The city of Luxor lounges on the precipice at the westernmost edge of the continent, overlooking a sea of sand to the East and a vast expanse of saltwater to the west. Waves of sand pile up, dune upon dune, till they spill over the high sandstone bluffs into the ceaseless waves of water that gnaw forever at the base of those stone ramparts. In the brief span between where a mighty river emerges from its secret chasms to form a lake before cutting its final gorge to the sea, hundreds of aqueducts pull water to nourish the verdant fields and water the thirsty city. At the point where water and sand intermingle, a thriving shipping industry blooms right next to the thriving agricultural one. Tall ships pulled by slave-rowed tugs glide between the sandstone cliffs to exchange their wares for the exotic wealth of Luxor.

From the sea, Luxor is protected from [Pirates] and navies by the blood red sandstone cliffs; the only threat is the sea itself. From the land, Luxor is protected by the red-gold desert sands; the only threat is the sand itself. Between the sea and the sand reigns the power of the Empress, the untouchable guardian of the west.

Or, at least, that's what the population of Luxor believes. That's what everyone believes. That's what Cleopatra knows to be sure.

But…

The [Empress] of the Sands rests her hands on the balcony, overlooking the desert. Numerous skills are at work as she watches a curious scene.

A modest, two story log cabin rides atop the backs of a dozen armored vermis. The worms themselves are bound together by their bone carapaces, melded one into another. At the very front of this molded and melded carapace, a man in white reclines on an ornate throne and directs the trapped vermis with a bauble hung from a fishing pole.

The [Empress] can't help but allow the tiniest of smiles to grace her face. After so long a life, she rarely finds something both novel and amusing. The last time something truly amused her was about two years ago, when she heard news of a [Hero] kidnapped by the elves.

Regardless, the scene before her is not necessarily new. She’d seen it before… The only new part is the house. Nobody has thought to make a home on the backs of the vermis.

After another moment of staring, her amusement and curiosity wane. She turns away and saunters back into her palace.

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Quasi frowns as the stupid worms slow down as they near Luxor. He can sense their movements growing panicked, so he wiggles the bobble, vibrating it to regain their attention. It works for a bit, but the vermis are too spooked. They sense something from which they want to run. Some try, but they can’t so long as the majority continue to chase the lure.

Still, their movements slow as they get closer and closer. Annoyed, the [Hero] gets the worms pointed towards the city's entrance. Then, with a hand on the bony floor, he locks the armored vermis’ ability to turn. He raises his pole and reels in the lure.

They panic and he feels the carapace strain as each and every one of them tries to turn and run in a different direction. But the bone, enhanced with the strength of his third tier class, withstands. The only direction the worms can go is forward and forward they go. With every step the worms’ panic grows and so do their panicked motions till they are running as fast as they can to the gates of Luxor.

Then, as they near, Quasi releases a pulse of mana. The bones rumble and divot, extending spikes internally. The seven hearts of every vermis are pierced. The monsters die but their momentum continues. The giant mess of worm, carapace, house, and throne skids across the dunes and finally stops, mere inches from the first building in a giant cloud of sand.

By then, most people have run away screaming. They retreat into the city, yelling and calling for the [Guards]. An old man exits the building which was almost struck. He first sees the running people, then walks around the hovel to come face to maw with a dozen dead vermis.

He blinks.

The old [Butcher] smiles and licks his lips.

_______________________________________________________________

In every city, in every land, regardless of leadership or size, there is always a public place to quaff the nepenthe that is alcohol. People gather there, and where people gather, so go the [Bards] and [Skalds] with their songs to sing and tales to regale those drinkers of treacherous spirits. Forsooth, alcohol gives men the lie. It awakes in him the urge, but takes away the means. Thus the [Bard] who tells the tales may make the tales instead.

“Alright, this is fucking aggravating!” a masked man enters the tavern with a growl. He slaps aside the leather door cover. The newcomer stops in the entrance, seeming to gaze poignantly through his mask at the scrap of leather resting on the back of his hand. His gaze conveys the emotions of a lover–a long lost lover… that just found his wife in bed with another man.

Like the shadow of a cloud passing overhead, the [Barkeep] has a premonition of his bar getting trashed.

But the cloud passes and the sun shines through, as the man's mask turns to the room. He surveys the clientele, each and every one of them large, muscular men graven with scars and tastefully tattooed. They look like war veterans–[Mercenaries] or [Soldiers], maybe even some [Pirates] in the mix.

Men who have seen death and lived in its company.

Vicious as snakes and strong as bulls, they observe the fresh meat that just strolled into the most infamous hive of scum and villainy in all of Luxor, the Vermis Nest.

Any average wanderer who entered would have noticed the danger, the reasons for the danger, and walked back out. Even the [Guards] might have turned back around.

But, when a man asks a high level [Butcher] for directions to the most dangerous bar in town, and then chooses to arrive at said bar, a man’s pride is on the line. To turn tail without even sampling the local drink, well, a man might as well paint his belly yellow.

And Quasi Eludo is no yellow-belly coward. Nay, he is no mere [hero], he is The [HERO] and The [HERO] does not back down!

With confidence shored up by pride, the dandy man steps into the den of monsters. The leather flap falls and blocks out the daylight behind him. He strolls the short distance between the entrance and the level two-hundred [Peerless Barkeep]. The regulars stare at the man as he walks, evaluating him. They note the drape of the robe over the man’s broad shoulders, his tall, perfect posture of a [Gentleman], his confident stride, and, peeking from under the swaying cloak, his ass.

