Days in the desert were long, filled with the sweltering heat that shimmered across the vast plains of sand and dirt. Such heat brought many a mirage, tempting lost outsiders into so called pleasures of cool and refreshing water that was shaded by giant green palm trees, heavy with coconuts. But when they thought they'd reach it, the hopeless wanderers found only more of the endless yellow terrain, dotted infrequently by small cacti and shrubs.
Many dangerous creatures owned their own desert territory; the elemental Death Scarabs scuttled along the rocky outcrop, while Hell Cats prowled the abandoned walls of a lost city where only the Undead lived. They kill any unarmed travelers, leaving their corpses for the carrion birds. Crude temples were erected to worship the Claw Viper god and to respect the dead that had fallen from a war that only the elderly recalled. But no one goes there to worship the gods or pay respects to loved ones. Guards from the lost city had taken refuge inside, siding with the Dark Lords, the Undead and the Ghosts.
Many mercenaries have tried to enter and purge the lands of the monsters. Although before they could get to draw their swords, Hell Cats would be upon them with lethal daggers, leaving the bodies discarded with the many others. But not even the Carrion Birds dared to touch them after death, for some still have spells bound inside of them. Anything that touched them would surely die.
When Zenathel looked upon the godforsaken place, she reluctantly decided that she definitely needed help. She arrived at Lut Gholein a few days ago from a more greener part of the world, the Rogue Encampment. She had come there as a mercenary to aid the Rogues with their troubles. She turned out to be quite a good asset resulting in getting many quests and missions while she lived there. Eventually, a freed captive from a damned city of Tristram, named Decard Cain, had informed Zenathel that a demon named Andariel had been the centre of the Rogue's problems.
After locating and killing the demon, Zenathel was offered to travel to another city, so that she could also save them from the monsters lurking outside the city walls. Accepting the offer, the Assassin traveled with the caravan that was heading east. Upon arrival, the first thing she noticed was that a layer of dust covered everything in the city, including Zenathel. Her summoned Shadow looked cleaner than ever, since nothing physical affected her, which did include the filtering dust. Zenathel scowled at her opposite before opening her secret stash which she carried from city to city.
She wasn't bad, Ahjeed decided. His previous master, also a woman, named Asheara, had told him she sold him to someone else... and that his new master was an Assassin. Ahjeed was never the one to judge, but when he saw Zenathel, questions quickly formed on his heat chapped lips. Afraid to ask Asheara, he instead talked a long time friend and comrade, Griez.
He, too, hired warriors to mercenaries, although different to those that Asheara had. They were pure warriors, not mixed mages, like Ahjeed. Griez was a tall man and well built from training. He wore a long coat of mail and from around his neck was a long billowing red cloak. He wore a hat, with a small red plume protruding from the top. Flowing material came from the hat, protecting his neck from insects that so wanted his Arabian blood. His face was brown and weathered from spending many hours in the son, and a large black beard covered his chin.
"Why does she have a pole axe?" Ahjeed asked him. They were just out of earshot from Zenathel, who was still rearranging her stash.
Griez crossed his arms and smiled secretly. "That is her weapon, lad. She needs to protect herself from the danger ahead."
Ahjeed nudged his friend playfully. "I want answers, Griez, not the obvious."
Griez chuckled, "Yes, alright lad." His face turned a little more serious. "That is no pole axe, lad. That is the Bill of Hwannin's Justice. It can cleave through anything... when it wants to. It's a very temperamental Bill, that." Griez nodded to the long weapon in Zenathel's hand. "But always seems to be on the girl's side when she needs it."
Ahjeed frowned, "But don't Assassin's use claws and wrist spikes or daggers?"
Griez shook his head and replied, "Not this one lad. She is one of a kind. Just don't let her die. All of our lives are on stake this time. It's all on your shoulders, lad." With that, he clapped Ahjeed's shoulder before turning to address another mercenary in need of his services.
Unsatisfied yet nerved by Griez's answers, Ahjeed approached his new master with caution. He remembered that she was an assassin, and that she could strike at any minute. After standing in the swirling dust for a few tense minutes, Ahjeed cleared his throat to announce his arrival. But Zenathel completely ignored the man, totally immersed in her stash. Her Shadow stood over her, away from Ahjeed. She looked at him, from his face to his feet and back to his face. She smiled before turning her back on him.
