Book 3: Chapters 21 - 25 (Edited) (Patreon)

Chapter 21 - Offering

In the hearts of men, there exists a profound emptiness, a hole that yearns to be filled. If not filled with faith in something transcendent, it becomes fertile ground for something dark. In the absence of true belief, the allure of false deities and the seductive promises of Dust take root, offering illusory dreams and deceptive comforts.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

“And the gods would strike down a man if he would churlishly offer only monies to his guest who bring great gifts to their host. And, as I said before, too crass by far. A lesson that my former brother-in-law, to this day, still fails to acknowledge,” he said, his tone mockingly solemn as he steepled his hands in calculation.

He sat up fully now, straightening his back and shifting his prodigious girth. “Mine has been a lifetime spent understanding, and catering for, the desires of people. Forgive my bluntness, but you, young master Gilgamesh, one can read as an open book,” he explained.

I felt a spike of anger, sensing a game at play, and struggled to hide my annoyance. Never had I enjoyed word games.

“No, no, do not take this the wrong way,” he said, holding up his hands to show that he meant no insult. “I find it best to deal with honest men. And a man’s desire is the most honest part of him. And, gifted as I am with this insight, perhaps I can make a suitable offering for the Goddess’ grace. A votive offering for you,” He continued in a voice as smooth and slick as oil on stone.

“Tell me what do you know of Hazigadami, the people of the red gaze?” he asked, completely changing tack and throwing me off balance.

It was a minuscule thing, a slight tightening of the jaw, but I imagined that his attendant looked uncomfortable.

“In truth. Master Gelgor…” I began, only to be soon cut off. The fat man, it seemed, did not require my answer.

“Please, call me Gelgor. Though it may be presumptuous of me, I would like to consider myself your friend,” the fat man interjected, bulldozing through my attempt at a reply. “I would hazard a guess from your reaction, not much at all, no?”

I could only nod mutely, completely caught up in his pace, and oblivious to where he was leading me.

“The Hazigadam, children of an ancient civilization lost to the fires of the Cataclysm. Punished by the gods for daring to touch that which no mortal should seek, or so the legends say. For their hubris, many believe that they brought doom to Gesthe. The Cataclysm that destroyed much of the world in ages past, with the long night brought about by their profanity,” the man explained, pausing for dramatic effect. “Still, others say, in whispered voices in the darkest of corners, that they are demon-spawn, their features, the stigmata of their curse. Doomed they are to wander the lands with no home.” He continued with his little spiel, eyes lighting up like a village storyteller reveling at the sound of his own voice.

"Until, of course, the Empire benevolently 'gifted' them a barren strip of land that nobody else desired," he remarked with a sardonic edge.

I wasn't in the mood for a history lesson on the lore of this world, and my annoyance was probably as clear as day on my face. The one nugget of insight I managed to pick up was that, even in this realm, the all-too-human tendency to discriminate against those slightly different was thriving. My curiosity about Gelgor's promised extra gift was the only thing keeping me here. Otherwise, I would have been getting ready to give a polite refusal and went about my way.

"Of course, that's beside the point. Hazigadam make excellent servants, loyal to a fault. They honor their contracts and spoken promises with unwavering dedication, much like our reverence for surahs of our sacred texts. It's often said that they never tell a falsehood, though in my experience, they simply avoid lying to conceal the truth. Perhaps that's why some liken them to devils. You know, those imaginative tales where devils adhere strictly to the terms of a deal, if not its underlying intention," Gelgor pondered, shaking his head with a hint of regret.

"Furthermore, they are a misguided people. Even when witnessing a miracle, Zariyah would never humble herself to believe in the Divines. Her people, however, hold firm to the belief that there is one God. Isn't that right, my dear?" he added with a tone steeped in long-standing exasperation.

Zariyah turned her head away from us, but whether this was from embarrassment or anger, I did not know.

Finally, I managed to weave together the threads of the conversation, grasping Gelgor's idea of a gift. How naive I was, even after all I had been through. To someone of my supposed civilization, the idea of trading a person was fundamentally barbaric. Of course, I had to find the notion totally abhorrent.

“But the city of Al-Lazar is a free city and suffers no slaves within its walls,” I protested, hoping to sway Gelgor into a different form of compensation.

"Your words wound me deeply. Would I, Gelgor, present you with a slave as a guest gift? Such an offense!" he exclaimed with mock seriousness, placing a hand over his heart. However, his eyes betrayed him, retaining their earlier light. Mockingly so.

"Indeed, as you correctly point out, the City of Dust neither trades in nor permits slavery within its walls. It would be an affront to offer you the services of a mere slave," he began to explain, his voice tinged with no small amount of pride.

"Instead, I present to you Zariyah's contract. Rest assured, all her documents have been properly witnessed and stamped. The remaining term of her contract is..." the morbidly obese man paused, his gaze shifting upward as he calculated the precise duration. "I believe it to be the next forty-seven years and four months, if my memory serves me correctly," he concluded, as if we were discussing the trade of a horse or cow.

Finally, there was a clear reaction from his attendant Zariyah, who decided to finally interject. Shaking her head, her fingers moved in a series of movements too precise and ordered to be anything other than a form of sign language.

“Yes, yes, my dear. I know that, but perhaps this would be a better fate by far for you. Trust me on this. Also, perhaps the Herald would be even so kind as to allow you to visit your parents in the city,” he said pointedly in my direction, before whispering an old complaint under his breath.

He must have noted my consternation at the exchange for he decided to explain further, “You would think I would foist upon you a simple body servant? Of course not, I would be a thoughtless and inconsiderate host if I did that, yes?”

I could only mutely nod, my earlier protestations flying out of the window at the thought of possessing such a delightful creature.

"As my cupbearer, Zariyah, treasure of my heart, possesses a keen ability to detect poisons... and she is also adept at their concoction. Furthermore, she has an iron strength to her, which is indispensable on the perilous road. In her current state, she would be a valuable addition to your... entourage, indeed," he smiled as if he had stumbled upon something rather valuable. "But, there is the spark in her. It is almost poetic that I return a miracle with her magic, like in the tales of old. Fitting. She possesses the Gift of controlling the lesser element of Air, a modest talent, really. I dare say it's not nearly as valuable as the price she paid for it, the sweetness of her voice," he chuckled, emitting a small guffaw.

Zariyah looked at Gelgor, her eyes flashing daggers with unconcealed anger, her fists clenched at her sides. She began to rise, but in the end compelled herself to stay seated. Something told me that Gelgor had shared something too private, laid bare for all to see, a thing that should have been at the discretion of the soul to give. I did not blame her for taking umbrage.

“Yes, and she is local born. She knows this city well. A fitting gift, do you not think, Master Herald?” smiled Gelgor with his mocking gaze and serpent’s smile.

What was I to do? To reject a host’s gift in this culture would be a most grievous insult, more so than even the debacle with Catalina considering the differences between their status.

My mind ran through circles trying to get around the scruples of my common sense of decency. Perhaps this was the time for a less judgmental answer. After all, I could, and most definitely would, release her from her contract once she had rendered unto me certain services. For instance, like guiding me around the city, of course. But then again, who was I to cling to the morals of my own world? There was no one here to judge me, so why not take what was freely given?

“Very well, Master Gelgor, you have me. I must accept this gift most graciously given,” I nodded in his direction.

The fat man’s eyes lit up with a new fire, as if possessed something. A part of me felt the heavy hand of fate’s touch at work here.

“Excellent, most excellent,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands in satisfaction. “I will also gift to you her things, and they are of some value. Oh, and a word of advice, a Master must see to the well-being of those beneath them. Please know that the gift I have presented to you is in the best of conditions. Go now and prepare yourself Zariyah, you must be excited to return to your home city!” He clapped his hands again in command.

