Hot rays shone down on the party, slowing their already tedious travel quite a bit. Because the savanna had even less humidity than the drought-ridden marsh and rainforest, the midday heat was unbearable. They had been on the road for about three weeks now and Roon expected them to be on the edge of the savanna in barely an hour which meant they were almost to the hostile desert.

Since Jale had physically hit the warlock, the humans haven't said a real sentence towards each other, and he kept a stern rein over what the ginger could do. Both the others seemed to think they were both overreacting with the zerdal taking every chance to attempt to get them to talk to each other. Now that they were in the more open area the commander's paranoia on losing the criminal had died down, but he still refused to treat him as an equal.

Currently, the party was resting at the small pond on the edge of the biome. A small shelter had been built by previous travelers long ago, free to stay in and use. Provided you cleaned up after yourself, of course.

With freshwater sitting still, bugs had become an issue that most of them hadn't had to deal with in ages. Poor Darael seemed to be the tastiest, with the mosquitoes biting him twice as often as the others. Even with Roon’s natural herbal mixtures to repel them.

Jale was crouched on the shore, inspecting the water. Unlike their other resting areas, this time he agreed the liquid should be purified. Larva and fish swam around and it smelled... Stagnant. Wouldn't kill them, but would definitely go down easier if boiled. The zerdal had begun that process, while the warlock took refuge inside the hut with the troll.

At least the scenery had improved during their last week of travel. Dry, yet tough, grass grew long and vibrant here, and few trees provided shade with huge wide tops. It was cooler here, and a gentle breeze brought even more relief through the arid atmosphere.

"Perhaps we should head straight to The Market... This is a lot of water and I feel stopping at the Pool would be unnecessary." Roon had voiced his thoughts a bit randomly, catching the commander off guard.

He turned his attention to the short furry man. "It would be a full week of travel, perhaps more if the heat really harms our pace."

His company shrugged. "Better than spending extra nights out there without protection."

"I guess you're right. Last thing we need is a sand creature tearing us apart."

The zerdal chuckled. "Provided the spark snakes don't get you first."

Jale tilted his head in a semi playful manner. "Me? I'd be more worried about that warlock. Acts like he's never been outside before."

The other man studied the commander for a moment, taking in his playful eyes but serious tone. "Not everyone has to feel the harsh nature. Is that not what prosperity means?"

"Every man should know how to make a fire though."

"Darael has made most of our fires," Roon said, dropping his ears a touch.

He averted his gaze, instead looking down at the water once more. "I mean the normal way."

His companion stirred the pot before using the ladle to pour the clean drink into the canteens. Silence overcame them while he did this, which Jale didn't mind one bit.

The zerdal took a deep breath. "If you could clean mud off your boots with a wave of your hands, why would you want to scrub the caked soil off your boots ever again?"

"Because work leads to real rewards. Cheating only hurts you."

Roon chattered softly, a sign of annoyance, and seemed to give up. No more curious eyes or expectant analysis. Just quiet judgment.

Whatever he can assume what he wants. A natural maegik using human is a mock to the Divines. He complained to himself, stretching his legs out from their folded position. They still had so much land to cover, and in all honesty— he still had no idea what the trolls wanted him to do.

Soft ground that almost melted under their steps had slowed the pace in half once entering the desert. And the further they got into the Dry Sea, the softer the sand got. It had taken over a week and miles of sand to reach the grand city of the nomads.

When dusk would settle into the horizon, the group gained speed in the cool relief. Unfortunately, as nice as it was, it didn't last long. Once the sun sets completely, the land freezes over. Jale couldn't exactly complain about the warlock's skills when they sat huddled under a solid shelter Darael had built with maegik. Though the cramped sleeping positions unnerved him, he managed to sleep, and a good thing too. They had really needed their strength. Thankfully on the twelfth day of traveling, the enticing scents of food and civilization urged them over their last dune.

A sprawling city of hide tents and covered wagons welcomed anyone who dared come this far. Walking down the small marked road, the group passed through a long stretch of trading shops. Anything you could imagine had been out on display, herbs, tools, furs, scales, animal parts. Literally everything.

