Published Jan 20th, 1/20/25 1:13 pm
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The sun boils down on the endless dunes of the southern desert, casting merciless rays against the land below. The wind is but a mere whisper, carrying loose grains of sand that swirl around the air and distorting the horizon in a wavering mirage.
The footsteps of the adventurers sink heavily into the scorching grains, leaving behind a winding trail that the wind quickly begins to erase. Each step feels heavier than the last as the heat and thick air bears them down, but they press forward nonetheless.
Gwen’s sturdy white-coated horse trudges through the sand, sinking way heavier its hooves into the loose grains with every step. A couple packs slung over its back jostle slightly as it moves, carrying the group’s supplies.
They eventually trudge up a steep dune, and as they do, some grains shift beneath their feet, forcing them to dig in with each step. When they reach the crest, their gazes sweep across the desert stretching endlessly before them.
It is an unfathomable sand ocean, obscured by a dusty haze beyond a certain distance. For a moment, they simply stand there, staring into the nothingness.
ARTHUR (Shielding his eyes with one hand): “No sign of them yet.”
GWEN: “Well, yeah. What did you expect? It’s not like we can see anything else with the sand in the middle of the freaking air!”
SANDIE: “Hey, shimmer down, will you? You’re going to end up like a mess before we find them!”
GWEN (Haughty): “Hah. Shimmer down. How rich of you. I wish this whole place could just shimmer down instead! Maybe I would too!”
SAM: “You don’t like the heat, don’t you?”
GWEN: “How can anyone like this fucking furnace?!”
SAM: “I don’t mind.”
SANDIE (Turns to Sam): “Hah! Coming from you, I’m not surprised. You’re not even breaking a sweat! Literally!”
Sam remains silent for a moment, examining his arms and even his forehead. He realizes that he is, in fact, not sweating.
SAM: “And… how about you?”
SANDIE (Hesitant): “Eeeeh… I think it’s manageable. For now.”
GWEN: “Ugh, not for me, and I’m not sure about Arthur.”
ARTHUR: “I have been through worse, so… I cannot really complain. But still, I am sorry to see you suffer terribly for this.”
GWEN: “Oh, how I wish we were done with this soon.”
SAM: “If it’s any consolation… it’s not so hot at night.”
GWEN: “Heh… you know? That actually comforts me. Somewhat. How I wish it were night already.
Their conversation fades after Sandie’s words, swallowed by the silence of the desert.
They move sideways to avoid the steep slope of the dune in which they stand, lest they lose their balance, especially Gwen’s white horse.
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Meanwhile, far from the adventurers’ reach, the brutal trio of the Selachid Order—Rodrigo, Ancor, and Guzmán—move forward under the same unforgiving sun, twisted in discomfort. Their presence is not one of pursuit, but of retrieval.
GUZMÁN: “Reegghh…”
ANCOR (Panting): “Yeah, buddy. You don’t have to say anything.”
RODRIGO: “He can’t anyways.”
Ancor sighs, running a hand down his face, shaking some of the sweat off his fingertips.
ANCOR: “Ugh… why did the Captain have to send us after that freak?”
RODRIGO: “Better question: How can that fucking freak bear with this heat? Is he even alive at this point?!”
ANCOR: “Well, yeah. It’s Lázaro, after all. He has this… uncanny ability to survive things no one else should! My only concern is where he is.”
RODRIGO: “Probably inside the mausoleum, but honestly? I don’t give a shit about him. For all I care, he can rot to death in this fucking shithole.”
ANCOR (Appaled): “Holy… that’s too much!”
RODRIGO: “Too much?! Bro, you don’t like him either, and I’m sure neither does Guzmán!
GUZMÁN (Hesitant, shifting uncomfortably): “Rrrrr…”
RODRIGO (Cuts him off): “Not to mention… you could simp with Marcela without him stalking her ass.”
ANCOR (Irritated): “Hey, don’t talk about her like that! It’s undignifying!”
RODRIGO (Irritated, snapping at him): “Fuck off.”
ANCOR (Clenching his jaw): “Just… can you just say anything nice for once?!”
