The mountainous Tizonan desert was a land defined by extremes. During the day, the sun's rays beat down relentlessly upon the bone white sands. In the worst times, people were known to drop dead from the heat alone, half-cooked alive by the scorching temperatures. Come nightfall, the temperature plummeted with startling swiftness. Within an hour of the sun dipping below the horizon, icy winds howled across the dunes, biting through even the heaviest cloaks and lashing bare skin with whips of stirred-up sand.
Only creatures adapted to both searing heat and freezing cold could claim any stake in this land, and it just so happened that many of the endemic species had fangs and claws and the instinct to kill anything that came too close. Heat stroke, hypothermia, blinding dust storms, vicious predators, roaming gangs of robbers and brigands - in this vast wasteland, there were as many ways to end up as carrion for the bone vultures as there were grains of sand. Survival in this harsh environment required immense resilience against its myriad deadly threats. Few but the hardiest or shrewdest of travelers could hope to endure for long.
The desert was a tough place to live in, but a great place to hide. To avoid the watchful eye of the law. To escape whatever regime was currently laying claim to Tizona. A decade ago, it was the Ninth Mage King. Now it was the Chosen. As long as there existed things deemed illegal by those in power, there would be demand from those seeking to indulge in or profit from them. Enterprising indi viduals, looking to exploit such demands, often set up operations in the remote outskirts - areas beyond the immediate reach of authorities.
Deep in the lawless wastes of the Tizonan desert, tucked within the sand-weathered ruins of an ancient fort, lay a settlement home to such operations. Here, unknown to the powers in the far-off cities of the Central Valleys, was a small but bustling village. Across courtyards of cracked, sun-bleached tiles and within crumbling adobe walls, a busy market catered to all prohibited pleasures and vices, open every day of every week. Traders and wanderers haggled over forbidden wares, exchanging strings of bronze and copper trads - the Chosen had abolished currency, so the only monetary transactions that took place openly in Tizona now occurred in illegal bazaars like this.
Officially speaking, Kanhak didn't even exist. But to those who knew where to look, like smugglers, outlaws and others evading the Chosen's rule, Kanhak was an oasis in the shifting sea of sand. Within its sturdy outer walls, one could find illicit drugs and intoxicants, outlawed weapons, any kind of exotic delight. Kanhak's elders, the goblins who first established the town as a refuge for their long-abused kind, took a hands-off approach, turning a blind eye to all manner of illegal enterprises happening under their domain.
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As the sun sank below the distant dunes, the maze-like alleys of the Kanhak bazaar came alive. Merchants pulled back canvas flaps and propped open wooden shutters, warm light and savory smells spilling out into the rapidly cooling desert air. People of all stripes emerged from underground hideaways and cellars, the day's oppressive heat forgotten with nightfall's approach.
Weaving expertly through the growing crowds atop a wooden sand-sledge came Ziri, one of Kanhak's veteran dune-runners. Barely four and a half feet tall, the goblin woman had to stand on the runners of her sledge just to see over the shoulders of passing travelers. Her skin was yellowish-green, her hair a wild mane of crimson, and her large golden eyes glinted with wry intelligence. As a pair of drunken humans staggered into her path, Ziri pulled sharply on the reins in her hands. "Watch it, pinkies!" she growled, glancing over her shoulder at them. "Come on, Bitey! You can move faster than this!"
Bitey was Ziri's kashto - known to outsiders as a miracle lizard. Nearly ten feet long from snout to whipping tail, the beast somewhat resembled an overgrown alligator outfitted with spikes and scales perfectly adapted for desert survival. Its long, powerful limbs and webbed feet dragged the sledge swiftly through the sandy streets. Bitey gazed back at his rider and, despite possessing only the basest animal intellect, somehow managed to convey a long-suffering look through slitted eyes.
"Oh, don't give me that," Ziri shot back, a hint of warmth beneath the barb. She'd raised Bitey from just a hatchling, back when he fit in her palms. Now the miracle lizard was her most reliable friend and partner, privy to all her secrets - and, being a beast, conveniently unable to share any of them.
The odd pair wove deeper into the warren of stone-walled buildings, most of them crumbling old relics from before even the time of the First Mage King. Finally, they arrived at a squat adobe warehouse near Kanhak's western edge. Ziri rapped her knuckles against the heavy door.
"Open up, Greer! It's Ziri!" she shouted. After a few moments the door creaked open, revealing a tall, generously proportioned human woman holding an oil lantern aloft. Greer's stern face broke into a grin at the sight of the diminutive goblin.
"There you are! Was starting to worry I'd been stood up," Greer chuckled, beckoning Ziri and Bitey inside. She filled a bucket from a cistern and passed it to Bitey, who began greedily lapping up water with his long lolling tongue. Greer gave the scaly beast an affectionate scratch along his spiky frill.
