Night eclipsed the sands upon the Plains of Peresh as David, Isaiah, and the Aasimar Twins Tutoria and Tomos strode their way across the desert with careful steps. The heavy pressed tracks left behind by the monastery’s despoilers were still afresh with its fattened parade across the land. Taking into the shadows that the night brought forth with only David’s faintest glimmer of his Pip-Boy’s built-in flashlight set to its lowest luminosities, the group followed the Marauder Chief, known as the Sandstorm’s footprints that lay embedded on the sand. If there were any gods of karma, the despoiler’s red-handed greed would be their downfall.
“Stay low…” David ushered everyone as he went prone and crawled the next few dozen meters quietly towards the peak of the sand dune.
The sand they now stepped upon had changed from scorching coals into frigid snow that one’s breath could be easily seen by the drastic shift in climate.
“So… so… cold…” Tomos chattered his teeth as he wrapped another layer upon his scarf to foment what little heat he could trap within his body for himself.
“I am here brother.” Tutoria shared a spare cloth for him. Being more physically able, she could weather such extremities… if just only significantly longer. “Have we arrived where those ravagers rest?”
“Take a look, girlie.” David crawled aside for Tutoria as the two looked over the Dune.
A source of those lights had formed a camp or a carousel of wagons to be more precise. Five Wagons, four large and covered ones, rested below the hollow bottom of a bowl-shaped sand formation where the main camp had spawned. If one can recall their ranger’s nature knowledge this would be called a ‘basin’. A commanding view atop, and a warming shelter below. Across David and Tutoria was another dune that housed a smaller wagon that acted as some kind of lookout across the Desert’s expanse.
“How many of them are down there?” Tutoria asked David.
“Give or take… fifteen or more.” David estimated through the faint shadows the light had brought forth from the Nethysian Camp’s bonfire. “They seemed to look nastier than the ones we fought back at your place.” The Ranger noticed seeing the Marauders sporting much heavier armor and a more varied array of weapons compared to what he and Isaiah had disposed of earlier. Great cleavers stood rank and file amongst multi-toothed spears compared to the more mundane swords and axes the Bandits had wielded earlier. They were indeed within the Sandstorm’s inner circle.
“The Sandstorm left only the dispensable minions to clear out the rest of the Monastery whilst making off with our Treasures.” Tutoria explained. “The Chief should be expecting their peons that stayed behind to ransack what’s left of the Monastery to return to him by now. They won’t be expecting survivors, let alone attack him in the middle of the night.”
“So, which one of them is the Sandstorm?” David pointed out.
“The rumors say that the Sandstorm wears a purple ponytail atop on their half-painted Nethysian Mask A vain one through and through as they say.” Tutoria answered as she pouted disappointingly. “What whispers I had heard, they say the Sandstorm was once a Cleric of the All-Seeing Eye before the Cataclysm. The Cleric went mad upon the Death of their God. In some mad bid to ‘revive’ him, the Sandstorm began to ransack all of Qadira for years, pillaging every scrap of what little is left here for some kind of means to resurrect him. Such atrocities had brought the Sandstorm a following of equally depraved savages to their banner. The Cleric is said to have awesome ability to control Magic with their maddening abandon: Winds, Water, Fire and many more. Devastation can only be left where the Sandstorm and his ilk rear their ugly head.”
They quietly observed the gathering of sand scum as they helped themselves of Larder-stolen bread and drew lots against who may have the rest of the Monastery spoils to themselves, before a horn beckoned their attention away from their roguish occupations. Catching David’s eyes out came forth a purple ponytail as told by the Sarenite. The Sandstorm stood above the rest of their fellows…
Or at least as best as the Bandit Leader could be raised atop several wooden crates to grab ahold of the camp. The Sandstorm’s scale was no taller than that of a child, let alone just one of the large supply boxes they had looted off of the Monastery.
“That’s the Sandstorm?” David balked; his dogged eyes softened. “I was honestly expecting… I don’t know…”
“Taller?” Tutoria asked, just as disenchanted as he was. “By the looks of it, the Sandstorm is a Gnome. Small but powerful. We must take heed.” The Paladin perceptively observed.
