Book 3: Chapters 16-20 [Edited]

Chapter 16 - Al-Lazar

Why do we regain our essence, our well of energy, our inner Mana, more rapidly when we rest? The time when consciousness fades and we walk upon the land of the dream.

And why is it that the most intellectually capable of us are able to command greater reserves of arcane power? Is it because of rote practice, technique, or a deeper understanding of our element that allows us to perform greater feats of magic, like the writings of the ancients suggest?

Perhaps it is both. Perhaps it is neither, and our capacity for mastery of the arcane is decided at birth. Some of my peers posit it is because only a greater intellect can ponder, can visualize, the higher truth of the universe. To understand concepts that go beyond mere space and time and to touch, in a limited way, the face of the divine.

I have heard some argue that it is only when we are free from conscious thought that we can allow our minds to fly unshackled from the misguided preconceptions of things that we view as real. And in doing so, we allow for a greater connection to the world, and to god-gift Mana itself.

Perhaps, it is in the land of the dreams that the answers to the greater mysteries of this universe can be found.

- Notes found in the quarters of Master Bertrand of the University of Quas.

By their blessing, or perhaps they were simply distracted, the other gods of this world did not turn their eyes upon us. As for Iasis, though I never gave the words of the gods much weight, it seemed that she had kept her promise. There were no further attacks by the great Guardians, nor any other monster or savage desert tribes. The rest of the journey was blessedly uneventful. What would the people of the Ravens and the Crows think if they knew that it was the blessing of a very different goddess that had guaranteed their safety?

Time passed, a slow inexorable advance as one day bled into the next. Not counting the nearly incessant nagging, the only constants were the pervasive heat of the day and the icy chill of the desert night.

Like Elwin, and now the rest of my companions, I had taken to wearing the flowing clothes of the desert over my armor. This fusion of attire conjured images of the crusaders in the Palestine, a blend of medieval European armor with the traditional desert garb. It did somewhat help to mitigate some of the heat and cold, but then again with my high Constitution, the boiling heat of the sun and the freezing night were minor discomforts at worst. If anything, I did it for the simple human need to just fit in.

For nearly two whole moons, we traveled along the Green Road. I had spent all of that time throwing myself at physical tasks like cutting obstinate proto-trees that even the Xaruar had difficulty removing from the path.

On a day much like any other, a wagon wheel snapped and broke. Wishing to test my Strength, I dug my heels into the soft sand and tried to lift the vehicle before it overturned. Kidu, trying to be helpful, or perhaps viewing this as a sort of challenge, rushed to my aid. We both strained together in a weird sort of contest. For our Herculanean effort, I earned a point in Strength, a growing rarity, as the numbers got higher.

I had even taken to playing games with the children. Not that I enjoyed their company, but it gave me an excuse to practice the use of my Stealth skill as we played this world’s variant of hide-and-seek. They were even able to persuade me to shed my armor as, no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to garner even a modicum of stealth when clad in a suit of steel.

Thanks to these fun and games, I was able to raise my Stealth skill to level two. Though by no means a ghost in the night, I was learning to move with a certain economy of movement that lent me a quieter stride. It was progress.

It was with a little regret that one of the children had gone missing, and we were only able to find his shriveled corpse inside a monstrous large pitcher plant analog. Desi was his name, and he was perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed, but his passing cast a pall on further games. The funeral was a rushed affair, no doubt due to Laes wanting to reach Al-lazar as soon as possible. At times the man had no respect for common human decency.

Across the evening meals, I heard the tale of the worm riders, of how my companions rode one of the great Guardians. With every retelling, the tale gradually grew with embellishments until now it was a thing of living legend.

Up until the present, the people of the Ravens thought, in their ignorance, that the Guardians breathed the sand as if it were air. However, Kidu had doubted this, thinking that the worms of the desert were like the whales and porpoises of the frozen seas of his home. The Hunter intuited that the Guardians breathed air and not sand, and in a stroke of natural genius, he forced one of the spiracles open with his spear. These organs, the holes running along the sides of the monster, were what the creature used to breathe. Like the blowholes of the cetaceans on Earth, it needed to close them before burrowing beneath the sand. Unable to dive beneath the dunes, the Guardian was forced to travel across the surface, until finally, exhausted, it stilled, allowing my companions to dismount safely.

There were now other variations of the tale. One such divergence was that it was Kidu himself and his great bulk that kept the spiracle open. Yet another was that Cordelia prayed to Avaria, and the Goddess herself interceded. It was interesting to see the truth so easily twisted in such a short span of time.

*

The mist would often form along the river in the early hours of the morning, making the line of vehicles ahead of our wagon look like ghosts. The only substance they had to them was their sound, calls that echoed far. The movement of the caravan was, by far, not a quiet affair.

It was on one such morning that I was gifted with my first vision of the great city of Al-Lazar. There, in the far distance, I mistook it for a heatwave or a mirage, but a glint of gold flashed. Next to this flash, was a thin line of iron gray, the Blister Sea as I was told. That sparkle of gold was the Dome of Becoming, the tallest monument in the city of Dust, according to Laes and the other people of the Raven.

Now Laes, despite my doubts, had been true to his word. He had paid me the agreed upon silver every month. Half of which, however, went to sundry costs. But with the city so near now, those accounts would soon be closed.

The city in the distance also represented freedom, an escape from chains. And an escape from the incessant nagging that had been plaguing me of late. When had Catalina turned into such a fishwife?

When she was not complaining, she was generally pleasant company, but any further entanglement presented only a series of problems. I tried to imagine a life with her, and simply could not do it. The relationship had, unfortunately, run its course. Also, the single mothers of this world, like in my old one, had their fair share of problems that, quite frankly, I did not wish to deal with any longer. I wanted to see more of this world, and the last thing I needed was a premade family to hold me back.

Though how I would be able to bid farewell without causing a scene would be another matter. I would lose too much face if I left in the middle of the night… Perhaps it would be better to discuss things with Laes, nip this problem in the bud as it were.

Laes would make a killing on this trip, exchanging his goods for the rare commodity that was the Dust. More importantly, he could probably leverage some of the information from the outside world to gain favors within the city. I would have to make sure that he did not mention me or my companions to any relevant parties that might be interested. It called for a pointed discussion, a very pointed discussion.