Roon looked so happy here, his ears stood as tall as possible, and his tail never stopped moving. The western zerdal brought attention to them with many of the natives greeting them and offering a meal, but Jale knew where they must go, who they must visit.

Even the humans were relaxing and smiling at the friendly air and behavior of the small fox race. Wares and food caught all four of their eyes more than once, but they didn't stop to look. Some of the zerdals seemed to be observing Jale with interest, but he didn't pay it any mind.

The commander led them to the center of the village, scanning the less crowded area for a familiar face…

"Jale Vadren?" a rough but intrigued voice called.

Turning, he spotted a light creamy-colored zerdal sitting in front of a grand hut. Matching the furs that built the home, this man wore a small cloak from a white animal, the milky drape both standing out and fitting in perfectly.

"Rardor!" He responded, bringing the group over to him.

Roon bounded over to stand next to the tall human, eager to meet this person.

"I never ever thought I'd see you here. Let alone so soon! It must be something very important." The tan zerdal thought out loud before looking at the black zerdal. "Always a good day when our cousins cross the ocean to say hi!"

Jale let the two greet each other, yips and growls exchanged, with Roon even giving a spin for the other. Even if it was important, one can't interrupt a greeting.

"Beautiful!" Rardor exclaimed. "Now. What brings you here Commander?" he asked, bringing his yellow eyes back up to the tall man.

"Well, we need supplies to travel. That, and your advice is always appreciated."

The lighter zerdal examined the group before him, trailing his gaze over the troll with great curiosity before settling them on the warlock.

"You poor thing... Sun has not been kind to you. Come, get out of the heat and we'll see what we can do." Rardor offered, standing up to pull the flap to the hut open.

"Oh thank the Divines," Darael muttered, being the first to enter.

Inside the house was cozy, but not as tight as their traveling shelter. They were offered seats on cushions of various colors and patterns and a bowl of stew.

"Tell me, commander, why did you come all this way to ask for supplies? You haven't been stripped of your title have you?" the light zerdal asked once everyone had food and a seat.

Jale stirred his food aimlessly. "No no, I'm fine. But Darael over there is preventing us from walking into a human city for supplies. That and I thought we could get aid."

The ginger sneered in pure distaste at him, eating his food silently.

Rardor observed the two for a moment. "And, why is that?"

"He's wanted for treason. Oh, I've been missing for half a month now, two whole moon faces. If I walked into a city they wouldn't let me leave for a while," he replied, giving an equal glare at the other.

Tesk hadn't looked up from her bowl, but she didn't have to. "They've been this way the whole journey here. Best to ignore it. Are you well versed in prophecies?"

"Of course, I knew the moment I saw you accompanying Jale what you folk wanted,” their host said.

Jale brought his eyes to Rardor. "If you knew, why did you ask me anyway?"

The tan zerdal's solid-colored tail curled and unfurled casually. "I had to see for myself if it was true what Roon told me."

"About what?" Darael asked.

Roon chuckled and put his bowl down. "Don't you worry about that now."

Rardor stood. "I have a proposal for you, Jale. If you'll pardon me one moment to get the items."

The tall man watched his old friend leave the house, but when he brought his attention back to his group Tesk had been staring at him. "What?" he asked her.

With a shrug, the troll finished her stew before speaking. "How do you know the head of The Market?"

Jale cleared his throat and shook his head. "Ah, well... Chance."

Darael finally spoke up. "He's a commander. He has to know the figures of power, in case they become a threat." A soft snarl spread across his own lips.

"That's not true. I happened upon him before he became the Head thank you. Who do you know, swine? Jail mates? I'm sure they treated you well, and hopefully, you'll be reunited soon enough."

Roon dropped his ears, watching the humans stare each other down. The creature of love didn't understand why these two people couldn't get along.

Before the two could do anything more than glare, Rardor returned with a bundle wrapped in leather. The light zerdal laid the gift on the ground in the middle of the group. This bundle stole Jale's focus, being lured to look at the leather.