At his orders, she rose to her feet, a muted huff of displeasure escaping her lips as she cast a sharp, resentful glance his way. My gaze lingered on her, captivated by the rhythmic sway of her hips and the melodic jingle of her bracelets, as she gracefully made her way towards a curtained partition of the wagon.

It hit me then, what the meaning of Master had for these people. My subconscious finally pieced together all the little clues that had been left for me here and there. A Master, for the purpose of this world, was someone who had slaves, or their close cousins, indentured servants, beneath them. Or at the very least, I surmised that Gelgor’s added inflection meant as such. Had I heard Laes referred to in such a manner? If so, just how many of Laes’ ‘employees’ were nothing more than contracted slaves? No doubt the people of the caravan must have thought my companions my retainers, my chattel. I found myself despising these people even more for trapping me within the little rules and games of their culture.

“Now that gifts have been exchanged, let us talk like men, over tea. Tell me of yourself, and off the lands you hail from. Yours is an interesting tale, of that I am sure. One wonders indeed how one can be blessed with gifts of the Goddess,” he said as began, with surprising adroitness, pouring fresh tea into dainty cups. “I must confess that you, Master Gilgamesh, have made a believer of me. I have, quite literally, seen the light. Heavy were my sins,I feel, now that the shroud of ignorance has been lifted. And many were the years of my life spent in blasphemous words and actions. I hope that my offering goes a small way towards balancing Her scales,” he bemoaned, sighing and reaching for a teapot. It was a sigh that only the weight of wasted years could produce.

The teapot itself was exquisitely shaped in the form of an elegant serpent, its body and handle formed by the creature's entwined coils. The spout, designed as the snake's extended neck, allowed the light amber tea to flow from its open mouth.

“But one, of course, must be careful, for the light can also blind as much as it reveals,” he added a little ruefully, placing the teapot down.

*

For the better part of an hour, or so it seemed to me, I wove a tapestry of half-truths and fabrications, crafting a tale for Gelgor that was both digestible and credible. I meticulously omitted any elements that might seem too 'fantastical' for the sensibilities of this world's primitive people. Instead, I spun a narrative grounded in the mundane, tales of family and the like. Skillfully, I sidestepped the details of how Avaria had chosen me, and my dark patron remained an unspoken shadow.

In turn, Gelgor unfurled the tapestry of his own past, regaling me with tales of his youth. The stories revealed a man driven by a deep, unquenchable thirst. His was a fusion of greed and the curiosity of an adventurer. As our dialogue meandered, it became apparent that Gelgor's attachment was not in the material aspect that wealth provided, like jewels, fine things, and so forth. Nor was he particularly interested in the social status that wealth provided. Rather, he looked at it as a means to satiate his desires. A hedonist to his core, a failing that often afflicted the atheist. In him, I found an unexpected kindred spirit, a contrast to the ever-dour Laes.

Just as our conversation began to circle back to earlier themes, as discussions are often wont to do, Zariyah interrupted us. She had shed her revealing attire for a flowing garb that, while covering everything, suggested much beneath. Around her shoulders was a small satchel, no doubt filled with her meager belongings. Her half-veil obscured her eyes, crimson eyes that caught and held my appreciative gaze as I rose to greet her, nearly upsetting the table in my haste.

She gave me a wan smile, a forced silent acceptance of her new destiny. With a slight bow at the hip, she extended a roll of parchment with both hands towards me. Unraveling it, I observed it was inscribed in the Trade language, complete with stamps and official looking notarization. Skimming the document confirmed Gelgor's earlier declaration. She was indeed the property of the parchment's holder, bound to serve for an additional forty-seven years and four months. Zariyah was now mine, to command as I deemed fit.

Exiting the caravan master's lavishly adorned wagon, I heaved open the weighty door, allowing Zariyah to pass first, as manners demanded. She cast a puzzled glance as if I had committed a social mishap before proceeding. I lingered momentarily, turning back to offer a final farewell to Gelgor.

“My thanks for your gracious hospitality, Mas… Gelgor,” I said, nodding my head at him.

“Most odd that you allow the servant before the master, truly, you are a curious fellow,” the fat man remarked, not getting up from the bed of pillows. “No, no, you have my thanks. The gift I have received is more precious than pearls or gems. Go with the gods, Gilgamesh of Uruk, but may their gaze rest lightly upon you.”

I simply acknowledged this with another nod and closed the heavy door behind me. The clean afternoon air greeted me, free of the pungent smoke that had been almost like a living thing in the wagon. Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to roll my shoulders to free them from the tension that unknowingly built up.

There was now the matter of Zariyah, and how I would deal with her. Casting my Identify spell on her, I took the first step in understanding her.

Zariyah Al’Abadi  - Wind Mage [Human lvl.14]

Health: 192/192

Stamina: 37/39

Mana: 15/15

She was exactly as Gelgor had promised. The almost two hundred points of Health was what the fat man must have meant when he was going on about her ‘iron strength’.

Zariyah turned around to look at me quizzically, expectantly almost. Behind this was a tautness, a tight expression that marred the lines of her exotic face. In her mind, I imagined that she must be feeling cast adrift, discarded like something unwanted. Like a heavy sea, fate had cast her on new unknown shores.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably, its duration becoming almost painfully awkward. Zariyah started to sign toward me, her movements elegant and swift. But, I could only respond with a look of incredulity and confusion, her intended meaning completely eluding me. Observing my bewilderment, she abandoned the servility she had shown to Gelgor and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

It was clear that I was being looked down upon, and there was no mistaking it. I could discern that she was possessed of the same groundless pride I had encountered from those in servitude. I had witnessed it when interacting with the underpaid, their expressions of disdain silently conveying my unworthiness of their time, as if they would rather be anywhere else but doing their job.

If this was the measure of Gelgor's gift, then I felt a strong inclination to return her. Yet, something held me back, perhaps the last vestige of my misplaced chivalry. To send her back now would be seen as a grave insult, and if I were to offer an explanation for such a decision mere minutes after receiving the gift, I had no doubt that her fate would be an exceedingly bleak one. I felt almost swindled.

But, perhaps, we had simply started off on the wrong foot. I was a forgiving man, and everyone deserves a second chance. In truth, I was also a little sympathetic toward her plight.

“Do it again, that thing you did with your hands. The thing you use as a substitute for proper speech,” I said flatly, in a calm and even voice.

I too had my pride, childish though it was.

All my life I had been taught that although we were all different, we were all, no matter our differences, essentially of equal value. That everyone was deserving and worthy of respect. However, this world sorely tested the limits of my indoctrination.

How dare she... this woman. No, that wasn't quite right. I searched my mind for a word and concept unfamiliar to me.

Inferior, the voices suggested in a shadowy whisper. This one was beneath me.

At first, I was shocked at this alien thought, but in a way, it also made startling sense. This was the truth of the world. As there were inferior and barbaric cultures, so too must there be inferior people. It was the only logical conclusion. Looking at it through this lens made much more sense.

Yes, how dare this inferior treat me in such a manner?

Even as I was reaching this conclusion, she continued with her signing and gave me a challenging smile, or rather, a smirk, if I were to be honest. Her fingers wove words that clashed with her demeanor and attire, phrases more commonly heard in the roughest of taverns.

“You will find that my manhood is more than adequate for what I must do next,” I stated in a voice as cold as the first frosts. The magic of my Identify spell had taught me the meaning of her words, her taunts and insults now clear as if written in bold print.

A blush slowly crept over her delicate features as she realized that I had understood her and a single hand went over her mouth, which had formed into a large O.