Our destination was so close at hand, that I felt, keenly, the urge to pad my purse with more money. There was no longer a need to lose on purpose when gambling, for I was no longer trying to milk the games for Luck gains. Instead, I began to win steadily, but not at a rate that I could be accused of rigging or cheating. Indeed, it would have taken a brave man to put forth such an accusation. Still, there was no point in killing the golden goose.

While I kept playing out simulations of betrayal, I also made sure to plan for the future. Here and there, I pumped the people of the Raven for all they knew of the city, and most of them were happy to tell me what I wanted.

The city’s governance, in comparison to the rest of the world, was, in my opinion, a little different from the standard I had come to expect. Al-Lazar was controlled, essentially, by a group of companies who exerted control and influence over the politics of the city. These organizations in turn could vote on various edicts and policies of the city. Members of such companies were called Shareholders, as they shared directly in the vast profits of the companies. They were essentially the lords and ladies of the city, just under different names. There was no corporate meritocracy here, as power was handed down through familial lines.

However, it hardly mattered, as even an incompetent person could reap the vast profits that were made from the annual harvest of the Dust. Despite the natural barriers of the Wastes, and the ongoing siege by sea, trade groups and caravans still found their way here to deal in the most precious of substances.

Approximately three hundred miles or so to the north was the port town of Narilmu. There, a trickle of trade came in by sea from those willing to brave sporadic raids from the Mer and was supplemented by another overland trade route from the North. These trade groups would then make the rest of the way south to the city of Al-Lazar, hiring adventurers or mercenaries for their escort. It was a far cry from the trading heyday of Al-Lazar before their war with the people of the sea, but it was a lifeline nonetheless.

What was worrying was the strong presence of the Church of Her Divine Radiance, the followers of the hateful Avaria, in the port town. If She had followers in the region, it represented a potential threat. I learned from Cordelia that, banned in Al-Lazar, they instead ran a collection of almshouses, orphanages, hospitals, and other charitable works in Narilmu.

It was a well-known fact that the majority of the dock workers, porters, and general laborers were of Aranthian stock or devout followers of the Church. All of this gave the Church great influence in Narilmu, and indirectly Al-Lazar itself. I decided it would be best to avoid the place as much as possible.

From Abas Yar, I learned that the land route to the north was as perilous as crossing the Whispering Wastes. Further north, you could travel until the desert became a jungle. Through this primordial jungle was a road made in ancient times from large blocks of white marble stone. You would think that this would be a safe thing to travel, but green skins had made their homes in the jungle. Barbaric tribes and clans of Orcs and Goblins fought each other under the dark canopies of the trees. The savages often fought each other as much as they attacked the merchant caravans.

Of some note, the Ravens and the Crows would be stopping at Narilmu before traveling this route.

Al-Lazar was ostensibly a city at war and under economic siege, its sea routes blockaded by the Mer. However, between the Adventurer’s and Mercenary Guilds' strong presence within the city, along with their private armies, the city was well defended. Between the city of Narilmu, and the other overland routes, and despite the dangers of those routes, the city was well supplied.

Indeed, the raids of the Mer had long ago been relegated to minor nuisances, as the war, for the most part, prevented marine travel into the city. Indeed there had been talk of suing for peace, but this had been vetoed at every turn. There were rumors that many of the guilds of the city did not wish for peace and that the current status quo served them well.

There was also talk of a tournament that would soon be held in the city, and this certainly piqued my interest. These sorts of events in games were always fun and were a good way to raise one’s influence and earn rich rewards. Looking at my companions, I was pretty sure that even if I could not win it, perhaps one of them could.

Sitting high in my saddle, I saw a group of horsemen, coming from the direction of Al-Lazar. Laes seemed unusually calm, relieved almost, as if he had been expecting them. Was this the moment he had been waiting for? He would be the first to fall, if he was planning treachery.

Chapter 17 - A Sticky Situation

Death is but a path that we must all walk to its inevitable conclusion.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

At a distance, where the human eye could still discern shape, walls of yellow sandstone rose against a backdrop of an iron gray sea. Before me was my journey’s goal, the fabled city of Al-Lazar and the symbol of my freedom. A symbol of a new life.

The horsemen from yesterday were soldiers of the city of the Dust, sent to escort and guide us there. According to them, the frequency of Mer sightings in recent days had increased, a prelude to a new period of conflict.

Our new escorts, for the most part, all bore uniform equipment. Each of them had a lance or lengthy spear, a bundle of jarids, and a long curved blade that was typical of cavalry. Their armor was notable. The fronts and backs of the soldiers were guarded by large, solid discs, connected by chain links of iron or steel. Around their open-faced helms, they wore keffiyehs checkered in black and white. They all had a disciplined and professional air about them. Yet, a closer inspection revealed something amiss, their gazes were oddly unfocused, eyes slightly glazed, betraying a subtle disconnect from their surroundings.

Laes offered them the hospitality of the camp, which they surprisingly rejected, instead preferring to set themselves a hundred yards away from us. It seemed that they were serious about their business.

We would arrive in the city tomorrow, or the day after, by my own rough guess. Preparing my things as best as I could, I was surprised when a young boy, obsequious in his manner, gave me a summons to Laes’ wagon. Interrupted, I could not help a small spark of annoyance light up in my gut, a spark I soon smothered with a smile. I informed the boy that I would be in the caravan master’s company shortly.

Something told me, a gut instinct perhaps, that I should not go to the caravan master alone. I looked over the current occupants of the wagon, looking for the perfect escort. Kidu was whittling away at a small block of wood, unlocking the secret shape it had hidden within. I did not take him for the artistic type, but then again everyone needs a hobby to while away the time. Kidu would be too imposing, more likely to threaten violence than settle for negotiation. Searching inside of myself, I did not have the reserves of patience to restrain him. In truth, I needed someone to act as a possible restraint on my own actions, a calm head, as you will.

As for Elwin, he was busy mixing and grinding away to make a paste, with the help of Larynda. What he was making eluded me, and several attempts at Identify just gave me the name of the various ingredients in the mixture. If I wanted to know the name of whatever it was he was making, I would have to ask him or wait for him to finish. I decided to wait. He was busy, and I doubted that Laes, or anyone in the caravan really, held him in high regard. His words would be as wind.

Larynda of course, charming as she could be at times, was, of course, off the table. That left Cordelia, the Temple Knight who was currently saying evening prayers to a faraway Goddess. Cordelia would be perfect. Her piety and holiness held great sway here among the believers, notwithstanding her own social rank and station. She would also act as a ward against my baser impulses, but at the same time, strong enough to back me in the worst of possible situations.