“Fucking Garden snots…” the Ranger cursed. A Gnome as his prey, what else is new? “So about that little…” David attempted to muster the words to describe his through his bemused inclination to chuckle in such an ironic absurdity to the Paladin, but all he could exhaust out of his mouth was an arduous grouse.
Meanwhile, below the camp, the pint-sized Sandstorm began to stomp around down under the presence of the band of rapacious villains. The Leader began to yell disgruntledly towards them. David couldn’t tell from the distance they were spying upon them, but the way the Sandstorm grabbed hold of one of the Monastery’s treasures, a gold clothed book adorned with Sarenrae’s Crucifix up high. The Sandstorm furiously skimmed through the contents of the book before the pint-sized villain began to tear through the religious book’s pages whilst blasphemously tossing the sacred relic onto the booze spilled floor of the Bandit’s Camp.
“No! The Birth of Light.” Tutoria turned red. But just as she was about to leap away from the Sand Dune and charge into the mouth of the Sand Storm’s lair, David stopped her, holding her down to the ground, lest they ruined the group's one advantage against them, the element of surprise.
“Patience little girl, we ought’ta to play our next moves smart.” David reprimanded her.
“I only know of the Sandstorm through hearsay I am afraid,” Tutoria pouted nervously.
“Qadira… this land I am standing on nowhere in Golarion, yes? . What does… a Cleric do exactly? Are they like you?” David inquired.
“Clerics are in a way, reflections of their chosen deities in many ways. They are their mortal servants and so are blessed with divine magic. Nethys, being the erudite God he… used to be, would have bestowed the Sandstorm with abilities to warp the current tears of reality to his whims.” Tutoria explained, sweat profusely dropped around her neck as she dreadfully spoke each word in her sentence.
“Don’t you dare bullshit me.” David disapprovingly shook his head.
“Aye… my sister… she partly speaks true.” Tomos crawled to David’s left side. “Nethys dominions is of destruction, knowledge, and protection. The Sandstorm would be a mage of extraordinary power. And that’s not accounting for all of his friends down there.” The Aasimar Alchemist looked down at the camp.
“So what are our options?” David continues to sink his head over the stacked odds of success.
“We have the element of surprise, yes. But a head-on charge is only gonna get us all killed… or me and sister in chains again… give or take.” Tomos shrugged.
“Not now Brother!” Tutoria distastefully admonished her brother’s drab flavoring of his drollery.
“Hang on, I am getting to the good part!” Tomos crawled back. “A head on charge down this dune is just going to get us all killed, yes. However, that small wagon o’er there will spot us. Unless we can take it out first, then lure out the rest of the Sandstorms minions out of there thinking an assault is coming from that direction?” he proposed.
“A decent approach, but there’s something to it you might overlook.”
“Oh, what is that Outlander?” Tomos sneeringly asked.
“What if they dug in? They just stay in their Wagon formation that way we can’t be able to pick them all off easily? We will need a way to guarantee we can smoke them out of their hive.” David answered.
Tomos gripped the sand on the dune angrily, but alas the Ranger was right. “Damnation.”
“Smoke… smoke… the Torches perhaps?” Tomos pondered. “We can use the torches that Watchtower have and light the Wagon on fire, cut loose the animals yoking them and have it roll down the dune?” he attempted to redeem his ego, recalibrating his plan.
“That could… actually work.” David was startled but the Aasimar’s amendment was honestly astute of him.
“Tomos, but the Relics!” Tutoria protested. “The fire could also destroy some of the Relics too.”
“I rather have d-dist Sandstorm fell’r have no stuff than keep stuff. This magic shit? Hole lottsa peeps can get ‘urt. We outta’ stop that fucker before crazy shit happens ag’in. Jus’me saying o’er here.” Isaiah supported Tomos.
“We got no other option here Girl. If we don’t stop the Sandstorm here and now. He’s going to make off with Saint Habir’s Rod and our scrolls.” Tomos reasoned with her.
“There are just some things we have to sacrifice here, little girl.” David argued. “We can’t save everything all at once. You will only die tired and not saving anything or anyone at all. You need to… you need to just save… what is most precious to you. What you cannot live without.” He advised her, if not somewhat harshly from his time in the Wastelands.