"I'm unsure of what constitutes an appropriate punishment for such brazen disrespect. You are fortunate, as it is frowned upon in my culture for a man to strike a woman," I remarked, my voice rising slightly, relishing the fear I sensed emanating from her.

Around us, people began to take notice, stealing quick glances before resuming their activities. Some, however, lingered, intrigued by what would unfold.

"However, if you see me as an animal, then I shall act accordingly. Place your hands on the steps and bend over," I commanded.

She regarded me with a regal disdain, then turned and surprisingly complied with my directive, showing no hesitation or resistance. Zariyah maintained her composure, but a subtle quiver betrayed her emotions. While she knew I had the authority to issue such orders, she most likely never dreamed I would go about doing such a thing in a public place. Our growing audience comprised individuals she had journeyed with, people who knew her, conversed with her, perhaps even counted her as a friend or acquaintance. Servants, to some extent, shared in their master's status, and I imagined she had enjoyed some measure of that prestige in this group.

Zariyah's pride was her vulnerability, and humiliation was her Achilles' heel.

I stood behind her, lightly placing a hand on the small of her back. Overwhelmed, she began to cry, the emotional flood breaking through like a dam bursting.

Taking a step back, I met her gaze firmly before speaking. "Get up, there's no need for this. Consider this a lesson, a lesson I will only teach once, treat others as you wish to be treated. I know you are intelligent enough to understand this, and pretending otherwise won't serve you well. You may be mute, but you're not dumb," I said in a husky voice. She looked down in muted response.

"Now, it's time for you to meet the rest of my entourage, and I must bid farewell to the Ravens before we enter the City of Dust," I commanded, without looking back to check if she followed.

It was almost scary how acclimatized I had become to this culture.

Chapter 22 - The Feathered Gates

The highest good is water, it nourishes all things and competes with none.

- Unknown.

The desert sun had sunk a little lower in the sky but still beat down, fierce and strong. The glare from the refracted light, rather than the heat itself, was more of a problem. I was forced to shield my eyes, as the white shimmering sands were almost painful to look at.

I found my companions, all of them, outside our borrowed wagon, seeing to the last of our preparations. Laes and Abas Yar, who had brought along our Donkey Patches, were waiting for me. Khalam, however, was not present.

Zariyah had reapplied her mask of proud stoic indifference, showing a mastery of self-control that would have been impossible for me, given the situation. However, I knew it for what it was, simply a flimsy mask. It was the paper shield of the powerless and the only thing that protected her against the reality of her situation.

Elwin, with a knowing smirk, surveyed Zariyah from head to toe before offering a small wave. Kidu, ever reserved, spared her only a fleeting glance before returning to load Patches. Larynda just peeked out at the exotic woman. Her Whispermews also popped out from her clothes to take a gander.

However, Cordelia's reaction was the most startling. Initially surprised at first, her gaze on my new servant quickly shifted to one of disdain, resembling the look one gives upon discovering a stain on a pristine piece of clothing.

Once he noticed our presence, Laes stopped his conversation with Abas Yar and the caravan master’s eyes lit up in surprise and recognition, once he realized who I had brought in tow.

“If you will forgive me, Hera… Gilgamesh, why do you bring one of the Hazigadami?” Cordelia began in a forced voice, only to be cut off by Laes.

“Zariyah, why are you in the company of Master Gilgamesh? Perhaps, on an errand for Gelgor?” the horse-faced man asked her. He was worried, but he hid it well.

Zariyah shook her head and pointed a delicate finger to the roll of paper in my hand, her contract of service. Cordelia narrowed her eyes in reaction, the expression marring her otherwise beautiful features.

“I see, but under what circumstance… that Zlesh always boasted… I mean, Gelgor, was always proud of possessing… your err… service,” the man stumbled in response.

“Yes, Gelgor has decided that she will be traveling with us now. We needed a guide, and she will serve that function.

“I see. On that note, I believe I have some advice for you as this is no doubt your first time to visit Al-Lazar” he offered.

I simply gave him a nod in return, eager to change the subject.

The man rubbed his chin before answering, “Like all cities, beware the rougher parts. I am sure Zairiyah knows more about that than I. You, and your companions, would do well to avoid the Dust dens. Many of them prey on foreigners who come to dream the Dust dreams, and you will pretty quickly find yourself with no coin, thrown out onto the street. Stay away from the Dust, it is a honeyed trap, a temporary escape, and nothing more,” for a moment the ugly man almost looked nostalgic. “But apart from the dangers of Dust, Al-Lazar has grown fat on its trade and there is much opportunity to be had. The little lady there,” he added, looking at Larynda, “would be most welcome at the Alchemist’s Guild. The mortar and pestle are safer, by far, than an adventurer’s bronze badge. However, my duty to Hamsa, to bring her to this city, is fulfilled. Her destiny is now in her own hands,” he suggested.

“A man as martially inclined as yourself will find easy opportunity within. Work on the walls as a guard for the council is well-paid and easy, so long as the people beneath the waves are quiet,” he continued, running a hand through oily strands that served as his hair. “However, there is greater opportunity for advancement and wealth by signing up with one of the Shareholder houses of the city. But, that would be difficult without an introduction from the Mercenary’s Guild,” the caravan master mused, unconsciously rolling his shoulders.

“Ah, there is also the upcoming competition, the Festival of the Undrawn, held around this time of the year. The prizes, and notice of the powerful, may well be worth the effort for you to participate, though you would be testing yourself against some of the strongest fighters in the land. Still, I think you would do quite well,” he added, sounding a little wistful.

“This is quite a lot to take in all at once, why did we not speak of this before?” I interjected a little sharply. I could feel my reserves of patience wearing thin already.

“Yes, as for that I had I had wished for…” began Laes, only to be interrupted by the red-haired woman.

“And why must we bring one of them with us?” bristled Cordelia with withering disdain, her usual calm mien completely absent and looking quite irate.

Zariyah just took these unkind words in stride. Not even batting an eyelid, her features were as untrammeled as a calm lake. I had a feeling I could learn something from that.

Laes turned to Cordelia, and addressed her politely, if not a little tersely, “Lady de Aserac, would it not be best to trust in Gilgamesh’s judgment on this matter? Zariyah’s value is without question, to that I can attest. Knowing that her presence causes the lady offense, I would offer to buy her contract, if I knew doing so would not offend Master Gelgor,” he reproached adroitly.

“I think it best she joins us for the time being as we have no good knowledge of the city, do we?” I asked of my companions, and hearing no denial I continued with my reasoning, “I would not trade away this advantage at this initial juncture. Also, I do not believe it is just to judge someone by their appearance or race,” I added, the last comment the result of years of ingrained education.

I made a mental note to ask Cordelia why exactly she disliked Zariyah’s people. Unlike my world, there might be a very good reason for the existence of prejudices on this one.

“Her presence is fine by me. Easy on the eyes and she could be useful, so she gets my vote. Don’t see the harm in it either way,” commented Elwin, looking at my new servant appreciatively. There was a flash of disdain that crossed Zariyah’s eyes, but was soon smoothly hidden with consummate skill.

To this, the big man simply snorted in reply. The man had grown used to some of the Rogue’s more inane and annoying remarks.

Cordelia looked at the pair, and seeing no support there, instead looked to me with a plea in her eyes. “The Hazigadami are unclean… they are not worthy…” she half-begged.

It was time to take a few liberties, playing the part of the holy man. “Cordelia, you vowed to follow me in all things. Follow me in this. The Goddess wills this to be so… think of this as a test,” I implored, looking her directly in the eye.

She seemed to draw a measure of calm from my words, my command giving her zeal, new direction. She nodded to herself, taking my words in as if they were gospel. “A test… it is a test…” she whispered to herself in a voice filled with revelation.

Behind her, I could see Elwin rolling his eyes. The man was incorrigible.

