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Snippet #2532867

located in Reclaimers Universe, a part of The Reclaimers, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman Character Portrait: Kaidman Lheyr Character Portrait: Yeron Reid Character Portrait: Portia Latisse
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[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose and conor]

95th Day
Protectorate City




The winds bellowed. Mox was a rock, he had not moved for a few seconds as the words struck him off guard. He blinked, unsure if he was dreaming or not. Michael Lyk. He was dead. Mox had not spoken to the man in years, neither by letter nor in person. They had not communicated ever since their days as miners ended and they parted ways.

"Got damn," Jolo chuckled, "It don't get crazier than that."

Portia brushed her dark hair out of her eyes, and Kaidman seemed to have dozed off as his head was limp while he sat behind Jolo. Mox looked at them before he turned to Eian and Shari.

Shari shrugged, and Eian remained silent for a moment before he spoke, "I have delivered the letter."

Mox did not have a plan or a course of action. First, he was kidnapped by bandits and his forge and belongings were probably ransacked and stolen. Then he wandered the desert for a few days before returning to the city only to be attacked by bandits once more. Finally, he received a letter, the authenticity of which he doubted, from a friend telling him to venture out into the desert to find some piece of treasure. It all seemed so sudden, and unplanned. None of it made any sense to Mox. He was just a blacksmith.

"I'm just a blacksmith. Are you sure this is for me?" he turned back to the messengers.

"You are Mox Ierba, aren't you? And you are a blacksmith, aren't you?" Shari replied, "We were asked to deliver this letter to a blacksmith named Mox Ierba in exchange for payment. Seeing as how you're the only Mox Ierba who is a blacksmith, or the only blacksmith named Mox Ierba, then we've delivered the letter, so pay us."

"Shari," Eian tried to rein her in.

The past couple of days had only reinforced Mox's notion to return home and continue life as a blacksmith. It was plain. It was boring. Most of all, it was stable, but the events that unfolded had challenged that idea. He was reminded of the taste of sand in his mouth when he was being dragged along. He looked at the two desert walkers. He wanted to yell at them, he wanted to utter profanities in their faces. He was not ready to head out into the desert to find some treasure that was not even real. He squinted at the letter, hoping that maybe the words would change into something else, hoping that maybe the letter would disappear, hoping that his forge was still standing. His forge could still be standing. He wanted to check his forge, but knowing that bandits had attacked, he was unsure if he wanted to see wreckage.

"Well? What do you plan on doing?" Portia asked.

"How do I know this letter is even real?" Mox asked, disregarding the pendant seal that had been wrapped around the parchment.

"It seems very legitimate, considering the seal," Eian paused, "Then there's the likelihood of treasure to backup the claims made in the letter."

Mox raised his voice, "If the letter's not real, the treasure's not real. If the treasure's not real, then I don't need to waste my time searching for something that doesn't exist. And most importantly, I wouldn't be able to pay you. I don't have any coin. Did the two of you think that it wasn't weird that they didn't pay you before delivering this letter?"

"We were guaranteed payment by the sender, excuse me, one of the senders. He said the recipient would pay us," Eian said.

"Meaning you," Shari said.

"Who was the sender?" Mox asked.

"The letter says Michael Lyk," Shari replied.

Mox's frustration came in the form of a sigh, "I meant the person who personally handed you the letter."

The two of them looked at each other before Eian spoke, "He was Solarian."

"That narrows it down," Jolo added.

Then Eian spoke, "How about this, we will help you search for the treasure. If it exists, it will validate the letter, and you can pay us. If it does not exist, we will exempt you of payment."

"Speak for yourself," Shari clipped.

Mox stood for a moment to weigh his options. There was no harm to it, "Okay."

Kaidman had been silent for long. His eyes were heavy and closed when his body seemed to have jolted awake; the yakolas were moving again. He held his head, as if it were pained, before shivering a bit. Jolo turned his head, noticing Kaidman moving around.

"Didn't get your beauty sleep in, caveman?" he joked.

"Uh, yeah, sure, you can call it that," Kaidman answered, not taken by Jolo's humor at the moment. "Hey, can we stop in town for the night? I'm not sure going out into the desert so late is a good idea. My head is throbbing." He spoke quite casually and simplistically, his mind a bit scattered in thought.

"The boy makes a point," Jolo added.

The group resaddled and rode into the city, resting at an inn as Kaidman had requested.