RODRIGO: “I said FUCK. OFF!”
The conversation reaches an impasse, as Ancor says nothing more for a few moments, unwilling to partake in this particularly vitriolic conversation with Rodrigo, until…
ANCOR: “Do you think… they’re here?”
RODRIGO: “Who? Those dickheads from the island? I don’t care about them either.”
ANCOR: “But… What if they’re after the Sclera, too? Or after us?”
Rodrigo stops and turns to Ancor, ramming his mouth and gritting his teeth.
RODRIGO: “Bro, why do you even care!? We beat their asses at the island, and we’ll do it again if we find them! And we’ll do it harder than before! So hard they’ll even have psychological sequels that they’ll stop coming for us or the Sclera. Now stop bitching before I beat your ass instead! Besides, it was your idea to steal from them, so don’t act surprised if we have them right on our asses!!
Rodrigo stomps forward, kicking up puffs of sand. Ancor and Guzmán are slightly left behind as they exchange confused stares with each other. Ancor can’t help but draw a grimace of anger, showing some of his teeth. Guzmán puts one of his hands on his shoulder.
ANCOR (Keeping his voice low): “Ugh… why is he like this? Maybe it’s the heat, but still…”
GUZMÁN: “Rrrh…”
Unlike Rodrigo, Ancor cannot speak with Guzmán, and thus, they continue forward and catch up with the white shark. None of them speak again.
ANCOR (Barely audible): “F…n. pr..k.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day passes uneventfully for both groups. So much so that, before long, the sun begins to dip. The sky shifts to soft amber hues, and the air begins to cool down. The legs of the adventurers ache, and their breaths feel heavier, and the sand—now sticking to their clothes, armor, and skin—seems to weigh them down even further.
And as if the heat of the day was not punishment enough, the night proves soon enough to be even more so.
The group of the western adventurers soon catch a glimpse of an immense accumulation of sand clouds right as the sun finally comes down, threatening to engulf them. The stillness of the desert is further broken by the sudden manifestation of the hostile mobs of the night, milling about at the horizon.
They soon notice their presence and begin to close the distance, and so does the incoming sandstorm. The groans and the swirls grow increasingly louder as, until the confrontation within the sandstorm is inevitable.
Everyone draws their weapons and tilt their heads to one side. Gwen dismounts her horse and steps forward with an exasperated face.
GWEN: “Just… why? Why?! Why is this damn place conspiring against us!?”
ARTHUR: “No need to worry, I can sustain ourselves with my mace!”
SANDIE (Turns to Arthur): “You can?”
ARTHUR: “It has a certain enchantment that can heal you if you are close enough.”
Everything around them has been reduced to a dome of absolute darkness. Their vision narrows—beyond a few feet and the light of Arthur’s Sun’s Grace, all is obscured. The wind has shifted from a whisper to a bellowing roar, drowning out almost every sound.
A husk lurches forward with its arms outstretched, echoing a grotesque gurgle drowned by the wailing storm. Arthur swings his mace, and the golden metal flashes in the dim light as it collides with the creature's head. A shockwave of golden light erupts from the impact, traveling across the group. The husk is sent sprawling. Its body contorts, but it does not fall alone—a seemingly endless horde birthed from the sandstorm itself crawls toward them.
An arrow is suddenly shot, colliding against Gwen’s shield, but it shatters against the iron. Sam moves with slow steps to the source of the arrow, no doubt a skeleton. His sword is hidden behind his own shield, blocking another arrow. The skeleton comes into view, and he delivers a lunge as he attempts to charge its bow again.
More mobs come in—a flock of phantoms descend from above the clouds, taking advantage of the sandstorm currents to build momentum and strike the adventurers. Sandie sees one coming and ducks, it hits Arthur with a swift headbutt, but it makes it recoil. He retaliates with a strong bash on its head, and soon enough, it ceases to exist.
A second phantom dives, and Sam barely raises his shield in time, feeling the impact shake his arm. He pushes back, swinging his sword in retaliation, but the beast retreats into the storm.
Arthur’s mace glows again, a golden arc of light bursting forth as he strikes another husk, slightly taking away any discomfort the group feels, but they are being overrun.