Seeing that the matter was decided, Laes cleared his throat.

“To answer your earlier question, it was because, in all honesty, I had hoped that you would stay with us, but with the issue of Catalina, that is now dust in the wind. I would have still made the offer to you, but you and Khalam are like two Hauntworms in a pen,” he stated, giving out a long sigh. It was a sigh that had become frayed and weary over the years, more becoming of a long-married and unhappy wife than a leader of a trading caravan.

“I will let you in on something. Khalam thinks he hides it well, but everyone knows the man had a thing for Kalkassin’s wife, well, widow now. It did not sit well with him. And it would not have sat well with me to leave you without a word of advice before you venture forth the city. Knowledge is both a sword and shield. Pardon me for quoting an old saying, but the old words remain with us for a reason. It would serve you to arm yourself well, and you choose wisely in Zariyah. Gelgor’s gift is a gift well given. Perhaps one day you will tell me of his reasons,”

“Indeed, perhaps I will. But, I believe now is the time for us to part, Master Laes. It has not been the smoothest of journeys, but it has been an educational one. If we should meet again under more peaceful circumstances, then we will speak again”

“As you say Master Gilgamesh, and with that I, too, bid you farewell,” finished the Caravan master with a low bow and a thin smile, showing just the right amount of deference. Time with these people had slowly taught me of their ways.

The Beastmaster Abas lingered for a while, watching Laes’ retreating shape.

"The caravan master is a difficult man, yet honorable in his own way. It's clear what gift you must have offered Gelgor to cause him to give up one of his prized treasures. Your grace deserves blessings, and may Her name be forever praised. It's comforting to know that salvation exists in this world. Meeting Her Herald has been my greatest honor. You will always be welcomed among us, for as long as the Ravens are guided by her light," the old man spoke with reverence, placing both palms on the back of his head.

This gesture, peculiar yet meaningful, signified both gratitude and a profound apology. Such are the intricacies of these unique and backward cultures.

After bidding me farewell, the old man followed after Laes, and I realized that there was something new about him. His back was straight, his stride longer and filled with pride. Abas Yar wore his newfound vigor like a badge of honor, and I silently wished him all the best in his journey ahead. My magic had done more than just heal his body, it had restored his faith in the Goddess. A false goddess. A being of great power that, nonetheless, I refused to accept as a divine being. However, people had a right to cling to whatever gave them hope and meaning in their little lives, misguided as they might be.

The sun continued to beat down on us, relentless in its efforts. As a group, we started to make our way toward the gates, waving at the caravan behind us. Looking at my team, I could see that it was Kidu, of all people, who showed the greatest strain. Sweat stained his clothes, and the small areas where his skin was exposed to the desert light were beginning to pink and redden.

Elwin and Larynda were behind me, the small girl leading Patches by the reins. The large donkey was smart and faithful and I doubted she needed to be led, anyway. The pair of them were talking of things of little consequence, mostly trifling conversation of their respective homes’ plants and animals.

The two ladies walked together. Though Cordelia wore her beatific smile and Zariyah her stone mask, it did little to hide the thick current of tension between them. Zariyah’s presence was as much a test of tolerance for Cordelia as Cordelia’s presence was for her. I imagined that, had my new attendant been able to speak, they would have been spitting lightning at each other.

Throughout this sweltering ordeal, Kidu remained, as ever, an immovable mountain of dour silence, a steadfast rock in a river of emotional current.

Arriving at the gates, I paused to appreciate their grandeur. Crafted from a natural rock formation, the gatehouse stood imposingly, with no visible bricks or mortar in most of its structure.  Massive doors made of bronze were swung ajar, allowing the traffic in and out of the city. What was the most curious, however, was that many seabirds had made this place their home. Their nests were scattered about at the higher levels and their squawks and cries could be heard clearly, above even the noise coming from the city. Curiosity piqued, I decided to use Identify and turned to Zariyah.

“Tell me of that,” I asked, pointing at the gates of the city, before I remembered my manners and added, “Please.”

The Feathered Gate? What do you wish to know?

“Tell me of their construction, as much as you know, anyway,” I clarified.

She pursed her lips and thought before her hands delicately wove their answer. I noticed that her attitude had much improved.

They were carved out of the Guidance Rock. A symbolic gesture, as it was the birds that had guided the founders of the city here. Over the long years, as Al-Lazar’s conflict with the people of the sea continued, the Guidance Rock was then incorporated into the defenses of the city. Despite being a part of the fortifications, it is still the foremost place of welcome where new entrants are greeted into the city before they pass under the arches. The doors of the Feathered Gates are of Dwarven make, steel coated with spelled bronze. Made by the dwarf Zarhit the Dreamer, they say that it takes only the strength of a single man to open them. Not only that, it is said, but he was the first of the mountain people to have partaken of the Dust dreams.

For the first time, I saw her give a genuine smile. She looked to be happy in telling us of her home. However, the moment was soon ruined by Cordelia.

“Do not trust too easily the lies of a Hazigadami,” interrupted Cordelia softly, the trace of a rueful smile at the corner of her lips. “Yes, Hazagadami, I too know the language of the unspoken words. The gates were made by the Quassians under contract and there was no magic used in their construction. Men made those gates, or so history would tell you. I wonder at this one’s usefulness, even as a guide,” she added smoothly.

A few cracks appeared on Zariyah’s stoic mask, but for the most part, it held, and she kept her temper and offered Cordelia no rebuttal. Admirable discipline.

I simply shrugged, as it was only a minor curiosity. History, after all, had a way of changing over the long years as memories grew dim and dull. The patina of time had a habit of covering most of the salient details.

Chapter 23 - A Place of Rest

With just a small touch of inspiration, the wings of the imagination unfold. Each thought, a feather on these wings, carries the mind higher, soaring over landscapes of wonder and possibility.

- Attributed to the playwright Vlan di Panoli.

The guards at the gate were not quite as physically imposing as I thought they were when I had first looked upon them from a distance, at least not when compared to the giant man of the north. They were all, however, well-armed, with tall halberds being their armaments, as well as long curved knives at their waists. Under the flowing robes of their clothes, the glint of metal could be seen. Riveted chain mail, if I was not mistaken.

One of their number, a slack-jawed and mean-eyed creature with a dirty black beard was the first to greet us. A superior smirk on his face, he looked at us as if we were common filth.

“May the eyes of the hallowed gods lay lightly upon you, traveler,” he greeted, his words impeccably polite, their manner anything but. “What brings… such a fine-looking group to the greatest of cities, Al-Lazar,” he inquired, giving the women of the group a thorough scan with his eyes. I noticed that his gaze lingered on Larynda more than was proper.

“Adventurers, come to lend our blades to the defense of the city, and to test their skill at the tournament of the drawn festival,” Elwin answered for us. Showing his badge for the gate guard’s inspection, his feigned manner was weaselly and servile.

“Festival of the Undrawn, foreigner. Do they teach nothing of the culture of Al-Lazar in the far lands? Pffft, you seem to be who you say you are… go through!” he corrected with a smirk, ordering us in even as he began the inspection of the next group of arrivals.

Well, that was easier than I thought. I gave Elwin a nod of appreciation as we made our way through the bustle of the gates. Passing underneath the stone arch, I could not help but to notice a strange feeling come over me, like a sucking pop, as if I was passing into a bubble. Odd, to say the least.

When I asked if my companions felt a similar sensation they all, with the exception of Cordelia, just looked at me strangely, as if I was touched in the head. Was this the sensation of area transition or something different? An odd detail for this game.

A few moments later I was gifted with a sweltering rush of new power. I felt gifted and fulfilled. Satisfied.

