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.

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*

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 blockade of its sea routes, 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.