Foamy clouds bathed the night sky above the towers of Protectorate City. Lit lanterns still hung in front of several stores. Even at night, people were still out and about.

Mox cupped the little bowl of tea in between his hands, his head inclined toward the table. Jolo was scratching his beard. They were in the tavern of the inn, it was a joint-establishment. They were planning on staying the night before setting out again. They figured they could at least plan before their next moves. At least they did not have to worry about other travelers and thieves rummaging through their belongings when they were in the city. It was Protectorate City though, the thieves could have been the inn-owners for all they knew.

They were in a corner, quiet and secluded from the rest of the scene. They were among many thieves in that bar, even the bard. He was sitting in one corner, dressed in a two piece, a tunic clipped over one shoulder and baggy trousers. As he strummed his quiet lyre, he watched the other patrons through the locks of golden hair that he stayed covering his eyes. The bard searched for a gullible fool and his coin.

As for Portia, she had left the men to their little rest. She had to attend to her own personal business. Though Rangers followed the same credo, they were still independent.

"I don't know," Mox sipped from the bowl. The letter was laid out in front of the two of them.

"It's hard to trust a desert walker," Jolo replied, "But those two seem like they could be trusted."

Mox nodded at that comment, "Another day in the desert," he sighed.

"You ain't got much to complain about, considering what's left of your forge," Jolo shrugged, he pulled off his gloves and began to rub the calluses of his hands.




In Kaidman's supposed slumber, he could see only black, with flames of different color and size and distances from him. It was completely silent, like it was a celestial void where spirits resided. One substantial blue flame cold be seen, as if it were three miles away. A mist of the same color seemed to extend infinitely upwards, gravitating to this one flame in the void. From such a distance, Kaidman was reminded of the trek before he had found Mox; there was a peculiar recurring concentration of energy far away. If the mage had to guess, it was probably far enough it wasn't in Protectorate lands, but Drakyvarian; this was what startled him most.

Kaidman, his void, his arms began to cross, lethargically, in a manner which gave the impression that Kaidman was swimming through jelly. His chest tightened, he didn't dare to breathe. His aura enshrouded him in his green energy, and surely his eyes opened, glowing in sync with the fog encompassing him. A wave of the pale green mist went out from him, as if it were a stone was dropped and rippled the water. One could've heard a high pitched hum, like the ringing of a bronze church bell. With the relinquishing of the energy, Kaidman's chest relaxed enough so that he could breathe once again. Slowly, it went out, only a few feet per second. It wouldn't have been difficult to run faster than the wave, as it crepped along the invisible floor of the realm Kaidman had come upon.

Sweating profusely, Kaidman opened his eyes. He sat in the center of a small room, with one bed and a dresser, his armaments by the nightstand of the bed. There was a closet, made of a dark tan, almost orange clay, and scattered on the walls were candle mounts. A gentle, underactive green ring of flames circled him though they began to dissipate as he became aware of his surroundings. He was in an inn; they had decided to stop for the night, as he suggested. He was supposed to be asleep, but he hardly could since the afternoon, when they finished with the bandits and picked up the two messengers, Eian and Shari he had recalled their names to be.

The young man took two deep breaths through his nose, use his mouth to exhale the last. He used his bland, dirtied white tunic he was wearing to wipe the sweat that accumulated on his head, lifting it so that his toned abdomen could be seen. Dropping his shirt down, he brought himself to stand up once more. Looking out the window, it was dark. But it wasn't late enough for everyone to have gone to sleep. Grabbing the room key on the night stand, he went to exit his room, but not without securing his sword with its shining gem in the handguard in his hands.

He had come exiting the room, he locked it, and dropped the key into his pocket. He headed toward one end of the hall, travelling down a staircase and back to the inn's lobby. It was a small inn, but it had a comfortable social area. Kaidman came to find Mox and Jolo sitting in the lobby.

"Want a drink?" Jolo offered the new arrival.

"Yeah, thanks," Kaidman answered. He sat down on a couch and began drinking a cup of water. It had a refreshing sensuality to it, even if it was a bit warm.

"I didn't even stand a chance that day," Mox shook his head.

"Hmm?" Jolo's ears perked up. Kaidman looked at Mox, his forearm propped up at the elbow and his knucles keeping his head supported as he leaned against the arm of the couch.

Mox exhaled, "When they came, I actually tried to fight 'em off. I shouldn't have tried."

