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Jolo Grossman

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a character in “The Reclaimers”, originally authored by VindicatedPurpose, as played by RolePlayGateway

So begins...

Jolo Grossman's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Haniea Bitava Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman Character Portrait: Aug Feyleth
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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.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Seth Elijah Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose]

90th Day

Protectorate City


“Bandits? What the hell kind of bandits are these?” Cidny barked.

The southwest wall was but smoldering remains by the time any soldiers of the Guard arrived. The fires had been put out by the people who had businesses and homes in that quadrant. The wreckage, the burnt corpses, it was an attack.

“A bolder kind,” Homar stated.

The group of leaders hastily concluded their little meeting to inspect the situation.

Soldiers swarmed the place, asking witnesses about the attack. They concluded that the group consisted of fifteen to twenty raiders mounted atop Grelb beasts. They were masked, so none of the people could identify them. They took several people captive and apparently a man who tried to resist them.

The breach of the wall was the deadliest since the Drakyvarian siege of the city during the Second War.

“Well then, start mending the wall, I feel a bit naked,” Abaryn commanded the soldiers.

“I’m sure you do,” Quinta gestured to his rather loose garb that was meant to show off his rippling abdominal and calf muscles.

“It will take days to repair it, what if the bandits return?” a Guard Captain asked.

“Then post sentries as repairs begin,” Homar said.

He picked up a plate of metal that had long been burnt off, “How did this even happen?”

The Guard Captain shook his head, “They hit a blind spot, I don’t know what happened sir. We all heard a loud boom and saw smoke and dust. It seemed like a storm.”

Abaryn turned to the bystanders who watched the soldiers work, “Did any of you see what happened?”

Nobody raised their hand or uttered a reply; they just stared back with their grim faces. It was hard to get anybody to tell the truth.

-

Somewhere in another part of town, a Drakyvarian in dark grey, scaly skin with an eye patch across one of his eyes, strapped to one of the two short horns protruding from his crest, arching backward. His other green luminous eye moved through the streets quietly, not trying to attract any attention. A Drakyvarian not trying to attract attention was hard, seeing as how they on average stood at approximately anywhere from five feet and eleven to six feet five.

He had a shrewd grin as his long tongue dangled between the sharp fangs lining the front of his mouth. Two horns jutted above his eyes, and two more from below his chin. A row of more rounded horns lined the ramus on both sides of his mandible. His build was slightly toned, but by far not as muscular as most Drakyvarians. His weapons of choice were a pair of tonfas that were strapped across his back and to the pauldrons that protected his shoulders.

Then his lower body was covered by faulds, a crotch guard, and greaves, all made of Xth metal. He walked barefoot across the poorly paved street, not that it mattered, a Drakyvarian's feet were made for rough surfaces.

He continued along until he reached a tavern shack with the stools out in the open. He spotted a single man draped in desert garb, seated alone, drinking alone. A blue and orange textile adorning scarf his head as a turban like so many other desert travelers. He had blue eyes, eyes that were almost like water.

"Thought I might find you here."

A small smile stretched on the man’s face. "Found me? Well, you sure did, but I wasn’t thinking to find you."

"Good to hear," the Drak began, he pulled up a stool quickly.

"Tea," he gestured to the tavern keep before turning his attention to the assassin, "Five heads. I'm not the person ordering though, I just manage the in-between. The grey area. That fuzzy place. And ensure that everyone wins," he grinned.

The assassin’s head tilted to the left slightly as if in confusion. "I’m sorry, but are you sure you’ve found the right person?"

"You're an assassin, no?"

The tavern keep delivered a black tea pot, half filled, and a cup. The Drak helped himself to a serving, and drank slowly, letting the aroma seep in.

"This place, is one of the few places that serve tea in this manner. You have great taste, friend. So how about it?"

The man’s head tilted to the other way, simply saying: "I don’t usually work for some normal citizens."

"I wouldn't say that I'm normal, oh you meant my employers. They're not either. They're something else entirely, I guess would be the way to put it."

After he seemed to give a small thought, the man grinned a bit. "I’m listening," he said as he leaned forward, resting his head on his hands.

"Ixtoth Karlein, Harl Moyro, Michael Lyk, Pala Biurin, Jain Valire," the Drak paused to take a sip of his tea.

"And I've decided to add one more, maybe you could take care of him for us," the Drak slipped the assassin a note.

Listed on the note was 'Jolo Grossman.'

"Take care of him last," the Drak pointed to the note.

"The others will be in Solaria. Get to it quickly," the Drak tossed him a coin, "Advance, you'll get the rest after."

The grey scaled Drakyvarian stood up, looked around, and slipped away through the streets.

The assassin, looking upon the note frowned a bit. Jolo Grossman; a ranger. It was, for the most part, interesting. While he knew nothing of that Drakyvarian, the job was imposed. Could he be someone from the group? The assassin had no clue, but since the draconic creature seems to know much about the man he had a small doubts of who might be behind the broker.

The man rose from his seat, leaving his drink there as he folded the note and shove it into the back of his pocket. He pulled over his textiles to form a mask over his mouth as he stepped out of the tavern, soon making his way to Solaria . . .

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Melio Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman Character Portrait: Duatos Ka'etruscan Character Portrait: Aug Feyleth
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92nd Day

Drakyvaria

Primarch’s Palace


“Rielc, begin.”

Consider this our attempt to nullify any previous grievances between our two cities. It is an attempt to foster more trading and build more cordial relations between our two cities. It is our wish that both of our cities may prosper atop these sands. Which is why I ask that you allow myself…

The old advisor nearly fell out of his seat as he heard the Primarch’s words.

“Lord Primarch! You cannot possibly be considering this. When did you conceive this notion?” The advisor stared at his lord in complete shock.

“I…had some time to think. It’s one of the few things Primarchs have never done, seeing as how we’re always too busy fighting off an enemy outside or within.”

“But Lord Primarch…it is all for the good of Drakyvaria,” the advisor stated in a pleading tone.

“Yes, a thinking Primarch is for the good of Drakyvaria, not one that rushes blindly forward.”

At that, the advisor acknowledged the Primarch with a nod. Perhaps Aug’Feyleth was ruling longer than the others because he had a brain.

“Do tell, Lord Primarch. You will be spurning Duatos’s...”

At the mention of Duatos, the Primarch shook his head. “The Ka’etruscans…”

The halls were devoid of servants.

He chose to say no more, he was aware that there might be a spy in his midst, concealed behind several drapes in the hall. There always was.

The Primarch merely shook his head.

“I would very much prefer a bit of Khalthi syrup, Rielc.”

The advisor stared at his Primarch.

Aug’Feyleth shifted his eyebrows. The advisor understood.

“Right, yes. I will have the servants upon that task quickly,” and Rielc left immediately, leaving the transcript scroll unfinished upon the Primarch’s desk.

As Rielc left, so too did the spy slip away, the Primarch narrowed his eyes.




93rd Day

House Ka’etruscan


“And he said nothing more?”

“Nothing more, my liege…”

Duatos Ka’etruscan shifted his sharp gaze away from his underling as he repetitively rotated two metal spheres in the palm of his hand. It was a therapy used to improve manual dexterity and strength. His claws were long and needed a bit of a trim.

He was perhaps in his eighties for a Drak, according to the timekeepers. He bore a scar that carved through his right eye and ran down the right side of his face, ending just below his mouth. The skin there was rougher than most other places, as new and harder scales had formed on the edges of the wound. His skin was a light brown. His crest was bony and covered in rough scales. Four fangs protruded from his lower jaw, two on each side of his face, evenly spaced apart.

He was in his dark grey robes, tied at the waist by a black sash. He had thick, scaly appendages that were analogous to human hair, running from the back of his crest and ending just below his broad shoulders.

Duatos’s quarter was secluded near the rear of the Ka’etruscan manor. It was the patriarch’s place of work and contemplation.

The spy kept his head down as he kneeled on one knee. The Ka’etruscan patriarch paced around slowly, he looked to his palm and felt like crushing the orbs, but that would yield nothing useful for him. He exhaled from his nostrils and took a seat behind his desk, placing the spheres back within the box they came from.

He opened one of the volumes that had been piled upon his desk, “Any word from Melio?”

“Not yet my lord.”

“Dismissed.”

The minion replied by stooping first and then slinking away into the dark recesses of the hall, leaving the lord to his thoughts.

He leafed through the pages of this volume with interest. It was an old work, composed perhaps ages ago by Drakyvarian elders long passed.

The tome was filled with ancient runic markings, not seen by any of the common folk, and very rarely in the manors of the noble houses. Tomes such as these were left among the timekeepers who kept and transcribed the records for future generations.

However, the patriarch managed to comb through the old family records. And he was particularly consumed by this new work. Knowledge was power for him. It spoke of old prophecies, rituals, and even magic. To the average person, such a volume had no value or importance other than perhaps entertainment.

Magic was believed by many to be a long lost art. He knew otherwise.

He looked to his hand, which by now began to glow in a dark blue aura. The waves of light emanated from his hand which he chose as the fount for the power.

But just as he was beginning to draw on a larger fraction of his potential, a quick wit voice danced across the chamber from him.

His energy abruptly faded as he looked up to see a familiar face, a Drakyvarian in dark grey, scaly skin. He had an eye patch across one of his eyes, strapped to one of the two short horns protruding from his crest, arching backward.

