there was a knife in her back.”

“Oh goodness, you are a ninny and so literal...”

Alleara turned her attention back to the women. It amazed her how one minute they could be talking away about dresses and colour choices yet now they talked assassins and methods. They could rule the councils if they spent their time focused on things that matter, things of intelligence rather than mundane, tedious things.

“You know poison could be used quite easily.” Alleara’s voice broke through their chatter. “There are different kinds, some that show no signs of being used. Many need to be ingested though...”

She was lost in her thoughts on poison and the various ways it could be tweaked or used.

Around her the women were in a twitter about the very idea that someone poisoned the Queen. Alleara didn’t really understand why they were so a flutter since they were the ones who had started the discussion.

She dismissed them and turned her attention to the mystery before her. Who killed the Queen?Why and more importantly....how?

Her feet moved, she wanted to leave the little tea party and head to her father’s lab, to start writing down her theories and lists.

Her mother gave her a look that told the young woman to sit still.

Alleara endured another forty five minutes before she was allowed to run off to work in the lab. She ran down the hall, her mother glaring at her back. She had work to do, so many ideas that she needed to write down and experiment on.

90th Day

Solaria

Vander checked the money. "All right, all here. Pleasure doing business with you" Vander noted, as he moved to put his payment in a secure location. A few of the Sunfires took the cargo they had been hired to deliver. The cargo was supposedly nothing special, but then again none of the cargo they ever carried was nothing special. And several times that proved to be false.

Vander had his fair share of cutthroat encounters. He had grown tiresome of dealing with them, even though he did so effectively. It was a dangerous world, and one that would grow only more dangerous. Cutthroats, bandits, raiders. Usually they avoided them, but sometimes they would have no choice. Especially when it was their buyer who tried to betray them, which happened more times then he would like. However, most of the time at the end of the day he escaped with the payment and the cargo, so it worked out rather well. They could usually sell the cargo for more payment.

Occasionally they would take passengers too, but that was rare. They had to give a really good impression. Vander had only made one exception to this, and that was with Taro, his adopted son.

Taro was perched at the very top of the Aeroship, watching the city below. He loved to just sit and watch up there sometimes, looking at people as if they were tiny. "Taro, we need some more food from the market, and I need to deal with potential clients".

"Yes. Papa".

Papa was more of a nickname then an actual term. But he kind of liked it. "And when you get back, we need to get working on your training!"

Taro began to climb down. Vander worked him hard, just like his father had to him. Every day, training. There were only a few exceptions. The start of a new year, the day of the year Taro was found, and any time they get a REALLY good deal.

Of course, when they got a really good deal, they had other celebration attempts, albeit Taro's was extremely tempered.

Vander gave Taro some money. "Taro, make sure to go to Yeilla's. They should have the best deals for what we need".

Vander made sure to check on the equipment as well, to see if he needed any more parts. None that he seemed to need at the moment. He then began to make his way to see if he had any clients, though he didn't necessarily need them.

The Kadias Stretch

I am going to kill him. I am going to tear his head off, and drink the blood from the stump of his little neck. Maybe that would alleviate the heat, Rysdin thought idly. Although only fantastic in nature, his grim thoughts swirled about in a muddled mess as he stared at the back of the young Cron Suil. Slogging their way through a particularly arid portion of the desert was not how Rysdin Aureliar would prefer to spend his free time.

When they'd met, he'd been enthusiastic to sign on to Eian's little venture. Eian had described it as nothing short of perilous. In retrospect, Rysdin mused, Eian had not lied. The intense heat of the blistering stone mesas, the frost-producing cold of the mesa nights, and lack of any redeemable respite from the elements made wherever the hells he'd brought them a particularly hazardous place to travel.

A slight scuff against stone caught Rysdin's attention.

“You trying to set him on fire with that stare, Aureliar?” Shari said with a smirk. She was a bit too perceptive, this one. The vaul had learned quickly that Eian and Shari shared a strange power dynamic that he could not hope hope to understand.

