“ Llimu Ground Fowl;, Rostrodenato camelus- is a species of beak toothed bird found in the Titan’s Dustbowl. Subsists on the denizens of the desert like scorpions, lizards, rodents, fruits of desert shrubs and cacti as well as any animal unfortunate to have stumbled into its territory. Weighing roughly as a full grown horse, and as tall as one at the breast, it is a hardy bird that has a few predators. It Is used as a fast mount by the Clans and some bandit groups if they do manage to tame them. It is rather stubborn hence the adage, as stubborn as a llimu...”-from Philiarz Warnerskemander’s Bestiary for Adventurers: ‘Exotic Beasties and Where To Find Them.’

The Titan’s Dust Bowl was a large swathe of barren sands beneath the borders of the No Man Skies. And the No Man Skies was just a generic name for skies that contained aerlands had yet to be explored. No one could be bothered with them due to their low strategic value.

Even if there is treasure to be found, only the most foolhardy of explorers would journey out this far. But from the nearest sky port that was the port of Riftedge, you would have to pass through the Great Vale, and pray to Thea that if you found your way to the other side, the aesylvani arbors between the forest and the Hunchback Ridges would not shoot you full of arrows.

And that was only putting it mildly; that was on the assumption that the beasts of the forest and what have you didn’t get to you first. Added to that, it was not worth the time such an expedition would have taken traversing the forest; the forest was so thick, navigation in the stifled illumination was a momentous task. The lack of trails was the final nail in the coffin.

Of course, if you were to part with a generous amount of coin, you could get an experienced dwarven [Aership Captain] to fly you wherever you wanted to go.

Aerships flying this direction were virtually non-existent, and the only form of transport were the overland trade caravans that skirted the Great Vale as they made for the Hunchback Ridge where the giants made their villages on the mountain terraces where they farmed.

Most of the air traffic stuck to well-known shipping routes along the Rift, following the Grand Rapids into the coast of the Alkerd continent, where the seaport of King's Fell was found.

Beneath the Titan’s Dustbowl, however, lay treasures of an empire long lost to time. Though many coveted them, even the greediest of adventurers knew better to attempt delving into any of the catacombs.

It was not on account of the traps and the monstrosities that made the desert their territory, on the contrary, that was the least of their problems. Adventurers encountering traps was a no-brainer; it was the maps that were hard to find. On Alkerd, you never went adventuring without one or anywhere else for that matter. This was as backwater as places could get.

But that is not to say that life didn’t flourish in the Bowl. Apart from the creatures adapted to the climate like the occasional sand wurm or a flock of the wingless llimu, there were oases aplenty housing a diversity of creatures not found elsewhere on Alkerd.

Some Oases were of natural origin while some were the result of strong weather magic at work. Enough that a microclimate gave life to isolated Islands of forests amidst the sea of sands. And with that, all manner of food chains from rodents to gentle giants like the indricotherian camels thrived.

In one such oasis, three men were having an afternoon siesta. One was smoking a narcotic in a pipe made of bone; another was juggling their dagger with a reed-hat draped over his face while the last of the trio was snoring with his feet half outside of a tent.

The oasis was not so big as far as some in the Bowl went but it had a copse of trees, a smattering of cycad palms and some little undergrowth and cacti growing on the fringes where desert sand met fertile ground.

There was also a small brook bubbling beneath a pile of rocks, pooling in a pond and disappearing into an undergrowth stream. And the most conscious feature of all was the formation of mesas and buttes spread out around the little oasis. They made a good windbreak during sand storms.

“Hey Duval,”

“Hmm?” Replied the man with the hat.

“Do you see that?”

“Yea—lost traveler ye thinks?”

“Nah, doesn't seem like. See his gear is not worn and dusty. Methinks he fell out of the sky or something?”

“Ha-ha, you old rat, that's a good one. Mmh, doesn't look from these here parts...”

“Think we could make him a mark?””

“Yeh, let's get a feel for him. Hey psst, Psst! Jerul, wake up. Go alert the boss, tell him we got a wanderer. We're going to stall; don't let him see you.” The man with the reed-hat kicked at their last accomplice's legs to wake him.

The man in the tent stirred and extricated himself from the tarp tent. He wiped the gunk from his eyes and drool sitting in the corner of his mouth and got to tying his footwraps. His footwear was a pair of dusty worn bandages that had never seen water and would not have looked out of place in an old crypt.