I found her outside of her wagon, on her knees, her eyes shut in devotion. She was imploring her Goddess for guidance, a deep need etched in every word. It was a prayer, perhaps, or maybe a hymn, flowing from her in a melodic rhythm, her lilting voice weaving a tapestry of sound that was hauntingly beautiful. Once she finished, she brushed the grass off her clothes, a few stubborn blades remaining, despite her efforts.

She greeted me with her beatific smile, an expression that was so serene that it gave a measure of solace to my heart. Sure in my choice, I informed her that Laes requested my company and that I wished for her to join me. Unarmored, she accepted with a simple nod of her head, slinging on her magic longsword. Unlike Kidu, her strength was understated. I finally understood why people hired female bodyguards.

Together we made our way through the camp to Laes’ wagon, finding Laes at his bolted-down desk and a grim-faced Khalam hovering beside him. Once again, my eyes were drawn to the pair of delicate swords hanging over some large horns, before I focused on the pair before me.

“Greetings Master Gilgamesh, I hope I did not unduly disturb you,” started the caravan master in a neutral voice. “We will arrive at our destination soon, my obligation to Master Alchemist Hamsa fulfilled. Now there are two matters we must see to,” he continued, running a hand through a length of knotted cord, the knots a tally and ledger.

“First, the last of your pay. I have included a little bonus for services rendered. It is, of course, much appreciated. Were it not for your company, our fates might have been different,” said the horse-faced man, his ugly face looking to Khalam for comment as he placed a small cloth purse on his desk.

Khalam's face was all hard lines and tension, but still, he gave a grudging nod. Without me, Laes and his people would have been doomed. However, an argument could be made that it was because of me and my little package that the Ravens had been in danger in the first place, but I digress. Internally quibbling over minutiae never amounted to anything.

I reached over to take my well-deserved pay, placing it into my tough satchel made of boiled leather plates. Reading the room, I decided it would be rude if I did not count out the money.

“Khalam has brought to my attention another matter that needs to be settled before you leave us,” added Laes, lines of worry adding their presence to his already uncomely appearance. “The matter of your… relationship with one of our recently widowed, Catalina Kalkassin.

I kept an impassive expression on my face, hoping that the fool would get on with whatever accusation that he was going to make.

“I do not like to get involved with people’s private matters, much less a man who is obviously watched over by the Goddess herself, but there are matters of propriety that must be observed,” fussed the Caravan matter.

“Your point being?” I almost bared in annoyance, breaking my stony facade. I had gotten what I wanted and now just wished to make an exit as soon as was feasibly possible.

“You may not know our ways outlander, but for a man to lie with a woman whose husband has passed this mortal coil is a statement that he is willing to take responsibility. It is a heavy honor and duty,” cut in Khalam, breaking his silence.

“I was not aware…” I began, only to be interrupted by the irate Guard Master.

“You were not aware!” seethed the older man, his hands clenching into fists.

“Indeed, I was not,” I half-shouted, the only way I could get a word in.

Did Catalina know all along, that I had no knowledge of this custom, this foisting of responsibility after a simple tumble? Paranoid thoughts rushed through a mind that was searching for past hints. Had she been in cahoots with Laes all along? Had Laes been whoring her out to keep a useful asset with the Ravens? My mind whipped through various tangents, even considering a strange plot with Gelgor, the master of the Crows. Had my dreams been prophetic in nature?

“Will you do the honorable thing Master Gilgamesh? She is a mother with a young child,” said Laes, his voice calm and level.

It was clear to me then what their goal was, they wanted me to marry the woman. For me, she was nothing more than a bedwarmer, something to keep the otherwise tiresome journey interesting. I justified it as a transactional relationship, after all, she did owe me her life. The least she could do was spread her legs every now and again, and it was not like she did not enjoy the experience herself. It takes two to tango, or perhaps she was just a better actress than I gave her credit for.

It would serve me well to remember that in this world, general attitudes were far more conservative, extremely so, than they had been in my more advanced and civilized society. So backward were these barbarians.

But even this small pleasure had been tempered somewhat by her incessant nagging that I had completely ignored. Nagging that had increased as we got closer to our destination.

“Let me make this clear to the pair of you, I have no intent of marrying the woman. Nor did I seduce the woman, I was invited,” I stated matter-of-factly.

Sighing to himself as if he had been expecting it, Laes steepled his fingers before giving out his secondary plan. “Then you will need to pay her bride price, is it the least you can do. Understand, that as Master here I must maintain my authority, even in the face of Divine providence.

“Divine providence you say? That is rich coming from a man who would seek to shackle and control the Herald of the Goddess herself. Know your place,” voiced Cordelia with a saint’s patience and authority.

“You would dare!? You owe your life to Laes’ grace, temple witch,” spat out Khalam, the old man’s face heating with emotion.

“A temple witch, you say? Perhaps, if a Knight of the Penitent Heart can be one. But you would do well to remember that I am also the daughter of Duke Everard de Aserac. Your words could be taken not only as a direct insult to myself, but as an insult to my house and the Duke himself, ” she replied quietly, like a teacher dealing with a fractious child.

As far as I was concerned, this was all theater. The Ravens could not force my hand. They lacked the power to back up their demands. Still, a part of me wished to salvage the situation. We had, in the end, been traveling companions and it would do me no good if we ended up on bad terms. I sensed that Khalam was being overly emotional for some reason, there was more to this than met the eye. Laes, on the other hand, might be more sympathetic to my predicament.

Cordelia however decided to go on the offensive.

“You speak of bride price?” she snorted, giving out a weak derisive laugh. “I speak often with the women of the Ravens. It is a well-known fact that she boasts of receiving a good deal of money from the Herald, in his charity,” she paused for a moment, before delivering the final blow. “I daresay, I was not raised in rough company, but what is it that you call a woman who receives money from a man who visits her at night? And what would the bride price be of such a woman?” she finished lightly with a provocative smile.

Until that moment, I did not believe the human face could reach such heights of barely repressed confusion, outrage, and outright anger. It was quite the picture painted on the old warrior’s expression, and I saw his hand reach for the weapon at his hip. If he wanted violence, he was more than welcome to come at me. I would end him as I had ended all that had attacked me.

