In the hearts of men, there exists a profound emptiness, a hole that yearns to be filled. If not filled with faith in something transcendent, it becomes fertile ground for something dark. In the absence of true belief, the allure of false deities and the seductive promises of Dust take root, offering illusory dreams and deceptive comforts.
- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.
“And the gods would strike down a man if he would churlishly offer only monies to his guest who bring great gifts to their host. And, as I said before, too crass by far. A lesson that my former brother-in-law, to this day, still fails to acknowledge,” he said, his tone mockingly solemn as he steepled his hands in calculation.
He sat up fully now, straightening his back and shifting his prodigious girth. “Mine has been a lifetime spent understanding, and catering for, the desires of people. Forgive my bluntness, but you, young master Gilgamesh, one can read as an open book,” he explained.
I felt a spike of anger, sensing a game at play, and struggled to hide my annoyance. Never had I enjoyed word games.
“No, no, do not take this the wrong way,” he said, holding up his hands to show that he meant no insult. “I find it best to deal with honest men. And a man’s desire is the most honest part of him. And, gifted as I am with this insight, perhaps I can make a suitable offering for the Goddess’ grace. A votive offering for you,” He continued in a voice as smooth and slick as oil on stone.
“Tell me what do you know of Hazigadami, the people of the red gaze?” he asked, completely changing tack and throwing me off balance.
It was a minuscule thing, a slight tightening of the jaw, but I imagined that his attendant looked uncomfortable.
“In truth. Master Gelgor…” I began, only to be soon cut off. The fat man, it seemed, did not require my answer.
“Please, call me Gelgor. Though it may be presumptuous of me, I would like to consider myself your friend,” the fat man interjected, bulldozing through my attempt at a reply. “I would hazard a guess from your reaction, not much at all, no?”
I could only nod mutely, completely caught up in his pace, and oblivious to where he was leading me.
“The Hazigadam, children of an ancient civilization lost to the fires of the Cataclysm. Punished by the gods for daring to touch that which no mortal should seek, or so the legends say. For their hubris, many believe that they brought doom to Gesthe. The Cataclysm that destroyed much of the world in ages past, with the long night brought about by their profanity,” the man explained, pausing for dramatic effect. “Still, others say, in whispered voices in the darkest of corners, that they are demon-spawn, their features, the stigmata of their curse. Doomed they are to wander the lands with no home.” He continued with his little spiel, eyes lighting up like a village storyteller reveling at the sound of his own voice.
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"Until, of course, the Empire benevolently 'gifted' them a barren strip of land that nobody else desired," he remarked with a sardonic edge.
I wasn't in the mood for a history lesson on the lore of this world, and my annoyance was probably as clear as day on my face. The one nugget of insight I managed to pick up was that, even in this realm, the all-too-human tendency to discriminate against those slightly different was thriving. My curiosity about Gelgor's promised extra gift was the only thing keeping me here. Otherwise, I would have been getting ready to give a polite refusal and went about my way.
"Of course, that's beside the point. Hazigadam make excellent servants, loyal to a fault. They honor their contracts and spoken promises with unwavering dedication, much like our reverence for surahs of our sacred texts. It's often said that they never tell a falsehood, though in my experience, they simply avoid lying to conceal the truth. Perhaps that's why some liken them to devils. You know, those imaginative tales where devils adhere strictly to the terms of a deal, if not its underlying intention," Gelgor pondered, shaking his head with a hint of regret.
"Furthermore, they are a misguided people. Even when witnessing a miracle, Zariyah would never humble herself to believe in the Divines. Her people, however, hold firm to the belief that there is one God. Isn't that right, my dear?" he added with a tone steeped in long-standing exasperation.
Zariyah turned her head away from us, but whether this was from embarrassment or anger, I did not know.
Finally, I managed to weave together the threads of the conversation, grasping Gelgor's idea of a gift. How naive I was, even after all I had been through. To someone of my supposed civilization, the idea of trading a person was fundamentally barbaric. Of course, I had to find the notion totally abhorrent.
“But the city of Al-Lazar is a free city and suffers no slaves within its walls,” I protested, hoping to sway Gelgor into a different form of compensation.
"Your words wound me deeply. Would I, Gelgor, present you with a slave as a guest gift? Such an offense!" he exclaimed with mock seriousness, placing a hand over his heart. However, his eyes betrayed him, retaining their earlier light. Mockingly so.
"Indeed, as you correctly point out, the City of Dust neither trades in nor permits slavery within its walls. It would be an affront to offer you the services of a mere slave," he began to explain, his voice tinged with no small amount of pride.
"Instead, I present to you Zariyah's contract. Rest assured, all her documents have been properly witnessed and stamped. The remaining term of her contract is..." the morbidly obese man paused, his gaze shifting upward as he calculated the precise duration. "I believe it to be the next forty-seven years and four months, if my memory serves me correctly," he concluded, as if we were discussing the trade of a horse or cow.
Finally, there was a clear reaction from his attendant Zariyah, who decided to finally interject. Shaking her head, her fingers moved in a series of movements too precise and ordered to be anything other than a form of sign language.