[Crypt Robber] was not an uncommon class among the people at the bottom of the totem pole in the Bowl. But Jerul was a [Skulker] and like his class intimated, he made himself scarce using his [Faint Presence] skill. People of his class were used in place of scouts by bandits if anyone had yet to get the class among their cohorts.

“Hoy there traveler. Care to share our water?” one of the remaining two called out in common. The sound of steps shuffling in the sand slowed. A tall man, taller than the average Erythean human male hesitated, startled to find a lone pair of individuals this far out—humans.

Arthur bit back a grimace. This was the third time he’d come across an oasis with nothing he was looking for. The first oasis he came across was home to a pack of dog-like creatures called duskhounds.

They reminded him of a cross between an Australian dingo and a prehistoric canine who was a distant relative of the hyena. He didn't want to chance encroaching onto their turf. Not even while they slept in the shade.

The next, he found the bane of all desert travelers; the sand scorpion. He gave the place one look, and after his brush with a spider, he was leery of another encounter with another arachnid.

Who knew how many of the things were hibernating under the sands; their exoskeleton was practically camouflage! Were it not for his [Mana Sight] Arthur shuddered to think what would have happened.

By the third oasis, Arthur was fed up. He was tired, travel-worn and needed some sleep. The sand was a nuisance in his boots.

While he could endure blisters because [Regeneration] scabbed them over, sand-glass poking at his heel he couldn't. The last straw was the ripe clothes that itched at his armpits and other areas the sun didn't shine.

With the sleep addling his mind, he barely put any effort into his response with the strangers. They were the first human he’d met since coming to Eryth, so naturally, he was curious about what they looked like.

He was disappointed. They looked like the shifty characters one would find in a western flick. Buck teeth, a scar across the brow and one too many bandages on their fingers.

‘I bet there is a knuckle duster under there,’ Arthur thought, barely giving the man a glance. However, he did pretend to be civil. Too wrung out to continue his slog across the desert, Arthur found seating on a log and let his legs go out from under him.

He unwrapped his scarf and shook off the sand and then did the same for his boots and rid them of the small stones and irksome grains of glass sand gotten from his traipse across the dunes. However, he left the dusty goggles on his face.

“Pardon me gents, don't mind if I do.”

He nodded to the speaker and his companion who had made himself presentable—

That is to say, he put away his dagger and busied himself with stoking a fire upon which a battered kettle was suspended by a dingle stick.

“Are you traders or merchants perhaps?” Arthur turned to his companions with a scrutinizing eye. They didn't seem like the type. It was just a probing question to see how they’d react. If they were too eager to please, well…he had his answer.

A short respite would be fine as he rested his sore calves. Then he would go on. He just needed a place away from their prying eyes to fix his hoverboard. Sand was bad for the Azure Surfer’s small engine and the excessive heat had done a number on the metal too. The runework had been warped in the expansion. The lack of a cooling system might have just exacerbated the problem causing runes and mana conduits to overheat and degrade.

The man who'd been the first to salute Arthur replied, puffing his pipe,

“Hoh, curious one are you? Name's Torpeth and this here, is Val.” To which the man at the kettle just grunted in assent. ” We're wanderers like yourself.”

“ Just call me Arthur…”

“Arthur, heh...sounds like a noble's name. What are you doing in the Titan's sandblasted Bowl?”

‘ Oh, aren’t you too curious for your own good as well, old man?’ Arthur's suspicion went up a notch. His expression, however, did not change. The cautious youth did not let them notice he was sizing them through his goggles made from dark, cut crystal lenses. Even then, he only made sure to look from the corner of his eyes while his face was pointed elsewhere.

Likewise, he did not let them see that anything was amiss with him. He was just playing the part of an ordinary traveler . His knapsack, bedroll, tent and tent poles were strapped to his back with the cloak's hood pulled down. He’d stowed away the hoverboard in [Inventory]. That would’ve aroused undue attention.

“Just passing through.” Arthur moistened his chapped lips. His water had run out and trying to pull it from the desert was, well, like trying to make a stone bleed. He sighed, playing the part of a weary sojourner, “ Heard about some Clans who trade in the oasis, that's all.” He deflected without hesitation.

“Ah...we wanderers gotta stick together. Care to have some Moonflower tea? helps bring the heat down. It's a rare herb, blooms when the moons are full.”

‘ Aaand there we are. Rare herb, blooms when the moons are full but you’re just going to give it to a stranger you just met ?’ Arthur mused, narrowing his eyes beneath the goggles. He gave them another cursory glance.