Laes, on the other hand, looked completely nonplussed, an expression that he quickly covered in the next two breaths. He was a professional, this one. A merchant through and through. The man probably thought this not as an insult, but instead a negotiation and bargaining tactic.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, before looking me straight in the eye. “Then what would you have me do, Master Gilgamesh?” he inquired with a forlorn sigh.

“Laes, you can’t possibly…” started Khalam again childishly, his words and immature action throughout this whole exchange belying his advancing years.

“What would you have me do?” he asked again softly, completely ignoring his second.

“I will not let it be said that I am an unkind man. True, it is partly my fault that I was ignorant of your ways. Still, it could also be said that she seduced me,” I paused for a beat, trying to search their faces for clues. Laes gave away nothing.

“I will give the poor lady, in my charity, some money. Let me make this clear, however, this will not be the bride price,” I suggested, hoping that I did not sound overly pompous.

This option afforded me a way out of this mess. A mess that my innocent ignorance had birthed. My suggestion allowed for Laes to save face. It also meant that I could keep relationships with the Ravens neutral at least, at the cost of some coin.

In all choices it seemed, however, there was a price.

Chapter 18 - Sweet Sorrow

It is always hard for those who stand on the right side of the events of history. It is a heavy mantle that I have no joy in bearing.

- Gilgamesh of Uruk.

The new day’s sun brought soft pastel colors that would later fade to a strict uniform azure. This close to the iron gray ocean, the wind brought with it the first hints of a salty tang, notes of the sea. The Green Road, that oddly spear-straight river, finished as strangely as it had begun. Its waters disappeared into a pool ringed by high prehistoric horsetails. At the base of these plants was thick thorny briar that writhed with alien and jealous intent, forming a natural wall that prevented all from entering. The end of the Green Road marked the end of my time with the people of Ravens.

Tomorrow would be a time for farewells, but also new beginnings. A new chapter of my adventures, yet unwritten.

Our camp was set up a mere stone's throw from the city's walls, just outside the main gates. Our mounted escort had told us of new tariffs and certain new forms that needed to be filled in before they headed back into the city. Before they left, the guards offered to expedite the process for a fee, pointedly warning him that outside the walls was not safe. However, Laes, in his miserly stubbornness, did not want to enter the city with the train until he had confirmed the truth of these new changes.

To the north of us, extensive, irrigated crop fields stretched out, the breadbasket of the city. There, numerous workers, donning wide-brimmed hats to shield themselves from the sun's harsh glare, labored diligently. I assumed them to be free men, for I had yet to see or hear the slaver’s lash. Al-Lazar was a city, after all, that prided itself on being a “free city.” Surrounding the fields was a natural barricade of large rocks, hardy plants, and trees, which served to keep the encroaching desert sands at bay.

Across the beaches, was a very different sort of agriculture. Great flowering vines that looked like the green tentacles of a giant slumbering sea creature wove their way across the bleach bone sand, creating a vivid tapestry of color and life amidst the sand and sea. Among the plants, workers toiled with a manic frenzy, harvesting the flowers into large baskets. These were the famous Dust fields of the Al-Lazar, the primary source of the city’s wealth. The source of the narcotic Dust.

Encircling the city itself were towering walls, constructed from thick, heavy blocks of yellow sandstone. The men patrolling atop these fortifications, clad in bronze and iron armor, moved in perfect lockstep behind the crenelated battlements. Strategically placed along the walls were machicolations, sinister structures designed to let defenders rain down a variety of deadly materials onto the attackers below. Portions of the battlements were covered, sheltering what must have been ballistae, their fearsome spear bolts leaning over the walls with deadly promise. Parts of other siege engines, like the arms of catapults or trebuchets, peaked over strategic sections of the wall. High and formidable towers, like fortified minarets, stood at the corners, overseeing and completing the city's imposing defensive structure.

Rising above even the high walls of the city, a magnificent dome was visible, its gold plating reflecting the sun's rays with a resplendent brilliance. This was the renowned Puhru Bitu, the Council Chambers, or the Dome of Becoming, and it was the seat of power for the Shareholder families, as well as the heart of governance in the city.

A short distance from the eastern wall, I witnessed a scene most unusual unfold before my very eyes. A small group of cavalry was riding hard.

In the midst of their ranks, was a figure astride a creature that could only be described as gracefully monstrous. At least a head taller than the horses, this six-limbed lizard ran with a fluid, loping gait. It propelled itself on four of its limbs, while the front pair had three sickle claws each that seemed capable of effortlessly tearing through both flesh and bone. The creature's head and long tail boasted a striking display of feathers and plumes, all shimmering in shades of purple and red, loosely reminiscent of the velociraptors of Earth’s ancient past.

The small contingent of mounted soldiers appeared to be herding a group of odd, pearly blue humanoids, twenty strong, toward the sea. The soldiers of the city were not all riding ordinary mounts.

No, they were harrying them, I realized, as they hurled spears at the retreating figures. They cut across the Dust fields, as the cavalry, barely sparing the panicked workers any attention, almost ran them down in their chase of the strangely colored men. Unable to navigate a path through the large vines, a horse gave out a shrill whinny as it tripped and fell, tossing its rider to the carpeted ground.

In a desperate move, one of the green creatures tossed an odd device at the horsemen, which exploded into a burst of translucent slime, impeding their pursuit. Seizing this opportunity, the pursued group, instead of continuing along the white sands of the beach, started to wade into the iron-gray sea before disappearing beneath the waves.

The cavalry, once they extricated themselves from the slime, raised their weapons and gave out ululating cries that celebrated their victory. Their mission accomplished, they picked up their fallen companion, euthanized his horse, and began their ride back to the city.

If I was not mistaken, and from the descriptions I had heard from the Ravens, the people or creatures that had retreated into the sea were the Mer, a party of them sent to scout out the surface-dweller’s realm.

The people of the sea often initiated their assaults with probing missions, much like the one I had witnessed, setting the stage for a larger attack. A massive, amphibious onslaught aimed at capturing the city. Vast numbers of the sea-dwellers, along with their formidable war beasts of the deeps, would emerge from the ocean depths, launching themselves at the city walls in a frenzied, often suicidal, attack. These ferocious assaults were typically repelled through the combined efforts of the city's defenders, bolstered by the hired hands of the Adventurer's and Mercenary's Guild. Despite these defenses, the city walls had once been breached, leading to intense, bloody combat within the city itself. This harrowing incident spurred the city-state's governing body into action, prompting them to strengthen and modernize their fortifications in an immense public works project.

