Jace sat in his stronghold, waiting for an update. Timing was important in this mission. He needed to wait for Delly’s backstory to formulate a plan, but if he waited too long, leaving Esther in the lower levels of Zamora for an extended period, she would likely be captured before he arrived, and he might lose his chance to enact any plan. The travel node for Zamora was over a mile from the city, forcing players to walk at least ten minutes in the hot desert sun. Gracie had told him it was fierce enough conditions that Snowy, a winter wolf, might not survive the trip.
NPC caravans routinely traveled a route along the travel node, and for a fee, you could ride in an awning-covered wagon with priests capable of shielding you from the heat. That was the plan, but Jace needed to know from Gracie when to start his trip.
{I think you should get moving,} his operator said almost an hour after sunrise. {Esther made it to Delly, and she is starting her story. It looks like the game will give us an extended cinematic cutscene. I’m recording it, and once you are inside the caravan, I can play it back for you.}
Jace got up and went to the various rooms to collect his party. He only really wanted to take Psycho. Snowy would suffer in the heat, and Jace anticipated a combat-heavy scenario in which Gromphy didn’t excel. Still, the wolf refused to let Jace venture alone, and Gromphy insisted on coming. Since losing Adam, the goblin seemed more determined than ever to stay by Jace’s side. The orc shaman felt the master crafter had something else up his sleeve, but he didn’t pressure him.
Draya only had one night’s rest since her traumatic ordeal in the last mission, and Jace worried about lingering banes, but Trixna, his orc priestess, gave the young dragon mage a clean bill of health and said she was ready to go. Also, her dress no longer gave her unlimited fire mana, meaning she was less powerful and more vulnerable than before. Still, at level 18, she was likely one of the most potent NPCs in the game, and even at reduced effectiveness, Jace would be foolish to leave her behind. Dead companions should wake up in his stronghold as long as no demon sacrifices or possessions were in play. He knew for a fact they had all rested here last night. Of course, he would be interacting with three high-level players who would delight in stealing one of his valuable NPCs, so nothing was guaranteed.
After collecting his party, Jace left through his private travel node and looked forward to learning Delly’s back story.
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Delilah Sorek watched the dessert warrior walk through the crowded tavern as she sipped her ale.
“I like his armor,” Ferrick said, pausing between chicken legs to give his opinion. Delly looked down to see four bones already stacked haphazardly on his plate. After his comment, he tore the last bit of meat from his current morsel, dropped the remains before him, and reached for another. His hand was knocked away.
“Take a break,” Tenesta said, her muscled arm outstretched, ready to slap Ferrick again if necessary. “We are about to conduct business.”
The fighter stared back at the half-orc archer, knowing he probably shouldn’t pick a fight with the powerful female. “Like you guys would let me talk anyway,” he grumbled. Still, Ferrick pulled his hand back and drained the last of his ale before crossing his arms in frustration.
“You occasionally have useful insights,” the fourth group member said.
Delly shifted her eyes to Pok, eyeing the dark elf necromancer carefully. He rarely had a kind word for anyone.
“I, too, think his armor is unique,” the mage continued, sipping wine from his goblet. He refused to drink ale. “It’s been dead for less than a week.”
Delly felt confused by the comment and returned her gaze to their approaching visitor. Other than the light shade of red, the man’s chest plate didn’t look that out of the . . . Then Delly saw it too. It was made from a giant scorpion shell. The fact that Pok could tell how long it had been dead creeped her out. Not that anything the necromancer did was normal.
Looking closer, Delly saw that the flail hanging from the warrior’s belt was also unique. One of the heads looked suspiciously like the tip of a scorpion’s tail. The female barbarian made a note not to get into a fight with this man.
“Welcome, Dreller Coy,” Pok announced once the warrior drew near enough to separate himself from the tavern’s general din. Dreller hesitated, having not given this mercenary group his name when he had sent the inquiry note to hire them. Delly hid a smirk, watching a shiver run through the man’s body as he regarded the elven necromancer. Pok had that effect on most people. “Please, take a seat,” the mage continued, his bony hand motioning out of his voluminous tan robe toward the empty chair at the table. The four companions sat close together on the other side. “Ferrick even left you some food if you're hungry.”
“Not by choice,” the fighter mumbled.
“Please don’t speak,” Pok said.
Dreller eyed the few pieces of food and shook his head as he took the offered seat. “I came neither for a meal nor banter. Only to test your reputation.”
Tenesta sat up straighter, peeling back her upper lip in a scowl to reveal her prominent tusks. She always took umbrage at anyone who challenged her honor.
“You serve the Prime Regent,” Pok said, again displaying knowledge it was clear Dreller didn’t think he should have. “You would not be here unless you already believed us worthy of your time, so do not waste ours or our patience. Get to the point.”