With a grunt, he sets his scrumptious behind on the rainbow barstool. For a moment, the regulars glimpse its curves and plumpness, eliciting many approving grunts before the robe hangs over and blocks any view.

With a twist of his hand, the man flicks off his mask, revealing a face devoid of blemishes; no hair, no zits, nothing. More approving grunts follow.

The man leans his elbows on the bar. “Give me the fruitiest drink you’ve got,” a chirp comes from the top hat atop the man’s head, “and make it two.”

The [Peerless Barkeep] sets out two glasses, then, with smooth and practiced motions, simple to see and impossible to replicate, mixes two drinks. Gracefully, without disturbing the rainbow colored layers in each glass, he bends forward at his hips and presents the beverages. His tight leather pants stretch and creak around his ass, generating a new round of approving grunts from the regulars.

“Your drink, sir,” he says with a lick of his lips and a flex of his muscles.

Then he slowly straightens, keeping constant eye contact with the [Hero].

The [Hero] does not break eye contact the entire time. Nay, showing dominance requires never showing weakness. If one shows even the slightest bit, one will be devoured.

The [Hero] raises his right hand and snaps his middle and thumb. “Barglesmash.”

The [Gentleman]’s tophat, a majestic thing that sits a foot tall on his head, shifts. A hidden, mechanized, circular door opens near the top of the hat, revealing a sprawling home and the singular individual that lives within it.

Barglesmash squeaks and flutters out of the hole. He lands atop one of the drinks and squeaks again in challenge towards any would dare even think about stealing his offering. The squeak promises death and destruction, but only after neverending torture, to anyone foolish enough to even ponder the merest inkling of taking his prize.

All are silent as they stare at the Phoenix, mesmerized and… impressed.

Without breaking eye contact, Barglesmash leans down and licks the drink. The bird continues staring, daring the patrons to make the slightest movement.

One guy coughs and the little bird glares in warning. His plumage turns redder as a trail of flame flickers across his feathers.

After a moment of staring, the bird resumes its consumption.

Quasi smirks at the [Peerless Bartender]. He grabs his own drink and sips on the fruity liquid.

“Huh, this is pretty good.”

The [Peerless Bartender] chuckles, followed by the rest of the regulars. The bar returns to its pre-Quasi moment. “Alright, you’ve passed the test. Name’s Ricky, [Peerless Bartender] of the Vermis Nest.”

Quasi sighs and extends his hand. “Bone, leader of the Merry Marrows team.”

Soft, moisturized hands shake Bones for an uncomfortably long time. “Well Bone, you’ve gained mine and my folk’s respect. So, what can we do for you?”

Bone sips his fruity drink. He can taste honey, monk fruit, oranges, a good helping of strawberries, and maybe some grape? Not sure on the last one.

He sighs. “I’ve got a bit of a problem, and I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to shake it. An addiction might be a better word to describe it,” he scratches the side of his head, “though I wouldn't have ever dreamed such a thing would affect me.”

“Mr. Bone, you’re delaying.”

Bone sighs. He takes a sip of his drink, the taste changing slightly with each sip. A skill perhaps? Probably. “I… I need to find a door.”

___________________________________________________________________

The vermis lays, sprawled across the sand. Across from it sits a sculptor preparing his tool. Skrink, goes his blade, as it brushes over the whetstone. Skrink, it goes, as the cleaver’s edge is honed. The sculptor lifts his knife, examining his old friend for any chips or flaws. There are none he can see, but that does not mean there are none at all.

Skrink, the blade goes, and he finally knows it’s ready.

The artist lifts his brush to the canvas of flesh, and begins his masterpiece.

The knife hisses through the air, barely making a sound as the vermis is cut. With expert precision, the flesh parts from the shell. Blood drains from the pieces in a drizzle, emptying through use of a skill. And this is only the first slice.

On it goes. With the skill of a master swordsman, the grace of a dancer, and the mastery of a lifetime of hard work, the [Master Butcher] carves the great corpse into meat.

Jessica watches this alongside Abernick and Fiona. The sight is mesmerizing, and downright impressive, especially with how the meat is quickly sorted for transport. Already, [Merchants] have started lining up to haggle for their own portions of the prize.

After a moment, Naunet retreats from the [Merchants] with a hefty sack. She arrives at the bench and frowns. “Where is the master?” she asks.

Jessica shrugs. “He left to get information. Told us to just sit and wait until Jasuf arrives.”

Naunet raises an eyebrow. “Are you not worried he will cause problems?”

Fiona and Abernick smile knowingly while Jessica scowls. “No, I am not worried. I know he’s going to cause trouble, and I’m going to ignore it.”

“That seems unwise,” Naunet answers.

“It is,” Jessica growls, “but I can never stop him from making trouble. I can only clean up the damage. So I’ll wait until the [Guards] arrive or the city is burning.”

Abernick chuckles, interrupting everyone.

“What’s so funny?” Fiona asks.

With a smirk, he points in the direction of the city. They turn and look. A plume of smoke rises from the city center as an assortment of mounted [Guards] comes toward them.

“He’s hasn't even been gone an hour,” Jessica groans as the [Guards] arrive.

“Are you four companions of a man named Bone?”

They look between each other. Jessica sighs. “Yes, we are,” she admits. “What did that idiot do now?”

The [Guard Captain] grunts. “It would be best to show you. Please come along.”