The large subterranean creature lay on its back, tied to an even larger structure. Beneath it, wheels fashioned from smooth stone allowed the tribesmen to pull the beast with ease across the purplish sand.

  I accessed the description.

  Ganeraonom – Level 35

  Menacing and only growing larger. The kind of thing I’d avoid if I had the choice, yet the thought of all the XP it could drop tugged at me. Not to mention the loot and items I could use or sell to a vendor. The temptation of so many levels burned in the back of my mind, but for now, I’d keep my distance.

  By late afternoon, many of the tribesmen pulling the beast had uncovered their faces. With the hunt behind them, they claimed it felt strange to keep the cloth wrapped when no danger was present.

  Cashius and I summoned our mounts and rode alongside what they called the murder squad. Escape wasn’t an option. If we tried, they would hunt us down and kill us.

  When I muttered that it wouldn’t be easy, the chief gave a rough pat to my chest. “Easier than you think, foreigner.”

  As for Sparks, she sat atop the saddle, bouncing with us, her wings folded against her back and her eyes scanning the path ahead.

  Off in the distance, I caught the faint outline of their caravan through the sun’s haze. A mere blotch of color at this range.

  I pulled up my menu, checking my condition and stats to make sure everything was fine. I cycled through my weapons and gems, loaded the Slugthrower with normal shells, gave Havoc Maker a once-over for nicks, then glanced at the people traveling alongside us.

  You know, the usual.

  Every few miles, the chief would glance at me and spit on the ground. I’d return the look and do the same, tired of how he treated me.

  Cashius had fought the chief for respect in his playthrough. An option I was seriously considering. However, I’d wait before I acted and see how everything would play out.

  No use in fighting when I could avoid it. Plus, with my Perception

  Now, I just waited for the situation to arise.

  When I was done checking my gear, I lifted Sparks and told her to keep an eye on the chief in case he tried anything.

  The sound of the beast sliding across the terrain stirred memories of my family at a water park we used to visit when I was younger. “Fun Land,” it was called. The endless spray of water reminded me of the shhh shhh shhh the creature made as it was dragged through the desert.

  When things got quiet, I caught an insistent thump. Something from underneath was pounding in the distance. I asked the person to my right what it was, and he explained.

  To keep the sand imps from attacking, they used drummers who beat out a rhythmic cadence that disoriented the pests. The sound was slow, heavy with bass, and never too loud. Muted sticks kept the beat restrained, just enough to hold the creatures at bay.

  Smart for them to think of that. True nomads who relied on ingenuity and tricks. It made me respect them even more.

  I glanced at Cashius and saw him sleeping in his saddle, a cigar hanging from his mouth. How it didn’t fall was a mystery.

  With his eyes closed, I tossed a piece of meat from our inventory, hoping to catch him off guard. As it sailed through the air, he snatched it right before it hit him.

  “Don’t play with your food, Lamont,” he called out, then plopped the meat into his mouth.

  “When you’ve been playing as long as I have, you learn a thing or two about resting with your eyes open.”

  “Aye, what can you tell me about the Flish’ar now that we’re here? Anything I should or shouldn’t do? Secrets you’ve uncovered. Anything that’ll give me an advantage, you know?”

  He leaned to the side and spoke just above a whisper. “Actually, there are a few things I’d like to share,” he said, swallowing the meat. “First, don’t eat with your left hand. They believe it brings bad luck. Second, respect is everything here. You either earn it by nearly dying in battle or you’re born with it. And one more thing, Linuux is hated for trying to manipulate the tribes. Any chance you get, tell the chieftains you’ve got a vendetta against him and that killing him is your goal. After that, things should unfold rather nicely.”

  I nodded.

  “We will be arriving shortly. Keep your wits about you and don’t do anything too stupid before they offer the quest. If you do, we’ll have to go after Linuux without any help or the trinkets they hand out for completing their tasks.”

  “I’ll try,” I replied and trotted ahead, letting the conversation die.