Ziri hopped down and hauled open the lid of her sledge with an effortful grunt, revealing a set of wooden crates packed tightly together. "Have I ever left you hanging, Greer?" She flashed her companion a sharp-toothed smile. "Now let's get down to business. I've got ten crates here, fully loaded with absolutely primo grade A chew. Direct from Lord Barba's cactus fields, best you can get your mitts on."
"Please, talk it up a little more, I'm not sold yet..." Greer snorted.
Human and goblin carried the crates inside. Ziri cracked one open, filling the dim room with a tantalizing fruity aroma. Reaching into the box, Ziri scooped up a few strips of bright orange shredded cactus fruit.
"Here, try it out," she said, passing a sample to Greer. "Perfect moisture content, harvested at peak ripeness. This here is the real deal."
Greer popped the chew in her mouth, her expression thoughtful as she rolled the shredded fruit over her tongue. After a few seconds she grimaced and spat the wad out in her palm.
"Yeah, no. This stuff's dry as dust," Greer said, wiping residue from her lips. "You trying to pull one over on me here, Ziri?"
"Dry? No way! Lord Barba's orchards only produce the best, sticky-ickiest chew in the whole of Tizona!" Ziri protested. She grabbed another strip from a different crate and scrutinized it closely, even giving it a cautious nibble. Her face fell.
"...Huh. You might be right. It is a little dry," she conceded.
Greer shook her head, leaning back against a table with her arms crossed. "A little? Honey, this delivery's drier than a dead man's bones."
Ziri's expression clouded over, her earlier swagger replaced by resignation. "Fine, it's drier than it should be. But the flavor's all there! And I mean, people don't chew this crap for the taste. C'mon Greer, we already agreed on a price."
"That was before you showed up three days late with crap product," Greer retorted. "I can't move this stuff at market price, not before it loses all potency. I'll give you... let's say 1,000 trads. Final offer."
"1,000?" Ziri yelped. "The deal was for 3,000! I got debts to pay off, Greer. Real unfun debts. And I'm only late cause I hit a sandstorm! I'm not exactly in charge of sandstorms!" She hopped from foot to foot in irritation.
Greer shrugged. "Not my problem. Take the 1,000 now or try hawking it to somebody else. Doubt you'll get any offers though, not with the Zeloqs flooding the market lately."
Ziri's long ears drooped. She should have known. The Zeloq Cartel had been encroaching on Lord Barba's territory for months now. Of course they'd take the opportunity to sink their claws into Kanhak's black market.
"Fine," she sighed, all her usual bravado gone. "I'll take the damn 1,000."
Greer nodded and stepped forward, placing a sympathetic hand on Ziri's slender shoulder. "You're in a tight spot huh? I feel for you kiddo, I really do. But business is business. I'm willing to bump it up to 1,200... but take it somewhere else, and you're looking at 800 for wasting more of my time."
Ziri shrugged the hand off, glaring up at the human woman. Greer's tough features bent in a frown. Damn it! She was being a bitch about the price, but Ziri knew Greer well - she wasn't the kind to be dishonest. This was the best deal she could get in town.
"I don't need your pity, Greer," she hissed. "Or your charity. Just take the chew and pay up. 1,000 trads."
Their bartering concluded, Ziri stalked out of the dim warehouse fuming, Bitey lumbering placidly along behind her. She'd failed spectacularly today - first by showing up late with compromised goods, and then failing to sell them for even half of their promised value. Just what would she tell Lord Barba? The ruthless goblin crime lord was known for a lot of things, but charity and forgiveness weren't on that list.
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As Ziri prepared her sand-sledge for the long journey back to Lord Barba's stronghold, she glanced back to see Greer waving from just within the doorway. The human gave her a sad little smile.
"You take care now, Ziri," Greer called out softly. "Don't be a stranger, you hear?"
Ziri blinked fiercely before turning away. She hauled herself up onto the sledge and flicked Bitey's reins.
"C'mon, Bitey. Let's get out of here."
The miracle lizard broke into a loping stride, pulling his dejected owner into the desert night.
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After stashing away her sledge behind the local stable, Ziri strolled through the dusty streets with Bitey at the end of a lead. The goblin was trying and failing to take her mind off of things, her small hands balled into fists, her stomach churning with distress. She'd failed Lord Barba for the last time... there was no way she could earn enough to meet her monthly quota now.
Even with the 4,000 trads she had already put in this month, and the 1,000 she had just received from Greer, there was simply no chance she could earn 5,000 more in the days left, no matter how she tallied the math. It would take a few days just to get to Barba's nearest storehouse, and then a week from there to get to somewhere like Salza or Tesh, towns she could guess the Zeloqs hadn't already flooded with their cheaper chew. She already knew the Zeloqs had better prices on other drugs like fiend-flake and numbskull.