Quest Complete: Escort Larynda to Al-Lazar

About time that damn quest finished. A part of me had been wondering just exactly what the world considered to be Al-Lazar. For instance, was it the local area, the political borders, or the sphere of influence? Turned out it was within the actual city limits itself. More importantly, however, completing the quest gave me a thousand points of experience that easily took me over to the next level.

Quickly, almost as if by automatic reflex, I assigned the attribute points into Constitution. With the timer ticking away I hurriedly assigned the bonus skill point into the Drain spell.

Then it happened. My sight dimmed, swiftly eclipsed by myriad pinpricks of light. A multi-hued current, akin to a vibrant stream, unfurled before my eyes. Along its fringes, minuscule entities nibbled away at its luminous sheen, a process that felt both random and inevitable. Was this the essence of magic, revealed in its purest form? Had my gaze pierced the veil into a realm beyond comprehension, a world shrouded in mystery and ineffable wonder?

You have learned Greater Drain

“ ‘Ello, there, Gil. You alright? Or you having another one of your moments?” asked Elwin, his voice piercing through the shroud.

The mysteries of the universe were about to be laid bare, and this! This common Rogue had interrupted my epiphany. My hands were gripped in fists, heavy with the weight of my frustration. So easy would it be to smash his face in, but taking a deep breath, I mastered myself.

“Fine… fine. Just glad that we made it here,” I answered him with a forced half-smile. I could see that, for some reason or other, Cordelia was mumbling a prayer.

“So, like, the big man was wondering where we would be staying. I, for one, would suggest somewhere a little easier on the coffers, at least until we get our bearings,” he mused, before looking pointedly in Zariyah’s direction, but failing to draw a reaction.

Seeing the gist of his intent, I turned to Zariyah and prepared my magic. “You, where would you suggest we go?”

The proud woman looked down before she hesitantly signed her response.

I know of a place, not far from here. If by the grace of the one god, it is still there, I would suggest that we stay at the Begonia’s Shade.

It was as good a suggestion as any, and I looked to my companions for their response. Kidu and Elwin’s faces were blank masks of confusion. Larynda, childishly curious, tried to ape Zariyah's movements. Only Cordelia’s face showed understanding disagreement, a slight and barely perceptible elevation of her nose, the only sign that spoke of her disapproval.

“Then we go to this ‘Begonia’s Shade.’ Lead on,” I commanded. The Hunter and the Rogue gave me a quizzical look but did not question the exchange.

“The lady can not speak. She can only speak with her hands,” I explained to them, seeing their looks. “The language of the unspoken words,” I decided to add, remembering Cordelia’s words from before.

We followed the mute woman through the main thoroughfare. Elwin walked alongside her, throwing her the occasional question, to which she just nodded or shook her head. This close to the gates, the city was bustling with activity. The press of traffic was heavy but was flowing in an orderly fashion.

However, just as I was thinking this, the gods decided to be contrary. A cart overturned, its goods spilling out like the innards of a disemboweled monster, and stopped traffic coming from the opposite direction. However, the guards quickly set up a small cordon, redirecting the traffic in a calm and professional manner.

Just a little further into the city, I could already see the stark contrast with Ansan. People generally wore clothes of a higher cut and quality, and their speech, what little I heard anyway, seemed a little freer and less guarded.

The guards within the city itself, rather than those on the walls, were equipped in a more ornate fashion, their equipment more like a badge of their office, rather than their tools of war. Their armor, resplendent in bronze gilding, at least visible where their robes parted to reveal the uniform craftsmanship, was adorned with motifs of running vines and blossoming flowers of the Dust. They wore no helms. Instead they wore keffiyehs of black and white checks, which shielded them from the relentless overhead sun. At their side hung, not swords, but small truncheons, their tips capped in gold. A symbol of authority, rather than aggression.

Along the road there were no beggars crying out for alms and the streets were, for the most part, clean of detritus and manure, common to primitive civilizations.

More importantly, I saw none of the trappings of slavery. No collars of iron did I see, nor did I hear the crack of the slaver’s whip. It seemed that Al-Lazar was indeed a free city.

This was a truly prosperous place and there was a spark here that energized me. So long had I been under the open skies and endless horizons that it felt cramped to now be rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi of Al-Lazar. The feeling lasted only for a moment, though, for I had always preferred the close confines of the city, with all of its trappings of civilization.

A small child bumped into me, an innocent mistake by all appearances, but I knew not to take this world lightly anymore. My hand, guided by the harsh lessons of this world, whipped out like a snake, catching the small thing’s wrist, with the snap of breaking bone.

His mouth gaped wide in a silent scream, unable to voice the pain he felt. As the horror of his situation dawned on him, all he could do was helplessly open and close his mouth. Was he another mute? No, that didn't seem right. A quick glance around, and my eyes caught Zariyah. She was making unusual hand gestures. When our eyes met, she offered me a small, enigmatic smile.

Already useful, I thought to myself. I would have to remember that she had some mastery over the wind and air itself.

Panicked, the urchin desperately tried to struggle away, but my grip was iron and my mercy was in short supply.

Al-Lazar was a prosperous place but not, it seemed, free of crime, the cancer that ate away at the core of a real society. It was time to correct that. It was time to be the good that you wanted to see in the world.

With Elwin's help, we started to shake the child down, the passing guards remaining indifferent to the little one's plight, as he was invisible to them. Together, we relieved the would-be pickpocket of a meager haul, which included some cheap jewelry, a handful of copper coins, and most importantly, one of my precious potions, which fell from the disheveled thief's clothing.

The young scamp cried silently, tears flowing, but I harbored no sympathy for someone who had attempted to steal from me. In my mind, I believed I was merely seeking fair compensation for the inconvenience they had caused. Elwin, sure that the thief had nothing left on his person, delivered a swift kick to the thief's rear end, a smirk playing on his lips. The child swiftly vanished into a nearby alley, having received a lesson that, while harsh, was undeniably just.

The penalty for theft is a hand, signed Zariyah, her expression grim.

Larynda, who had observed the urchin with no small amount of sympathy, had refrained from voicing any objections about my handling of the cretin. Instead, she just shook her head, a small sigh escaping her lips and acknowledging the harsh reality of our world. We both understood that this was the unvarnished truth of our existence.

Proceeding down the road after that little introduction to city life in Al-Lazar, we veered away from the main thoroughfare. Turning right at another corner, we were greeted by the sight of a fountain, its central figure a mermaid, sculpted from the same yellow stone that formed the city's walls. Perched elegantly atop a smooth rock, her hair, intertwined with kelp strands, bestowed upon her an ethereal, almost mystical charm. From a pot nestled at her side flowed a cascade of water, its cheerful gurgle an almost melodic tune. Around the fountain, the city folk gathered, their actions reverent and measured as they filled their large jugs and amphorae with the life-giving water, participating in what seemed less like a daily chore and more a solemn rite.

Our new Hazagadami guide, upon seeing the landmark, picked up her pace, breaking almost into a run. We chased after her, and Larynda, unable to keep up, with her heavy pack and short legs, was scooped up by Kidu.

A minute later we caught up to Zariyah with an annoyed Patches in tow. She stood breathless, in the middle of the street, as the passersby gave her a wide berth and an occasional odd look. The exotic woman was looking, as if entranced, at a humble building, no different from the others, save for the multitude of potted plants of various shades that adorned the flat roof and hung over the wall. It was a riot of colors, with bright yellows clashing with light pinks and deep reds. Such a palette might have been considered garish on a person, but here, amidst the lush greenery, it bestowed upon the building a unique splendor. Rising above the green was a towering chimney, enshrouded in creeping vines. A Barajeel, or wind tower, I surmised.

Hanging above the entrance was a wooden sign depicting begonias in full bloom, the paint a little faded from the sun. Beneath the sign were brass chimes that tinkled and danced in the gentle breeze.