Were we safe, outside the city walls? True, the defenders of the city had made short work of the rather pathetic scouting party of the Mer, but still, I could not help but feel that the caravan was taking unnecessary risks. By the looks of things, we were the first of the trading groups to cross the desert and should have been more than welcome in the city. Surely, the man could have used that to his advantage? Perhaps, this was another tactic of Laes to influence the price of his goods one way or another. However, my concerns for the caravan would soon be neither here nor there.

Yesterday, I finally negotiated through a potentially rather messy situation. It revealed to me, like some Eastern cultures of my old world, that theirs was, at its core, a very transactional one. It was a little off-putting, barbaric almost, but also had a stark simplicity that did away with a lot of meaningless nonsense.

One gold was a simple, and relatively small amount of money, all things considered, for services rendered. It would mean that I would not be leaving enemies behind.

*

Lying on a hard bed, with barely enough space for two, I stared up at the wooden ceiling of Catalina’s wagon, the legacy of her late husband. Light began to filter in through the gaps of the heavy shutters, telling me that a new day was now upon me. Putting off what I knew I must do, I took a moment to review my current Status.

[STATUS] Calling: Gilgamesh lvl.13 Paladin/Reaver

Strength: 29

Dexterity: 26

Constitution: 43

Intelligence: 25

Wisdom: 22

Charisma: 14

Luck: 23

Entropic Mimic [Creature of Entropy - lvl.24]

Health: 474/474

Stamina: 60/60

Mana: 1/1

Adaptive Defense (lvl.2)

Shield Form (lvl.2)

SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES

Pain Nullification (lvl.3)

Power Strike (lvl.4) 10

Endure (lvl.5)

Stealth (lvl.2)

Rest (lvl.4)

Backstab (lvl.2)

Dodge (lvl.3)

Polearms (lvl.3)

Dual Wield (lvl.2)

Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.4)

Improved Unarmed Combat (lvl.1)

Hammers (lvl.3)

Flails (lvl.3)

Maces (lvl.3)

Shields (lvl.3)

Medium Armor (lvl.4)

Improved Heavy Armor (lvl.1)

Axes (lvl.2)

Daggers (lvl.4)

Throwing Weapons (lvl.2)

Double Throw (lvl.1) 5

Shield Bash (lvl.2) 10

Riding (lvl.2)

Dash (lvl.1)

Swords (lvl.3)

Crossbows (lvl.4)

Blind-Fighting (lvl.2)

Rush Strike (lvl.1)

Tracking (lvl.1)

Trap Detection (lvl.1)

Frenzied Strikes (lvl.2)

Monster Taming (lvl.1)

SPELLS & MAGIC

Heal (lvl.5) 5

Rust (lvl.4) 2

Identify (lvl.4) 1

Silent Casting (lvl.2)

Mana Regeneration (lvl.3)

Purify (lvl.2) 3

Greater Heal (lvl.2) 10

Holy Aura (lvl.3) 2

Decay (lvl.1) 1

Drain (lvl.5) 2

Entropic Aura (lvl.3) 2

Inferno Bolts (lvl.2) 2

GIFTS

Curse of Entropy -20% to all starting attributes.

Mark of the Paladin 10% resistance to Dark/Holy magic, 5% resistance to Physical.

Touch of the Void 10% reduced resistance to Holy/Fire magic, 20% resistance to Mental Effects, 15% immunity to Mental Effects.

Mark of the Adapting Helix 5% Resistance to Physical Minor Regeneration

Experience to next level 167/1069

Health: 383/383

Stamina: 71/72

Mana: 18/18

General improvements across the board, with even my passenger improving its skills. It was time to bite the bullet. Steeling myself, I prepared for what I had to say.

“Today, I am leaving,” I began, whispering to the woman lying next to me.

Catalina was not beautiful, not objectively in the sense that, let’s say, Cordelia was. But she had a pretty face and full figure backed up by a certain enthusiasm that added a lot of spice to our nocturnal activities. I had asked her to do certain things, acts I had only seen in the media, things that I never had the guts to ask of a girl before. She did them all willingly, with minimum coercion. The next man who enjoyed her basically owed me a favor for opening up her horizons. It had been a liberating experience for both of us. Today would be an end to all of that.

She started to cry, though whether this was sadness from the thought of our parting, or my slightly rough treatment of her last night, only the gods knew.

“I can not take you with me, you know this right?” I stated simply in a soft voice. She only sniffled pathetically in response, her back to me.

“Where I go is dangerous, and my enemies follow me, even now. I could not endanger you. Think, too, of your son,” I added, more to convince myself than to assuage her feelings.

Finally, she turned to me, her voice hollow, “No, it is not because you can’t, it is simply because you won’t. There is always a way for those who want it. Young I may be, but I know well enough a soft-spoken lie.”

“I am not lying…” I tried to counter.

She plowed on, disregarding my excuses, “At the start, I was lonely, too drunk with the grief of my loss. Too soon, the other women said, but who are they to know of the empty places of the heart? I saw you there, surrounded by such merriment, yet alone.” Pausing for a moment, a squall of repressed emotion clouded her features, “I thought we were perhaps alike.”

“Do not lay all the blame at my feet. It takes two to…” I started again, only to be cut off. I must have failed a Charisma check or something, as this conversation was not going as I had planned.

A testament to the unpredictability of the fairer sex.

“And I am sorry that I saw something that never was. I knew, but still, I had hoped. I wanted to make you happy, in any way that I could. You must think me a foolish, easy woman,” she said bitterly, recrimination present in all of her words.

She continued with her monologue, every word steeped with emotion. “Truly, you are a great one. Everyone, screams of your holiness. Even Abas Yar, that bitter excuse for an old man, sings your praises. That you are a hero, that the Goddess herself watches you. You are not holy, or Avaria is a jealous bitch that can not share her chosen with this mortal woman.”

I did not bother with a rebuttal as I got dressed, leaving her to wallow in her misery and ignoring the rest of her tirade. Guilt pricked at me as I left her wagon. However, this feeling was soon erased as I felt an impact at the nape of my neck as I began to close the door behind me. The woman had decided to stupidly throw the coin purse I had left behind for her. The amount I had agreed with Laes. With a shrug of my shoulders, I left it where it had fallen. She would see reason soon enough. It seemed, however, that the old adage was right, there was no pleasing everyone.