As she turned down a narrow alley, the glowing lanterns of the Spinxie Tavern came into view. The tavern was one of the few places in Kanhak Ziri felt at home. At least, it used to be. Lately the Spinxie had seen an influx of loyalists - remnants still clinging to the old ways of the long deposed Mage King. Ziri snorted derisively at a gaggle of bald and bearded men in gaudy purple robes stumbling drunkenly down the road, yelling slurs at the goblins they passed. The loyalists never missed a chance to make their disdain for "lesser species" loudly known.
Still, Ziri found great pleasure in the ironic justice to their banishment here. Decades ago, her kind had been banned from the valleys by the current Mage King, forced to build new communities further out in the harsh dunes and cliffs of the Tizonan desert. Now the humans that had stuck by the Mage King's side in the face of the Chosen's revolt had suffered the exact same punishment.
She hitched Bitey to a post and strode up to the tavern's scarred oaken door. Usually Ziri only visited the Spinxie to celebrate a lucrative sale. But tonight, she needed to drown her sorrows.
Sliding onto a stool, Ziri ordered a flagon of mead and got to work numbing her brain. Ruminating on the day's events, the goblin scowled as she recalled Greer's pitying smile. She should have tried selling that chew elsewhere, maybe gotten at least 1,500 or 2,000 out of it. But it was too late for regrets now. Her life as a free goblin was over... if she was ever all that free to begin with.
The busty goblin barmaid Brixi sashayed by, casting Ziri a sympathetic glance. Brixi was one of Barba's "employees" too, though she worked off her family's debt in a very different manner. Suddenly the full implications of Barba's threat to make Ziri "pay a different way" crashed down on her. The leering gazes of drunk patrons turned her stomach. She shuddered and sucked down more mead.
As Ziri fought against despair, the tavern door swung open. She caught herself staring as an unfamiliar human strode inside. He had the lithe build of a runner, but his skin lacked the permanent sun-scorch sported by most desert dwellers. Shaggy dark hair framed handsome features and unusual orange eyes. And - her breath hitched - a sword scabbard was strapped to his travel pack. Such open weaponry was shunned in taverns like this, everyone around these parts knew that was the rule. Who was this strange newcomer?
At multiple tables, Ziri noticed bald loyalist heads swiveling to follow the human's progress. So she wasn't the only one perplexed by his presence. The young man began making the rounds, stopping to exchange hushed words with various patrons. As he passed the bar, Ziri flagged down her drinking buddy Vrix.
"Who in blazes is that pink-skin?" she whispered.
"Dunno, but I've got the feeling he's fresh," muttered Vrix with a shrug. "Looking for a navigator, so he says."
Now Ziri was intrigued. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the human claimed a corner booth. He took off his heavy backpack and sat it on the rounded bench, pulled out a beaten-up journal from the bag, then sat down next to it. Thumbing through the journal, he started to jot something down with a thick charcoal pencil. Swaying her hips, Brixi sauntered up to the human's table, but he was too engrossed in... whatever it was he was writing to notice the goblin's presence. When she cleared her throat to get his attention, he glanced over and traded a few words with her. Whatever he said, it made Brixi stomp away from the table with a huff.
Ziri lifted her drink to her lips, an idea forming in her head. Perhaps this stranger presented an opportunity, however slim, to turn her fortunes around. As a dune-runner, she knew these sands better than anyone. If she could convince the man to hire her, perhaps the job's payoff would allow her to satisfy Barba's demands after all.
Hopping down from her stool, she crossed the bar over to the booth the unfamiliar man was sitting at. Up close, Ziri noted he had a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones beneath that unruly dark hair. His orange eyes were unusual, even eerie, but not unpleasant to look at - they flickered with keen intellect.
"You're lucky," Ziri said without preamble. These booths were newer - built for the human customers rather than the goblin clientele. She started to clamber up onto the high, cushioned seat opposite the human, hoping she didn't look as stupid as she figured she did.
Watching Ziri make her awkward climb, the man took a few seconds to respond. "Lucky?" He glanced around, a bemused look on his face. "Lucky how, exactly?"
"Lucky that tonight, you walked into the same tavern as me," Ziri said, finally settling into her seat. The goblin didn't really have any idea how he'd respond to this kind of opening, but she certainly wasn't expecting what came next.
The human pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "For the love of... how many whores does one town need? I've seriously got to invest in a stick to beat you green-skins off with."
"Excuse me?!"
"Sorry, sorry," the man sighed again. "I'm a little frustrated. This town is flush with every kind of service except what I'm looking for. I figured your friend would've told you after I turned her down too... Unless you've slept with a good navigator recently and know where he might be, I've got no need for you."