Humming an unknown melody, a woman with dark skin emerged from the doorway, cradling a watering can in her arms. There was something strikingly familiar about her features, which, despite bearing the gentle marks of time, were still vaguely attractive. The woman began tending to the plants near the entrance, her movements graceful and practiced.

Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of Zariyah, standing solitary amidst the bustling street. A mixture of surprise and delight transformed her expression. She brought a hand to her mouth, muffling a shriek of joy that escaped her lips, and her watering can tumbled to the ground with a clang.

I watched the unfolding scene with a sense of resigned anticipation. Was this to be another story event?

Chapter 24 - A Mother’s Love

Arbitration, a weighty term for a seemingly quaint custom, is both barbaric and enlightening in equal measure. Let us look into the origins of one of the cornerstones of Al-Lazarian culture.

In the days of yore, shortly after the inception of Al-Lazar and the discovery of the properties of the Dust, a river of gold flowed into the city.

The Shareholder families, the opulent dynasties of Al-Lazar, driven by insatiable avarice, plunged headlong into conflicts, each vying for a greater slice of the boundless wealth. The streets ran red as the newly amassed riches were exchanged for gleaming steel. Waves of violence tore through all the districts, threatening to consume the very bones of the city, if left unchecked.

More often than not, victories were costly, at best, and at worst, defeats in all but name. It was during these tumultuous times that the families, sensing the dire consequences, were compelled to seek accord.

Two influential and prestigious houses, Salahaem and Alim, resolved their disputes with a single representative from their respective houses. They would fight until one of them surrendered, or perished.

This marked the inception of what we now know as the time-honored tradition of Arbitration, a practice universally embraced by all the Shareholder families of the venerable city of Dust.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

At first, I found myself uncharacteristically touched by the fragile glimmer of happiness that I saw. I possessed a small fortune in metal coins and scraps of paper, yet it all seemed so paltry in front of this display. But this was not my family and I would never see my family ever again. This forsaken realm, this cruel game or whatever perverse creation it was, made me realize that I was very much alone here. Empty.

The two red-eyed women embraced one another with a tear-stained intensity that laid bare the raw repressed depths of their emotions. That was the first time I saw Zariyah smile with true unbridled joy.

I saw it now, their shared features that were so strikingly similar. These two were bound by blood. They could only be family, perhaps sisters, born of the same womb, or a mother and her beloved daughter.

"Zari, my dear child, you have returned to us!" exclaimed the older woman, her voice trembling with emotion as she reluctantly released Zariyah from their tearful embrace.

Zariyah's mother then, I mused while my companions and I maintained a respectful distance.

"But how? I thought I would never see you again in this lifetime. Your contract was meant for the next... Do you have no words for your mother, Zari? What is wrong?" Zariyah's mother continued, her smile still present, but a hint of anxious concern creeping into her voice.

Zariyah shook her head forlornly, her delicate hand moving to her throat. A profound silence hung in the air, one that I felt compelled to break.

"Zariyah Al’Abadi is mute, though I do not know the circumstances of how this came to be," I stated neutrally.

The woman regarded me with a puzzled expression, but as understanding dawned in her eyes, I could almost hear the sound of her newfound hope shattering.

"You possess her contract?" she stated more as a fact than a question, her voice taking on a frosty and defiant tone.

“Gilgamesh is indeed the Hazagadami’s master,” answered Cordelia smugly, with no small amount of relish.

“Cordelia, please, there is no need for that. Yes, I currently hold her contract or whatever it is you people call it. It was sort of foisted upon me by a Gelgor of the Crows, a reward for services rendered. The tale is quite lengthy, and I would be more than willing to explain, if you could perhaps offer us shelter from the sun," I suggested diplomatically.

"Of course, this way, samasa," the mother accepted, with a hint of embarrassment, realizing the spectacle she had caused in public. "My name is Naira, and I am Zariyah's mother. I also happen to be the humble innkeeper of the Begonia's Shade. Please, follow me, and share with me the story of my daughter," she introduced herself, straightening her back, her voice now more flustered than frosty.

Naira wore a light orange abaya that covered the better part of her body, cinched at the waist with a red sash. But it did little to hide her generous figure. It was easy to mistake them for sisters, for her face was almost a mirror to her daughter’s, just a little more worn and well-used by time. However, their tilted eyes were the same. An arresting, distinctive crimson shade that was as intriguing as it was disturbing.

She ushered us into the flowery inn, the inside noticeably cooler than outside on the streets. The inn had a high ceiling, and soft light was filtered in through opaque glass windows. Faded pictures adorned the walls, featuring a myriad of flowers I had never encountered. Pleasing to the eye, their exotic beauty was vividly captured by the artist’s skill. Earthenware jugs lined the shelves on the back wall, labeled with spidery flowing letters. The center of the inn’s main floor was dominated by a raised wooden platform that probably served as some sort of stage. At the edges of the room, a few people sat cross-legged on pillows at low tables, separated by a simple thin cloth partition to provide a measure of privacy. They barely gave us a second glance as they were already deep in their cups, even at such an early hour.

In a corner, by one of the windows, an old man played a zither. The music, if you could call it that, sounded droning and discordant to my ears. His instrument was trimmed with gold and fancy patterns, and was most likely of high craftsmanship. Wasted on his lack of talent. Noticing the self-satisfied look on his face, I hoped that he wasn’t being well paid for inflicting his music upon us. In my mind, his brazen display of poor skill was simply another form of public masturbation.

A man, thick and brutish-looking, stood behind the bar, his grim face a crisscross of scars from fights won or lost. Probably won, I thought to myself, for he looked almost wider than he was tall, with a thick paunch and beefy arms corded with muscle. Wiping a mug with a cloth, he simply nodded to us as Naira led us into a room towards the back. I couldn’t help but notice the mean mace at his hip as we passed him, not that that monster needed a weapon.

Bowing hurriedly, a worried-looking boy in white servant’s clothes interrupted the proprietress, leaning in to whisper something in her ear and causing her to frown. She swiftly concealed this momentary lapse behind a fixed smile and gestured us to follow her into one of the back rooms.

The room that Naira led us to had a smooth square stone table, carved from a single slab of gray rock and surrounded by sturdy wooden chairs. The innkeeper urged us to sit, a new and professional smile on her face.

A pretty little serving girl knocked at the door, bringing with her an iron kettle and some cups, and depositing them onto the table before politely excusing herself with a small bow. Naira poured us tea, but a small tremble in her hand betrayed her anxiety.

She sat down at the table with us, directly opposite me, and gestured for us to drink. The tea was piquant, a jasmine blend, if I was not mistaken, but I hardly had time to savor it, as Naira began her questions barely after the first sip.

“Now that I have shared tea with you, I can wait no longer. Please tell this mother, for she has not seen her daughter in many years,” she begged of me.

“Very well. Naira, is it?” I began to answer, sampling the unfamiliar name. “But I think it best that you hear it from your daughter.”

“But she is…” she started, defeat edging into her voice.

“Indeed, which is why Cordelia will help your daughter tell her tale. She can communicate in… what is it again? Ahh, yes, the unspoken words. You will help, won’t you Cordelia?” I asked, adjusting myself in the chair and taking another sip of the tea.

Though I doubted things would get violent, I decided to err on the side of caution, keeping my Mana in reserve rather than using it on consecutive uses of Identify. “As you command, my lo… Gilgamesh,” the red-haired warrior woman replied, casting a sidelong glance at the Hazagadami.

And so a composed Zariyah recounted her tale.

