You had been a part of the group disguised as a merchant, hired to capture a man who is a part of the traveling caravan. With only five days left till reaching Obora and still having no clue as to who the man was, you had begun to feel a hint of frustration. You had only been informed that he was a half-elf sorcerer and a “diplomatic sort”. You had tried to pry more information out of what had turned out to be just the messenger, but the half-orc had insisted she knew nothing else- you still were not sure you believed her.
So, here you were in the desert, still trying to discover the identity of this diplomatic sorcerer. The caravan was beginning to slow as it turned to the evening hours, the sun becoming a bit more bearable as it began its descent. Perhaps you would visit several of the fire pits tonight and strike up conversation to pick up on any hint of their being a half-elf sorcerer among them. Although some might assume you had chosen to seek out information from those searching for him so they could eliminate him by identifying where he actually resided… There was also a chance he could merely be one of your own people.
That part did make sense… Or not. Whatever the case, it was no matter. You simply hoped to get the information you needed without getting yourself killed. So far things were going well for you. No one seemed suspicious or hostile towards you other than the native encampments in the desert who still threatened to attack occasionally when provoked-and given how helpful they often had been in their very short span of lives, killing these people seemed like too great a waste even for you…
Upon finally spotting one of the campfires of the evening, you made your way towards the small platform of sand upon which six individual figures were gathered around. Upon arriving at it, however, it was seen that it was already full. Most likely some had gone before you. A wide variety of individuals walked around the temporary stage that was currently situated across from each other- a few men with painted skin, women covered in furs or flimsy clothes, shabby haired men (likely thieves) walking among robes of silk and some even burly brigands armed to the teeth. Out of place amidst all of this, just as you thought that there wouldn’t be much likelihood of encountering anyone of your ilk.
However, as you stood behind an old man with ropy black hair carefully wrapping fresh herbs into bundles of tobacco, a sharp scowl crossed over his face. “Where’s your tongue?” he said through gritted teeth, apparently annoyed at the inability to buy goods and supplies while being short on coin. Even if someone didn’t want what you were offering, most would pay what money they had for something quickly available to purchase since any item they managed to scavenge in these wastes was never easy to come by. Such profit might help fill a gap in the trip. Nonetheless, this old fellow acted as though the few dollars you had gotten were in fact received devoid of the giver’s blessing.
As you walked…..
To Be Continued