“Melio! Do you not knock?”

“Apologies, lord,” the younger Drak smiled slyly, his forked tongue hanging loosely, as he bowed before his lord.

“Where have you been?”

“I found one.”

“One? When?”

“Some time ago.”

The patriarch gazed at him through narrow eyes, “Where is he now?”

“Fulfilling the task,” Melio replied curtly.

Duatos smiled.




Protectorate City

It had been three days since the original attack, and repairs were pretty slow.

Rather than waste the efforts of the Guard to hunt down the attackers, the council decided to follow a rather original idea. And it went as followed.

Calling Brave Adventurers and Freemen!

This is a posting to find willing individuals to hunt down the perpetrators of the attack on the ninetieth.

It is time to bring them to Justice!


The rewards are as follows…

You may keep whatever treasures that you scavenge or find from the fugitives such as weapons or bezants. As well as an additional reward! From the City as thanks for your service, three hundred bezants!

If you are interested, meet at the front of the Dome around noon for more details!


Since this was the first time bandits had ever attacked the city directly, this would be the first time the City would call upon willing travelers and adventurers to hunt down bandits in this manner. The Council members that devised this idea, Cidny and Homar, were in a word, clever. They knew greed was a powerful motivator especially in Protectorate City. The idea would only work, however, if greed overpowered fear. Because if there was one thing everyone knew, the perpetrators were well-armed.

Would it have been worth it to hunt down some bandits?

Three hundred bezants was a good enough amount to get fat on. They were hoping that those who read the postings, which were immediately distributed among the people and pasted onto the walls, would focus on the rewards rather than the other less appealing portions.

Normally, the Council would have left this matter in the hands of the rangers.

However, two more rangers had been found dead in the outskirts of Protectorate City. Each decapitated, their bodies were barely recognizable with the sand covering them.

A wandering merchant caravan stumbled upon the pair of bodies, which were mutilated, whether it was before or after they were killed remained to be seen.

They were only recognized by the vagrant style of dress, their possession of a large assortment of weapons from pistols to sabers to axes, and personal badges that were inspired by the one that adorned Jolo Grossman’s hat.

It was interesting to note that the bandits were bold enough to attack the Rangers, who were possibly the best fighters in the City. They may have lacked formal training, but their experience made up for that. Seros and Jolo, the founders of the group, would often take new recruits and throw them into the middle of a group of bandits. If they lived, then they had some talent. If they didn't, well, it was pretty obvious they weren't going to be rangers. Beyond that, these people had no families, and were completely and utterly devoted to the cause of justice, a lofty motivation. They fought as though they were the last man standing, and if they were going down, they would take as many of their foes down with them.

It was all the more surprising when no other bodies were found beside the two dead lawmen.

The bodies were buried on orders of the Council. Secretly, the Council was actually pleased that the bandits were targeting the wandering lawmen. Their little conflict would keep them busy while they managed their own business without interference from Jolo and his people.

As to the location of the head, he was nowhere to be found, gone off in a wild goose chase as rumor had it.

Perhaps he was already dead. Killed by who?

The Council did not care.

They had to prepare for the horde of travelers arriving at the Dome. The man's fate was his own.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kaidman Lheyr Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Portia Latisse Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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[Co-written with Redred33mer]

93rd Day

Bane Canyon


The two men wandered for a time in the underbelly of the winding canyon. Mox followed behind the other man, who moved at varying paces. The orange rocks and grey sand were nothing new. The wind picked up occasionally and sent some bits about.

Mox noticed the man was dragging the sword against the sand, carving against the grain. They were going to meet a "witch doctor." The term was used for healers who had unorthodox methods of treating injuries and sicknesses. The manner by which they dealt with sickness was a mystery to many, ergo witch. Some claimed that they were healed, and thus these witches earned the label of doctor. They were far and few, and because of this, not many people trusted them. They were unsure whether these people engaged in other practices aside from curing the sick. Some rumors circulated that they would feast upon the patients they failed to cure, cannibalism. They would then be granted immunity to the sickness that had consumed the fallen. And from their blood they would concoct, through alchemy, a cure. Others said that they made blood sacrifices which created the plagues that had devastated the cities years ago.

There were few stories that made Mox comfortable with the idea of visiting a witch doctor.

"How much farther?"

"We should be there in about twenty minutes. However, I'm afraid you will not be able to come into my friend's house. She's quite picky about who she lets in as guests," Kaidman explained to Mox.

Mox wondered if he wasn't walking into some kind of trap. He still wasn't sure he could trust this man, even though he had saved his life. Or maybe he didn't actually rescue him from bandits, after all Mox was mostly unconscious and did not recognize the faces of his captors. He decided to come up with a plan to escape once he reached the witch doctor's dwelling. Perhaps he could wander upon some traders and they could point him in the direction of the City.

Mox continued to watch Kaidman waver with each step, as if he was losing against the heat.

It was a bit difficult, the journey; every step he took ached his body, weighed down by himself and his sword. But every step he took would ensure his safety, Kaidman thought to himself. It'd be difficult to survive otherwise.

"After we make a stop here, there'll be an oasis about two miles Southwest, and we'll be thirty miles away from the city. We'll get some water, hopefully find something to eat, and we have another... six miles or so until we get to a river." It was a bit awkward traveling with someone else along his path; it wasn't something he had done in years.

An oasis, water, food. It all seemed very altruistic of the stranger. Mox wanted to lower his guard, but he wasn't sure of this man's capabilities or motives. For the time being he would watch and wait.

"Your friend is by that river?"

"No, we're almost to my friend who has a dwelling somewhere among the sands and rocks over there," Kaidman pointed out. "Do you know anything about a man named Jolo Grossman? I've been trying to find him."

"The ranger?"

"That's him. You got any word on maybe his ugh... recent business?"

"No. I stay in the city. Business?"

"Yeah... I'm just trying to track him down, see what I should be looking out for among these deserts," Kaidman explained. The warrior took another few steps before stopping and going onto one knee. Clutching the side of his chest where he was shot, he looked down and closed his eyes.

"Whoa hey," Mox rushed to his side. He saw that the man was clutching his chest. Perhaps some sudden pain had just struck him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah... I think my ribs are broken. It's been quite difficult to walk with it, and still carry my weapon, but we're almost there," Kaidman said. He pushed himself to stand, and stiffened his posture. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. "Let's not get stuck out in the open, Sun's strong."

If this stranger had really saved his life, the least Mox could do was offer some aid, "You want me to carry your sword for you?"

"If you could, it'd be nice." Kaidman then took the sheath and blade off his belt, going to hand it to his companion. If Mox were to be as devious as most others he met out here, he would've thought Mox would've tried to take advantage of his severely injured state. If he wasn't able to rely on... unconventional means, Kaidman would've been dead already.

Mox took the blade, hefting it upon his shoulder. It was a simple sword, a bit heavy for someone who was wounded like Kaidman. It could use some reforging. His own personal blade, which was perhaps somewhere else by now as thieves must have taken it after he was knocked unconscious, was not as heavy as this sword. However, it was just as useful, perhaps even more so than this particular sword.

He grasped the blade with both hands and swung it around in the air, testing its weight and handle. It moved with strength, not grace or anything fancy. It performed its job, nothing more, nothing less.

"A fine sword. Could be better though," he chose not to say more.

Kaidman was wounded, Mox knew it wasn't really an appropriate time to talk about swords. He returned the blade to his shoulder and continued.

"Yeah, I know. I haven't refined it so much, even though I've had to use it quite a bit. The blade's getting dull and I think I have a way of lightening then handguard, but I'm not so sure," Kaidman went on. He chose to talk about it, keeping his mind away from the pain.

"I could give it a look, I'm a smith," he massaged the hilt, letting his thumb wander along the bottom of the guard's engravings.

"If you could, it'd be nice."

-

Jolo and his accompanying ranger had found a group of traders who were stranded in some dunes overlooked by a number of canyons and plateaus. Upon closer inspection, they weren't really traders, nor were they stranded. They were bandits, and they were dead. One had been pinned down by his mount at the time of death. The Grelb beast was dead like its rider. The rider was crushed and he probably retched blood as evidenced by the pool of dark red that was now dried into the sand, stained on his cheeks, and washed across his crooked incisors.

Two others were hacked and sliced apart, they laid on the dune bed letting the wind bury them slowly.

Another body was found separated from the rest, it looked as though he had been flung backward. His throat had been cauterized, and his eyes remained dead opened. His blood and flesh were dissected into bits upon the sand.

Were these the same bandits that had attacked Protectorate City several days ago?

They checked the bandits' belongings, for they had not been looted by other rogues as it seemed. There was nothing interesting to be found, just a few pieces of rocks, pouches of dust, and supplies for the desert such as canteens filled with water. Nothing out of the ordinary, they were expecting weapons, the kind that could have cracked the city's wall with a loud boom and smoke. But it was unusual to find rocks and dust.

Jolo decided he would hold on to the pouches of dust, bandits did not carry pouches of dust without a reason.

"Hey, chief!" the other ranger called to him.

"What is it Portia?" he replied in a smooth rasp.

"Tracks, wandering into the canyon."

"Bandits?"

"Not sure."

"Be on guard then."

The two followed the trail into the twisting canyon.