"You may have noticed some of the Marketeers showing interest in a certain item you carry," Rardor explained, undoing the bindings to reveal a spread of weapons.

On the left sat a longbow made of blue shaded wood and a short flint-headed spear. In the middle; a broad sword that looked nearly identical to his own, and a pair of pale metal axes. Sitting on the right was a golden dagger and an empty spot.

Tesk leaned over and admired the tools. "I'm glad to see you care for them well."

"Of course, we would never disrespect a culture by damaging or degrading their crafts."

Jale ran a finger of the sword hilt on his hip. "You want my blade? But you already have an orcish sword."

Darael snorted a laugh but didn't speak a word.

After shooting him a silencing glare, the commander removed his sheath and laid it along the spread. "Well, yours looks a bit older."

Rardor wagged his tail lightly. "Human arrogance is purely unique. Your weapon is only a mere imitation dear Jale. Crafted by humans, stolen from orcs."

The commander furrowed his brows a touch, confusion and vague interest sparking in his eyes. "How can you tell?"

His friend held his hand out, to which the human handed him the sword. The zerdal removed it from the protective case, while Roon did the same to the orcish broadsword. Rardor held them side by side, and in this manner, the differences stood out better.

The commander's sword was paler than the real orc-crafted blade and the hilt had been wrapped in boar leather. Though he couldn't identify what the Orcish broadsword had been wrapped with, he knew it wasn't boar. His sword also had a smaller guard and the blade had his military branch branded in the center.

"Orcish crafts are expensive. We can't blame your ingenuity for making your own weapons." Roon commented, returning the weapons to their sheaths.

Jale tilted his head and pondered over this information. Boy did he feel stupid now.

"Honestly, it's odd you didn't know your own weapon's origins," Darael said, his mocks aimed right at the other's pride.

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But the taunt missed its mark and the commander glanced at the warlock but didn't give a hostile look or snarky come back. No, he found himself gazing at the weapons in front of him— namely the bow.

Tesk grunted something in her tongue, causing both the zerdals to return a comment in trollish.

It's a well-crafted bow... That wood is it... Shimmering? Stained no doubt, natural blue trees never remain that color once harvested. Jale thought while admiring the ranged tool.

"Jale?" the light zerdal asked.

He looked up at the creature. "Hmm?"

A small smile spread over Rardor's lips. "Interested in a trade? I noticed your hip quiver, but lack of a bow."

"Why is that?" Tesk asked.

"My bow was stolen, but I always carry my quiver when traveling,” the commander said.

Roon had been caught staring at the hide container strapped to the tall man's thigh. "How do the arrows stay in place?"

Amused, Jale smiled and removed the quiver to let the inquisitive creature inspect it.

"The arrows latch to a magnetic rock." Rardor hummed softly.

"An elven technique." Darael scoffed. "Yes, they put a rock in the thing on your leg, very smart. Give them a hand for the ingenuity."

Jale pierced through the warlock with his blue gaze. "You're just jealous I have something more interesting to share. Attention whore."

The warlock seemed a tad pleased at the show of annoyance. "At least I'm an attention seeker and not a real whore like your mother."

Within a single moment, the commander launched himself towards the smaller man with balled fists— and with a forceful impact— made contact. His knuckles met the hot angry skin of the paler man, but his target hadn't been clear. He smacked at the other's arms and threw a few punches at his sides, but tried not to do serious harm.

With a cry from Darael, who brought his arms up to protect his face, he could feel the fear. It radiated from both the man under him and someone behind him. His onslaught didn't last very long and ended abruptly.

Jale locked up, unable to move much anymore while a tingling ran up his spine.

"Get off me hot-headed swine!" the warlock exclaimed, pushing him away to stand.

Pain split through his body and once pushed back, he collapsed to the ground. Writhing as much as he physically could without the ability to move.

"Darael. Stop it. You're hurting him." Rardor demanded, standing to get involved.

"Everyone loves the illegal mutant more than the gifted mutant. He attacked me!"

Roon stepped over and took the ginger's arm. "Yes, but you did call his mother a whore... Please stop it. You got him back, now stop it."

