The desert moved beneath him, a seamless glide. Sal leaned into the tilt of the dunes, his feet surfing the grains. The night air had swallowed the heat, leaving a chill that helped clear the haze of the wasp venom. He slowed his pace, letting the momentum die near the crest of a dune, and dropped to his knees.
With his single hand, he pulled at the stiff fabric of his shirt. The wound carried a steady ache, but the pain was manageable. He ran a thumb along the edge of the injury. The sandstone seal he'd packed into the gouge held fast, fused with his scabbed flesh. It was ugly, and the sheer volume of blood he'd lost made the horizon tilt if he stood too fast, but it wasn't festering. He'd live.
He looked up. In the distance, a cluster of flickering lights smeared the darkness. Misty Palms Oasis.
"Daybreak or now?" Crow's voice curled into his thoughts, smooth and unbothered.
Sal exhaled. Sunlight meant the bazaar would open. He could walk in, drop a gold piece, and buy a tavern. But daylight also meant eyes. He looked down at his missing arm, the crust of ichor coating his trousers, the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He was running on fumes. If a gang decided a bleeding boy was an easy mark for a robbery, Sal didn't have the stamina for a protracted fight.
"Now," Sal muttered. "The dark is better."
He pushed off the sand, letting the slope carry him downward. He knew this place. After his father's blood soaked into the floorboards and the tribe drove him out, Sal hadn't gone far. He lingered around Misty Palms for a month like a stray dog, hauling water and lifting coin purses until the pickings got slim. He knew the blind spots. He knew the alleys.
As the outlines of the sandstone buildings sharpened, Sal let his trait wash over him. The crunch of his footsteps evaporated.
He crept toward the perimeter. Torchlight swept across the sand, held by pacing sentries. There were more of them tonight. Sal paused in the shadow of an eroded rock, tracking their routes. His mind flickered to the guard he had beheaded by the stables two days ago. Had they found the body?
He dismissed the thought. This was the Si Wong. People vanished every day, swallowed by sandstorms or bad debts.
A beefed-up patrol was just as likely the result of a paranoid merchant as it was a murder investigation.
Sal drifted past the sentries. He didn't just walk; he commanded the ground beneath him. With a subtle flex of his will, the sand shifted over his tracks, erasing his footprints instantly. It felt effortless.
He flexed his single hand, appreciating the raw control Crow had granted him. If he stepped into that buzzard wasp hive right now, fully healed and rested, he wouldn't need to run. He would crush the entire swarm without a second thought.
"HEY! YOU OVER THERE! FREEZE!"
Sal flinched. His head snapped toward the shout, his muscles bunching to collapse the sand underneath and dive. Then he stopped, biting back a curse. Thirty feet away, guards slammed a passing traveler into the dirt. A wide hat tumbled across the sand as they pinned the struggling man. None of them looked in Sal's direction.
Sal let out a slow exhale and slipped deeper into the settlement.
The commotion acted as a perfect magnet. The Oasis was small—a tight cluster of perhaps a hundred clay houses—so a single arrest drew every bored mercenary and guard in the vicinity. The perimeter emptied. The alleys went dead.
Sal let *Phantom Meridian* pull him into the dark. He moved without sound, blending into the pitch-black corners, practically invisible.
'I need to wash,' Sal projected toward the ring. 'If I step into a house smelling like wasp guts and stale blood, I'll wake the owners before I even touch their food and water.'
'Then find a puddle, kid,' Crow murmured back.
Sal's stomach cramped, a sudden twist of hunger. He grimaced. His stealth came with a price; staying concealed stripped away his reduced need for food. He couldn't afford to linger as a ghost all night.
He navigated the winding paths until he stopped outside a familiar domed building. It belonged to a wealthy Oasis merchant. Sal knew it well. During his month of exile, he had hauled hundreds of buckets from the communal well to fill this exact bathhouse, earning nothing but table scraps for the effort.
He ignored the latched window. Even with his traits, slipping a latch made noise. Instead, he pressed his palm flat against the rear wall. The hardened earth softened instantly, parting like a curtain. Sal stepped through the narrow breach and sealed the sandstone shut behind him, leaving the exterior perfectly smooth.
Inside, residual heat clung to the air. The faint scent of jasmine oil cut through the stench of his own dried blood.