-

Eventually, Mox and Kaidman came to a a large rock wall, extending for miles it seemed. The two walked along it slowly until they came upon a large wooden door braced with metal binds.

"This is my friend's house...

Mox's eyes scaled the wall for a bit until they returned to the wooden door.

"She...lives in here?" he asked.

It was unexpected, how could anyone possibly live in such a place? He had to take a couple of steps back to survey the rock wall once more before he took Kaidman's sword and let it rest against the wall by the door. Rather than directly answer him, Kaidman decided to knock on the door, rather loudly as the door seemed to be thick. A moment passed in silence as the wind rustled against the scarce brush and sand, and the door finally opened. An elderly woman stood, only a little over five feet, dressed in a manner so that most of her body was covered, except her hands and face.

"Seems like you've been out and about, Clara-"

"Kaidman?" the old woman said shortly. "What sort of banditry are you practicing bringing people I don't know here?"

Her tone was a bit crass, as many older people were.

"I'm injured... I need your help," Kaidman told her.

"Well I'll help you, not... whoever that is."

Mox's eyes went wide, she was addressing him.

"Mox," he decided to introduce himself. He saw she was a bit frosty, ironically.

"Anyways... you know your friend can't come in," the woman spoke.

"He knows, now let's go inside, before it gets later, I have places to be," Kaidman pushed.

"You and your desert hermit whatever it is you do these days? Come on in..." she finally said. Kaidman made sure to pick up his sword before walking into the woman's home. The door shut behind him, leaving Mox standing in the sand.

-

At least he took the sword, Mox wouldn't need to resort to thievery. He walked around for a bit, before he began to wander away from the dwelling etched into the canyon wall. He often looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him.

He had never been to Bane Canyon, for all he knew, he could have been wandering in a circle around the old crow's home. Each rock formation seemed to look like one that he had previously passed. There were large orange boulders, jagged and solid. They were stacked atop each other in all manners. Some of the stones had old markings of ancient script that no longer had any meaning to those presently living. It was possible that some ancient and intelligent race put these stones together as path markers for their travels, choosing to erect monoliths at key forks in the canyons. Perhaps it was ancient Drakyvarian script, as Mox often recalled that their kind would often make claims as to being the oldest race on M'Sal.

This was all wandering thought for Mox. The average human, however, would have fallen under worse hallucinations and delusions for going without water as long as Mox had.

He came upon another rock formation. It looked familiar as if he had seen it before. No. He had seen it before.

He looked around, swallowing what little saliva he had.

"What...the hell..."

He decided to go off to the passage on his right. He had to get out of the canyon, but it seemed every two steps he took forward was always one step back to the original point. At a certain fork he realized he didn't even remember the way back to the witch doctor's home.

The afternoon sun began to beat down on him.

He decided to fall into the shade of the overlooking canyon cliff to recuperate.

-

The door to the woman's home opened, and Kaidman showed himself as ready as ever.

"Now I don't want you getting into those meak scraps you get into," she told the swordsman.

"You know I had to," Kaidman responded. "There's something weird going on with the bandits lately, maybe it's connected or not, but I have every intent to break it."

"Ugh... where's your friend there?"

"What do you mean?" The question made Kaidman look around frantically. He saw footprints slowly fading away in the sand as wind blew grains of ground rock all around. "Thank you for your help, Ayleth, but I need to find Mox now."

The man took off in a sprint, following the faded path. To find the smith dehydrated and dying would be something he'd rather not have to face. He ran for some time before he finally reached a shady part of the canyon. Mox was laying in the sand, dehydrated as Kaidman had thought.

"I'm not sure what you're doing wandering off. I could leave you here to die, and not a bad thing would happen to me. You know that, right?" Kaidman asked, with all intention to make the smith reflect upon his futile wandering. "For a few days we've been walking among the desert, where most would die. I haven't let you down yet."

Mox gazed in the direction from where the voice came, his eyes wandering up until it reached a gleaming countenance.

He was sweating profusely, but not as bad as had he been out of the shade. So he felt a bit of guilt for wandering off from the stranger, and he had his reasons.

"I was...just...going for a walk. You have any water?" he wiped his forehead.

By now his hair was as soggy as his tunic.

"Here," he said, taking a flask from his belt. Tossing it in the air, it landed on Mox's stomach. "Now I have to find out where exactly we need to go from here. If you want, you can come along."

Strangely enough, the man began climbing the canyon wall; no safeties, no spotters, he began putting hand over hand to climb what seemed to be a forty or fifty foot cliff.

"We should be able to see the city," he told the smith. Perhaps he wasn't convinced he was getting anywhere he should, and the man should see for himself the path they were set on. Reaching for a grip, he continued to climb, regardless of whether Mox was coming or not.

Mox took the flask and took some earnest sips, quenching the dryness that lingered in his throat. He watched as Kaidman grappled and tried to find grips along the various little ledges and outcroppings that jutted from the wall. He watched with widened eyes, for he had never seen anyone try to climb a rock wall without harnesses, ever. Not even in his days as a miner.

"Are you out of your mind?" he called out, see the city? Is this guy serious?

"Hey! Hey!" It was no use, the other man seemed intent on climbing.

It seemed the man could handle himself fine as he continued to climb steadily. Mox took another swig, feeling that he needed to down a bit of the soreness in his throat.

It was not but twenty minutes until Kaidman reached to top of the cliff. There was a small plateau in which Kaidman could stand and observe his surrounding. In front of him, in about twenty miles of open desert was the city. Looking off to his left, he could see not too far was the river he wanted to get to after meeting Ayleth, and from there, some rock formations lead to a five mile stretch between canyon and Protectorate City. Maybe two or three more days of travel, and Mox would be back to the city.

"It's too bad you didn't decide to come up, you're missing a lot!" Kaidman yelled down. His words echoed in the rocks below.

He stood above all other nearby surroundings, some mountains way off to the West. In fact, turning around, he could see one of the bordering Solarian posts eighty or more miles away.

This guy's fuckin' crazy. Mox shook his head. He looked up to the cliff, Kaidman had disappeared beyond the edge.

"Hey!" he called out, hoping the man might have heard him.

He resigned himself to a sigh and just sat back into the shade, taking another swig to satisfy what he had lost in sweat as he waited for Kaidman to come down.

If only the layman were more interesting," Kaidman thought. But he had accomplished what he needed to do; he knew where he was now, and knew where he was headed.

"Wait there, Mox," he called down. Looking on the other edge of the cliff he looked down; there was a a surface he could simply slide down. His boots could surely handle it, and no one was around for him to expose his magic to on this side of the cliff. Planting one foot on the rock wall, he lifted his other and let himself begin to slide down the rockface. Locking his arm out, he prepared his strength as he plummeted towards the ground. A wave of energy shot out from his hand, spiraling from his shoulder. It slowed his fall enough that he was able to catch himself in a standing position. Soon enough, he walked the distance around the cliff and returned to the smith.

"Ready now? We got another two or three miles until the next water source," Kaidman said.

Mox sighed, "Alright, let's-"

He was cut off at that moment by the voice of an older man. It was a hoarse and dry voice.

"And where do you think you're goin' boys?"

Mox turned in the direction of the voice, to see a man of average height in a dark coat, with a scabbard holstered and hanging loosely from it. An emblem rested on his wide brimmed hat. His eyes were dark beneath the brim, as dark as his skin, only his graying beard could be seen stretched by the smile on his face. One of his hands held onto a pistol loosely, as though he was just about to raise it at Mox and Kaidman, but declined in doing so once he recognized them.

Behind him was another figure, a lady as evidenced by her long brown hair. Her boots were heeled and she stood with a hand on her hip. Her coat was very much similar to that of the man in front of her, but shorter in length, running only to her knees. She was clad in grey inside the coat. Her face was one that had seen much. It was as dry as the desert sand, no makeup, nothing flashy or alluring. She carried a sword just like the man, but she also had a rifle strapped to her back.

"Jolo! I was looking for you. I was afraid you stopped doing your job," Kaidman sprang.

The bearded man rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Eian Karimi Character Portrait: Kaidman Lheyr Character Portrait: Shari Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Portia Latisse Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose and Kuroe]

93rd Day

Protectorate City


"You're not seriously thinking of doing this, are you?" Shari's question was met with a blank look from Eian. The kind of look that assured her of his complete seriousness.

"This is... This isn't the smartest idea you've ever had, Eian..." Shari mumbled. Talking to Eian was like talking to a wall. "We're damned if we do and damned if we don't, I suppose..."

Eian shrugged in response. "This is the best way to find Mox. Leaving and going back with the letters without looking would be far worse than not."

They had been about to do just that, actually, when Shari had read the poster aloud. Now, much to her dismay, they were headed out to kill bandits and a man that may or may not even be alive anyways. Shari even knew that Eian hated these odds. Normally, he wouldn't even bother finding a target like this, or ask to be payed extra by their employer. What made this assignment different? Eian flat out refused to tell her anything about the damned thing. So here they were, going off to fight bandits in the middle of the desert. Maybe there had been something in the stew Eian had ate the other night...

"Eian, do you even know what this Mox guy looks like?"

"No."

Shari waited for him to continue. He didn't. It was obviously a sign for her to be quiet and wait. Or something. She couldn't really tell what he was thinking right now.