Darael pulled his arm away, his burnt skin already growing purple and blue with bruises. "Don't. Touch me. I can't stop it, I'm doing it."

Jale couldn't focus on the conversation any longer, his mind-melting pain taking all his attention. Not able to keep his eyes working, they rolled back and he closed them. Stars crept around the edges of the darkness, threatening to steal him away. As sudden as it came it vanished. Freed from the constricting pain he coughed and grunted, rolling onto his stomach to get up. But he couldn't, it had been as if all his strength had been stolen away.

"Needless violence in the presence of a Divine gift... Shame." A voice stabbed his mind.

He gave a confused sound, trying to figure out where it had come from.

"And to a gifted... You should apologize!" the voice hissed.

Gentle pressure from a hand resting on his shoulder forced his eyes open. He saw the cream-colored zerdal peering down at him with concern. Behind him, the commander noticed the warlock storming out of the house with Tesk following.

"You should be careful," Rardor said, sitting next to him.

Jale grumbled an unintelligible sentence, shifting his weight to sit up. Luckily his old friend helped.

"Here, drink this."

He was offered a shallow cup filled with a purple liquid. Smelled like fruit and dirt, but he knew what it was; cactus wine. While he sipped on the smooth but bitter drink, the two creatures chittered to each other about his outburst.

Soon Roon turned his head to study the human. "Your mother was an elf right?"

Without the strength to speak, the commander nodded an affirmation instead.

Rardor flicked his muzzle towards the weapons and the darker zerdal nodded, fetching the bow with great care.

The light zerdal turned his yellow gaze to the wooden weapon. "It's possible... That you may have a deeper connection to an elven gift than we thought before. I offer you this bow for your sword."

I've had this sword for years, it was a gift. Do I want to trade away a piece of my humanity for an elven weapon? His mind swirled for a moment, unsure if he wanted to say goodbye to the only weapon he's mastered over the years.

"I— I don't know. It was a gift, a congratulations..." Jale muttered.

His friend patted his leg and nodded. "I can respect that. At least hold it before you decide."

The human reached a hand out almost involuntarily at the permission granted. His shaky fingers wrapped around the blue-tinted bow, settling in the carved grip. Strange soothing energy washed over him and it showed in the way his eyes perked and posture improved. He brought the skillfully crafted weapon up to inspect it.

Now close to his face, he could see the wood’s grain naturally had a marble pattern. A beautiful weapon smooth to the touch, with a strong string woven from a material he didn’t recognize. The object made him happy to be in the presence of, though he couldn't explain why.

"It's beautiful, no?" Roon asked, his big two-toned gaze admiring the craft.

"It is... And it's long, you can tell it was crafted for a tall person," the commander said.

Rardor chuckled lightly. "Elves need the longbows. This one, in particular, is made from the Bleeding Tree, a traditional weapon gifted to elves who succeed in the annual hunt. To make the wood gift into anything else is forbidden."

Jale only grew more enamored to learn the history of the object. Imagine an actual gift from the Bleeding Tree, being all yours.

"Perhaps you should sleep on it, your group must be weary from traveling all the way from Bogsgate to here." The light zerdal suggested, placing his hand on the bow to lower it.

The commander nodded, laying the weapon down respectfully. "Okay, you're right. I suppose I can decide in the morning before we leave."

Rardor hummed in amusement or admiration. "You need to learn how to slow down and enjoy where you are. It's always the goal for you, never the journey."

He looked down at his old friend, a soft smile staining his lips. "So I've been told. I'm just eager to help the trolls so I can return home, and finally, turn that disgrace to the kingdom."

Roon sighed. "You make me feel as if I was wrong. Hopefully, you'll see what needs to be done before it's too late."

Rardor gave a soft bark, a zerdalian command. Not a common thing to hear, but it told Jale the dark zerdal had overstepped a boundary.

"One thing you should know," the light zerdal said, "Men sleep in one side and women in the other, and since we're busier than usual you and Darael must share a hut."