  God willing, I could get through this interaction without messing anything up. The little things Cashius had shared gave me some confidence, but who knew what fate had planned.

  In the meantime, I studied the people more closely. Their skin tone, which was close to mine, was one shade lighter. Their faces were decorated with piercings and unusual markings. Nose rings for the men, lip piercings for the women. Rings glinted on every finger except the thumb, and curved blades hung at their waists beside tied waterskins. Their robes were multicolored, not quite tie-dyed but colored in purples that resembled the sand.

  No two were alike, and when they stopped moving, they blended in with the environment.

  For protection against the sun, they carried umbrellas. But not the kind I was used to. These were square and fashioned from a strange, silky material I had never seen before.

  When I looked at one long enough, I could see the light bouncing off in a sparkle. Strange and pretty cool. Something I didn’t expect.

  To me, it felt like the makers of this game had gone above and beyond when they designed these people and their land.

  I thought Glasborough and the land between were designed well, too, but this place was breathtaking. A marvel of creativity that made me appreciate where I was.

  By the time we reached the caravan, Sparks and I were nodding along to the beat, both of us sitting upright, while Cashius cracked his knuckles.

  When I looked at him, he gave me a half-smirk and a slight bow of the head.

  Near the entrance stood tent after tent, made from the same fabric they wore for clothing. They were varied, tactile, and crowded with items I couldn’t even begin to describe. The desert heat swelled in that space, turning the air thick and humid.

  At the center of the smaller tents rose a much larger one. Its flaps shimmered gold, and the closer we drew, the more crowded the area became.

  Misty began moving strangely, her hooves kicking up more sand than usual. I patted her flank to calm her, but it only made her more feisty. She lifted her head high, jaw tensed as if daring someone to bite her.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  On the ground, children crouched with straws between their lips, shooting tiny darts and objects at her legs. They froze when they saw me stiffen, their wide eyes snapping to the massive blade strapped across my back.

  To them, I wasn’t just a stranger. An outsider. Someone they could mock and test however they pleased. Game or not, being treated differently always rubbed me the wrong way. They were kids, so I let it slide.

  As we pushed deeper into the maze of tents, women emerged, beating dust from rugs, while others hurried to stroke the massive beast their tribesmen hauled through the sand.

  When we reached the center, the tribesmen dropped their ropes and cheered, pumping their fists in the air while the musicians played a more festive drumbeat.

  Within minutes, the crowd swelled until all I could see were people laughing as if nothing could sour their joy. They gripped each other’s shoulders in celebration, their voices rising in unison.

  Small dogs barked from the edges of the gathering. Cashius looked intrigued, rubbing his wrist and mumbling to himself.

  As for me, I stared in amazement.

  Where I came from, we didn’t cheer in the streets, rejoicing at the sight of food. We went to supermarkets, purchased our meats and cheeses, and traded money for them. We worked in factories or delivered babies just to earn the funds to procure them. Seeing these people celebrate a kill as if it were a gift from the gods was as foreign to me as I was to them.

  To make matters stranger, the hairs on my neck rose as I felt eyes boring into me. When I turned my head, I saw the chief staring, his gaze filled with disdain. Why he despised me, I couldn’t say. But as soon as he turned away, two men approached Cashius and me and ordered us to follow.

  I dropped to the ground from Misty’s back as Sparks hovered close. Cashius, moving like the old man he was, swung his leg over his mount and set one foot in the dirt.

  “Remember not to offend these people, and if offered a fight, maybe take it. You’d instantly be respected,” he said, clearing his foot from the stirrup.

  “I got this, Cashius. And can’t you tell my stat increases have me using words I’d never use back home?” I followed the two guards. “Like I’m some dang college graduate or something.”

  Cashius slipped on his trench coat. “I know, but that’s not real intelligence. It’s just the game inserting words into your vocabulary. Your instincts and decisions are still the same.”

  “Hmm. I thought I was becoming more intelligent.”