Jolo listened to the boy, in his mind he was wondering if Mox was a potential recruit. He had nowhere else to turn, nowhere else to go. Those were the hallmarks of a new ranger.

"If the treasure's not real, I don't have much to look forward to."

Jolo nodded, "Your friend, Michael. What do you know about him?"

Mox looked up at ranger. He blinked and shifted to the side, "We used to be miners together, but we parted after that venture ended. He went to Solaria, I went here."

"Seems like he made many enemies. The ending of that letter, somebody was trying to get to it before it could reach us."

"Enemies? I wouldn't know much about them. But, people coming after us?" Mox's brow furrowed, he took another glancing sip.

"What we know is that they were chasing him, and then they were chasing this letter. The letter has gotten to you, so..." Jolo scratched his chin a bit more.

"Michael is a-" Mox stopped himself, "Was a decent man."

"We don't know he's dead yet either..." Jolo's voice had deepened to a near low growl.

To speak of dead people was to invite interest from the many perked ears in that tavern. Each man there could have been in any number of trades, aside from thieving, they could have been spies as well.




Yeron pulled the bright red neckerchief over his mouth. Sand whipping past his face as the Yakola plodded through the desert. On his lap sat the rifle with which he made his trade. The beautiful dark-brown rifle with plenty of scuffs and markings bounced on his lap with the movement of the Yakola beneath him. Keeping his finger on the trigger guard he looked from side to side, keeping watch of the terrain as it passed by. He was on his way back from a ranging mission deep into Solarian territory. Tracking a small group of slavers and kidnappers. Unfortunately a sandstorm had wiped away any tracks they left behind and following them had become impossible.

Upon hearing the news of an attack in Protectorate city Yeron had decided to turn around and head back. Obviously there were bigger things at play than a group of slavers. He would get them another time. Now as the city grew closer he could see the lights flickering in the distance. In truth, he was almost glad to be coming back. He longed for decent bed, two weeks on just a bedroll really takes it out of you. And some good food. 32 years of age, not old by any means but the desert had a way of taking youth away from you. I'm sure to some Yeron looked in his forties. Not that he was actively looking to be physically appealing. No time for that sort of thing. He had dedicated his life to the desert and the people of the Protectorate city. He had dedicated himself to bringing down the kind of scum that killed his parents, and he would keep doing it until it killed him. I guess it was almost like some religious order, at least to Yeron. He wouldn't leave his rangers star behind him unless he had to. That was the way Yeron saw it, his brotherhood, his life, his family.

As the city grew nearer Yeron noticed something off in the distance. Spurning the Yakola onward he hurried to the scene. "Bandits, dead bandits. The best kind". Sifting through the remains he noticed a pattern. He knew only one person with a blade that could do this kind of damage. Chuckling to himself he looked around for any useful weapons he could use. There were none that suited him anyway. Heaving himself back on the Yakola he spurned it forward once more. Drowsiness now began to take hold as the city limits approached. Even at night the city seemed to be brimming with activity, guards moved from place to place and the taverns and inns overflowed onto the streets.

There was a warm breeze in the air, not normal for a desert night but Yeron didn't question it, and neither did the locals as they sat outside the taverns drinking the night away. They seemed happy given the circumstances. Maybe it was just the alcohol but he was glad they could forget about the attack. Even if he couldn't. Pondering why the bandits had attacked the city had been puzzling him for hours. Questions like, why now? why there? who did it? He had no answers, he hadn't been anywhere near when it happened, he hoped Jolo would have some.




Pulling up next to a familiar Inn Yeron slid off the Yakola and tied it up against the side of the building. He figured if Jolo would be anywhere it would be here.

Pushing the doors open he was greeted by a blast of warm air, the stench of alcohol and an explosion of voices and music. A small, sly grin escaped from his face.

Sitting in the corner was the person he was looking for, walking over birksly he arrived at the table. "Jolo. It is good to see you. Nothing warms a man like some friendly faces". He looked at the unfamiliar faces around the table and gave a curt smile.

Jolo reared back in his seat as he noticed a familiar face enter the doors of the establishment. His marred face, his calm disposition, his hat, his gloves, his bandana, and his stride all spoke of an ally.

The veteran chuckled before speaking to Yeron, "This is Mox Ierba, and Kaidman Lheyr," he gestured to the two younger men.