“What do you know of Sacrifice?” the Paladin asked the Ranger. “These relics, do you know how much these mean to us? Are you going to let what little we have left? Just as we saw the Sandstorm at our home too? They were our teachings, our duty, our entire lives. They brought hope… to so many… and the Sandstorm is defiling it all as we speak, and now you want to burn what little hope is there left for… for anyone in this world?”
“There are just some things in this world that are worth saving more than just Books and Scrolls. The needs of… the potentially many weights more than the material… flesh and stone and all needs of you two.” David gnashed his teeth. Concerned by Tutoria's rash insistence. “Those are just books, they can be rewritten, make a new one in their place. But a mad monster like the Sandstorm on the loose? He will just do what he had done to you to other folks again and again unless we do something about it now.”
“Sister… the Outlander is right. If there is to be peace, we must stop the Sandstorm here and now. Or what they did in the Monastery will happen again to another.” Tomos, his cheeks falling grievously, told his Sister. He had already come to accept what he had to do.
“I uh…” Tutoria bit her lip. “Yes… Sarenrae... she would have chosen to do such an... act.” The Paladin admitted her impetuousness, if distastefully letting out her disenchantment half-heartedly.
“Hey… Tudie?” Isaiah leaned his head over. “If you wanna, I can help ye save all dem’ stuff you like all precious from the fire once we hit’em? How yer’ like that?” he proposed.
“Yes… yes… please help me.” Tutoria’s impetuousness softened at the relief that at least she was still going to be able to save… some of the precious Sarenite Relics from their assault. “And its… Tutoria… I…Say…”
“Ice… just call lil’ ole me ‘Ice’.” Isaiah gave out his nickname.
“Okay that’s just the Sandstorm’s lackeys. What of the chief themself?” Tomos asked.
“His magics sure sound intimidating… no guarantee I can get a shot off of him before he tries anything…” David pondered. He will need a distraction.
“The Rod, Dave?” Isaiah reminded him. “It’s ‘cancellation’ right? All dem’ hocus-pocus? We grab’it and we can fuck that fucker be’ore he can do shit.”
“You will have to look for a Bronze Colored staff amongst his loot piles, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find Saint Habir’s Staff.” Tomos informed him.
“Bronze Staff, gotcha. It's settled then, me and Tomos we’ll get the Watch Wagon at our 12’o clock over there and once we dump it filled with flames onto the camp we pick off the rats as they flee off the nests.”
“And me and your silly-toothed companion here will look for the Staff and kill the Sandstorm.” Tutoria nodded.
“Gut der fucker like the raby-animul it is.” Isaiah eagerly gripped his Crossbow.
“Wait for the signal.” David nodded as he and Tomos crawled away from the dune.
The night sky was of a mourning veiled moon up above the Plains of Peresh as David and Tomos circled around the basin towards the lookout wagon of the marauders carefully to maintain their shadow upon them. Just as expected, the marauders were too drunk off their ill-gotten gains: specifically, the loose religious jewelry, fresh cheese, and cold water to notice the two unexpected guests descend upon them. David and Tomos quietly took down the two sentries, with Tomos taking slightly longer to finish off his prey. The Aasimar’s inferior build did not do him any favors in taking down the larger man, even with surprise on his side. David quickly intervened with a swift thrust of his short sword’s blade onto the bandit scum’s heart.
“T-Thanks Outlander.” Tomos inhaled deeply. His breathing was then immediately interrupted by the fearful brays of the lookout wagon’s attached horse now sensing something sinister is afoot.
“Save it for later… Get that thing calm down.” David ordered.
“Easy boy.” Tomos comforted the beast of burden. He noticed by the side of the Wagon Driver’s seat rest a few treats and a brush. Thinking on his feet, the Aasimar grabbed hold of those items and began to pamper the horse with his gentle hands, calming it down. Who knew he thought, that his work-calloused hands could be quite apt with live animals… NOT meant for dissection?
“Damn this wagon is heavy!” the Veteran Ranger grunted as he tried to push the wagon sideways into position, half of his heart more focused on maintaining the cover of his shadow than fully putting his old bones into it. “Get these damn shits off.” He dropped the wagon and began pulling out several crates of the bandits’ supplies and loot from the back.
“We must hurry now. They might soon realize something is wrong.” Tomos unleashed the Horses’ yoke tethering it to the wagon.