  “You were always intelligent, you crazy fool.” He smiled as he walked beside me. “Now let’s start this mission and stop all the delays.”

  The two men led us through the amassed crowd, pushing past and smiling at the people they encountered.

  When we reached the golden tent, the chief stood waiting with his arms folded. “Time is precious. We have not eaten fresh meat in weeks.” He cleared his throat. “Come with me and speak only when you are asked. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  He turned his head as he stepped inside the flap. “By the way, my name is Zeviir,” he said, pausing. “And before we go inside, I must ask if you want to battle with me. A test of strength and mind. If you win, the tribe will honor you as one of us. If not, then you must leave. Do you accept?”

  The world gave that awkward pause again as a blue transparent box hovered across my display.

  [Yes] [No]

  Cashius looked at me, but as I said earlier, why fight and risk being shunned by these people when I could wait?

  Thinking it over a bit more, I pressed No

  The chief folded his arms. “As you should,” he said, pressing a clenched fist to his chest. “Because I would have killed you.”

  He continued. “Now, when you get inside, respect is a gift exchanged between two people. If you give it to me, I’ll give it to you,” he said. “My hatred for you is not welcome here. So until we leave, you have my respect. Be warned, though. If you do anything inside to cause us anger or shame, your life will come to an end,” he promised. “Do you understand?”

  I thought, nodding.

  Outside of the tent, I was treated with contempt, but inside, I would be given respect until otherwise. I would have to what I said here, just as Cashius warned.

  I extended my hand. “My name is Lamont, and it's nice to meet you and your lovely people.”

  He stared at my open palm, then brushed it aside. “Thank you,” his face returned to its menacing stare. “We enter.”

  Cool air surrounded my sweaty body, bringing comfort. Sparks relaxed on my shoulder, and Cashius let out a sigh.

  The interior looked incredible, with cushions scattered about and vases filled with exotic flowers. The coolness came from giant blocks of ice being fanned by workers. One block was nearly melted as we entered, the water from it draining into a carved basin on the ground. Later, I learned the basin was no accident. Every drop was collected, filtered, and passed back through the caravan as drinking water. Nothing was wasted here, not even the melt of luxury.

  A woman approached, clasped her hands together, and whispered a phrase I didn’t understand. More mumbling followed, accompanied by sweeping hand movements as a self-contained wind whipped the tent’s flaps. Two lights appeared, circling each other before dropping to the floor as a miniature storm coalesced above her palms, icy wind stirring her robes. Tiny lightning clouds rumbled softly, as though caged in her grip. She swirled her hands, and the cloud swelled until I thought it might rip the tent apart.

  Seconds later, a fresh block of ice appeared, solid as any steel I had ever seen. The workers resumed their task, fanning the chamber with enormous leaves, while the others gathered the runoff from the last block. Survival here was as much about discipline as it was about magic.

  Amazed, I could only stare, my eyes drinking in the sight.

  At my side, people were gathered in deep discussion, talking about the beast slain outside and how much time they had before they needed to leave. Their speech was fast and filled with cultural idioms that made it difficult to catch everything they said.

  When we passed, they fell silent and exchanged stares colder than any storm they could summon. Their noses twitched. Hands rested calmly at their sides. It felt as if we were cursed, outsiders in their midst.

  I raised my arm and smelled nothing, but according to the people, we reeked of evil or worse.

  Zeviir walked with practiced grace, approaching a group of men and women before sitting among them cross-legged. He leaned to the side and spoke with another chieftain, who gave a short nod, then motioned for my party of two and one-third to step forward before the council.

  I stepped to the front and bowed my head. “Greetings,” I said. “Your cultural heritage is strong, and I admire that, even as an outsider.”

  The members of the group nodded before someone interrupted. “Even from here, we can smell that serpent on you. Vile and evil, he is,” said an older woman with long painted nails. “My name is Jessa, leader of Flish’ar and of the others around me, chiefs and caretakers of our tribe.”

