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.
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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.
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.