With that, he fixed his eyes back on his journal as if Ziri was never there. Ziri was ready to leap on top of the table and smack this pink-skin's lights out, but she managed to restrain herself... at least until she found out if the money was worth it or not.
"Believe it or not, I'm the best dune-runner this side of the Spine of Kyrem," Ziri said. The man glanced at her again. "Name's Ziri, nice to meetcha. You're looking for transport through the desert? I'm familiar with every inch of it. I can get you - or your cargo - anywhere."
The man shut his book, laying it on the table, the scanned over Ziri with an appraising glare. "Anywhere?"
"Anywhere."
"If that's the case," he turned to his bag and started to rustle through it. "Well, you see, I've been traveling for quite a while. I had a navigator who got me this far, but when I told him where I was hoping to go... ah, here it is."
The man pulled out a long leather case and popped the cap off. He drew out the map inside and spread it out on the table facing Ziri. The goblin's eyes widened as she studied its details - this thing was way out of date. From the yellowed parchment, weathered edges, and archaic names for certain locations, she could tell the map was already old when her grandparents were young. Who the hell would carry around a relic like this?
Tapping his finger on a spot nestled between two small mountain ranges, the man spoke up again. "I need you to bring me there."
Ziri struggled to transpose the location onto a modern mental map, then sucked in a surprised breath. There was only one thing out there.
"The Tomb of Oseiya?" She raised a questioning brow. "Why, exactly, do you want to visit that godsforsaken place?"
"I'm something of an archaeologist," the man said. From how his lips bent down at the corners for a split second, Ziri could tell he was irritated she had figured out what the spot was so fast. "Let's just say that."
"You realize when you say 'let's just say that,' you're basically shouting 'I'm lying right now?'" Ziri asked, laughing to herself. "If you were an archaeologist, then you'd know the place is surrounded by sandstorms non-stop. It's cursed. Nobody's even laid eyes on it in thousands of years, anyone who gets close enough-"
"Is struck by lightning and has their flesh shredded from their bones by flying sand, I know the story," the man said, cutting her off. "Have you ever been close enough to confirm that yourself?"
Ziri rolled her eyes. "Well, no, obviously, but-"
"It's all just superstition," the man interrupted. "We'll find out the real truth when we get there."
Ziri considered his words, weighing her options in her mind. Alright, she definitely didn't want to get that close to the place, but the man was right - the tales about the tomb seemed a little too dramatic to be true. She had heard them since she was a child, but had never ventured close enough to confirm whether the deadly storms were any more than fiction. Perhaps this stranger had a point. They could just myths meant to keep people away.
"Okay, well, this would be about a week and a half long trip from where we are right now, and we'd be passing into orc territory. That's risky, it's not gonna come cheap," she cautioned. "Plus, I can supply a tent and water, but you'll have to buy the food."
"Perfectly understandable," the man said, stifling a yawn. He reached back into his pack. "Well, I'll admit I'm a little low on cash at the moment... can I pay you some up front and some after we get there?"
Here it is, Ziri thought. The part where pinky tries to rip me off.
"How much up front?" Ziri asked, narrowing her eyes skeptically.
The man avoided her gaze, reaching into his pack. "This may be a little low..." He dropped a heavy bag on the table, loose coins spilling out across the map - squares of glinting copper, silver, and even a few gold. "Would 5,000 trads suffice?"
Ziri coughed and sputtered. "C-come again?" She stared at the money, trying not to drool.
"5,000 trads," He enunciated slowly, a wry smile playing at his lips. "If that offer's so appalling I can do 5,500."
Ziri grinned, baring her sharp little teeth. "I don't work for any less than 6,000 up front."
"Expensive, but I guess you get what you pay for, right?" The man's odd eyes flickered with humor. "6,000 it is, and I'll give you another 6,000 after we get to the tomb."
As Ziri scooped up the coins, her mind raced. This strange human was willing to pay a small fortune just to visit some cursed ruins? Why would an 'archaeologist' carry such outdated maps? She'd just scored enough to pay off Barba this month and then some. The only problem was that she wasn't going to be able to get it in on time. No way she could get from Kanhak to the tomb and then to Barba's stronghold before the month's end. Perhaps paying a little extra could keep Barba from punishing her... but maybe she could have it both ways.
"Well, actually..." An idea struck her. "I'm willing to go back down to 5,500. I don't have a room tonight - doubt I'll find one this late. You renting somewhere?"
"Yes, a hotel across town."
"Perfect. I'll stay with you tonight. We can leave together tomorrow, after gathering supplies." Ziri laid out her plan, grinning inwardly. There was one little detail she left off the itinerary...
"A wonderful plan," said the man as he gathered his things. "You've no idea what this means to me."
Ziri rubbed two coins together, eyes lost in their shine. "Y'know, human, you still haven't told me your name."
"Rhys." He flashed an odd little smile. "A pleasure doing business with you."