#||lonewolf

[0therpearl]

Salt Sun, 7th of Tishru ii Ux. I arrive in the village of Mirqushur.

[0therpearl]

"Moon and sun, friend! You have my deep and many-sided thanks."

Her faith moves me little, and truth be told I doubt the worth of even ferrying this trinket about. But if the Six Day Stilt hosts a grand bazaar, it ought to be worth a visit. I tuck the salt mill in my belt and move about my way. Surely this village has better work to offer, or at least someone worth robbing. My water's low.

[0therpearl]

[0therpearl]

I walk the long perimeter of the town, looking it over closely. One villager catches my eye, digging about in the salt sand.

She's found a bit of scrap— some kind of odd trinket. When I approach, she wheels on me and damn near drops to her knees.

I've heard tell of the Stilt, but only in passing. Might be there's bounty up there, yeah?

A temple doesn't sound like bounty, but a grand bazaar does. If it's half as loud as she says, it ought be easy to find with my ears. She thrusts the trinket forward into my hands, but I have reason to hesitate if Moghra'yi has threats like those I've known.

Firearms and fire-snakes, of course. Fine enough. If I'm to cross the rest of the way into the rust and ruin, I may as well take this bauble.

Yeah, live and drink. Something about her "deep and many-sided thanks" sticks with me as I turn the trinket over in my hand.

... Is this a joke?

[0therpearl]

I don't know what it is, but I don't like these statues.

Something about them is unsettling, and the villagers around them seem... Frantic in their admiration.

Stone shouldn't put my fur on end. I'll leave it be for now.

[0therpearl]

At the north edge of town, I hear someone calling me over.

So this is Chugs-in-Quicksalt. They bid me hunt down some old ruin or other— just north of Ebony Tarchemish. On my journey to Qud, the caravan I shadowed told where to find this Ebony ruin, so I accept. Compensation for my service will stay my axe-hand well enough.

I ask if there's other work, and they say to check the mourner in the graveyard, or to make myself useful gathering ashes for the goats.

I'll check the graveyard.

[0therpearl]

Surely enough, there's work to be found. It's not long before I stumble upon one of the village's "Parliamentarians". Something smells wrong about him. The desert salt has dried out my nose, so I can't figure out just what it might be.

All the same, he ushers me over, looking for a waterhand to aid him.

Ebony Tarchemish isn't far from here; A ruin with little more than old roofless walls for a windbreak and evidence of old camps. I passed it coming in. The salt pans are a quiet enough walk— if you avoid the rogue Issachari and the occasional pack of flying fire-snakes. If this Nawar is going to be a boon to their "trade prospects", that means I get first pickings by finding it. I gladly accept.

Chugs-in-Quicksalt is quick to point me to his peers. "Seek them east and south," he says. Sure enough, I spy their amaranth red robes of office down in the graveyard and out by the spine fruit patch... And another statue.

[0therpearl]

I followed a caravan south across Moghra'yi, with half a mind to rob them and finish the trek myself. Dawngliders got to them first.

Mirqushur might smell of leather or fruit if it didn't just smell like poison salt. The desert has been drinking vapor off my tongue for days, and I feel dull and slow with thirst. Half a waterskin left. I have half a mind to axe the first human I see.

They've got work, though, and are quick to point me to their kith.

I'm told the Issachari are a tribe native to the salt pans, and can be recognized by their names just as easily as their scarlet-and-white garb. Blood and salt, maybe. And snakes and oil and fire. This one has an odd look about them, but the sun's high and the shadows are deep, so I can't get a good luck under the kufiyeh they wear. I'll look around the village instead, and talk to those two. Maybe I can trade this scrap of witchwood for a meal.