Jale scowled at the thought. "Fine."

His friend leaned close and whispered to him. "No more fighting, you don't know what it's doing to you."

The commander searched the yellow gaze staring up at him, wondering what the elusive words meant exactly. Why can't anyone tell me things straightforward? Why must we do a roundabout conversation to which I misinterpret and nobody benefits?

Growing aware that someone was staring at him from behind prompted him to avert his gaze. Without another word, he stood up, offered a farewell bow, and walked out into the heat. Bright, though fading, light bounced off the white sand and blinded him for several seconds. He had to pause until his vision adjusted before continuing his path, headed towards the inn Square.

Rows off smaller houses stretched this area, and plenty of people rested in the provided shade. Roon had chased him, walking beside him to show where their hut was.

The small man led him to a building made of dark red hides and dull grey wood. Each inn room was made slightly different, using different materials to help sort the travelers. Fittingly, they were assigned the hut made of marsh native supplies.

When he pulled the flap open and stepped in, he had been met with a most displeasing sight; Darael. The ginger sat on one of the four cots, cradling his legs with his knees under his chin.

"I'm going to go request supplies. Please don't kill each other, I like my cross-sea cousins." Roon pleaded, giving a stern look to Jale.

Before he could think of a reply, the short man scurried off. Leaving them with stale air and hostile positioning.

"I'm sorry."

The apology rang out, a lonely call in the still air. With large saddened eyes, Darael looked up at the tall man.

"What?" the warlock asked, his brows furrowing in doubt.

Jale peered down into the emotion-stained emeralds. "I stepped out of line, I'm sorry."

His companion remained silent for a minute, before scoffing softly as if to counter it. But nothing ever came.

"I'm blinded by shadows of the Wiked... I promise not to hurt you again."

Darael picked his head up. "I'm still your prisoner, calm down. I deserved it anyway."

Jale shook his head and straightened his stance. "Nonsense. When we're done the king's elves will have their way with you, you'll get what you deserve. I'm simply your... hmm... Escort."

The ginger snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

Make it super hard to be friendly, perfect. He moved his gaze to scan the cots on each side of the circular building. Lined with various thick furs and wonderfully woven quilts, they seemed cozy and inviting. The beds also appeared to be made for the average orc, which made sense. Orcs often come by to trade their metal crafts for exotic materials, and they were the biggest race.

The commander found his way to one of the beds, sitting on it to feel the fur. As he got comfortable with his legs folded over each other, the other man made a sound to draw his attention.

"You're missing your sword. I didn't think you went anywhere without it."

"Well, Rardor offered a trade... But, I also forgot about it, my head still hurts." Jale responded.

Darael tilted his head, his cheek laying on his knee. "What would make you consider leaving such a decorated piece of authority."

"The bow," The tall man said casually, before sighing. "I want it, I don't know why. It's like I'm drawn to it."

His company hummed as if intrigued. "Elven weapon compelling to a half-elf. Where's my shock..."

The warlock's comment actually made the commander crack a smile. It was perfectly reasonable when put like that, but the sword was his. Who had owned the bow?

"I wish the choice was as easy as that logic."

With a shrug, Darael looked away. "Sleep on it. But, to what it's worth if it's elven and you're drawn to it. Could it really hurt to take the offer? Besides... A quiver without a bow isn't a good look."

Jale laughed gently, more or less out of courtesy. "That's what I plan on doing."

The pale man looked over towards the door. "Do we get a wagon? I don't think I could survive another trek on foot through the sand..."

"Yes, I told Roon to get us one. He says he can drive them, why pass up a faster means of travel?"

He knew that even though he struggled with the desert landscape, his human companion felt that tenfold. The sun alone hated his pearl skin, add the soft sand that showed the man's true core strength and you had one miserable week.

Perhaps I should've just left him with the trolls... Would've saved him a lot of pain I'm sure. Jale contemplated before giving a yawn and shaking his head.

"I'll ask Rardor for some herbs for your burns. No reason you should suffer at the mercy of the sun too."

Darael hummed a form of gratitude but seemed lost in his own head.

