Deep within the Rusted Desert, a cloaked figure traveled. The flaxen material was originally an off-beige color, but years of battle had stained the cloth with the blood of many things, man and beast alike. The cloak was the color of old dried blood, with splatterings of orange sprinkled here and there, giving the illusion of rusted armor. Beneath the outer coverings, the figure was wrapped in a multitude of bandages, much like a living mummy. Two curved scimitars rested at the figure’s hips.

A slight shifting of the sands nearby was the only warning before a pit opened up in the desert. As the humanoid figure jumped back, another, decidedly non-human shadow jumped out of the pit. It was the size of a basset hound, with eight hairy legs, and nearly a dozen emerald eyes gleaming not with malice, but h-

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SCHWIINNGGG!!

In a fluid motion nearly too fast to see, and a flash of light reflecting on metal, the jumping pit spider was cloven in twain, bright orange blood spattering on the cloak of the mysterious person, to darken to a rusty color that blended in with the rest of the desert as it dried. The figure continued to trudge to the north-east of the desert, w h e r e t h e

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Victor checked his bags one final time. It was finally here, the day he would set off on the caravan and head to the Capital in the Central Valley. As he waved farewell to his friends and family in the village, he fantasizes about all the great things he would achieve there.