He raised his eyebrow, but waited until Zenathel eventually rose from her stash and dusted off the excess dirt on her chain armour. Ahjeed decided that this was the time to speak up.
"Ah, master. I am here reporting for my duties," he said gruffly. She didn't turn around. Instead she signaled for her Shadow to face her. Ahjeed's face fell. Was he a ghost? He tried again. "Master-"
"I heard you the first time," the assassin interrupted, not bothering to face Ahjeed. The Shadow popped her head over Zenathel's shoulder and tutted softly. He resisted the urge to punch the Shadow, but she went back behind Zenathel at her words.
"I leveled up on my journey here, because of that attack on the caravan," the Shadow's master was saying to her. "I must put some points to your summoning, but they will only be affective when I've re-summoned you."
Ahjeed could not see the Shadow, but could imagine her shrugging while she said, "Fine by me."
Zenathel nodded, "See you later then." The Shadow disappeared with an impressive nova and a wisp of smoke. With a small sigh, the assassin turned herself and her attention to Ahjeed. She scanned him the same way as the Shadow had done earlier.
Ahjeed was taller than herself and prided in his height by the way he held himself. He was garbed in long, flowing open robes, under which he wore chain mail trousers, a small steel plate covering his torso and had a red cloak was tied from his shoulders. He had a helm on his head, and a sword and shield in either hand. Red boots covered his feet.
"Your equipment looks cheap," the assassin said shortly. Ahjeed's eyes narrowed, but then shrugged.
"It's ceremonial," he replied. "They're bits of matchsticks, these."
"And you don't have any money to get proper equipment?" Zenathel asked, pursing her lips.
"I'm a soldier, master. I don't earn anything. We are here to protect the people," Ahjeed answered. He was surprised that Zenathel did not learn this already. But to his relief, he got a small size of pity and gold from the assassin to buy the said proper equipment.
As he turned around, he saw a woman. But not just any woman. This was Farah. She was the blacksmith and paladin of Lut Gholein, and the one and only love of Ahjeed's life. She was only a few inches shorter than the warrior mage, her height being supported by large boots on her feet. She wore sailor's clothes. They were loose on her torso, and tight on her legs, revealing much to the eye. Her hair was a glorious red, her face rough with experience.
"Hello, stranger," she said shrewdly as she threw a hammer in the air, then catching it deftly in her calloused hands. "I see you have someone in need of your services." She nodded towards Zenathel, who was casting her Shadow spell.
Ahjeed laughed, "Apparently, one of a kind."
Farah laughed also, saying, "Yeah, I can see by that bill she's got. I'm sure she has some kind of - ah, there they are." She nodded in satisfaction. But Ahjeed didn't understand. He questioned Farah, who immediately pointed to Zenathel's belt. "See those hooks over there, and the bags tied to them? In those are her claws."
Ahjeed's eyes widened as he spotted them. "But why would she keep them hidden?" he asked the blacksmith.
"That reason... I have no idea. But the blacksmith in the Rogue Encampment, Charsi? It's rumoured that one was made by her own hand."
Ahjeed's eyebrows raised at the words. But then remembered the task at hand. "I am in need of your services, Farah." He held up his open hand. In it was a small pile of gold. Farah smiled.
"Finally going to buy something?" she asked, heading towards her shed. There her wares hung from various hooks on the wall and lay on the display tables.
"Finally," he said, smiling.
Ahjeed emerged from the blacksmith's shack a few minutes later with a new sword and shield, as that was only item he could buy from the money that Zenathel gave him. But when he came to his master's stash... all that remained was swirling dust and sand. A camel bayed from a stable nearby, as if to emphasize Ahjeed's stupidity and loneliness. Panicked, his tore through the city, frantically searching for his lost master. A familiar voice called him from his search. It was Griez.
"She went down under, lad," he was saying, pointing to a open trapdoor at his feet. Ahjeed visibly paled. Under the city were the sewers. Damn those sewers, they never were much use. They were only home for the Undead and their guardians. If she were to die down there...Ahjeed did not want to know what could happen.
Ignoring the ladder, Ahjeed jumped right through the trapdoor. But nothing could prepare him for what happened next...