Accepting what the man wanted, the taller male nodded to himself and repositioned to settle into the furs. The comforting call of rest beckoned him, but he fought it for a few more moments. Since the night was almost here he knew he needed to bundle, even if he wasn't cold right now. As he slid himself under the warmth of the quilts, his eyes wandered to the warlock. The ginger still sat on the bed, curled with his arms around his legs. Hopefully, he was alright.

"So... Did you pick?" the rough, but sweet, voice of Rardor questioned.

Jale nodded, bowing his head and holding out his own blade. "I did. I decided I would be insane to pass up the offer to have a bow of such importance."

The light zerdal grinned and wagged his tail. "A good trade. Thank you!"

As they exchanged the weapons, the commander admired his new bow. Knowing he’d miss the melee weapon even if the bow was better, he decided to secure it to his torso before wanted to cancel the trade.

"I agree." Roon watched with curious eyes, zerdals always found a trade interesting. Even if it wasn't their own, but he seemed to be interested in something else.

"Jale, I wish you luck, and I trust you'll find what's waiting your fate. I hope we've been of good assistance and remember you'll always welcome under my roof," his old friend said.

Offering a fond smile, the commander bowed. "Thanks, you've been a big help. Should come visit if you're ever in town again... Don't expect me to crawl across the desert again."

Rardor chuckled deep and genuine. "Trust your company a bit, Roon is an excellent traveler, and Tesk one of the best navigators."

Jale could've taken that and left, but as he stood something poked his mind. "What about Darael?"

"A powerful warlock. Humans aren't built for natural energy, but he seems to be handling it better than most. Loosen up a bit, you're more threatening than you think."

I expected nothing less from him, zerdals can't say anything bad about someone... Even though he sighed, he nodded. "I'll try. Trade well."

His strides carried him over to a small cart; gold wood built the frame, with dark ebony planks forming the front bench. No hitch or place for an animal, just a balanced three-wheeled wagon. Zerdalian transportation is centered around the knowledge that no animal should carry their loads through the desert. Instead, they're powered by maegik.

Roon hurried after him and even beat him to the vehicle, climbing up into the driver seat with zeal.

Jale inspected the back, it had three bags of goods; one with non-perishables, the second had fruit and the last one held various road necessities. Aside from that, there bags there were some hide bedrolls, good for all environments.

Tesk approached from the women’s huts. "We ready to leave already?"

The commander nodded back. "Yep! Helps to have friends in high places.” A soft chuckle. "Or a zerdal who encouraged everyone here to help."

The troll laughed before leaving him to claim the remaining space up front. While the tall man knew she'd pick that seat, it had become clear to him those two were fond of each other, he didn't want to share the back. Especially not with the human.

Sitting in the back with Darael doesn't seem very joyous... Don't have much choice, though. As he thought his complaints, the soft crunches of footsteps on the sand brought him to glance behind himself. Speak of the Wiked…

Darael approached with a careful poise, he seemed happier today. His body swayed a bit with the red cape of hair trailing behind, the most noticeable change lay in the pearly skin lighter once more. The zerdals had offered natural creams made from herbs to heal the burns and it had helped a lot.

"So... Where are we headed now? Somewhere cooler I hope," the warlock asked and commented as he climbed into the wagon.

Jale hadn't realized his eyes lingered until the words were spoken. He shook his head and followed the shorter man into the vehicle. "Gro'lun. Rardor believes the orcs can help you, and I need a new blade."

The troll breathed out a soft sigh of dismay. "We should head to the elves. They are the only ones who can really help."

"Orcs first. The grassland is hostile and I refuse to step foot there with an unstable source of energy." The commander demanded.

His companions quieted down, with the ginger averting his gaze to gander at the city around them. Perhaps he had been a bit too stern.

He softened his tone to add. "We've been in this drought for almost twenty years. A few more months won't hurt anyone."

Tesk hummed before speaking in her native tongue, to which Roon nodded.

Jale settled into the side of the wagon, sitting with his back against the wall dividing the storage with the bench. "We'll be fine..."