David grunted as he pulled over three weighty crates off of the wagon, tossing them down to the sandy floor. Coming down from the wagon, he tested its weight, and the second time around, he could albeit slowly shift the angle of the carriage to whatever position he wants.
“Kid, start that fire now.” David hollered as he noticed several of the drunken revelries turned their glances towards their comrades above the main party. At first, to toast them from afar, only to be dumbfounded why the sentries were shifting their wagon towards them. They were starting to arouse some suspicion about what is going on with their ‘friends’ up there in charge of Lookout.
Tomos grabbed hold of his bag of concoctions and pulled out one of his alchemical creations, a glowing orange bottle. He poured its flammable contents into the wagon’s floor before he carefully grabbed hold of two flintstones he had also kept in the same bag too. With a sweating palm, Tomos struck the stones three times, the first strike no spark came out of it, the second a small but easily slain spark, but the third spark made contact with Tomos incendiary liquor on the floor causing that one spark, to arise in phoenixian flames.
“Now!” David roared after much athleticism from his old bones, towards the bandit camp below.
Like a battering ram fueled by the avenging spirits of those they wronged, the wagon smashed through the bandit’s carousel with fiery fury.
“That got their attention!” Tomos exclaimed.
“Indeed.” David grabbed hold of one of the stray boxes he had thrown out of the Lookout’s Wagon beforehand whilst unsheathing his 12.7mm Rifle, resting its barrel, extemporized with mismatched miracles of engineering ingenuity onto its edge as he nested his body onto the sandy floor, readying to snipe down lead justice onto these outlaws.
“We have been found!” cried one of the bandits as he held up his giant mace.
“Get out of the fire!” her panicked comrade cried.
“No! Save the loot! What I… We… need could be in it!” the Sandstorm coughed out. Their rasping breath fought against the winding smoke that encoiled the carousel of wagons. More concerned for their ill-gotten gains than the fact someone dared attack them.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Several of the Sandstorm’s personal retinue of armored brutes, weapons drawn sprinted atop the dune hill towards where the Lookout Wagon was supposed to be. They were met by a shelling of David’s cracking rifle.
Gritting his teeth, he felt, noted and poured his soul into every shot of his rifle as it flashed, recoil reverberated onto his aged body.
“Seven… Six… Five…” David counted down his shots. The darkness of the night, and the shadows born from the raging inferno he and his friends had, riled his eyes. His only comfort was the flashing traces of his rifle as it zoomed down upon his assailants. Several of his shots met their mark, but their thick armor stifled its penetration, others of stronger constitution powered through, one shot happened to strike at such an awkward angle it caused the bullet to ricochet.
Despite such setbacks, several shots managed to strike true. He observed four bodies that limply collapsed to the floor. About less than a third of the people this whole gathering.
“Four… Three… Two…” David counted down, his head starting to regain its rhythm as his heart raced with every shot as the charging bandits closed in on him…
*Click*
“Shit!” David cursed. He had miscounted his rifle’s magazine once again. A mistake, befuddled through by the terror of his adrenaline. He unsheathed his rifle and stood back up from his makeshift sniper’s nest.
“Come!” Tomos held out his hand to the Ranger as he saddled the Horse he had untied earlier.
Taking the Aasimar’s paws, David rode forth behind Tomos as they galloped a safe distance a dozen paces away just as the remaining bandits swarmed where they had been just a second ago.
“Here throw this!” Tomos cried as he held onto the wings of the steed. He passed along his satchel to David, a coy smile arose from his mouth. “You will love these… they won’t!”
Reaching into the Alchemist’s bag, David found five alchemical bottles that glowed a virile orange. His fingers could feel a veiled anger that was contained in its contents. The same concoction he had used to set the Wagon earlier aflame.
Knowing what the Aasimar’s concoctions were capable of, David threw the bottle onto one of the bandits who tried to waylay them with his axe.
The bottle burst into an instantaneous inferno devouring the Marauder into its chemical flames as his agonizing screams howled through the serene Qadiran night.
[-]
“Knock-Knock!” Isaiah caused a ruckus alongside Tutoria as they blitzed through the Bandit Camp.