-

Noon quickly came upon the Dome, but much more than that was the crowd of people assembled to take on a little bandit hunting in return for rewards. It was an assortment of various peoples and species. There were humans, Drakyvarians, Vaul, lizardmen, and so on. They were dressed in all sorts of garb, but most were adventurers as evidenced by their weapons and armor. Others were simply lured by the prospect of bezants thus one could see those who were beggars, others who were merchants, and others who were simple folk.

They came to hear information that was to be crucial to their objectives. Each man had their own motives; they conversed among themselves for a time.

The surrounding streets were empty, save for the shopkeepers standing outside their businesses to watch the commotion. In front of the Dome, there was an elevated platform from which the council members often gave public speeches, whether it was for political reasons or they just wanted to hear the sound of their voices, nobody knew and nobody cared.

"Thank you, one and all for coming here this day," spoke Nabis Alaunte, one of the seven council members present that day at noon.

He spoke with a firm and dignified voice, one that might have belonged to a man of wisdom and honor, one that was almost unheard of from a council member.

He was the oldest of all the council members with a white beard and a mane of white hair separated into short and straightened rows of pony tails streaking backward in a manner that almost looked like he was wearing a bunch of feathers. He was also taller than the rest, and his sharpened eyebrows and hawkish eyes lent a dark and calculating air to him. He wore a bronze cuirass over his tunic and his arms were protected by bronze vambraces. He stood before the rest of the seven on the platform, as the rest of them had conferred onto him the role of leading the council perhaps due to his age. Nabis had been elected to the council two times before already, the only council member to have been re-elected mainly because he has been on good terms with nearly everyone.

He was in his villa when he heard of the attack on the 90th, he immediately asked if any of the other council members had been harmed, then he set about fortifying his territories in case the bandits were aligned with any of his rivals. Then he went along with the proposal to have freemen go after the bandits because it was a more convenient solution to what appeared to be a perpetual bandit problem that was not being handled correctly by Jolo and the rangers.

Nabis continued, "By now, I am sure all of you have heard of the attack on our great and prosperous city on the 90th day of the 514th year of our Sun Lord's ride. They attacked without warning, and several of our citizens have been kidnapped," the old politician paused.

"We believe it is very likely that they may have sold them into slavery or killed them already. Whatever it is, we expect you to hunt them down and either kill them or take them prisoner. If you come across any survivors, bring them back to the city."

"The perpetrators are extremely dangerous as we have already seen. We advise you to take caution before accepting our call. However, if you do indeed rise up, then you have our permission to confiscate whatever personal belongings they have, weapons, bezants, and so on. The hunter with the highest number killed or captured will receive the reward of 300 bezants from the city. If you kill, you will have to record where you found them and bring back the heads for us to count. You are also free to work together with others present here today," Nabis concluded.

"Is there anything else that my fellow council members wish to add?" he turned to the rest of them, they looked to each other and shook their heads.

"Very well," the old council member returned to the crowd, "Happy hunting."

The councilors descended from the platform and returned to the Dome.

-

Around Bane Canyon

The sun beat ever stronger than before in the day. Jolo followed by the woman, Kaidman and Mox walked through the rocky sand as they approached a more open area where two saddled animals stood awaiting for the Rangers' return. They were a pair of Yakolas, four legged creatures of yellowish orange skin, a skin that was very thin because they had no need for insulation.
They were even toed ungulates with long upright necks. It wasn't long before they returned and mounted them. Kaidman sat behind Jolo and Mox behind his partner in justice, and the animals began heading off through the open sands.

"Is there any trend in bandit activity out in the deserts now, Jolo?" Kaidman asked as the animals' run concealed their words.

"I wouldn't suppose I know too much about it, but a trend? Seems a bit disturbin'," the Ranger answered. "What do you think you've found?"

Kaidman gripped the frontiersman's shoulder tightly as he almost lost his balance in the gallop. Straightening himself out, he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I think some group of people are planning to bomb somewhere; there's been some exchanging of gunpowder and canisters you'd use for the sort of thing out in the desert. I've done my best to get close without giving myself away, but I could only see and hear so much."

The Ranger could only smirk at the comment, "You're a bit late to the party, son."

"What do you mean?" The thought of letting a horrific event such as that occur made Kaidman tense.

"A couple days ago, an explosive went off near the City, took out a portion of the wall. We had some wounded and others missin'."

"That's funny, a couple days ago, a group of bandits came barreling out of Protectorate City with a hostage on the back of one of their grelbs. And that's how I came upon Mox, sitting with your friend there. He's from the city, apparently a smith."

Jolo was silent for a moment, connecting the dots in his head.

"You killed those bandits."

The fact left Kaidman dumbstruck, "How do you know that?"

"Three days later, I find some bodies on a main road leading to Solaria. Looked like they might have carried hostages too. They had weapons, so they weren't traders. They hadn't been robbed, so whoever killed them, obviously wasn't after their possessions. The only skilled warrior, that I know of in that part of the desert, who would be willing to take on bandits like them would be..." The old ranger let that sink in.

"Kid, didn't I ever tell you to leave that shit to the rest of us?" Jolo asked as he reined his mount forward with an increase in pace "Not that it matters anymore since you're still in good shape."

The old man was unsure how he managed to survive the confrontation, but he was glad that Kaidman did.

"And since those bandits are dead. The trail's pretty much gone cold. Funny."

Mox took everything in as he sat behind Jolo's accompanying ranger, Portia, his hands were wrapped across her stomach.

"Try anything funny and I'll chop both your hands off," she had warned.

"Don't worry, I need my hands to make a living. I'm just gonna hold on so that I don't fall off," Mox replied.

"Chief, what are we gonna do with him?" Portia referred to her passenger.

Jolo looked over to the bearded blacksmith but said nothing.

"Alright, so I killed your bandits, and I have someone you might be interested in. We're headed to the city, and I suppose I can hang around until the morning; but I don't want to be around here long. You know how I am, being a caveman and all."

Jolo scoffed at the smart aleck response, "Don't worry kid, you'll be back in your cave pretty soon."

"Hey, don't take it personally. Maybe some day you'll learn," Kaidman told the Ranger.

The group rode off through the sands toward the city.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Eian Karimi Character Portrait: Kaidman Lheyr Character Portrait: Shari Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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[Co-written with Redred33mer]

Ninety-Fifth Day

They had ridden for two days and taken several stops. It would not be long before they returned to the city. No news escaped the city as they were told by other travelers they came across.

There was a little trade post consisting of various tents and fluttering banners, walled off by large rock formations. It was secluded like many others, and it was located along the main trade routes. These trading posts had a mix population of people, whether they be the city folk, or the peoples that wandered the desert. Most often, the trading posts were jointly guarded by people of the cities. Some posts retained a level of autonomy as they were able to hire sellswords instead of relying on city guards, thus saving manpower needed elsewhere.

Jolo and the others found themselves at that trade post after their long ride out of Bane Canyon. The yakolas needed food and rest, mirroring their masters' own particular needs for survival in the desert. The night had been cold, but trade posts were never one to be scarce on sheets and covers.

The morning after the ninety fourth day, as they could recall from memory, heralded a calm sun. They were sitting on mats inside a food tent as a server delivered them bowls and spoons of hand-molded clay. The server went to retrieve their portions with his ladle from the pot that steamed of soup.

"We should reach the city by noon," Jolo said, as he checked his coat to ensure that nothing had been pilfered from him during the night.

He was sure that they recognized him as a ranger, and perhaps they recognized he was the head of their unofficial order. He had made many enemies over the past several years since the group's founding. He knew that much, and he was never sure when he would meet another who bore some hardened grievance or aged hatred against him. That was the price one paid to uphold the law. He had not died in his sleep, that was a good sign he thought.

Kaidman sat with the group, as they all ate their meal. It was nice for once to not worry about getting food and cooking it, especially with scarce resources in the desert. But at the same time he felt guilty. He was essentially a sand hermit, and didn't rely on modern currencies of the world. There wouldn't be anything he could do to help Jolo take care of his bills here.

"Hey, ugh, I might need to delay that arrival time," the young man said, interrupting his own thoughts. "I think its a league or two down the road I'd like to pick something up from one of my shelters. You know, armor. I can only imagine what trouble I might come across, travelling with you guys," he said half-jokingly with a smirk.

The other ranger, Portia, kept her eyes on the other travelers, who were not as conspicuous of their creeds through their dress as the rangers were.

"Sure, we can make a stop. It might be best if we finish up quickly here," Jolo chewed on a piece of roasted Paragis meat.

While the others talked, Mox thought of his home in the city. By now he could have guessed that squatters had claimed the place, and thieves had already melted down his forge and other tools. The only belongings he had left was a cache of bezants buried somewhere in the desert. Such was the life of a Protectorate citizen. He felt his hair, which had been roughed up by sand and wind. His beard was beginning to itch, for then he realized that it had grown past where he usually began to trim.

"Who else was taken?" he asked.

The ranger turned to him and paused for a moment to consider, "The count is up to twenty. If you're talking about the attack on the city, not counting you, they took two people. I'm guessing they split up to try and lose us."

He took a sip from his teabowl.

"Well that's just enlightening," Kaidman added in. Taking a few spoonfuls of soup, he scraped up the last bits of the food in his bowl and put his utensil and dish down. "I'll collect my things from the tent, and I'll be ready whenever you are."