Both men were all wrapped up in desert garb, sand brown like the dunes around the oasis. They wore some leather shoes that went up to their calves where their baggy stringed pants were tucked in.

Despite the heat and the glaring sun, their heads were uncovered, one had a bird nest of unkempt hair while the other had a few strands over his bald head. The hoods of their ponchos lay slack against their backs.

Their skin was a dusty brown tan, used to being under the sun and sands while their bushy beards looked like someone had scissored them while drunk. However, their eyes were clear as day and did not look avaricious at all. No suspicions there.

Apart from the clothes on their backs, they had a tent made of tarp, perhaps calling it a tent as far too generous. It was just a lean-to made of two wooden poles and two cycad palms with the tarp suspended in between. There was also the sooty battered kettle on which some sort of herbal concoction was boiling.

‘ A lean-to tent, disturbed soil like someone’s been there recently. The breeze would’ve already erased it if they’d been gone for long.’

Arthur didn't know what the custom here was but he didn't need to antagonize his two acquaintances. So he got his own metallic flask from his knapsack and extended it to the tea brewer

“ Rare herb you said?” Arthur feigned surprise. “I know a friend who is a tea connoisseur and would love some.” He grinned. The tea brewer stumbled, knocking over the kettle. Arthur’s sudden departure from being interested in the tea to talking about it as if he’d had no intention of partaking must have startled the man so thoroughly all his excitement of an easy mark fizzled out.

Three men watched the sand sizzle, a wet patch rapidly blooming around the fire. None of them moved so much as a pace to recover the rest of what was left from the keeled utensil. Even from where he sat the tea smelled fragrant.

It had a minty aroma with dewy and aromatic undertones, like bottled morning essence. A lime green color, it seemed to twinkle in the light and he might have been so eager to try it were it not for the men’s suspicious motives. But all that was gone, sinking into the sands while the rest evaporated into the stifling desert heat.

“ Ah…” Arthur muttered, breaking the spell. Inwardly, he was trying hard not to laugh.

“ Duval your Sand bl—” Torpeth broke character. “ My pardons mister Arthur, my friend’s father, he had two left feet. Naturally, he’s a bumbling klutz yer see.” he gesticulated wildly.

Duval gave him a look of affront like he was the most stupid man under the sun. His hands were clenched so hard Arthur would have sworn he had his knuckles crack.

Arthur sighed, “ Sorry about the tea. “ I am sure it would have been lovely to taste some of the rare Moonflower. A shame truly,” He shook his head. Dusting off his lap, he made it as if to get up.

“ Wait!, I did say it was rare, but I didn’t say ‘twas the last of it. My stash ain't what it used to be, but I could sell you some if you'd like.”

“I would very much like that,” Arthur said, piqued." How much would that be?"

“Five gold for this lot,” he said, producing a small pouch from underneath his poncho.

Arthur pretended to contemplate it, “Five gold huh?”

“Ha-ha, don't worry lad. ‘Tis the last one of them, they won't be blooming for several months. Trust me you won't get a better offer than this anywhere," he tried to sweeten the deal as his companion nodded to show agreement.

“One gold,” Arthur responded. “ That pouch’ll hardly last two brews,”

Torpeth was flabbergasted. He looked from the pouch in his hands to the travel-weary youth in front of him. Never in his whole career had someone been so brazen. In the desert, you took what you got no matter how absurd the price. Doubly so if you were a lone traveler.

Things were hard out there, and it was not uncommon for bandits to fall back into a little swindling as traders. There were a lot of alchemical resources and exotic things in the Bowl.

However, If they struck at every traveler passing the Oasis, it would be bad for business. Not only for them but for the Tielfing clans who did things in the gray area.

The bandits? Those were the small fish, living on the grace of the actual overlords of the desert. It would be foolish to draw the ire of the Clans. Therefore, they rarely had to kill.

A little wurm root in their tea always did the trick, paralysis set in after a few heartbeats. Thereafter, they cleaned out the traveler, leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their back.

But today, the youth in front of him might have lucked out because of late, business had been bad. The damn dwarves liked to get their hands on everything and the Clans just happened to get the short end of the stick.

There was tension between the Tiefling Clans in the Dustbowl causing travelers and caravaneers to take their business elsewhere. Maybe, he could just wring the lad’s neck and be done with it.

No, the boss man would throw him to the sand wurms if he did that. Torpeth clenched his fists; he kept the fake amiable grin on his face. He would have his chance, who knew what the brazen youth had under his cloak?