His Crossbow and her sword smited those bandits who attempted to quench the fire with the meager contents of their waterskins. Their blood mixes with the caked sand and spilt waters onto the desert floor.
The Paladin, so blinded in vengeance displayed her implacability onto the Marauders. Her wild dancings, a sanguine torrent unstoppable. She did not take any heed to the wounds she was struck by as her mad dash of massacre bolted towards the Sandstorm, the cynosure of her vengeance.
“You will pay for your defilement of the Dawnflower’s Temple!” Tutoria rallied. Her numerous wounds unnerved the more light-stomached of the Marauders. It was as if their blows weren’t harming her. The blood of her celestial ancestors blessing the feathery planar scion with cathartic defiance.
“None of you understand… the beauties of this world that you so hide upon your vaults Sarenite!” the Sandstorm pontificated onto the Paladin.
But Tutoria’s disgust shielded her, she let her absolute contempt for this villain be known as she began her bladed assault upon the Bandit Chieftain.
“Protect me!” the Sandstorm cried forth as he grabbed hold of his hand and cast several barrages of arcane missiles towards the fool-hardy Paladin.
His minions turned face, seeing these blasted assaulters ransack their camp and charged forth to protect their master. Between them, and the Sandstorm was Isaiah, his Crossbow at hand.
“Come’n gettit!” He shot his Crossbow. The first bolt pierced the heart of the first bandit that tried to charge at him with his spear. The second had to take two for him to go down. The third however, had cravenly hovered behind her shot up comrade to sneakily strafe around Isaiah for a barbaric overhead slash with her sword.
If it were not for the timely reflex of Isaiah blocking the strike with his Crossbow, the arms and limbs locking forth between the blades, he would have been bisected in one fell chop. The two struggled, trying to break each other free from their quarry’s spontaneous grip. Thinking quickly, or maybe through his own breed of dumb luck, Isaiah twisted his arms around, refacing his crossbow’s riser so that its serving aligned with his assailant. With this split-second opening, Isaiah squeezed the trigger and the bolt punctured the bandit’s throat at point blank range. Her sword, still jammed onto the limbs of his crossbow, causes the cables to sever.
Isaiah pulled out his fallback weapon, an axe, and began to swing wildly as he paced a couple of steps backward for distance. His hand came up upon a makeshift spear that laid about near a weapons rack. He grabbed it and pulled back his shoulder and launched the spear across the camp as a javelin.
Whilst the Rookie Ranger held his own amidst the terror of his fight, another tribulation met forth with the Paladin Tutoria when she locked blades with the Sandstorm.
“Why won’t you die?!” Tutoria uselessly unleashed a flurry of her Scimitar onto the Sandstorm, but her attacks bounced off from the otherwise armorless Sorcerer.
Every time she was just an inch from striking the flesh of the Gnome, her sword recoiled by the sudden protection of magical barriers that shielded the Sandstorm from harm. For every action, the Gnome Sorcerer applied an equal reaction to them using a conjured arcane energy to conjure a martial strike upon his spells towards the Paladin with a conjured slicer that zipped across the space at lightning speeds. The pint-sized magical Napoleon was deceptively swift with his attacks, turning Tutoria into the defensive, her subpar melee defense offering her no equal amount of respite. It was as if her very attacks were only being further blunted and then retaliated in kind.
“I know of the Secrets of Magics! The Dead God still lingers within me, little girl!” the Gnome warded off her aggression. “This ward hardens as long as I keep attacking you!”
Tutoria breathed heavily as she resorted to weaving and feinted dodges to avoid the Sorcerer’s strike. A single Paladin such as her was quite handily no match for such a perilous foe.
“David!” Isaiah cried as his fellow Ranger and Tomos had come around them, having shaken off their pursuers to meet him. He had just finished off the last of the Sandstorm’s minions and now all that was left was the titular Chieftain themself.
“Sister!” Tomos gasped seeing Tutoria be clearly outmatched by the Sandstorm. “We need to help her now!”
“The Staff. The Staff!” David answered. Remembering the Rod of Cancellation from the pits of his scurry-flushed head. His eyes began to dart across the ravaged camp. Amongst the inferno, one of the Tents stood out the most. It was flagged in distinctive purple hues, just as the Sandstorms ponytailed helmet. It was armored just as it was regal with several protective armorings that were jury rigged to each of its vital linkages.