  The woman had once been beautiful, but now her face was aged, traced with white marks. Her hands remained hidden inside her sleeves as she sat on a bed of cushions.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Jessa of the Flish’ar tribe. I’m Lamont, a visitor and, I hope, a friend to your clan.” I smiled. “And this gentleman behind me is Cashius, sort of like my guide and friend. And this tiny person here,” I followed with my eyes as Sparks circled me, “is Sparks, a battle fairy traveling with me on my mission.”

  Cashius bowed his head, and Sparks settled onto my shoulder. The people gathered before me stared, waiting for me to continue.

  I cleared my throat. “We’re here to kill the serpent Linuux and to gather the first stone of Orbralis on my quest to defeat the Nameless One.”

  A hush settled over the room. It was so quiet I could hear the water dripping from the block of ice.

  “Well, it’s true,” I said. “And with your help, I hope to see it done.”

  Jessa unfolded her hands and placed them on her lap. “Such bold aims for a child like you,” she said. “Maybe that’s why you smell of the lizard. Has he been haunting your dreams?”

  My brows wrinkled. “Yes, for the last few days, making us promises and other such things,” Cashius spoke up. “Without the Saheer herb, we’d still be haunted by him. That’s why you and your people can smell him on us.”

  “Not all people, just those who have lost much to him and his mind games,” Zeviir said. “He’s the reason our people can’t settle anywhere. The minute we do, many start turning to him, and then things start happening. Death, madness… What we’ve learned is that if we stay on the move, he can’t infiltrate our mental defenses. And that herb you’re taking to stop him from entering your minds isn’t a long-term solution. Once your bodies build resistance to it, he’ll be right inside your head, taunting you yet again.”

  I looked to Cashius, who only shrugged. “That’s why it’s imperative you let us go and take care of the threat,” I said. “Being a stranger here, I might be blessed in ways that give me an advantage. But if you try to kill us or hold us hostage, I may have to do things I’d regret.”

  Jessa laughed. “That beard isn’t even grown in on your face yet, and you’re making threats. Threats your soul isn’t equipped to carry out.”

  Cashius pushed me to the side. “He’s sorry. He doesn’t know what powers you and your people possess. I didn’t tell him.”

  “Tell me what, Cashius?”

  “That without the Flish’ar’s help, our quest is futile,” he explained. “Without their magic, the path to Linuux is barred to us.”

  “What—why didn’t you tell me?”

  He pulled me to the side. “Because the makers of this game told me not to,” he whispered. “It was one of the conditions of my being a guide. Certain things you must learn on your own.”

  All I could do was look at him in disgust, shake my head, and wonder what else he was hiding from me. The look he shot back made him seem smaller than before, as if inches had been shaved off his character.

  With sorrow in his eyes, he leaned forward. “I’m sorry, my boy.”

  “Aren’t we all,” I said as I stepped forward.

  When we walked back to face the chieftains, I once again bowed my head.

  “Please, aid us in our mission,” I pleaded.

  “Linuux has my wife as one of his mind-controlled freaks,” Zeviir confessed. “So your claim that you’re here to kill him gives me hope of getting back someone I thought I lost forever. If Jessa says yes, you have my blessing.”

  All eyes turned to the leader of the chieftains. Jessa’s gaze lingered on me. “I’ll aid you, but first you must complete a task—one that will prove you an honorary member of the tribe,” she said. “The Covenant of Blades, located a day's ride from Mount Keaga at our old Fort Laishava. A test to see if you’re cut from the same cloth as we are—a warrior first, a survivor second.”

  “I’ve slain necromancers, money-hungry elves, and whatever else this world has thrown at me,” I said. “Tell me the task, and I’ll set off to complete it.”

  She stared at me, her face marked with strange scars. “Meet us tomorrow, and maybe we’ll aid you. But tonight, my people must celebrate the catching of the sand fiend. And since you’re here, you may celebrate with us. Leave and prepare.”