Even Gwen's horse is forced to defend itself, kicking the husks that come to it with its rear legs.
SANDIE (Swinging her pickaxe at a husk, panting): “There’s too many!”
GWEN (Shouting over the wind): “Where?! I can’t see anything!”
Sand lashes at their faces, filling their lungs with grit and burning their eyes. Arthur nods, stepping back.
ARTHUR (Commanding): “Any direction will do, but we need to stay away from the mobs!”
They break formation, pushing through the shifting sands, weapons still drawn, barely dodging attacks as they run. The storm’s unrelenting force drags at them, while the mobs pursue them, though at a slower pace.
After a handful of steps, a break in the dunes comes into view, if only for a short distance. Sand gives way to reddish clay, with steep cliffs rising ahead. Gwen’s eyes widen as she holds her horse with a leash.
SANDIE (Urgent): “There! We can take shelter up there!”
They keep pushing forward. The mobs fall behind as the desert shifts into towering clay mesas, unable to follow them any further. They scramble up the hardened rock as the storm whips behind them. By the time they reach the plateau, they are gasping, soaked in sweat and sand, but still alive.
Gwen collapses to the ground, dragging herself against a rock.
GWEN (Breathless, exhausted): “I… officially… hate this place.”
Arthur leans against a boulder, catching his breath, while Sam remains standing, not sweating or even breathing at all, gazing at the storm below with an unreadable expression.
Sandie glances around, wiping sweat from her brow.
SANDIE (Looking at Arthur): “You alright?”
Arthur nods, exhaling slowly.
ARTHUR: “I am. But more importantly, so are all of you.”
Arthur turns toward the rocky terrain, his expression settling into calculated focus.
ARTHUR: “Still, we cannot stay in the open forever. We ought to take shelter somewhere.”
SANDIE (Widening her eyes): “Oh, I know! We can tunnel into a wall and make a shelter inside! It doesn’t have to be pretty. Just a hole will do!”
GWEN (Muttering, shifting against the rock): “Great. More digging. Just what I wanted to do after running for my life.”
SANDIE (Grinning, teasing): “Oh, come on. You’re not afraid of a little dirt, are you?”
Gwen glares at her but says nothing.
SAM: “It’ll be just a moment.”
GWEN (Sighs): “Alright, fine.”
With no better options and no time to waste, the adventurers gather themselves with whatever strength they have left after all they have endured. Sandie is the first to move, chipping away at the tough clay wall with her diamond pickaxe.
Arthur searches for a patch of withered oak trees and proceeds to chop them with his mace, despite it not being a suited implement for his task at hand. The sound of breaking wood travels through his surroundings, reaching the group the air as they carve out a small alcove into the mesa.
Meanwhile, Sam scours the area with the intention to hunt down wild animals to sustain them—sheep, pigs, cows, and so on.
Gwen finds herself digging and removing grass patches, still grumbling. Her horse snorts at her, with its white coat now streaked with dust from their journey, seemingly accusing her of her lack of innitiative.
GWEN (Muttering to her horse): “You’re lucky you don’t have to dig, because I would put you to it if you could!”
Meanwhile, the wind howls below the plateau. The sandstorm still rages below the plateau they have climbed. It still bellows unforgivingly, but far from their reach.
The small alcove gradually takes shape, the walls Sandie has carved are smooth enough to offer some room for the entire group.
Arthur starts a campfire, using the gathered wood and charcoal, and soon, a distinctive warmth spreads outside the cramped shelter. Its flickering glow casts shadows against the clay walls, creating a stark contrast to the cold night beyond. The night settles, and so do the adventurers.
Sam places down some meat near the fire, and Gwen drops beside it, stretching out with a tired groan.
GWEN: “I swear, if another mob shows up tonight, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Arthur chuckles, sitting across from her.
ARTHUR: “Then let’s hope they have no interest in climbing mesas.”
For the first time since entering the desert, they have some semblance of safety, if only for some brief hours, as beyond the badlands and the desert below, the violent trio of the Selachid Order are still on the prowl.
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