David dashed towards the Wagon, his gut screamed that the Rod was there.
“No!” the Bandit Chieftain yelled. “Don’t let that hooligan near them!”
The Sandstorm turned tail and he too sprinted for the Purple Wagon. The last remnants of his band of brigands joined with him, two of his most venerable of followers.
David’s feet flew as they had never flown before with all of his aged vigor until he made it just by a split second before the rest of his adversary. But before he could start scavenging the treasure trove of the Gnome Sorcerer he was tackled to the ground by one of the two brigands, his throat being slowly crushed by the brute above him.
He tried to reach for anything to shake him off but the marauder was just too ravenous in his murderlust…
Blood bursted out of his assailant’s throat as an arrowhead pierced it. His grip loosened as he fell limply down dead.
“Hurry!” Tomos cried as he held out his Short Bow. He turned around to help Isaiah and his sister to hold off the Sandstorm and his one remaining bodyguard.
All of the world held their breath as David stood back up and finally could look inside the Sandstorm’s Wagon for certain.
His eyes darted across the myriad lootings that the Bandit Chieftain held oh so dear. But the faint glimmer from the Wagon’s lantern that hung above the bow captured his eyes.
“No!” the Sandstorm let out a magical outburst of fire knocking Isaiah, Tomos, Tutoria and his bodyguard away. The latter of whom fell down so clumsily he broke his neck from the fall.
The Sandstorm leaped across his friends as David held on to the low and beheld in his hands, the Staff of Saint Habir.
Just as David was about to turn and face the Sandstorm’s cathartic assault. The Rod of Cancellation on his hand radiated in its power. As if the very spirit of its previous owner has deemed David worthy to wield it. The Staff gazed upon the wicked Gnome Sorcerer with blameless bronze skin and fired forth a ghostly wisp that dispatched the Sandstorm just as they were about to grab his azure-veined paws on his ill-gotten prize.
A loud thunder and the exhalation of prismatic energies were immediately expelled out of their body as the Sandstorm grieved in agony. The Bandit Chieftain's prideful swagger faltered as he turned to one of the wheels of his Wagon and collapsed, gagging and drawing a cold sweat.
“Holy shit…” David's eyes glued to the bronze Staff with amazement. Its magical glow from earlier slowly fading away, yet his bones could still feel the power held within the artifact to now lay dormant, until its power is needed once again.
He was helped up by Isaiah as the four approached the defeated Sandstorm, his broken body leaning by the wheel of the last and uncorrupted wagon left in the camp.
“The Magics it… it just… vanished…” Tomos bewilderingly observed. He could feel a sense of relief, a token light at the end of a dark tunnel that the world as a whole had suddenly become just a sliver safer as the nullifying effects of Saint Habir’s Staff expelled that conflagration of unshackled magic off of the mortal plane.
“You uncouth ignoramuses!” the Gnome Sorcerer writhed helplessly on the floor.
Deprived of their magic and strength all they could do was look at their four assailants in the eyes as he leaned inched their back below the one remaining wagon untouched by the fire attack. He looked around his ruined encampment, his minions lay dead before them, their supplies were all but ruined and what was left of his riches were firmly returned to their rightful owners. He wailed as he spat and cursed to themself as Tutoria unsheathed her scimitar towards the once proud and feared Sandstorm.
“You will pay for what you have done to the Monastery!” Tutoria snarled. Tears and Anger streamed down her feathered eyes and cheeks as she gripped the blade closer to the Sorcerer.
“Why do you… still fight amongst what scraps you have left? Aasimar? When you could have seen the truths of this world?” the Sandstorm addressed to her. “You and your Monastery gripped upon the corpses of the old whilst I had… I had tried to grasp the impossible? The future? The past? The Immaterium? All to be commended for those who have the will… the foresight! To grasp it!?”
“You raid defenseless villages! Desecrate sacred sights and used your magics to reign terror on those who are left!” Tutoria fired back, slightly thrusting her sword forward towards the Sandstorm but not yet truly striking him anywhere. Not that there’s anything left the powerless sorcerer could do to protect themself anymore.