Dreller chuckled. “What? You do not already know? You seem to know everything else before I tell you.”
Pok said nothing. Dreller exchanged glances with the other three mercenaries at the table, and they all stared back impassively. Well, the females did. Ferrick looked forlornly at the chicken. “Very well,” Dreller said. “Lord Vulder, our Prime Regent, has reason to believe that a man who might threaten his rule over the city will arrive tomorrow.”
Delly laughed. “Lord Vulder has ruled since before any of our time.” She hesitated to toss a look toward Pok, suddenly realizing she had no idea how old the necromancer was. She shrugged her shoulders and continued. “Never has another individual, guild, or even kingdom posed the slightest threat to his dominance. What is so special about this man he fears?”
Dreller chuckled again. “I did not say Lord Vulder feared him. I said he believes the man might threaten his rule. Lord Vulder fears no one.”
“Everyone fears something,” Ferrick grumbled.
His half-orc companion was about to argue the point when Pok silenced her with a raised hand. “Indeed,” the mage said, agreeing with the fighter for the second time in as many minutes. “Fear is universal.” He leveled his gaze on Dreller. “So, the question remains: what is special about this man?”
“He is Sonan, Son of Cam,” Dreller said. It was enough.
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Delly drew in a sharp breath and leaned back. Tensesta stopped scowling and swallowed hard. Ferrick laughed. Pok didn’t flinch. “I assumed this day would come,” the dark elf said.
“Did you, now?” Ferrick scoffed. “A day when myth and legend would walk the streets of Zamora to fulfill ancient prophecies no one can remember.”
“I remember,” Pok said calmly. “Water from rock, life from sand. Ruled by one perpetually. Savior comes, the Son of Cam. Whose rage brings forth liberty.”
“Wistful fairytales,” Tenesta said. “Penned by a naïve Plague Seeker whose lack of foresight doomed the Desert Kingdom. Only Zamora remains. Lord Vulder has saved us where nature, magic, kings, and prophecies have failed.”
Delly watched Dreller nod in agreement at the half-orcs affirmation. Obviously, he fully supported the current ruler too. The desert warrior then regarded Pok’s austere, unreadable presentation, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on to Ferrick’s dismissive antics. He finally turned to Delly. The young barbarian woman wished to crawl under the table at that moment than to have to answer the question she knew would come.
“And where do you stand on the prophecies?” he asked.
Where did she stand? The history of the Desert Kingdom played through her mind briefly—centuries of royal rule, with each new monarch more oppressive than the last. The empire had spanned hundreds of miles across the sandy planes with over a dozen prosperous cities. Unlike the harsh climate today, the desert was once a fertile floodplain, rich in food, spices, and exotic animals. Only occasional instances of the now ubiquitous towering sand dunes dotted the land.
In this wealthy kingdom, only the elite enjoyed prosperity to the fullest extent, while the rest of the people lived as slaves, pushed hard to extract as many resources as possible. Many revolts, riots, and uprisings proved futile against the oppressive nobility. That is, until the arrival of Sonan. A hero, born from the desert sand, imbued with unmatched strength, rose against the elites. Stories of his exploits filled the history books, though some regarded them as mere myths. He was said to have worked from city to city, tearing down the oppressive dictators and restoring power to the people, allowing them to benefit from the land's prosperity. His mission was to free every city before taking down the capital and the king within.
But some seeking freedom didn’t want to wait. A faction of the resistance called Plague Seekers sought to bring down the monarchy by cursing the land. The river dried up. The dozens of oases disappeared. The crops died. The heat rose to unbearable heights. Travel between the cities ceased. Anyone caught outside in the desert sun for more than a few hours perished.
Zamora sat at the edge of the kingdom, only six hours from the Storm Top Mountains and the rest of civilization. That trip could easily be made during the cool of the night, and the giant scorpions, spiders, and snakes that patrolled the rest of the desert had not yet infested the borderlands. Information on how the other cities fared during this plague dried up. No one knew whether the royal family still reigned, was killed by the plague, or had fallen to Sonan’s prophecied justice.
Lord Vulder didn’t wait to find out. He was the one who found water deep within the earth. He was the one who brought in the dwarves, the kobolds, and the gnomes. He built the city walls that kept the monsters out at night. Only the vipers could still penetrate the cracks, and he had made a pact with them so the snakes no longer harmed the residents.
Slavery in the form of whips and chains disappeared too, for there were no fields to work or cattle to tend. Instead, people shackled themselves to brothels, gaming houses, thieving guilds, and opium dens. Indentured servitude became the primary currency. The working class replaced nobility, and instead of looking at the lowest rung of society as victims of oppression, intense feelings of disdain were more common. Only stupid people made promises they couldn’t keep or bets they couldn’t cover. That was until it happened to one of them, and they found no one sympathetic to their ironic cries of injustice.