I passed by Dumuzi, not meeting his eyes, I just decided to ruffle his hair as I walked past. He had been a good lad. Soft, though. I could feel his accusatory gaze following me for a good while.

*

Catalina’s recriminations were still playing in my mind, her words, what I remembered of them anyway, on an endless loop. It was a bad habit of mine, reviewing the past in search of an optimal answer. Elwin and Kidu sorted out our things, loading the bulk of our belongings onto Patches, while Cordelia and Larynda paid their respects to Ankhset, the Water Mage of the Ravens.

It was during this strange time that I received a summons from a boy, a mere slip of a youth. His face and manner were unknown to me, but he was polite in the way of these people and came before and bowed at the hip.

“Master Gilgamesh, Gelgor of the Crows would appreciate your help in matters regarding his health. He believes that you may be able to render assistance, and that you will be well compensated,” he finished bowing low as he waited for my response.

After my wages from guarding the caravan, gambling, odd jobs, clearing my inventory, donations for healing, Catalina’s settlement and other miscellaneous expenses, I had on my person around two gold in various denominations. While I was not destitute, my financial situation was precarious, especially considering the high cost of city life. Despite Khalam's earlier warnings to avoid Gelgor, this close to my goal, I felt emboldened to disregard his advice. The rebellious part of me actually took pleasure in this defiance.

With a mischievous smile, I conveyed my reply, “Inform Master Gelgor of my interest. I will meet with him within the hour.”

Chapter 19 - Temptation

The workers of the Dust fields are, for the most part, wretched addicts hooked on the pleasure that only the Dust Dreams can give. Lost in fantasies of their making, they slowly come to detest the waking world and all of its imperfections.

Famously, there are no slaves in the ‘free’ city of Al-Lazar, but still, it exists there in all but name. The lost, the forlorn, and the desperate often find themselves targeted by unscrupulous individuals who coerce them into signing away their lives on pieces of paper. These are the ‘indentured’ workers of Al-Lazar who toil away in the fields under the hot desert sun.

The workers of the Dust fields are, for the most part, trapped wretches such as these. Addicts hooked on the pleasure that only the Dust Dreams can give. Pushed into a corner by the weight of their addiction, their only salvation is to slave away in the Dust fields. Theirs are the cheapest of contracts and their terms the longest, for this is a fate that many of them happily accept.

- For, to work the fields, is to breathe in raw Dust.

The thick, swirling tendrils of smoke hung heavily within Gelgor's expansive wagon and obscured the resplendence that lay within. The furniture gleamed with opulence, adorned with a profusion of gemstones and glistening gold. The carpet was of a deep crimson and a fine, thick weave. On one wall, a masterpiece of unparalleled artistry commanded attention, a vivid tableau of a fearsome azure dragon locked in combat with winged humanoid adversaries.

Reclining amidst the decadence, Gelgor rested upon a sumptuous bed of soft satin pillows. Inhaling deeply from a water pipe, the smoke billowed around him like a shroud.

In his attendance, a youthful servile maiden, her attire a delicate combination of misty gauze and silk, almost stole my breath away. The curves of her shapely form, accentuated by the translucent fabric, was a tantalizing vision. I could not help but cast longing glances towards her. Black hair was tied in a braid that fell to her narrow waist like a line of midnight. Tilted red eyes, a shade deeper than even the carpet, contrasted beautifully with her warm, soft chocolate skin. Red eyes? What manner of eye color was that?

These fleeting thoughts were quickly overshadowed by a pang of jealousy that gripped my heart as I watched her offer the corpulent man a morsel of freshly cut fruit. Gelgor's possessive hand slid along her thigh as she did so, a smirk dancing upon his lips.

At last, he diverted his attention to me with a wide smile. "Welcome! Welcome! I've long anticipated the meeting with the renowned Gilgamesh, the hero and guardian of the Ravens!" The morbidly obese man greeted me, his jowls quivering with feigned mirth.

Moments later, he pounded his chest. The reclined position he held seemed to disagree with the fruit he had just consumed. The man spluttered briefly before his pretty attendant quickly dabbed his face with a small cloth.

I noticed that it was stained crimson. Troubling.

"Thank you Sariyah, my dear. A dreadful habit, the pipe, but one I picked up in my youth and am reluctant to relinquish, even in my advancing age. A man is often defined by his flaws, and the weaknesses of the flesh have been mine. Unlike my former brother-in-law and others, I won't conceal them. Life it is to be lived," he explained, his grin supporting his unapologetic disposition.

"Now, come, come. Enjoy my hospitality before we get into matters of business. Eat, eat!" he commanded, gesturing toward a low table laden with an assortment of finger food.

It was to my credit that the heavy smoke did not cause me to cough or splutter, for with my Constitution I barely noticed the effects of the strangely apple-scented fumes. I did, however, start to experience a growing sense of relaxation, the tension in my shoulders gradually easing.

Taking off my gloves, I fixed a polite smile on my face. “Well, as you insist,” I acquiesced, sitting cross-legged before the sumptuous spread.

Washing my hands in a scented bowl first, I began to partake of some of the dishes. However, my tongue barely registered their flavor, as my mind was too caught up in pondering Gelgor’s intent. The predatory gleam in his eyes, a constant presence throughout the meal, left no room for doubt that he expected something from me.

Inquiries as to how I found life among the traveling people and other bits of such small talk were spread over the course of the meal. They felt like probing actions, meant to take my measure. As I slowly cleared the plates, the questions became even more incisive.

In my time with the Ravens, I had learned that it was customary to leave a bit of food on the final dish to indicate satisfaction with the host's hospitality. More evidence of this world’s backward way of thinking, but, I did not wish to be rude so I did as was expected.

“My thanks to you Master Gelgor, for providing a most sumptuous feast,” I offered formally.

“Not at all. Now, you will forgive me, but I must get to the heart of the matter. I need your help. What puzzles me is that from the way your eyes linger on Sariyah, and other things, I can see that you are no true man of the cloth. The deep followers of the Goddess are all essentially prudes, wishing to prescribe just exactly how one must act in the bedroom. If they could, they would sap all pleasure from it. Repressed individuals, but you are not quite cut from the same dogmatic cloth, no?” he asked, searching my face for my reaction as he took another puff from his pipe.