Jolo finished his sip and nodded toward Mox, "By now you would have been a slave, consider yourself lucky to be alive at least," then he stood up, "We'll get the yakolas ready."

The group dispersed with Mox following the rangers. He did not feel lucky. He brought nothing with him when the slavers took him, but he hoped that there was something left when he returned.




The riders had left the small trading post out in the desert, setting their trailhead towards Protectorate City once again. The winds and the sand in it made each mile seem longer than the last, and the day had only just begun. They were finally at a stretch of seemingly endless sand dunes flanking them, with little spires visible far off on the horizon.

"Stop right about here, Jolo," Kaidman directed. The command seemed a bit odd.

Jolo released the reins and eyed the surrounding hills of sand, "Where's the cave?"

"Don't worry about it, just stay with the yakolas so we still have a ride to the city. Give me thirty minutes and I'll be back."

"You need someone to go with you?" he looked to Portia.

Mox noticed how raspy Jolo's voice was, and there was a certain soulfulness to it. He did not seem that old to have such a voice, the blacksmith thought. Perhaps he had spoken alot through his lifetime, giving orders to his fighters and negotiating with bandits.

"No, save your energy and water." Kaidman answered. Jogging off into the distance, across unmarked sand dunes, the swordsman travelled further until he began down a slope, out of the sight of the rangers. Looking back, he became conscious of the fact.

Once again, the characteristic pale green energy flowed from Kaidman's body, and trailed behind him to smoothe the sand he displaced, covering his tracks. His pace slowed, careful that he didn't spot anyone perhaps stalking him. Further and further he strayed from the packed sand that was designated a road. The wind still whistling amongst the land, the sun felt stronger out here, causing Kaidman to sweat profusely as he usually did in his lonely, and justifiably aimless journeys. Having a purpose and some travelling companions was refreshing.

Kaidman darted his eyes around from one place to the next. It was as if he was searching for something. Perhaps a plant, a rock, a cave, or a door to his shelter, but there was none adjacent to his position. Sighing, he brought his hands together, joined by finger tips pressing on each other, the palms some small distance apart. One could only guess that he was summoning some amount of his magic, but for the reasoning was not apparent.

The ground under him began to shake, as his footing became uneven. A wave of sand mixed with his energy came up in a circular fashion from beneath his feet. A mound of the displaced soil began forming around the ground level where he initially stood, and he began to sink as the mound's height concealed what exactly was happening. It wasn't until six or seven feet down a metal gate in the ground became apparent.

Bending over, he began unlatching the gate from a bar lodged in the sand. As the gate was unlocked, it swung open on a hinge, giving way to what seemed like a walk-in closet. Jumping down, Kaidman came between a wall of armor, made for men and women, and another wall with swords and various weapons. All of the larger weapons had a common characteristic; they seemed to be able to have some type of crystal set in their handguard, much like Kaidman's.

However, it was difficult to see, the only sources of light being Kaidman's glowing stone and the open roof. Shooting his arms out on both of his sides, Kaidman solved the problem, as his signature pale green energy extended rapidly both ways, lighting and giving the room a tint. The pillar that were etched in the walls gave the greatest support to the subterranean structure, carved ornately with designs of stems and leaves of a foreign tropical land. The walls were made of a clay brick, like many primitive structures in the desert.

There were only four plates of armor, each set in their own pedestal; two to each end. Kaidman stepped to the one closest on his right; armor congruent to what was broken when he rescued Mox from his kidnappers. The armor was thick and heavy, like a knight's breastplate. Lifting it over his head, he lowered it onto his body and pulled his arms up and through the sleeves. Silently, he looked around the room, checking to see if anything was out place. Nothing seemed to be, or felt to be. Kaidman's eyes closed as the room grew dimmer, becoming as dark as it was when he initially entered.

It was time to leave; standing under the hinged door, he jumped up, pulling himself up. His hand extended towards the gate once he stood, and the gate closed and latched itself. With the definitive banging of the latch on the bar that held the door closed, he looked up into the blue sky, out of the dry well he dug himself into. Raising his hand, he formed a staircase, but it only had three stairs. It was then he began climbing up the stairs, two at a time, and as he stepped over one terrace another one formed in front of him. Minimal use of energy was ideal, especially out in the desert.

Spiraling up the hole, he eventually resurface above the mound of sand he had created before. Now Kaidman had to cover his small shelter, and return to the yakolas. Jumping out beyond the burrow, he turned to face his entrance. Glancing among the dunes, he checked for any potential observers, and concluded there was not a being around to see his next act. Extending his arms upwards and outwards, his energy enshrouded him as well as the sand before him. It seemed to involve a great effort, moving hundreds of pounds of sand at once into one hole.

His arms quaked tremendously, until finally the mound had become little more than a bump in the desert. Dropping one arm to his side, he used the other and waved it side to side, a wisp of the energy he had used prior. Smoothing the terrain, it was as if nothing ever touched the land. Spinning around, he set his eyes on the blank path he had used to get where he was. In the manner he had arrived, disguising his trail as he went, he would leave the area.

"Hope they didn't leave me in the sand out here to dry," Kaidman said to himself. He walked, as if he now towed a wagon along the sand and up to the hill he had come down before. A feint wave following him to hide his footsteps. Finally, he summited the slope and was relieved to see Mox, Jolo and Portia awaiting his return. On with the journey they went.





Their spirited mounts carried them across the washing scarves of sand and past the wind that parted the hair from their eyes. The sun was quiet this day, still shining, but the strong winds and the pace of the yakolas ameliorated the usual scorch from Jeytelh's sphere.

"We're almost there," Jolo called out as they reached the crest of a dune.

The wind was blowing off the sand beyond the slip face, forming neatly patterned ripples that was reminiscent of water. Beyond several more dune crests, clumped plateaus, and a few mountains, they could see the characteristic dark outline of the city against the great blue sky. Structures stacked up and up on top of each other, the tallest structures were the wind towers, where the great sails spun at a managed rate. They were the only structures that Mox could determine as he squinted, they were still a league or so away.

If only they could ride forward along a straight path, they would be there in an hour or so. There never was a straight path though. The land was treacherous, and no straight path was ever free of danger. A few balmora trees stood resiliently among the dunes before them. Wind brushed the small patches of yellow grass that dotted their view. They could see packs of travelers and merchants as miniscule little creatures from their distance. Mox could not remember the last time he had left the city and returned to such a sight.

The only thing that kept the city from reaching its true potential was the distrust, they were only united in times of crisis. Each lived for themselves in that city. He supposed in a sense that there was more freedom for the individual as their was less obligation to the group. Mox inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly, he would be coming to see if his forge still stood. Hopefully his neighbors were good enough people to tell him what happened, if their stores still stood that is.

For Kaidman, it had been quite some time since he was in the city. More than months, but years. It was entirely unfamiliar territory, and the idea of navigating through entangling streets made the young man nervous. Perhaps it was simply an overreaction. But, having been out in the desert on his own for so long, dealing more with the shoddy sort of man than its antonym, skepticism and cynicism permeated his mind. His more knightly figure may even draw unwanted attention. He kept it in the back of his mind, the thought.

"So once we get to the city, what exactly are we doing?" Kaidman asked Jolo.

"Getting him home," Jolo gestured with his thumb toward Mox.

"If my home still stands," Mox replied, the wind kept his hair in constant motion.

Jolo remained silent to that comment, "We'll probably also be checking the damage and the section of the wall they tore a hole in."

It was possible that the bandits had done much more damage than the rangers originally thought. Jolo took only a glance at the wall before he trailed the raiders on the 90th day, for his responsibilities often kept him far from the walls.




Eian and Shari were returning to the city after they finished cleaving some bandit heads. They were no closer to finding their target than they were days before. They began to fear that their target was already dead amidst the sands, which meant they would have to return the letter to the person who asked them to deliver it. If they did not deliver the letter, they would not receive payment for completing their duty. That was not how the Cron Suil did business.

Eian chose not to let up. He asked around, or rather, Shari asked around for him of a blacksmith by the name of Mox. Their search proved fruitless thus far. They still needed coins to survive though, thus they killed bandits wherever they could find them. Eian's logic was that the letter's recipient had been kidnapped by bandits. If they found bandits, they might find Mox. If they did not find Mox, they would still find bandits. Those bandits would be killed and added to their growing head count for the bounty award.

That worked against them as they found themselves surrounded by a group that had been watching them from afar, waiting to strike back for their fallen brothers. Since the two traveled on foot, the bandits made sure to surround them on mounts. Just before noon as the pair made their way back to the city, the hooves at the gallop thundered down behind them like a sandstorm.




Jolo and the others were quick in their descent from the sloping dunes and winding rock formations toward the city. They made their way around one last bend that would lead them straight toward the city.

Just as they rounded the rock wall, they could hear the sounds of metal clanging and blades hissing through the air.

"The sound of battle," Jolo stated, he reached for one of the axes within his coat.

"Yeah... how do we know we want to join this fight?" Kaidman asked. His hand sat uneasily on his sword as he tried to look down the road.

Jolo replied with a raspy chuckle before he struck the reins and let the yakola take them. Portia and Mox followed behind on their mount. While the Ranger found the question humorous, Kaidman was a bit wary of battle, especially with companions. While he was a competent swordsman, dealing with outnumbering enemies often called for the young man to rely on his innate magical abilities. The discovery of his powers by more average people had unknown implications; magic was thought to be only an object of the history books.