Zamora had stood against the plague with no news from the rest of the kingdom for decades, and no one expected anything to change. That was until Lord Vulder announced that he was stepping down. Instead of hurting the prosperous city, the influx of powerful characters wishing to gain the lord’s favor and his throne vaulted the city to unprecedented heights. As more wealth exchanged hands than ever before, the disparity between the empowered and impoverished grew even more stark, and the idea that a single man could change that was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.
But if Sonan was real and he was coming to Zamora . . .
This information flashed through Delly’s thoughts as she returned Dreller’s gaze.
“And where do you stand on the proficies?” he repeated. “Do you wish to see them fulfilled? Do you wish to see this barbarian’s rage cut off the head of our leader? To restore liberty to the people? Or would that only weaken this great city and allow it to be swallowed up by the desert sand like the rest of its former kin.”
Delly knew what he wanted her to say. “I have done well,” she replied. The rest of her family lived in poverty, most sold into servitude, but since learning the way of a barbarian and joining Pok’s group, she had kept food in her stomach and clothes on her back. “I see no reason for the city to change.”
Dreller smiled. “Good. Here is what I know. Sonan’s existence is not widely known. The Prime Regent has informants living beyond the Storm Top Mountains. Sonan is traveling in secret, having emerged from the desert sands far to the east. It seems he can travel across them with little trouble.”
Ferrick chuckled and rolled his eyes. It would take more than stories to convince this unbeliever.
“When word came that Zamora was still alive and well, he began traveling in this direction. It seems he had visited all of the other city sites. Most were dead and covered in sand. A few had survivors, and he did his best to save them. Even fewer had authority structures in place, hailing back to their days in the kingdom. He ruthlessly tore them down, undoubtedly sentencing all the survivors to a slow death. He intends to do the same here.”
“Him and what army?” Tenesta scoffed. “Our great city will not fall to one man.”
“I agree,” Dreller said. “And our lord does not truly fear him, but everything we have heard confirms his vast strength and ability. When consumed by rage, he draws power from the land and can punch holes in mountains, wring wrought iron in his bare hands, and is impervious to all forms of magic. He might not be able to tear down this city, but he will do an awful lot of damage during the attempt.”
Delly knew it was more than that. Lord Vulder was reportedly as good a swordsman as any in the city, but most knew he never had to lift a finger in combat because of his mind mage. Paltine was a terrifying wizard; if half the stories Delly had heard were true, she hoped never to meet him. He could control someone’s mind so completely that he could convince them to murder their entire family before cutting off their own limbs to lie bleeding to death on the ground. If Sonan were immune to magic, he could pose a serious threat.
“He must have some weakness,” Pok asked. “Everyone does.”
Dreller smiled. “He does have a soft spot for a pretty face.”
Ferrick laughed loudly. “Of course he does. Don’t all mythical heroes?” He gained control of his mirth before continuing. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong group of mercenaries. We are all out of pretty faces. Tenesta isn’t scheduled to have her whiskers trimmed till next week.”
“You bloody bastard!” the half-orc cried. “I’ll shove one of my arrows so far up your . . .”
“Stop talking,” Pok said evenly, and the archer’s mouth seized up in mid-threat. The table expected further retaliation from the half-orc, but she knew her place in the group. Instead, their leader merely looked at Delly. “Are you up to it?” the dark elf asked.
Delly knew she often commanded attention when she walked into a room, and not just because of her tall, muscular frame or the mighty battle axe hanging from her hip. The barbarian was unique in that she could fly into a deathly rage, yet at other times, she excluded such a serene beauty that men were often speechless around her. She could feel that Dreller had rarely looked elsewhere since he had sat down. She sighed and nodded her head. “What’s the game? What do you need me to do?”
“We need to know the secret of his strength,” Dreller said. “Does he have a god? Does he wear a magical item that links him to the desert? Does he drink a potion? If you can cause him to summon his rage in a controlled environment so we can observe it, then perhaps we can find a way to defeat it.”
Delly nodded, several ideas running through her head. She knew Pok would be the one to put the final plan together, and when she looked over at the necromancer, she could see he was deep in thought.
“Ferrick,” the dark elf finally said. “Where are your gambling debts at currently?”
“Probably two gold coins short of servitude,” Tenesta said. Pok was about to cut her off again, and she wisely said no more, not enjoying the feeling of her leader’s magic.
“Do you have any debts at more upscale establishments?” Pok asked.
Ferrick tried to look insulted as if he would ever stoop to frequent anything less. Delly knew the truth and that his addiction had no accounting for taste. “Aye,” the fighter said. “I’ve got a tab running at a few higher-end gaming houses. Why? What do you have in mind?”
Pok smiled and told them.