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 Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

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 Zariyah, 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.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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 Zariyah, 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 Zariyah 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. Zariyah, 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 pondered 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.