Then Jolo addressed Mox and Kaidman, "This is Yeron Reid, he's a friend of mine. So he's a friend of yours as well."

Mox exchanged a polite nod with the newcomer. He would have stood up to shake the man's head, but that could have drawn too much attention. It was by luck that nobody in the establishment had recognized Jolo, maybe he was heard of more than he was seen.

Yeron and Kaidman had seen each other on occasion. Kaidman's tendency to stalk mysterious people in the desert, whether they be bandits, wanderers, or even Rangers, had surely brought them to meeting on a couple of occasions.

"Good to see you again," Kaidman greeted, upon recognizing the figure.

Yeron politely nodded in towards Mox Ierba. He seemed nervous, but Yeron wasn't going to question it.

He then turned his attention towards Kaidman, his face was certainly familiar and after a brief few seconds of thinking he remembered some of the mettings they had in the past. "And you Kaidman, a friend of the rangers is always a welcome sight."

Yeron grabbed a chair and fell lazily into it. "So, seems I go away for a few weeks and the whole place goes to shit. What happened?"

Jolo drew them in closer for a more privy discussion, his voice fell to a hush, "Five days ago, bandits attacked the city. They managed to tear a hole in the outer wall. We still haven't figured out how yet."

When Jolo said 'we,' he meant the Council and the Guard. They had not figured out how the bandits managed to do so much damage.

"I'm not sure how is as important as who. If it's just some group of bandits, then maybe it was just a stunt. And if it's not a stunt, what are they really trying to do or say by blowing up the wall?" Kaidman added in.

"Well. We know they were bandits. It's not every day they manage to blow a hole in the wall. If we figured out how...it may lead us to the who," Jolo washed a bit of the water down his throat.

Yeron slowly stroked the hairs on his face, pulling down on the beard and then repeating the motion. "Seems like the whole world has gone to hell, theres trouble in Solaria too. I've hear rumours of a traitor fleeing the city. Although they are sketchy at best. Can't trust information like that."

"Nope. Can't believe much these days. Only half of what you see, and none of what you hear," Jolo said.

Yeron chuckled, "Sounds like you might need some glasses."

Jolo grinned, "Anyway, we're headin' out with these boys for Spire Canyon."

He slid the letter over to Yeron.

"Hmm, almost sounds to good to be true. Can we be sure no one else has read this? Sounds almost like a trap." Yeron sat back in his chair and adjusted himself.

"What exactly are Eian and Shari asking as far as pay? Is it just gold, or whatever the treasure may be?" Kaidman interjected.

"Hopefully just gold. And hopefully there's nothing but bezants in that 'treasure,'" Mox paused, "Also, where's the other lady? What's her name, uh..."

"Aha, Portia. I thought I saw some of her handiwork out on the road" Yeron smiled to himself, that woman was deadly with a blade. Sometimes he felt sorry for anyone in her way. Sometimes.

"You're not mistaken," Jolo smiled, only briefly, before he returned to reflect on the nature of the letter.

"A trap," the ranger let the words linger in the air.

"Bandits sack the city, and now this kid is being chased," he pointed to Mox, "All seems coincidental."
Jolo paused for a moment, he stared directly into Yeron's eyes, "The bandits that attacked the city. They killed D'hakem."

The news hit Yeron hard. D'hakem was a good ranger, a better friend. As it sank in his breathing slowed and cupped his face with his hands.

The sadness eventually ebbed away and was quickly replaced with anger. His breathing began to pick up again and his face scrunched up. Suddenly he slammed a fist onto the table, the objects atop of it scattering across the floor.

"God damn, I've seen so many people die in this world and I never get used to it. Sometimes you wonder is it worth it. Risking our asses out there in that wasteland only for the names of our dead to dissapear without a thanks."

Yeron rubbed his forehead slowly. The throbbing pain in his fist subsiding and his anger quelling. "I guess thats what we signed up for, gunfights and heartbreak so the people here can sleep at night. I guess me and Natasha here will just have to acquaint ourselves with some bandits." Jovially slapping the butt of his rifle.

D'hakem was the latest in a string of killings among their ranks, it seemed as though they were being targeted. Jolo had few ideas as to who was behind these motivated killings. It was up to him, though, to lead any countering moves

"Get some sleep gentlemen, it'll be a long day tomorrow," Jolo stood up and stretched.

The group dispersed to their rooms for the night.