[Pillager’s Itch], that skill of his was telling him that the mark in front of him was worth more than he looked. He was worth more than the camping kit and rucksack on his back. For all he didn't have any metal on him, he must’ve been a mage. Even his open, carefree stance told him so.

And even though looked haggard, he was still steady on his feet. He was practically the walking dead, as much as he tried to hide the eyebags beneath those expensive-looking goggles of his.

He was still easy pickings; once the rest of the gang came along, they’d get him wurm root or not. It was a shame though, all that wurm root gone to waste. He’d already gone through his allotment for the week; bossman was very frugal in that regard.

Arthur was goading the poor man. First the spilled tea and now the price undercutting. He didn't even know what the current market price for a cob loaf was. Perhaps part of the Draconic woman’s boldness had rubbed off on him too.

He’d been around Aeskyre too much not to come out of it untouched. But eh, this was like taking candy from a baby. That the man didn't protest confirmed it; they were stalling. Torpeth would settle the score; and soon. For one gold, Arthur bought the last of the Moonflower from the man.

Business done, he informed his acquaintances that he would be taking a rest and cast about for a place to set up camp. Of course, Arthur was not stupid, they would be following him, trying to sniff out his whereabouts. With the size of the oasis however, privacy was going to be a luxury.

‘Guessing that’s why there’s no monsters around. Too small’ Arthur frowned. He looked at the formation of mesas and buttes making the little oasis look for all the world like a corner of the Australian outback. It was a good place to make camp, the brook surrounded by trees was in the middle of the weathered formations.

First, he meandered around the oasis; the cycad palms offered scant hiding places. Their fronded leaves were too far apart to offer any refuge. Meanwhile, the copse growing close to the brook was only a few trees dense.

‘ No, not defensible. Won’t see them coming in from the desert’ Arthur noted. The oasis was in a small basin sloping inwards. That explained the presence of a brook as the water table was nearer that way. He looked at the tall mesas, soaring against a clear sky as he squinted against the sun in his shaded crystal lenses. The walls were steep, no handholds; sandstorms had worn the walls smooth. Arthur smiled. An idea bloomed in his mind.

It all hinged on his Nighstalker’s cloak and its camouflage abilities. It was not the disappear in plain sight kind of thing. If Arthur wanted that, then he’d have to find the chimera lizard for its hide. His cloak worked like a ward that misdirected your attention, making you less conspicuous than your surroundings; it played with your mind.

Thus Arthur set up camp near one of the mesas, tent pitched in plain sight. He made a show of entering his tent and then, staying there for a while. While inside the tent though, he got down to work, fixing his hoverboard, another essential part of his plan.

He opened the internals of the Mark One and sorted out the rune work; the metal had stretched the conduits thin in places and waiting for it to cool was foolhardy when he was in enemy territory.

To fix the problem, he etched an extension of the conduits and runes in the place where the metal had expanded. Short of etching the rune work on another metal, this was the only way.

When it cooled again, the metal could contract, bridging the expanded part. The conduits would remain unaffected, if only a little thicker as a result of the rune solder buckling on itself.

[Diagnostics] informed him that the hoverboard would work though it hinted that not as hard as he could push it. A check from [Detect Flaw] found minor defects...but that was on the metal itself, not the runes. It would have to do for now.

Paces away from Arthur's tent, beside a thicket some unsavory plans were set and decisions were deliberated.

“Would you look at that 'Val, we didn't even need to lift a finger. It's gonna be the easiest mark ever; we strike when the sun is low. Hopefully, the boss will be on his way by now.

“Y'think he's a Lordling?”

“I'd swear by the Bowl's blasted sands, I could see it in his eyes, he’s never been outside four walls and his skin? Too pale... But all the way out here? Tsk tsk tsk, must be a noble's disowned bastard or something.”

“ What'd make ye think that?” asked Duval between side-eyes.

Chewing on a stalk of grass, Torpeth scratched the bridge of his nose and narrowed his eyes. Then with an impish grin, he snorted," Nobles don't let go of their heirs that easily and they're all uptight about their bloodlines and what’s not. Kid might not even be a mage-born."

“Y’sure?” asked Duval.

“Blasted sands Val. I couldn’t feel his magic.” Torpeth lambasted, “He’s too young to have mastered his aura so that means he has none. Let’s go back to camp and wait till the sun’s down.”

The two lurchers quietly stole away from their hiding place to their camp and waited for the veil of darkness to fall.

