By far the most disturbing thing he had encountered thus far was the prices of food.
Items of war were unsurprisingly in abundance and oversupplied in times of peace, and the imbalance of the market could be seen focused in items of more dire needs- namely fuel. But none of them could compare to the prices of wheat and clean water.
It wasn't easy looking for a source of income in Alistel, either; he had loads of competition. War veterans were also prowling the cities, their experience in violence urging them to harrass unwilling civilians, as was the norm in times of peace. Most of them were still enlisted with the Alistellan army; which meant that the generals were either shorthanded with their disciplinary committee, or just couldn't bother. Dullahan suspected it not as the latter.
Of the few odd-jobs he did receive payment from subcontracting to the military, it was, unsurprisingly, requests for forage of medicinal plants from nearby hills. The military hospitallers were sensible for asking external help, if not slightly desperate.
His encounters in the hills did not impress him, however; because the various races were not the only ones having to deal with the desertification. Already, he encountered various demonic fowls, looking ready to peck at his corpse for food. And demonic fowls were not a feature that he remembered seeing in his life, ever.
Against his better judgement, Dullahan gave up on trying to stock on full rations for the trip - he'll have to make do partially off the land. That, and none of the local stables seemed willing to part with a palfrey.
Which meant that he had to travel on foot.
It took him almost an eternity to reach the peaks of Lazvil Hill, which surprised even himself. While he didn't pride himself in his mountaineering skills, he admitted that he was severely out of practice on traversing through natural terrain without his horse.
That wasn't his only problem, either- there were aggressives rampant everywhere.
Already he made two close encounters with monsters, and once against a group of four midget, rat-faced bandits. For once, he was very glad he hadn't had a ride- if not, it would've been dead during the face-off.
Luckily for him, however, the bandits did not put up much of a resistance... And they did leave behind a healthy supply of reed arrows. Dullahan gladly took possession of them.
Night had already fallen, and the blonde decided not to make a fire, eating plucked fruits in the cold, even as he scrutinised the map and planning his route for tomorrow. His campsite gave him a clear view of the west side of the continent, stretching almost towards the horizon line. He would've enjoyed the view more, if he hadn't been struck by a larger, pending problem.
Stretched below the cliffs of his campsite was a desert.
So the map was not only torn, it was also outdated. It clearly showed that there were some ways to go downhill before signs of the desert begins, slightly before the border checkpoint (aptly named the Sand Fortress, possibly from its' wartime heritage). That would mean there would be nothing for him to forage, all the way up to the checkpoint; and based on the estimated distance he travelled today, he won't be reaching the checkpoint for another two days.
creak
Breaking the quiet rhythm of the night winds, Dullahan warily turned towards the source.
It was one of the many trees that populated the hills, and this one was dangerously rooted at the edge of the cliff. The trunk was twice his own size, but the roots held; and possibly did for many years. In an attempt to right itself, the trunk grew upwards at an awkward angle towards the sky, and away from the menace of the cliff.
There was a subtle hint of running sand in the winds, but Dullahan couldn't identify the source. It soon became apparent, however, that the tree in question was spilling sand. The leaves shrank slowly, but surely, before turning into sand entirely; leaving behind the empty husk of a trunk, the symbol of life, dried and dead.
And the entire trunk collapsed on itself, tumbling over the cliff edge, carrying part of the cliff with it.
Dullahan stopped eating, and prepared to walk through the night; he had just lost his appetite.