I could not help but notice that his attendant Sariyah looked at him with genuine worry in her eyes every time he did so. There was something more here than just a master-servant relationship.

Giving him a tight smile I tried to give a witty response, “Perhaps not, but still sheared from the same sheep. As are we all,” I returned, clumsily continuing the metaphor.

Gelgor just smiled at this, waving it off. “But can you truly perform healing akin to what the great temples offer? Traveling with one who bears one of Her blades lends credence to the rumors, but I must know the truth,” he insisted.

But just as Gelgor was searching for answers, so too was I observing him. Realizing that sitting on the floor to eat had inadvertently caused me to slouch, I sat up straight and bolstered my smile. Although he had initially put up a facade of languid indifference, this was now replaced by a new, almost palpable emotion, desperation.

Something told me, a whisper of an ominous truth, that using Identify here would not be wise. The voices within concurred, reinforcing this conclusion. Besides, something about using it on such a gracious host felt oddly rude.

“Then you have heard only the truth, though I know not why I have been gifted so by the Goddess. Perhaps, it is all part of Her great and divine plan?” I returned, deciding to answer him directly rather than to toy with him and play games.

He smiled at me, an expression that one would usually associate with snakes and other cold-blooded creatures. The desperate beggar hid himself in the background, while the merchant moved to the fore and center of the stage.

“But perhaps it is that you know of only the minor blessings, the magics that can do little more than heal the most minor of afflictions…?” he left his sentence hanging, both as a question and challenge. No doubt he wished to goad me into a demonstration.

“As you say, Master Gelgor, perhaps it is so. I myself have never witnessed the magic that you speak. I know only that I have some gift in the healing arts, if you do not require my services, then I must thank you for your hospi…” I goaded in turn with a smile, making as if to get up.

“Come, come now. Forgive me if I have caused offense, and please stay a while. I am not a man completely without faith,” he smiled, looking flustered and holding out his hands in protestation.

I had no reason to refuse him as this was simply a negotiation tactic on my part. I had enjoyed the meal, light as it was, and to be honest, was warming to him a lot more than I did with Laes, who had never done me the service of even offering me simple tea. It was a stark contrast indeed.

So I remained sitting, taking a moment to appreciate his ingratiating smile. Sariyah, sitting next to him, did not move a muscle, looking to the world like an exquisite frozen statue.

“I have an ailment that has no known name, but nonetheless hangs about me like the most unwanted of friends. It is a condition that I feel eating away at me from within, robbing me of my once virile strength,” he declared, before pausing dramatically as if allowing the words to settle before his eyes roved over, looking for something. Perplexed at my utter lack of reaction he continued. “Most would be buried at least, fearing an infection spread about from the bad humors. I would have been cast out, had not my father suffered from the very same illness. It is something that is passed down through the blood, not the air or waters of the body. Yet, I could not help but notice that you did not bat an eyelid at the mention of my affliction. Either you are one of the bravest of men, have the constitution of the ogre, or even, hopefully, a truly skilled user of the god-gift of healing. All of course as rare as a dragon’s smile,” he observed with a chortle.

“Mine is no common malady. A miracle, they say it would take, to cure me of my ills. And no alchemics have worked, nor minor blessings. Some of my people have even said that it is caused by an affliction of the soul, not of the body, and that I have been cursed because I have not welcomed Her into my heart. Nonsense. What need has a merchant for the scales of false justice? Gold, and gold alone, have been my swords of judgment and vengeance,” he scoffed, temporarily losing himself to an anger well worn with the passage of time.

“The pipe is the only thing that provides me with some relief, and I find myself at times wondering if it is time to surrender myself to a Dust dream. A temptation that grows stronger as the seasons pass.”

I mulled over my options as I formulated a response. After all, with the latest debacle with the Ravens, the whole song and dance over the Catalina problem, it would do me no harm to have more friends in a different camp. I mulled over what to do. I had Gelgor where I wanted him, but I did not know how hard I could squeeze. I knew nothing of how the ‘great’ temples conducted their healing, or what they even charged, only that it was an exorbitant fee. To name a price outside an expected amount would make me look a fool and I would lose face.

Therefore, I decided not to name a price at all. The value of my healing abilities would be determined by Gelgor, the beneficiary. Judging by the opulence before me, it seemed likely that he was not as frugal as Laes.

“Very well, I can but try, Master Gelgor. May the gods look upon us favorably on this day. It is not in my nature to bargain for the price of a miracle, for that is only a thing that the scales of the soul may weigh and judge,” I said ,playing the part of the holy man.

The man wanted a miracle, and I could deliver.

Chapter 20 - Intervention

The greatest of rivers is formed from the smallest of streams.

- A Quassian Aphorism.

Gelgor's eyes narrowed briefly, losing their cordiality before he skillfully masked it again. He likely mistook my response for hesitation, assuming I was a charlatan trying to salvage dignity before my deceptions were exposed as mere lies. I couldn't help but think with a touch of sarcasm, Oh ye of little faith.

I now realized that common human ailments like disease, injury, and frailty no longer concerned me. Why fear broken bones, shattered limbs, or deadly poisons when I could heal with spells? As long as I had enough Mana, I was immune to these troubles. Such mortal concerns of the human condition were beyond me now. It felt liberating and, were it not for the fact that I was trapped on a barbaric world filled with uncultured savages, most welcome. As matters stood, it seemed to be just the bare minimum required for a man such as myself to get by.

No matter, I would use what I was given. If this world had taught me anything, it was that there is no use in bemoaning one’s lot.

Rising with a clear sense of purpose, I approached Gelgor. Sariyah, his attendant, glanced at me, her lovely features tensing as she reached behind her back, only to seem confused moments later. Gelgor, with a dismissive wave of his plump hand, commanded her to be at ease. He adjusted his hefty frame into a semblance of a seated posture as I knelt beside him.

There was a look to him as this fateful moment grew close. Like the first few licks of the flame at a campfire, a desperate need began to grow steadily across his face, eating away at his mask of control. Fear not Gelgor, salvation is at hand.

“What must I do?” he questioned, his voice tight and controlled.

“Believe,” I commanded simply as I gathered the mystical energy of this world, forming it into the shape of my magic.