Arthur watched another sunset from the desert. The dying embers of the last of the sun rays reflected off glassy sand giving the illusion of a sea of low burning fire.

Zephyrs that were none too gusty to be of nuisance blew atop the volcanic pillar that Arthur had perched on, Nightstalker’s cloak around his shoulders as he too waited for night to fall. The footprints he’d left, from walking around the feature, always facing towards the tent were already filled with fine sand.

‘ Did all that work for nothing. Forgot the desert sands’ He sighed. Arthur had hoped to throw off his stalkers by fudging up the direction of his footsteps. He could have run or flown, whichever; his hoverboard was fixed.

However, with no information about how many bandits there were and the direction they would come from, he might have well fallen into an ambush. Ultimately, His own stakeout wouldn't have been possible if he didn’t have the Nightstalker’s cloak and the desert breeze on his side.

Like with the dagger, imbuing an artifact with mana was different from using raw spells. He was going to have to delve into the intricacies of how artifacts worked. There was a certain topic on that Dwomdaer Anvilfall book he’d skipped for sure.

‘What was that about? Ah, yes…active and passive enchantments,’ he recalled. ‘Then there is rune matrix transposition, which affects the mana flow of enchantments.’ he sighed. So much of the content was akin to reading up on intermediate mathematics. But the magic of it was magic itself; it wasn't that boring.

There was just one little problem with his plan, however. Actually, the plan was sound…There was just one more element, one more enemy that was creeping up on his person undetected.

A silent foe, who brought even the best of Erythean men low. Really, you couldn't have faulted him for not noticing it. It wasn’t even right under his nose. The only thing Arthur had failed to account for even though it was the closest thing to him was himself. Arthur slept!

[Magitech Aercrafter Level 14!]

[Skill- Veres’ North Acquired!]

[Skill- Danger Se…..

Arthur’s eyes snapped wide open before the World completed its declaration of the skill in a monotone facsimile of his voice. His awareness was singing in alarm and the hair at the back of his neck had stood on end. Whatever that new skill had done, the sense of danger in the air had taken on a tangible manifestation.

He could feel dense blood lust trying to smother him, invisible hands of death encircling his throat. For a moment, he thought he was back in Sturm’s Keep, Aeskyre holding him up in strangulation. His breath came in hitches, pupils dilated. It was so dark and the sun had already set. The moonlight? It barely reached the ground, stymied by the clouds above.

Then the world resumed as if he’d been punted out from a bout of tachypsychia. Sounds buffeted his ears; the yips of canines, screeches of large fowl and the raucous bellows of people.

“People… Crumb! I fell asleep.” Realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. His stomach dropped, feeling like he’d woken up late for that one final test. And the last vestiges of sleep flew away in the face of apprehension as Arthur’s eyes caught the group of hand-held torches bobbing in the dark below the mesa.

“ Where is he? Find him!” A throaty bellow rend the air. Arthur knew better than to freeze in the wake of that sound. One last glimpse at his tent revealed that it had been upended; the bedroll and other non-essentials had been strewn about.

He scooted backwards, wary of making noise or sending detritus toppling over the edge. Arthur was high, higher than some of the tallest cycad palms. That was one thing he’d done right

His plan to hide someplace where they wouldn't know to look for him had saved his skin. But whether he’d get to keep his skin or not depended on getting out of the place undetected and he was not one to dither.

Securing his cloak about him, he imbued it with his mana, feeling his well depleted by a significant chunk. Arthur knew he was not being efficient, empowering items was not something he’d thought to read up. Even though Aeskyre made sure to give him all the books he wanted.

If he’d wanted to be a [Sage] he’d have stayed back at the keep and grown a beard, reading the hoard’s library top to bottom. There was no time for regrets whatsoever.

He scanned the surrounding from atop his perch, wind having picked up speed, bringing with it biting cold as the sandy desert cooled rapidly. All around the landscape, the bandits were crawling like ants, canvassing every nook and cranny of wherever he'd be found.

He could just fly away. That the moons were blocked by the clouds was a godsend and he was going to use it to his advantage. As for his tent and beddings, that was an acceptable loss. He'd set it up like that after all.

As he crawled on his elbows, well clear of the edges. A sharp pain bloomed on his calf. He almost yelled but he muffled it with his hands, the sound coming across as a painful hiss. Arthur thought he'd been had and had already materialized his dagger to prepare to fend off an attack, but turning around, he found himself playing host to a pair of Ossyrian desert owls.

”Uhm...nice birdies?”