Chapter 25 - The Begonia’s Shade

The air was tumultuous, yearning for freedom from the domain of her parents, eager to explore beyond the reach of the expansive primordial oceans and the tranquil, silent night. Distressed by this, Water and Darkness endeavored to craft both a haven and guardian for their wayward daughter, aiming to shield her from the emptiness that lay beyond. This they called the Earth.

- The Birth of the Gesthe, by an unknown author.

Cordelia delivered Zariyah's tale to a half-believing Naira in a tone that was polite, if not a little clipped and curt.

With Cordelia to help speed things along, I had hoped for a brief rendition before we negotiated for lodging. Unfortunately, the mute woman decided to inflict us with her story, her ‘truth’, as it were. She decided to start right at the beginning of the whole thing, without abbreviation but with all of the drama.

The woman haltingly told her tale with her hands. Her fingers were jittery, a stark relief and juxtaposition to Cordelia’s lilting melodious voice. A voice that, although pleasant, nonetheless held undertones like she was constantly judging the Hazagadami

Her father had been a dreamer. He had wanted to be more than a man who had married an innkeeper’s daughter to inherit the establishment. A path that, in part, had been chosen for him.

Once Naira’s parents had crossed the Shallow River, he turned to painting and art, focusing his efforts there with wild abandon. But there had been no buyers or patrons for his decidedly average works, his skill unable to portray the images within his imagination. He tried music next, thinking that something resonated within his soul that he had simply had to share with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, the rest of the world did not agree. More often than not, the regulars of the inn avoided the establishment when he was performing. It was also around this time that her father had started drinking, ostensibly to take the nervous edge off his performances.

His next line of attack was perhaps more logical. He tried to brute force his way through to fame and recognition. He tried his hand at local politics, trying to ingratiate himself with the people that mattered, plying them with gifts to garner their favor. He was able to make a few fair weather friends and acquaintances, young sons of rich merchants who appreciated what he brought them. However, all this just served to strain the inn’s struggling finances for no good results.

Throughout all of this, her mother had supported him. Believed in him. She loved him with the kind of love that could only be found in the most insipid of romance stories or love poems. They had grown up together, and he had been the only boy of her age who had been with her, who had seen past the stigma of her red eyes. He believed that beauty was a thing that should be protected and cherished, and she was the most beautiful thing of all.

I had to force myself from rolling my eyes as that might have been construed as rude. In my world, her love would be seen as nothing more than enabling.

The apple did not fall too far from the tree, and through the lens of her own mother’s love, Zariyah, too, loved her father. Perhaps, joined in this way, the three of them could have continued to be a family.

It was the friends that he made in the higher circles of Al-Lazarian society, rich sons of merchants that introduced him to the pleasures of the Dust. Like all of the common folk of the city, he had been warned of its dangerous allure, and until now he had neither the resources nor courage enough to partake of it.

Just one fantasy-filled dream that was more real than the world he lived in was enough to set him down a new path. The next day, inspired, he painted new pictures, lifelike and exquisite in detail. i

He needed more of the stuff to let loose his burgeoning talents.

Behind closed doors, her father grew into a monster when he was denied. He vented his frustration and cruelty upon her mother, the woman who had once been the love of his life. The sharp sting of his fists and the venomous words he spat were as regular as the rising sun. Her mother's eyes, once bright with hope, were now dulled with empty and loveless marriage.

As Zariyah grew, she found solace in the quiet outside the city. She found more comfort under the open endless skies than in the company of children her own age. The winds whispered secrets of resilience and survival, if only she would venture further out into the desolation. Among the shifting sands and endless horizons, she found escape, for a time, from her situation at home.

But the darkness of her reality was inescapable. Her father's debts mounted, and his desperation knew no bounds. He was willing to do anything to fuel his destructive craving for Dust. It was then that he made the ultimate betrayal, a heart-wrenching decision that would forever haunt Zariyah.

One fateful night, in a haze of addiction-fueled madness, her father sold his only daughter to a contract broker. As a child, Zariyah had no choice but to obey him as he cruelly made her sign away the greater portion of her life. “To save our livelihoods”, he told her, the lie as bitter now as it was then.

She continued with the rest of her little tale, and I gradually grew bored. It was, for the most part, an account of places that I did not know, of names that had no meaning, and of a time before my coming to this world.

Just as my attention was truly starting to drift, refreshments were brought over by one of the inn’s staff, small snacks of jellied fruit, nuts, and watered wine. It was a welcome relief, as I was struggling to keep my interest.

Then Zariyah began to recount how she came to her powers. Finally, my ears perked up and I started to pay real attention. A storm had come while they were traveling in the western lands, a great squall that was relentless in its elemental rage. Winds with the strength of giants tore through the night. Storms like these in Aranthia were a thing of myth and legend, and it was most fortuitous that Gelgor’s caravan had chosen to shelter within the walls of a city that night.

Though Zariyah had no real memory of it, many of the Crows had seen her walk out, as if in a trance, out onto the cobbled streets and into the howling night. They screamed at her to come back, but their voices were lost to the wind as roof tiles were torn off buildings. Fearing the wrath of the unnatural storm, no one followed her out into the tempest.

They found her the next day in a farmer’s field outside the city walls, unharmed by the cutting winds, with not so much as a bruise upon her. It was only later, when she woke up on a soft feathered bed that she realized what the Wind had taken from her. Her voice.

We all listened with rapt attention and without interruption. I always hungered for scraps of information involving magical power and its nature. If her account was true, then it was most likely that the tempest had gifted, or perhaps awakened, her powers. Had there been others like the young Zariyah who had ventured out into that storm-filled night and been gifted by the Wind? Could I do the same? It was a shame that the damn woman had been so light on the details of the how of it.

Unfortunately, the rest of her tale devolved into a boring account of her life on the road with the caravan.

Taking a sip of watered wine, my thoughts were instead turned inwards, to my own trials and tribulations that made Zariyah’s account of her life until now sound like a pleasant holiday. Still, it reinforced my view that this world was cruel and unforgiving.

Against all the odds, and in a world that seemed set against me, I had prevailed. At least, so far. Out of a population of billions I had been chosen, leading me to believe that I was truly special. Indeed, I had proven it, both to this world and more importantly to myself. I was more than the product of a ‘soft’ society that had created me. In me were reserves of will that I never knew I had.

However, for all of this, my goals had always been just about short-term survival and running away. There simply had been no room for thinking about what I wanted from this world, and what I wanted to do and achieve for myself.

All of my dreams and aspirations, trivial as they had been, had turned into so much ash from the moment I had arrived in Gesthe. What was there for me to do here? The conveniences of my old world, I somberly realized, were more than just mere conveniences, but intrinsic and essential parts of living. Without them, I felt lost and adrift.

You can do anything you want, be anyone you want, a voice within stated simply. Not the voices, not this time, but a rare private thought that offered a grain of hope. Something to aspire to.

I could be powerful here, quantifiably so, as I grew in levels, skills, and experience. But this pursuit of power, for its own sake, felt aimless and empty. However, objectively speaking, it was a road that promised more satisfaction at its destination than any of my railroaded life plans in my old world. That was the dreadful and barbaric frontier beauty of this place.

However, there was a price for this power. Every step of the way, it seemed as though the gods of this world were intent on bending me to their will, singling me out to thwart my dreams and desires. But I was resolute in my refusal to yield to them. This was not a mere act of contrariness on my part, rather, I believed in the depths of my soul that acquiescing would mean trading away something essential.

Ah, the damn gods.

Avaria and Iasis, for all of their overwhelming power, felt human, felt flawed. They were on some level relatable, and therefore not beings that could be classified as gods. At least in the modern sense of the word.