They rounded a rockwall to find a group of bandits atop yakolas circling two stranded but armed travelers. Mox saw one to be a man, probably a desert nomad based on his appearance and garb. He had two blades steadied at the heads of the rogues before him. His surrounded companion was a woman, she seemed to be less covered than the man, as though perhaps she were a city dweller and not a desert walker. She too was armed with a pair of knives that were about two and half hands long.

The crowd of bandits hollered and undulated shrieks, Mox could see two pirate corpses with their heads covered by the sand as though the battle had started long ago. They were probably knocked off their beasts before the it even began. The nomad seemed very calm, these situations appeared to be natural to him. The woman on the other hand, her face displayed some semblance of the only emotion that mattered for a person in her position, raw and primal fear.

Mox could see his rider unsheathe a kopis from her black coat with one hand, while her other hand strangled the reins. He had never forged such a blade before in his life, for they were relics. Almost figments of legend themselves, yet there he was sitting behind a rider who held one that gleamed when the light of the sun struck the metal. Before he could request to dismount, he felt a web of wetness shot at his face. A decapitated man's blood dripped off of Portia's blade, while also splattering onto his face. The bandits had spotted them making their way around the canyon and immediately sent several raiders to intercept.

Another sword would have maimed Mox's left eye and face had Portia not swung her kopis in a forward motion to deflect the blade away, nearly wringing the bandit's arm with her sweep in the process, if only she had such superhuman strength though.

"Do you know how to ride this thing?" Portia referred to the beast they rode on amidst the clashing of swords.

"I haven't ridden one in awhile, so I don't know," he said aloud above the wind and the cries of the bandits.

"Do you know how to use one of these at least?" she held a pistol in one hand, while she parried an incoming scimitar with the kopis in her other hand.

Mox took the offered weapon just as a blade forced Portia to weave to the side and him to lean backward to avoid the blade lopping off his neck. His first reaction was to swing the weapon right at the rider's face as he passed by and pull the trigger. The gun cracked and the bandit flew from the saddle. His head whipped as blood popped and sprayed red.

"Good shot," Portia said as she returned to her earlier posture and wrung the reins, sending the yakola back around to the two travelers.

Mox had never before used a firearm in his life, pulling the trigger seemed almost instinctive to him. His reflex surprised even him as he was not normally that quick, especially with a weapon he had never used. He chose not to dwell on his little success as the bandits came toward them.

Jolo's axe flew upward and clawed an intercepting bandit's face, almost crushing his skull. The upward blow was enough to push the bandit from his mount. Kaidman had remained silent in their charge, as he gripped Jolo's shoulder tighter. As they neared their targets, the young man pulled his right leg over one side with his other. He then leaped from the back of the yakola towards the pair in the center. Eian and Shari were no longer surrounded in a tight pocket. The formation of bandits broke and scattered in various directions as two more riders were slit in their throats by the rangers and knocked from their mounts, ending the confrontation quicker than it began.

"Well met," Eian said to their rescuers.

"Don't think too much of it," Kaidman said modestly. Brandishing his sword, he bore it pointed upwards at the bandits. Perhaps there was something on them or about them that would give way to a connection in the recent bombing, or disappeared civilians.

"It might be a good idea if we got on one those," Shari's knife pointed in the direction of a yakola with a rider, "And maybe get out of here."

"Just hold your ground and fight the footsoldiers!" Kaidman commanded. "They should know by now the road goes around the quicksand!"

That was his excuse for whenever his foes came from off the road to charge him, and he used his abilities to sink them in the desert. Twisting his body to the right, his arm sweeped down and across, keying the sand below to move. Twenty feet in front of him, as the cavalry stepped forwards, the saddled animals seemed to just slide into the ground as the threat was neutralized. But his gesture caused the nearest bandit to step forwards and rise to the opportunity to strike. Jerking violently back to his left, he swiftly lodged the blade of his sword into the attacker's rib cage. Spinning in the opposite direction, his blade dropped to hack a leg off the bandit.

Those that dodged the sinking ground came at them with even greater force. Eian took two quick steps before he leapt with his blade into the air, springing at a rider and striking him down in the neck. The beast trotted by Shari, who sheathed her knives, grabbed hold of the saddle's pommel, and swung herself over to mount it. Then she rounded the beast back toward Eian and Kaidman.

One rider charged up toward Kaidman with his spear readied. The young man took his weapon in his left hand this time, and pivoted his hips to get leverage into the hip of the mounted beast. The swing of his blade broke the neck of the spear and batted it away, and cut into the flesh of the animal. At great momentum, the beast slowly buckled its knees and fell into the ground. The other bandits on their beasts generated a storm of sand as their ring of riders expanded to envelop the six of them.

"They're trying to surround us," Portia rode up to the group, "There's too many of them," they skipped past two other raiders. Mox fired a round that clipped the knee of one of the mounts, sending the yakola reeling over.

"Get on!" Shari yelled as she passed by Eian who swiftly reached for the saddle and pulled himself up.

Jolo motioned for Kaidman to remount the beast, they were breaking out. Kaidman sprinted to the yakola, faster than one might expect with his armaments. As he neared the beast, he jumped through the air, aiming for Jolo's rear. Swinging his leg over, and pushing up with his hand, he landed roughly behind the Ranger.

"Get us out of here!"




After the confrontation had passed and the group was within the safer outer limits of Protectorate City, Eian and Shari dismounted from the beast that they stole.

"Many thanks friends," Shari spoke for them, "I'm Shari, and my companion here is Eian."

"Jolo Grossman," the ranger then sounded off the others "This is Kaidman Lheyr, Portia Latisse, and he's..." the ranger pointed to his third companion whose name he had forgotten.

"Mox Ierba."

Ierba. Ierba The name sounded familiar to Eian, as though it had rested away in some crevice of his brain. Then it struck him. Shari's thoughts were aligned with his as they both turned to each other.

Eian spoke this time "Mox Ierba?"

He paused with a quizzical expression painted on his face, "By any chance, are you a blacksmith?"

"The only blacksmith in Protectorate City by that name," Mox replied dryly.

Mox was about as common a name in the city as water in the desert.

"You have not been home for days, I suppose," Eian spoke.

"I know," Mox said.

"We were looking for you, but your forge is no longer.." Eian trailed off.

Mox nodded, he understood what the man was trying to say about his forge, "Wait, why were you looking for me?"

Then Eian reached into his undershirt where an important message had been tucked away for safekeeping.

"I'm just a courier, but I believe this is for you," he held an envelope before him.

Mox looked to the others before he dismounted from Portia's yakola, which snorted as he got off. Then he took the letter from Eian and proceeded to open it.

The contents of the letter read as followed.


“To my friend Mox Ierba,


If that is even your real name. How has it been friend? We must catch up some time if you and I get the chance. However, I suppose I do not have as much time as I used to, and I am afraid that chance may never come. If you are reading this, then that must mean that they did not get to you or the messengers who delivered this letter. That news is good. It also means that I am already dead by the time you read this.

I suppose I always could foresee the future. ‘Twas never a gift, but a curse. You remember well enough do you not? The mine that collapsed? To my ill-fortune, I have no power to change what is fated for me this time. The people whom I regretfully worked for…tie up loose ends quickly.

You were and I suppose you might still be one of the few people that I considered to be good company during my days as a miner. I have no relations; you already know that much from me.

After we parted ways, I decided to bury my treasure cache in a safe place like you said you would do with your earnings. I traveled to Solaria, made some acquaintances and acquired a good station. I suppose I made a name for myself. You know me as a scholar; I get my hands on anything I want to read. I came upon this one little story that possessed me. You will know more of this eventually. An outside party had a special interest in this story as well, and things became sort of a mess from there. I shan’t digress into those details, they will die with me.

Now this part is very important. Read carefully. The man who will deliver, or delivered, this letter to you was referred to by an associate of mine. My associate believes he is trustworthy, but you will have to find out for yourself. I have been told he is a well-trained fighter from some nomadic people called the Cron Suil.

Within Spire Canyon, from the southern entrance, walk along the right pass until it begins to wind back to join the left passageway. Along the curving rock wall there is a stone that looks as though it does not belong there. Buried beneath that stone is something that I want you to have because I consider you as a friend, perhaps the only real friend I ever had. It contains more details about the little story mentioned above and payment for the man who gave this letter to you. I apologize if all of this seems quite convoluted, but I am attempting to throw them off your trail to give you a head start. I ask of you this final favor as I pass from this plane, please do not fail me.


Best of luck, always look over your shoulder.


And may Jeytelh watch over you.


Signed,


The Bastard, Michael Lyk

71st Day of the 514th Year of Jeytelh’s Ride

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kaidman Lheyr Character Portrait: Yeron Reid Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Portia Latisse Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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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.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Seth Elijah Character Portrait: Vander Zalek Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Taro Zalek Character Portrait: Jolo Grossman
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[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose and Mr. Baneling Squishy]

96th Day

Protectorate City

Southwestern Edge


"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jolo asked.

"I'm going to need something for the journey. After all that I've been through, I need some protection."

Mox walked ahead of the ranger on their way to his forge. The weaponsmith trudged in tattered boots, still good for several forays into the desert. The city streets were much rougher in more ways than one could think. The ones leading to the district where he once called home were not quite finished. Rough and cracked.

