Shattered Land

Arouet the half-elfæn forest ranger staggered about a vasty desert, parched, with nowt but a dryness, a dust about his mouth, having a thirst like that of a thirsty sword; he milled about for a week or so, in the desert. On the outskirts of a sizeable settlement, a caravan stop-off chattel route, a transport hub, a busy milling metropolis snugly situated in the sand-dune dotted desert, of somewhere about Færuin.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the posse, namely Lombar, Doolie, Ashari, and the displacer-mage, made there way about the sand-covered city, that sprawled about the deserted dune-space. Bleak, yet bustling with activity, the team shored up in a tavern that lay to the north of the great pyramid. Upon arrival, the crew made themselves out to be chattel-traders, but were soon sniffed out, promptly captured, branded with the three-scimitar symbol particular to these here parts. An ‘N’ burned on to there faces. Tasked with having to solve a riddle, taking some time in solving it. The unlikely heroes discerned that some steely governess ruled this city of the chattel-trade.

Arouet was collared, brought in, burned with the ‘N’ mark of a Nigeri slave. Promptly placed alongside his companions, the half-elf lamented his now near-permanently scarred up visage was hideously maimed for evermore. A voice in the sky sounded, “You are merely property now.”, laughing manically. The sun never moved but burned brightly in the azured cloudless ciel. The sun-soaked streets were a hive of activity, people of all castes milled and went about their daily business, some tattooed, some adorned in brightly coloured jewellry, almost all scarred. This, was the arena, or so it seemed…

To be continued




I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.