Rysdin grunted. Taking a moment to think it over, he responded in that low sing-song voice of his. “Only if it warms us more than that paltry fire you two made last night.” he made a show of shivering and preening the fine feathers of his throat despite the mid-morning sun bearing down on them, “When do you think a giant scorpion will burst forth from the sands to lay waste to us weary travelers?”

“Why just a scorpion?” she replied in good humor, “Why not an entire brigade of bandits and highwaymen, appearing from the shadows to waylay our troupe and make off with what little riches we posses. Maybe even hold our Balu Chital to be hostage, thinking to ransom him off to his own-”

“That will be difficult,” Eian interrupted, “Considering the marked lack of shadows for miles.” he punctuated his statement by waving a hand to encompass the wide expanse of rock and sand. Indeed, there was little more than reddish-brown rock, granules of dust, and shimmering heat rising from the earth.

Shari looked as if she was about to respond, but Rysdin waved the thought away. It wasn't worth pursuing. They were all sweating and irritable. Well, except for Eian. Rysdin was not even sure if the strange creature could even feel the heat, much less be bother by it.

Ruffling his feathers to disperse some of the heat building up within, Rysdin loosed a low hiss of air from his beak.

“Friend Eian.” he said levelly, “While I did say that I would accompany you for no monetary payment, I did expect the barest amount of excitement. We've yet to see even a carrion bird, much less a true threat to our well beings. I am beginning to wonder why you required assistance at all.”

“A smart warrior always requires assistance, be it from bird or sand or stone,” Eian responded. Had he been a less patient man, he would have ripped Rysdin’s entrails out and set his bloody corpse on fire seven sundowns ago. He’d done little during the trip but wish for action and grieve the lack thereof.

Eian was, however, a patient man. And as such, he would suffer the groans as any Cron Suil would. With silence. Shari, however, was another matter entirely. She knew how to pick away at him, and, at this time of day, did so far too often.

“Awwww, does the wittle boy need his mommy to-”

Eian held up a hand. “It would be wiser to save your breath for walking, rather than making jokes.”

These two were almost insufferable together. At least Rysdin had some class and held his tongue, despite coming off as a violent fool. Shari, when tired, hot, or annoyed was comparable to a vulgar old man. Albeit, that was likely spending one too many nights drinking around a fire with whatever mercenaries Eian happened to be paired with. He sometimes worried that she might never find a husband, as humans seemed to do. Then he worried about the poor man if she ever did.

Suddenly a lizard scurried out from some small rocks. Unfortunately for the little creature, it didn’t stand a chance. A half second after it had scampered out from beneath its rock, its neck had been snapped beneath Eian’s boots.

Without another sound, he stooped and picked its limp body up, looking back at the other two and holding the fresh corpse out to them.

“It will be a few more hours before we reach Protectorate city at this speed. You should eat,” he explained, looking expectantly at the other two.



Shari eyed the lizard with a mixture of distaste and annoyance. Eian knew perfectly well that she absolutely loathed eating those things. It was essentially like eating raw leather. Eian, of course, didn’t seem to have much of a problem with eating the damn things, but they were also the only damn things he seemed to even catch.

“Can’t we just shoot a bir-” stopping herself suddenly and taking her hand away from the hunting bow secured to her bag, she glanced at Rysdin. “Um… Never mind.”

Eian shrugged and looked to Rysdin as well. “Would you like any?”

Shari sighed and looked ahead of them. She could even begin to see the faint image of Protectorate City in the distance, shimmering in the heat. A few hours? This would probably take close to a day.

As if reading her mind, Eian nodded to her. “It’s closer than it looks. Do either of you need water as well? I have some that I’ve not yet consumed.”

Solaria

Taro ran toward the market, the sun hitting his hair, giving it a glowing gold look. He searched around, looking for anyone who might be following him, before continuing forward. Eventually, he made his way to the market, picking up the precious water, food, and other assortment of things.

However, as he turned around, he felt something nudge in the back of his head. It wasn't something physical, it was something else. For a moment, he zoned out. He could see a bright light, and then a little boy, playing in the street. He had brown hair, and he looked a lot like Taro. He was just standing there, playing. He could not have been more than three years old. Taro started to reach out for him, but snapped back into reality.