The others were told to wait near the departure hangars, Mox and Jolo would only take a bit of time to find something useful.

As they reached the epicenter of the explosion that had cracked a hole in the city's wall, Jolo wandered toward the construction site. Repairs were underway as laborers and soldiers carried cut stone to fill the eyesore of a hole. The wall was the only thing that could have been considered perfect, it covered the shambles of a city known as Protectorate City.

Other guards stood watch, two attacks days apart from each other would have made the the City appear weak and defenseless.

They rounded a corner of markets where people milled about making the days' rounds. It was a busy intersection, smoke and fires billowing from the restaurants and the forges that had not been blown apart. Then they finally reached the spot where it all happened as Mox could recall. It looked different, his forge was a wreck. He thought he would find some squatters, or maybe in the six or so days he had been gone, someone else had moved into that little patch of the city to do business.

His hammer and anvil were gone, which meant thieves. This also meant that his items were at least of value for someone else to steal. That was one way Mox looked at it. The fire in the hearth that fueled his metal works was long put out, and he was sure that beggars had come along to sip the water from the slack tub. He wandered about among the pieces of metal that littered the ground. The bellows was gone, probably stolen by one of the nearby blacksmiths. Mox did not dare eye the other smiths who had their forges near his. None of them dared to oust a fellow smith for thievery, and they would say that it was his fault for not watching his station.

There was no home left for him, even the furnishings in the shed behind his hearth had been taken. They cleaned it out thoroughly. Mox scanned the wreckage before he spotted something that he thought could be useful.




Protectorate City

Vander's Ship


During his moment of peace during his time on the airship, Seth had been pondering about his life in general. Being an assassin was a pain in the ass sometimes, but then he remembered why he was doing this. Some kind of path that he couldn't go away. If he goes on his own way and reveal to the public where is his organisation, his head will be rolling on the ground in no times. However, he did find enjoyment in what he was doing: he wasn't bound to a single place to a single task. Killing may seem to be a single task on its own, but there was several ways to do it. Everything was plan from the beginning to the end. Dare he to set-up traps for everyone to fall in.

Seth moved towards the front of the upper deck which was giving a good view of the Protectorate City. From this perspective, it will be in minutes that they will arrive to destination. He wasn't so sure how the rest of the day will pass. One thing was sure; he'll have to kill Jolo some day. Or did he? It is his choice, after all. It was the five targets first, then him in extra. Seth wasn't a fool; he knew Jolo is a much harder target. First, there is little know about his whereabouts. Second and foremost, he knew how to protect himself. It would probably won't be the first time he is attacked by assassin. All came to one thing: if he wants to. He recall the being's specifically saying it was on his own demand.

Seth leaned forward on the railing. His elbows on it and his head on his hands. Whatever he was about to do today, he felt that it is going to be different from what he will expect.

As they docked, Vander had his men ready their weapons, and keep watch. He had a plan, and getting robbed wasn't part of it. Taro was making sure all the cargo they had picked up and decided to carry was secure.

As they approached the docks, various people were there to pick up the packages. They all had different proofs of purchases. Some had a special mark tattooed on their hand that marked a specific piece of cargo. Others had letters and documents. Some accounted for the contents inside, before Vander would open to confirm. For lack of better words, this was a proof of purchase. TO show they were in fact the owners of the cargo.

Once that was done, they would start selling the other pieces of cargo to various shop owners, get some supplies, make sure they were all set for the trip back. Technically, they already had ample supplies, but Vander preferred not to risk it. And a bribe of water was often as good as a bribe of gold. As he did this, Taro walked up next to Seth. "Some people think the desert looks the most beautiful in the morning, but me, I prefer the city view. Especially in the morning, when the sunlight highlights all the buildings. What is your preference?"

Seth shrugged lightly, looking back at Taro. "Neither of them sounds different to me. I prefer to see the market in the evening. It is fun to think how many people have stomped on these tiles, and how different they are from one to another." He would say.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Seth Elijah Character Portrait: Yeron Reid Character Portrait: Vander Zalek Character Portrait: Mox Ierba Character Portrait: Taro Zalek Character Portrait: Melio
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[Co-written with VindicatedPurpose, Dementedness, Redred33mer, conor]

96th Day

Protectorate City

Airship Docking


The group watched as an airship pulled into the hangar. They stood in the middle of a group of patiently waiting passengers on a departure platform several feet off the ground. Eian and Shari had their belongings bare to the rest of the travelers. Others could tell that they were itinerants, not city-dwellers.

Kaidman waited with the messengers and Jolo's friend, Yeron. There was a bit of a lull in this part of town, the excitement of the blast and seemingly random attacks on Protectorate City seemed to have calmed down in only a few days, but it was surely still a hot topic. The young swordsman looked at the messengers who only tagged along for the receiving of payment.

Portia stood in the back watching their conversation with interest. Her eyes shifted to each one of them from time to time before resting on Kaidman. There was something off about him, but that was nothing more than a feeling. She had seen him fight, was it luck? No man was ever lucky. He was hiding something. Yeron's presence, though, was unexpected, he was a possible threat to her plans. She scanned the platform for Melio, landing upon a drak who's face was covered beneath a wide brimmed hat.

He returned her gaze from his end as he was separated from her by a throng of passengers waiting to board. The gray-scaled Drak watched the group closely amid the crowd. He recognized the two desert walkers who were the messengers. He also spotted Jolo, who was supposed to be dead. The younger man was likely part of their entourage. The older man, he had the bearings of a ranger. He looked somewhat familiar. Where was Jolo?

"How much exactly are you looking for in compensation? If you had to put a number in bezants on it?" Kaidman asked.

"We were promised two hundred fifty," Shari spoke.

She was as candid as ever, her partner, Eian remained quiet.

"I'll remember that," Kaidman noted. He recalled their being an agreement that they would get a cut of the treasure, if it was real that is. And whatever may be hidden out in the desert could be worth much more. He'd rather not have his new friend, a weaponsmith with his forge just obliterated, be schemed out of a chance to recover well from his misfortune.

"It is quite a bit less than what the city was promising in exchange for bags full of bandit heads and hands," Eian added, "We were hoping we could sustain ourselves a bit and work some other odd jobs if we could not find the receiver of the letter."

"Your friend sounds like he's in a bit of trouble," Shari glanced at Kaidman.

"He was. I must question why he has been the target of an attack like this. Who did he know? And what was known by them? It seems someone went to considerable lengths to track messengers like you and try to assail you. This is while they were trying to kidnap Mox," he explained.

"We're just messengers, we know nothing of the politics that plague your friend," Eian replied in his tactiturn manner. He added nothing more to what he thought was a sufficient answer.

"What do you know?" Kaidman directed his question at Yeron.

"I honestly wish I could answer that for you. I've been out in the desert so long, and it's hard to get believable stories from people on their travels. I rushed back as soon as I got solid intel that the attacked had happened. Too late to do anything of course but I figure something like this Jolo could use another rifle around."

Yeron stroked his beard and gazed out into the distance.

"Something don't feel right though, yanno? Treasure in the middle of the desert, free, no strings attached treasure. Combine that with all the happenings recently it seems damn suspicious. Not that I mind, hell my ol' trigger finger was getting itchy anyway" finishing with a hearty chuckle and wink in Kaidman's direction.

"Yeah, well whoever's interested in our suffering is playing for the win. I cracked my ribs a few days ago taking a bullet in my armor, when I found Mox," Kaidman told the Ranger. "And they seem to have numbers, too."

"Damn, ribs are a painful one. Nasty bit of hurting in that."

"It's fine to have the numbers but it won't do a load of good if you've got the mental capacity of a headless Yakola."

Shari giggled, "I've seen those around, they make better meat than mounts."

Eian cleared his throat at her comment, "I don't believe that treasure is anywhere close to free."

"I agree, they're damn tasty." He replied to the young girl. "Well knowing our luck it probably won't, but time will tell what price has to be paid. If any."

Kaidman considered the situation for a moment before he said aloud, "I almost want to go myself, for fear of harm and loss of any one of you. We wouldn't want the few that have important pieces to this puzzle to be lost. But if I do go, I'm also afraid you may not hear from me again."

"Careful there, some of that is for us," Shari clipped.

"Shari," Eian cut in.

"No, 250 bezants worth is yours. You just said, and that's if it even exists," Kaidman answered sharply.

"I just wanna shoot some bandits."

"And that attitude will find you dead," Kaidman replied.

"Well I'm gonna die someday anyway, if I can go down making those sons o' bitches scream then i'll die happy. I hate bandits, they're scum."

"Yeah, and Jolo isn't too far off with his age. If he and you were to just drop dead that'd upset the Rangers as a whole mighty well. Ever hear the saying, 'live to fight another day?'" Kaidman responded to Yeron. He was getting restless just standing there and began to pace a little bit, looking around. He spotted a hooded woman and fixed his eyes upon her. It was the Ranger they were with yesterday.

"Sure I have, but there's a reason to my madness. I've seen things that will haunt me. I've put bullets through the skulls of men who were lucky to die so easy. It's hell out there, and I know you know it. But the only way I can do this day after day is if I go out with the expectation of not coming back. That way I don't have to worry about emotion effecting judgment. If I do come back in one piece then I count my lucky stars and go again tomorrow. It's a vicious cycle but if you go in with no expectations then nothing can go wrong."