Of the three divine entities I had encountered, only one truly embodied the mantle and title of a 'god.' Yet, even this dark and formidable power felt more like an elemental force, an inescapable truth of the universe rather than a god. The term god seemed too narrow to encompass such a terrible being. Even now, the faint echoes of my encounter with Entropy, filled me with existential dread, but also an odd sense of acceptance. I had, in a very limited way, become a part of the alpha and omega of the universe itself.

Yet, against all evidence to the contrary, a belief that I stubbornly held onto was that gods did not exist. Could not exist. Even if they did, they should be beings so far apart from us that they should be incomprehensible. After all, the true gods who were worthy of our worship were those who did not need our reverence in the first place. For what use did a god have of the regard of a mortal? What use do we have for the ants that we crush beneath our feet?

Suddenly my name was mentioned and I stopped with my internal musings. Zariyah had finally come to the part when Gelgor had gifted her to me, trading her away like so much livestock.

With a fixed smile on my face, I listened in, stopping only to clarify a few small points. A part of me felt grateful that Zariyah saved me the effort of having to explain why she joined me to the rest of my companions.

But, Larynda's face grew uncharacteristically hard towards the last part. The part where Zariyah’s ownership was passed over to me. Silly child, could she not see that this thing was not my fault at all? She had been foisted upon me and I had no choice but to accept her.

I had no intent on keeping a slave, for that was what she was in all but name, as I thought the whole institution morally repugnant. At least until I felt familiar enough with the city.

Kidu and Elwin, companions of my long and weary road, harbored a peculiar dichotomy in their view of slavery. To them, it was a detestable affliction when it clasped about their own necks, yet they held no hate or aversion to the idea itself. The towering Kidu spoke with a disquieting calm of 'bondsmen', prisoners from vanquished tribes who were forced to work for their conquerors for a year and a day, another barbaric custom of his primitive people.

For Elwin, it had been a fate much preferable to the hangman’s noose. As for Cordelia, afraid of her answer, I had never cared to find out her views on the matter. The woman, on a strange level, truly unnerved me.

I had never been good around believers, true believers.

It was in Larynda, in her youthful guilelessness and childish innocence, who was only lightly touched by the calloused hands of the world, that I had found a kindred soul regarding the matter of slavery. Over modest repast, she had blurted out that all people should be free, and that no one had the right to enslave another. I counseled her gently, warning that such noble ideals demanded strength as their shield, lest they be trampled under the boots of harsher truths. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that I saw her train harder the next day with Kidu.

“And that is your daughter’s tale,” I finished for Zariyah, fighting an urge to stretch. She had gone on for long enough, I felt.

“...I never knew, all these years, my darling girl…” Zariyah’s mother whispered in a hollow voice.

“Yes, as you can see, serendipity has a strange way of working her will. However, my companions and I are looking for lodging and this place came highly recommended,” I said with a small smile, trying to keep things pleasant and light.

“Of course,” she croaked automatically in response before she gathered herself. “Two rooms would be a silver a night, but for bringing my daughter back to me you can stay here as long as you…”

Of course, I intended to free Zariyah at some point, but I found it awfully rude for the woman to presume something of me. Or was it her womanly way of manipulating me?

I cut her off. “Three rooms, and I will of course pay for our lodgings. This should be good for a while,” I stated, trying to maintain the smile upon my face.

I placed a gold coin on the table, resisting the urge to wince. A gold coin, was after all, a gold coin and a considerable amount of money. I was almost tempted to swallow my pride and take her up on her earlier offer. City life was expensive, and a caravan guard, it seemed, was paid next to nothing. Damn that Laes.

The woman looked at the coins oddly for a moment.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, not at all, it has been a while since I received a coin like that,” she answered, shaking her head and scooping up the coins.

What could she mean by that? The inn looked prosperous enough. Or was it perhaps because they used paper money in Al-Lazar? If so, I would have to remember to change some of my notes into smaller denominations.

“I will have the girl Ninurta show you to your rooms, but if it does not displease Master Gilgamesh, I would like a little more time with my daughter,” she said formally, almost with an air of frigid ceremony.

“But of course, Mistress Naira,” I acquiesced smoothly.

*

Ninurta, a slip of a girl in her early teens, possessed olive skin, brown eyes, and a rebellious cascade of curly dark hair. Thin and bony for her age, she was a bundle of unbridled excitement, practically bouncing off the walls with her childlike enthusiasm as she ushered us to our rooms giving us a set of bronze keys.

The rooms themselves were small, but clean, and the walls were washed with a coat of white paint, lending an airy feel to the room.

Using glass for the windows was a small testament to the prosperity of the place, as the manufacture of it was an expensive process for low-technology cultures. My room was a corner room and the furthest from the stairs.

A large bed dominated the center, big enough for three or four people to share, the sight of which brought a brief smile to my face. It was a reminder of something that my world had lost with its steady advancements. Animals slept together for comfort and safety, and humans were no different to them on the most basic level. But as we, as a society, became more prosperous, we began seeking to build barriers to keep away our fellow man, becoming lonelier in the process. The truly rich of my old world hoarded their privacy like a dragon’s gold, but their souls were the poorer for it.

I was, however, a product of that world and welcomed the privacy after having shared cramped quarters with Kidu and Elwin. Finally, I would have some time to myself.

Interrupting Ninurta’s ramblings with Larynda, I inquired after Patches and the Ninurta assured us that our donkey would be well taken care of. According to the little bundle of enthusiasm, the inn had a small stable around the back, and the girl exclaimed that she positively loved animals and would see to her personally.

We began to settle in, and the porters of the Begonia’s Shade helped us bring some of our things up the stairs. Finally alone for a moment, I began to shuck myself out of my armor. Just as I was removing my left pauldron, having difficulty with a rather rebellious strap, there was an energetic knock on the door to my room.

“It’s Ninurta, sir,” piped a voice from the other side of the heavy door, “I’ve come to show you the way to the baths if you like… I brought you robes, a towel, and stuff!”

Annoyed, I got up and opened the door, letting the bouncing girl in.

“Leave it there, please. I will be done in a few moments,” I stated curtly, my sanctum already invaded. I sat down and worked my way to loosen the stubborn strap.

“Do you need any help, sir?” Ninurta squeaked eagerly.

“No, I will be… actually yes, if you could help me here,” I answered, gesturing to the annoying strap.

With the brightest of smiles, the girl helped me out of my steel shell. The dents and wear in my gear were a sad and obvious reminder of my latest adventurers. I would have to see to their proper maintenance later. There was no end to the chores.

Down now to my gambeson, I asked her to wait outside the room so that I could change into the robes she had provided. The girl looked at me oddly for a moment, almost frustrated, as if leaving the job half-done. Even so, she left me alone, but not before shooting a look toward me before closing the door behind her.

I quickly got changed, dumping the gambeson, along with my underclothes, into a laundry basket in the corner. Opening the door, I found Ninurta singing a cheerful song as she waited for me.

“Please, this way!” she enthused, leading me down to another room on the ground floor.

The room was tiled in blue, with a pool at its center. Water flowed from a copper pipe, gurgling like a fountain. Naira had quite obviously done rather well for herself to be able to afford facilities like these for her guests.

“Do you need help with… err washing your back? I can help with other stuff too…” she asked timidly.

Caught off guard, I looked at her dumbfounded. It took me a while before I was finally able to register her intent.

“No, that will not be necessary,” I said quite firmly, “Please, leave us.” The royal ‘we’. Was I going funny in the head?

The girl gave me a bright smile, looking genuinely happy at my refusal. She was singing, her voice echoing off of the bath walls, as she left the baths with a skip in her step. Finally, I felt relieved that I had avoided a potentially awkward situation and that she was out of my hair.

For all of its veneer of luxury, it seemed that this place was just as barbaric, twisted, and morally bankrupt as Ansan.

Truly, what was going on in this place?