Not wanting to be stingy, I elected to go all out with my Greater Heal spell. The familiar song of angels thrummed to a holy cadence, its glory only matched by its divine mystery, threading its golden way through the wagon’s interior. I took a moment to regard the pair’s awestruck faces before I focused completely on Gelgor and laid my hands upon him.

Like a conductor of a most exquisite symphony, I guided the course of the energy through me into him. It filled the man, infusing his very being with the ardent light of the Divine. There was more to its auric majesty now, flecks of silver sparkled here and there among the golds, flashing like fish just beneath the river’s surface. Something resisted me, a stubborn error or flaw within the man that needed to be corrected. I poured more of the energy in, redirecting the flow with a more singular purpose against this aberration.

It dawned on a jealous part of me, the dark part of me, that this magic was doing more than just simply healing Gelgor. How I would have killed for a fraction of this power in my old world. To touch the face of something more. For the tiniest sliver of a moment, I could feel the magic remaking him, bringing him closer to the realm of the sublime.

Zariyah could only look on, her exotic features frozen in wonder as the light of a false dawn shone. Her features looked rapt as she bore witness, like a prophet having a rapturous revelation.

But even the light of the gods will fade eventually, and faster still when channeled by mortal and imperfect hands. The light of Gelgor’s salvation subsided, bringing with it the echo of divine epiphany and leaving behind a lingering regret. The natural light of the soft afternoon sun began to filter through

It was welcome, if not a little anticlimactic, that a notification appeared across my mind’s eye. Acknowledging the boon, I looked to see what my magic had wrought.

You have learned Greater Heal (lvl.3)

The caravan master’s rotund form was wracked by the seizures from the touch of the Divine. It would be almost comical, except that this was the first time my healing had produced such a response. Worrying, indeed.

Zariyah snapped out of it and simply clenched her fists by her side in worry and frustration. Good, she knew better than to intervene. There was, after all, nothing that she could do. The man was quivering like jelly, but on his bed of soft feather pillows, he was no danger to himself. Now, all we could do was wait for his episode to pass.

I mused to myself that even the mighty magics of the gods couldn't cure his severe obesity. There really is no substitute for human effort and discipline.

Once his shaking ceased, Zariyah quickly dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a damp cloth, her concern unmistakable. As the man regained consciousness, she offered him a small cup of a deep red liquid, which I initially mistook for wine. He declined it, gathering himself with a deep breath.

"No more alchemics, my dear," he declared, his voice quivering with newfound emotion. "No more, I think."

His attendant silently returned to her position beside him. Gelgor thumped his chest expectantly, but no cough followed.

"By the Gods, I've never felt so invigorated," he exclaimed with unbridled joy. "Everything seems so vibrant and alive. I feel as though I could run for miles without fatigue. What did you do?" he exclaimed, more a statement of wonder than a real question.

“We both know what happened here and now,” I said as solemnly as I could, trying to draw an air of mysticism around me.

Gelgor looked troubled, his irreverent and incorrigible expression gave way to something rather new, humility. There was a heavy, pregnant pause filled with the weight of the moment and I could almost see the cogs in his mind whirl away as he began to do a mental account. For now came the matter of reciprocation and the question of the worth of a godly miracle.

Finally he drew himself up, like a walrus about to bark a challenge. “I am saved. By the grace of the gods I am saved. This is no mummer’s trick, but a deep magic only found in the great temples, and then only reserved for the highborn,” he stated simply, his voice coarse with emotion. “I was not worthy, and I can not give you an offering of even near like value to what I have just been blessed with. For if the words of scripture are true, then I have witnessed the healing light of Her mercy,” he continued, jowls quivering with religious rapture.

I hid a flash of irritation. hoping that I masked it well. You fool, of course you can not, but at the very least you can hand over a bit of gold that you must have saved up over the years. Moreover, this was worrying, was the man trying weasel out on paying me? Had I been too clever for my own good?

"The servants of the gods do not demand payment," I decided to add, keeping my voice even and doing my best not to grit my teeth. "But they cherish gratitude and offerings within one’s own means.”

“My honey rose, be a dear and get the…Herald… the” he commanded the girl, finishing his sentence with a meaningful look and a nod of his head toward one of the corners of the interior. She simply nodded once, my eyes following her form as she rose and went off to fulfill his wish.

He turned to me. “By Her light, forgive me, for my offering is but a trivial thing,” he said with no small amount of reverence as Zariyah returned with a small case. Glancing hesitantly at me, she opened and presented the contents to me.

I had been expecting a small number of gold coins, but inside, of all things, was a small stack of paper. Upon the surface of the paper was the image of the sun rising behind the petals of an otherworldly bloom, printed in painstaking detail. The tendrils of the alien plant unfurled across the edges of the paper, their running lines framing the captured vision art. At the top corner of each piece were concentric circles, a watermark if I was not mistaken. Intriguing, I thought to myself. These were most certainly the promissory notes of the famed Al-Lazar, for what other use was a watermark than to prevent counterfeiting? Still, I did myself credit by performing my due diligence.

Silver Promissory Note [Paper]

Durability 13/13

Still focused on Gelgor, my magic nonetheless returned to me the information I sought for the measly cost of one Mana. Intent and clear focus, I was slowly learning, was one of the cornerstones of performing the mystical arts correctly, at least for the NPCs of the world. This was a small mental trick I had taught myself, to focus with my mind’s eye on whom I wanted my spell to target. Or perhaps this was simply the result of upgrading the spell? It didn’t matter in the slightest, it just meant I just had to picture something in my mind that I had recently seen.

Recently, of course, being the operative word. The spell failed when cast on something that I had seen only an hour away but was no longer in my line of sight. Perhaps, it was because the clarity of a mental image, as with all things, faded with time? I would need to engage in further experimentation.

More to the point, the sum before me represented a considerable sum of, at my estimation, ten gold pieces. Almost three years of dangerous caravan work.

Gelgor cast his eyes downward, a fleeting discomfort crossing his countenance. "I understand that it may seem crass to offer mere worldly scraps of paper, to place a value on the grace of the Goddess," he began anew, his gaze shifting to Zariyah. "But perhaps, since you have managed to fulfill one of my most cherished desires, then I may in turn fulfill one of yours," he insisted, glancing once more in the direction of his attendant.

The mask of the oily merchant returned, any semblance of the humility I had witnessed evaporating like spit on a hot stone in the desert. It was almost refreshing to see human nature in its purest form.