There was a void in the conversation following the veteran's words. Numerous other mouths speaking in various corners of the hangar filled the lull.

"Portia, is it?" Kaidman called, trying to remember her name.

"Coming to join the party?" Her stance was questionable, as it seemed she had been standing there for a bit. The fact made him uneasy; she had no reason to stay back like that, and she had left the previous night for a rather guessable reason.
Yeron leaned against a wall. Maybe Kaidman wouldn't understand but hell everyone has their own way of coping. He snapped out when Kaidman began talking to Portia.

"Ha, tell you what. I ain't seen a soul better with a blade than Portia. She'll gut a man before he even realizes what's happened. I'm glad she's a ranger, otherwise I might just have nightmares of her roaming the desert for the other side" he chuckled once more carrying a smile that would light up anyone's day.

Portia eyed the warrior closely, she remained aloof of their conversation, but her ear was interested in what they had to say. She smiled a modest smile in reply to Yeron's comment about her blade work before she turned to Kaidman, "Don't let me stop you."
Kaidman considered her words. What exactly did she mean by that?

"I have nowhere to go to be stopped. A possible few bandits doesn't mean very much to me," he stated plainly. "What makes you think you're in my way?"

Her lips remained closed as Mox and Jolo rejoined them.

Jolo puffed away with a cigar tucked to the side of his mouth, Mox was in tow gripping a long slab of bladed metal that he had retrieved from his forge. It was the only useful thing that still remained, valueless, but still useful. He could hack a bandit in half with it if he wanted to. It was wrapped up in bands of fabric that he found strewn on the ground. If he had the time, he would have shaped it into smoother steel with which to protect himself with. The two of them emerged from the crowd to join the others already waiting for them.

"Did you all get along while we were gone?" Jolo asked.

To which Kaidman simply ignored the question, continuing to stare at the figure that kept itself mysterious. He chose to ignore Yeron's comments as well, as he was a more foolhardy individual. On some level, you had to be to be a Ranger, but Yeron's overt headstrong nature was excessive to the point of being careless. It's why he went to Jolo rather than Yeron first if there was a problem among the sands.




The group was at the van of the passengers onboard the platform. Jolo spotted a ship captain as he was ordering his crew mates to unload supplies from his ship.

"Excuse me sir, are you headed to Spire Canyon by any chance?"

The man turned to Jolo, "Spire Canyon? No sir, we're headed east."

Jolo nodded his head at the man's reply, Spire Canyon was west. Jolo rejoined the group as they searched for an available ship.

"Jolo, do we really need an airship to get out to Spire Canyon? It's at most three days of walking, if you only do ten miles a day that is," Kaidman complained. He wasn't one for getting tangled in the mess of civilization's organized chaos, though he admired it. Societies made things possible which were not possible before.

"Is it now? That's three days of non-stop walkin'. We could probably get there in a day and be back in two."

The old ranger paused, rubbing his beard, which had since the ninetieth, regrown. He had not the time to condition his facial hair, but such was the life of a ranger.

"But somethin' tells me that we might not be headin' back," Jolo swung a look at Kaidman, "Call it a gut feelin' kid. 'Sides, I'm sure you've never flown befo'."

Taro overheard the man, as he was dealing with a delivery. Some letters to various people, some tried to kept their faces hidden but did it poorly, and one of the letters seemed to cause some stir among the person who got it. Taro couldn't tell if it was good news or bad. He did know however, that he and Vander were going past Spire Canyon.

Kaidman followed along before having the chance to ask, "Jolo, you're talking as if you're getting to old for this stuff. I don't mean to be rude, but maybe you should skip out on this adventure. I can get to Spire Canyon and back without an issue, and if something went wrong, you'd know." The young swordsman looked at Jolo, his brow furrowed; his friend had been a Ranger, a self-perpetuating entity, for at least as long as Kaidman had been alive. Perhaps Jolo was getting too old.

Jolo took another puff from the still lit cig; he learned to sustain them for quite a bit longer than most smokers. Even if he barely smoked as much as most smokers. He considered Kaidman's points carefully, or appeared as though he were.

"Sounds like you're the one callin' me old, but don't worry I'm not that old. We're goin' along because I think that treasure has a trail to it. Seems a bit coincidental that bandits kidnap that boy yonder," Jolo jabbed a thumb back at Mox, who was with the rest of the group, "Then we return to the city, where he receives a letter and death threats aimed at keepin' him away from some supposed treasure. It's what I do. So help me find a ship."

"Maybe I can help?" Taro asked, walking over to them. "My father is the Captain of the 'Morning's Light,' and we are headed that way, if I heard you right and you're headed toward Spire Canyon. It happens to be on our route, not even a detour. Good prices."

Taro made it sound genuine, but Vander had told him at least some of that phrasing. Just to be safe. Taro might be a good shot for his age, but he was only average with words. Vander was typically better at it. "Our ship is right this way, if you want to see for yourself".

As Jolo heard the boy, his gaze shifted to Kaidman, who shrugged at the mention of boarding the ship called Morning's Light, before he returned to the boy. A smile slowly formed on his lips, "Well, lead the way then, young man."

Jolo gestured with a head nod at the others to follow. Mox, Portia, Yeron, and the two messengers joined them.

Melio watched from afar, he remained a spy in the backdrop of the crowded hangar. He watched the group board the ship that was known as Morning's Light. He eyed the contours of the ship and the little details that separated it from the others in that hangar. He made a note of remembering the little boy's face. After he had seen all that he needed to see, he turned his gaze toward Portia. She replied with a batting of her eyelashes. He smiled and turned a corner, departing from the platforms.

Yeron kept quiet about the whole situation, he never liked flying. Suspended high up above the desert on a flimsy platform just didn't appeal to him for some crazy reason. Still, he remained silent and followed along. The whole idea of this trip felt off. Even here now in the airship platform he felt an uneasiness. The years of training kicked in and his eyes jumped from person to person. He peered into every dark corner as he passed. All the while clutching at the rifle he had slung on his shoulder. At least in the desert the bandits had few places to actually hide, here someone could disappear in the blink of an eye. Something shady folk tended to do when rangers were about.

"Oh," Kaidman interjected, "did I mention that cavemen usually don't carry money with them?" In a way, he felt guilty, for he needed to rely on others because he could not pay the fee himself.

Mox overheard Kaidman, "He's not the only one."

Jolo turned to look at the two younger men, he shook his head and smiled, "Freeloaders."

"Well, it's a trading ship, so you can use cargo as barter if needs be," he noted as he led them toward the ship. It wasn't uncommon for trading vessels to accept cargo as payment. And it was usually a lot easier. The value of money altered itself on where you were. Cargo did not vary as much.

"We have plenty of room, so you don't need to worry about space".

“How much would it cost to take us to Spire Canyon?” Jolo asked.

Just Spire canyon, Mox wondered about the return trip. Will there be a return trip?

Taro told them the price. It was more then land transport, but reasonable for airship prices. Plus, Airships would be safer then traveling on the ground. And if anyone took a good look, they would see that they had plenty of cargo room because their airship had a large cargo hold.

As the discussion goes on outside of his cabin, the assassin showed the tip of his nose to the sun. He was leaning against a shadowed wall, trying to eavesdrop into the discussion. 'Spire Canyon, hm?' He thought to himself, walking towards outside of the small room. He watched the group of misfits, a small smirk on his face, but his gaze quickly met with Jolo's figure. He blinked once, twice before realising his luck. He looked around. Too many witnesses with very little openings. He shrugged; he had time. Nonchalantly, the man walked towards the group, approaching Jolo.

Mox saw that the Boy ran ahead, probably to alert the owner of the ship. He wondered what a kid was doing in the hangars. The others, Portia, Eian, and Shari went along ahead of him.

"Alright move along," Jolo watched the group merge into the crowd of the airship's departing passengers.

He shook his head at Yeron, "Like herding Grelbs."

"Jolo!" Seth called out as he approached. "I need to talk to you," his eyes then swept over to the other people before coming back to the man he was talking to, "And in private. It'll take only a few seconds."

"Do I know you?" Jolo's eyes narrowed at the stranger dressed in a tatter of scarves.

He snickered a bit, resting a hand on his hips. "Well, no, of course you don't." He shrugged. "Workin' under some Claude person. Look, I'm not here to cause trouble. If you really want, I can leave my belongings to your group if you really want to make it safe."

The old ranger eyed the stranger, he was an odd fellow. Jolo brushed him off and continued.

Seth shrugged. "Oh well, a ranger like you probably already heard of drakyvarians wanting your head on a diner plate, so I'll pass my turn." He would say, turning away before bidding a farewell to Taro and Vander walking away, outside of the ship.
Jolo paused in his tracks as he heard this, he turned to glance at the fellow who had his back turned toward Jolo as he walked away. The ranger dismissed his words, but anybody who had lived as long as he did, especially in the manner that he lived, would have taken any words from a stranger as more than what they were. Prudence was demanded.

The cargo was tucked away and the passengers were assigned whatever quarters to sleep in. Vander told everyone the rules of the ship.

"No shooting each other, no explosives, play nice, no stealing. I keep a tight watch over the cargo, and trust me, we will know and we will find you. We will employ the utmost safety and security. Please remember to not hog supplies either. Those that are on this ship are also closely watched."