He kept getting these...flashes of memory. The same memory that he lost about four years ago, when Vander found him. Vander found him tied up, and naked in the middle of the desert with nothing but rope and a pendant. It seemed like whoever left him there, expected him to die, or be enslaved. The slavers would definitely see him as a prize. Whatever the reason was for leaving him naked in the desert with not even a drop of water, Taro was honestly afraid to find out. He could stare down the barrel of a gun no problem, because at least he knew what he was dealing with. But he did not even need to know who did this to him, or who his birth parents were.

But honestly, he would probably prefer Vander anyways. Vander fed him, clothed him, and kept him alive when Taro needed it. He refocused, and took their supplies back to the aeroship.

The Deserts of Protectorate City

The bandits gathered in a circle all on their mounted beasts, some got off and drew blades while a few remained on their mounts. Noticing the two behind him drawing handguns, Kaidman crouched down with his foot going out to the side, as if a sort of low fighting stance. Almost instantaneously, the two riders seemed to be caught by a shallow sinkhole. The animals screamed as they fell suddenly, their necks just sticking out of the ground with their riders panicking as they were helpless.

"Charge him!" one of the bandits yelled, and five began to swarm him. One still remained on his mount, picking up a rifle and trying to pick his shot carefully as Kaidman parried the bandit immediately in front of him quickly stabbing his opponent's wielding shoulder and stepping around him. Now, instead of being surrounded, he'd be able to take all of them from one side, and his longsword had longer reach than either of their sabers. One went to stab Kaidman, but the blade was deflected to the side by Kaidman's weapon. Soon enough, three of them were on him as a fourth tripped over the wounded body.

Swiftly, Kaidman turned so that his back took the blade of a weapon, which was rendered useless by his armor. His blade lifted up to block a strike aimed for his head and he jumped back, luring one forward and bringing his sword into the third bandit's neck. An explosion sounded, and the clashing of metal could be heard as a heavy caliber rifle hit the side of the mage's armor with a grunt, and his body fell and slid across the sand a small distance, but his sword was still in hand.

"I think you got him," one of the swordsmen said to the shooter. The three still standing casually walked over to the body.

"At least he died by the blade," the rifleman said, going to put his rifle away.

"Agh!" one screamed. The fight wasn't over yet, as Kaidman swung his sword into the leg of the nearest target. The others scrambled in surprise that someone had even survived that shot. Concentrating on the gunman still mounted, a sort of light green pillar of light struck him down and pinned him to the sand, the beast beneath him hollering in fright. Being in the back, the magic wasn't noticed by anyone. Quickly, he rolled to his feet.

"Wat the hell is this?" the shooter shouted, but it was in vain as Kaidman began dueling the last of his enemies. The pinned shooter's sternum was quickly crushed after his words, but not to the point his innards showed, and the fighting picked up once again. Blocking a strike on his left, he spun out of the reach of the one on his right and slashed forcefully into the back of the next bandit. His blade was opposed, as there was an attempted block, but his strike was still strong enough to dig into the flesh of the bandit. The last one noticed he was the last one standing, and stood in surprise.

"You're just one man... how did you...?"

"I suggest you give me your prisoner and you tend to your... colleagues. I should have killed all of you, since all of you had the intent to kill me. Remember that before you do something this stupid again," Kaidman told the bandit. He then left the bandit still in the sand, and picked up their captured body. Sheathing his sword on his back, he used both his hands to pick up the man over his shoulders, and rested the body across them. The fallen still groaned in pain.

"You fool... now you're open," said the remaining bandit, approaching Kaidman with his saber drawn with devious purpose. As he got into striking reach, Kaidman reached his hand out, his palm open. The same light green energy that struck the rifleman down flared up around his arm, channeling into a ball of energy, and the bandit froze once again, amazed at the display.

"Now you know too much." A booming cracking of energy sounded as the ball was perpetuated forward, and the same sound could be heard as it came in contact with the bandit's throat. It sent him skidding across the sand, a dead man now. Without another word, he turned away and began to walk down the road and to the canyon entrance.

[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose]

90th Day

Protectorate City