“Please… let me go… I must… continue upon my search… for answers.” The Sandstorm coughed.
“You piece of shit.” David stepped forward. “You did all of that and you expect us to just let you go?” his face scowled just as much as Tutoria.
“Let me go… not for mercy from the likes of you Sarenite… but for…” the Sandstorm swallowed heavily. “But it was all for reviving my God! Nethys. The world was at equilibrium before he was struck down and his body scattered amongst the many places and of those of his clergy. Me… being one of them… until… you… did that…” he pointed to the Staff of Habir that rested on David’s arm.
“Oh great, another nut job Culti-sack of shit.” David spat down to the sandy floor. “If your God, this… Nef-Dis… whatever… asks you to go around and kill people. Your god is a scumbag piece of shit… just like you!” he imperiously scoffed.
“I never wanted this! All I had done… all I had to do… was to find a way to revive him, Sarenite! His corpse has made the material plane we all stand upon… sick! Diseased ridden! I am looking for its cure!” the Sandstorm reasoned.
“Not.One.More.Word.” Tutoria inched closer to the defeated Sorcerer. “Looking for a ‘cure’? So you attacked and defiled the Monastery off its people and their sacred treasures? You are looking for a ‘cure’ that is more… more painful than this ‘sickness’ you speak of! Do you have any idea what you had done to me and my brother? Did you know what the loss of our home had done to us? You monster!” Her blade now just simply edged upon the thin cloths of the Sandstorm’s chest.
“Call me whatever you want, Aasimar. ‘Monster’, ‘Mad’, ‘Insane’. Know this… that I am right! This world is sick! It needs to be healed!” the Sandstorm laxed their posture. Accepting he shall become a silenced martyr for their twisted ideals. “Isn’t it true, Otherworlder?” the Gnome looked toward David and Isaiah.
The Rangers blinked twice, their shoulders tightening and hearts skipping when the Sandstorm directly addressed them. But they didn’t say a word, contempt for this vile magician, steeling their nerves amongst their vain attempts of blandishment.
“Sister… no… this… doesn’t seem right. Sister, stay your blade. It is enough.” Tomos shook his head. “The Sandstorm is finished, in everything. Their band, their magic, their will. Defeated in every way. It is not too late to repent Sandstorm.”
“This ain’t your lofty ass Monastery no more kid. You're already here in the great outdoors.” David argued.
“The Goddess Sarenrae speaketh that we must show this one mercy… take them prisoner.” Tomos rebutted. “Her tenets…”
“You’re in the Wastelands kid! What little law there left just went up in smoke earlier.” David doubled down. “Tutoria, slash Mister Hocus-Pocus here and let's be done with this.”
“Brother… Sarenrae… but… the Monastery.” Tutoria pondered amongst the seas of her thoughts. Her upbringing, her morals, her memories, her anger, herself, they all beset her young mind that it froze her in place.
The Sandstorm was indeed the vilest tyrant to ever stride the sands of Qadira. But now broken and defeated before her, the scoundrel that had brought forth many broken nearly every sin and commandment written and voice have asked for mercy. Tutoria fought through this clash of dispositions trying to reason with all of the demons and angels within her. The storm of thoughts on the Paladin’s mind eventually cleared having reached an epiphany that she believes meets between the lines of lawful justice and Sarenrae’s branding of ‘mercy’.
Tutoria raised her scimitar and with the forceful sweep, cut the right arm of the Sandstorm. The Sorcerer wailed in pain as blood seeped out of their severed arm. The Bandit Chieftain would have screamed from the top of their lungs but instead, the Sandstorm grimaced confusingly upon seeing the Paladin immediately lay her lithe hands on her incision to immediately heal it.
“What did you do to me?” the Sandstorm demanded an answer.
“If your right hand causes you to cast harm onto your neighbors. Cut it off and throw it away, for it is better to lose one part of your body than for your whole soul to fall under sin.” Tutoria paraphrased a verse. “As you can see, I have cut one of your arms off. From now on you must learn to only use your left hand. Just as the Staff of Habir had taken away your ability to cast Magic, may you learn to never hurt nor threaten anyone else ever again. It is my hope that you may walk away and sin no more.”