A sunken stone pool dominated the center of the room, the water still warm and undisturbed, while shadows cast by moonlight pooled along the tiled floor.
Sal knelt at the edge, bringing a handful of water to his face. He inhaled deeply. It smelled of crushed lavender and sharp minerals. Undrinkable, ruined by bath salts, but perfect for washing. He stripped off his shirt, tossing the torn fabric into a corner. He waded into the shallows, scrubbing the gore from his skin and the coarse linen of his trousers. The water stung his healing ribs, but washing away the desert's filth for free was a rare luxury.
'Merchants,' Sal sneered mentally, watching the pool cloud with green ichor and dried blood. 'Arrogant fools. Who wastes this much water just to smell like flowers?'
'The ones who can afford to,' Crow replied smoothly.
Stepping out, Sal wrung out his trousers. A heavy desert cloak hung from a brass hook on the opposite wall. He pulled it over his shoulders. The wool settled with comforting weight, its folds draping perfectly to conceal his missing arm.
He caught his reflection in a bronze mirror propped against the wall. Familiar green eyes stared back, guarded under a mop of light brown hair. His tanned skin looked healthy again. The cloak gave him the silhouette of a common traveler, completely erasing the image of a mutilated boy.
'I can't wear this in the Oasis,' Sal thought, adjusting the collar. 'The owner will recognize it. But for the next stop? It works.'
'A good theft,' Crow noted as Sal retreated into the shadows. 'Where to next?'
'We need rations,' Sal responded. 'It should be easy to gain them.'
He pressed his hand to the wall, parted the sandstone, and stepped back into the night. His ransacking method was simple. He found an exterior wall, opened a narrow gap, and peered inside. If a lantern flickered, he resealed the earth and moved on. If the room was pitch black, he entered.
He hit three houses in quick succession. He ignored coins and focused strictly on survival. He shoved dried dates, strips of salted camel-meat, and wax-wrapped flatbread into his pockets. He drained half-empty pitchers into his waterskin. In the third house, he struck gold: a leather rucksack and a stiff baldric. He strapped the harness across his chest, sliding the pristine Jian into the loop. It rested comfortably against his back, finally separated from his food.
**Stealing training roll - 82 / req 45
Stealing lvl 8 > lvl 9 (advanced adept)
.
Stealth training roll - req 61 / req 25
Stealth lvl 4 > lvl 5 (peak of novice)**
He just needed to hit one more house to fill the rucksack.
The moon hung high, casting silver light across the clay rooftops. The street was empty, save for an old woman slumped against an alley wall, snoring rhythmically. Sal walked past her, his footsteps erased by his traits. This food would last him a month. But what was he going to do with that time? Where was he actually going?
'We will decide our path once we are safely outside the perimeter,' Crow interjected, sensing the shifting thoughts.
*Stealth roll - 6 / req 25 - Fail*
Sal opened his mouth to quip, but his boot clipped an uneven paving stone. He pitched forward. Instantly, the sand beneath the street surged upward, wrapping around his ankle and snapping him upright before he could fall. He cursed mentally, shaking his foot free, and prepared to slip into the nearest shadow.
"Oh? But what do we have here, hmm? A fellow spirit?"
The voice rasped from the side, dry as peeling bark. Sal's head snapped toward the sound.
The old woman wasn't snoring anymore. She was staring straight at him.
*Spirit perception roll - 82*
"Hmm, no, you smell like a human," she croaked, tilting her head. "A boy even, hmm? Say, how can you conceal yourself like this?"
Her eyes were pitch black, catching no moonlight. A creeping smile stretched across her wrinkled face, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
*Sal Perception roll - 50*
Sal barely kept himself from cursing aloud as cold sweat prickled his neck. His lungs seized, locking his muscles rigid, and his heart slammed violently against his sand-packed ribs.
A thrice damned spirit… And from the way it was watching him, he had a feeling his stealth had become ineffective.
"Hmm, are you mute perhaps?" The spirit spoke, its grin growing even wider.
—------------------
Fight?
Run?
Talk?
Something else - write in the comments.
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Luck roll - 75 (filled bath, easy loot, slumbering spirit - Bro only needed a 25 to pass right by.)
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HP - 10/40
Qi - 50/50
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