The Paladin walked back, towards one of the corpses of the Sandstorm’s former cadre and grabbed a sack of unspoiled rations and a half-filled waterskin and threw it at the feet of the defeated chieftain.
“Kill me! Take me! Kill me! Take me! Don’t you leave me here like this?” The Sandstorm flailed his weakened arms as Tutoria and the rest of her companions gathered about what scavenge able goods they could carry with them.
His odds of surviving were grim in the Qadiran sun with little water, food, a ruined means of shelter, and worse all without the ability to cast any of their Magics from their Dead God, let alone do it all one handed. Although it wasn’t a guaranteed death, it would have been more merciful for a Sarenite for the Sandstorm’s head to be felled down that night. Instead, the Sandstorm wailed for those four companions to come back for them. To not subject themself to this cruel fate. In life, all the Gnome Sorcerer cared about was themself, selfishly casting off such frivolities as companionship, seeing any companion as just a tool to a means to an end and nothing more.
Now, the Sandstorm is fated to in all likelihood live and die in the wilderness alone, their name forgotten and now ashes like the embers that arose from the corpses of their once terrifying congregation of power maddened zealots.
Tutoria held on to the torn pages of the Sarenite Holy Book the chieftain had defiled with their monstrous touch earlier: the Birth of Light and Truth. This was a bittersweet victory. She may have avenged her fellows and elders from the Monastery but that didn’t remove the sour truth that her and her brother’s home has been razed to the ground by the Sandstorm. Blasphemously she cursed the Sandstorm’s very name to the ends of time silently as she averted her gaze from the defeated Bandit Chieftain. Her sole consolation, being that the torn shreds of the book the Sandstorm had defiled earlier, she managed to collect them all including its bindings. It will take quite a while to stitch the pages back together, chapter by chapter and verse by verse.
Now alone, with just her brother she must now be able to spread their wings across the world and continue on the teachings of the Sarenite Faith to the ends of the world so that their memory may not be forgotten. All she can do now is just meditate on her decision alone if she had made the right judgement tonight. That she still upheld the Codes of the Dawnflower despite all temptations to indulge in her vengeance.
“Where do we go now?” Tomos asked David.
“To Katheer. Haven’t I told you? We got a job to do… and this… Staff.” David looked onto the Rod of Cancellation he held in his hand. His eyes glowed like the stars of this artifact’s potential.
“Perhaps, She who painted the Night Sky had brought you to us. To wield the power of Saint Habir.” Tomos answered. “I saw how you managed to get rid of all that Wild Magicks away from that monster. Perhaps you will be able to do something about Wounds that tear Golarion asunder now.” He eagerly asserted.
“Yeah… I hope so… this thing could work… I… I probably should’a told you guys I was with Desna” David tucked the Staff aside to his back as he sat down on his claimed spot on the wagon. He would have taken the sole Sleeping Bag he found on it, but he felt guilty that the wounded Tutoria would have to sleep cold tonight. Instead passing the bed sheet to her, despite clearly not being made for her size.
“As long as we are still alive, we can still make a difference.” Tomos smiled as the Aasimar Lad grabbed the reins of the Wagon.
“Hey, Ice! What we got over there?” David hollered.
“Three Days oh’ Grubn’Wasser. If we y’all eat it slow.” Isaiah checked the inventory of everything he can scrape by. “Plus whatev’s shit I peeled off’em shitheads err’ly-eer.” Handing down an assortment of scrap materials, armor and weapons he could find.
“That should be more than enough to make the trip, if the Winds don’t beswerver our path.” Tomos nodded. “I know of a quaint little place where some brave folks settled down near the old capital. My Teacher told me he used to send medicine there.”
“See if you can get some use out of all that shit then Kid. Good job.” David thanked Isaiah.
“So, are we really going to be off now? Into the cruel outside world?” Tutoria asked her brother. Her eyes leaked several cathartic tears as she sheds through this fire rite of passage now as a Paladin of Sarenrae.
“As long as we have each other. Nothing is impossible.” Tomos reassured her with a gentle smile. “David… you are a brave man to help us.”
“I know nothing about bravery…” the Veteran Ranger shook his head as he tucked his hat backward to cover his eyes in the darkness. He is only just thankful he actually gets to live another day.
And that he finally got a God-damned and much needed nap.