Book 3: Chapter 20: Temptation

Book 3: Chapter 20: Temptation

The workers of the Dust fields are, for the most part, wretched addicts hooked on the pleasure that only the Dust Dreams can give. Lost in fantasies of their making, they slowly come to detest the waking world and all of its imperfections.

Famously, there are no slaves in the free city of Al-Lazar, but still, it exists there in all but name. The lost, the forlorn, and the desperate often find themselves targeted by unscrupulous individuals who coerce them into signing away their lives on pieces of paper. These are the indentured workers of Al-Lazar who toil away in the fields under the hot desert sun.

The workers of the Dust fields are, for the most part, trapped wretches such as these. Addicts hooked on the pleasure that only the Dust Dreams can give. Pushed into a corner by the weight of their addiction, their only salvation is to slave away in the Dust fields. Theirs are the cheapest of contracts and their terms the longest, for this is a fate that many of them happily accept.

For, to work the fields, is to breathe in raw Dust. Thi/s chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.co/m

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

The thick, swirling tendrils of smoke hung heavily within Gelgor's expansive wagon and obscured the resplendence that lay within. The furniture gleamed with opulence, adorned with a profusion of gemstones and glistening gold. The carpet was of a deep crimson and a fine, thick weave. On one wall, a masterpiece of unparalleled artistry commanded attention, a vivid tableau of a fearsome azure dragon locked in combat with winged humanoid adversaries.

Reclining amidst the decadence, Gelgor rested upon a sumptuous bed of soft satin pillows. Inhaling deeply from a water pipe, the smoke billowed around him like a shroud.

In his attendance, a youthful servile maiden, her attire a delicate combination of misty gauze and silk, almost stole my breath away. The curves of her shapely form, accentuated by the translucent fabric, was a tantalizing vision. I could not help but cast longing glances towards her. Black hair was tied in a braid that fell to her narrow waist like a line of midnight. Tilted red eyes, a shade deeper than even the carpet, contrasted beautifully with her warm, soft chocolate skin. Red eyes? What manner of eye color was that?

These fleeting thoughts were quickly overshadowed by a pang of jealousy that gripped my heart as I watched her offer the corpulent man a morsel of freshly cut fruit. Gelgor's possessive hand slid along her thigh as she did so, a smirk dancing upon his lips.

At last, he diverted his attention to me with a wide smile. "Welcome! Welcome! I've long anticipated the meeting with the renowned Gilgamesh, the hero and guardian of the Ravens!" The morbidly obese man greeted me, his jowls quivering with feigned mirth.

Moments later, he pounded his chest. The reclined position he held seemed to disagree with the fruit he had just consumed. The man spluttered briefly before his pretty attendant quickly dabbed his face with a small cloth.

I noticed that it was stained crimson. Troubling.

"Thank you Zariyah, my dear. A dreadful habit, the pipe, but one I picked up in my youth and am reluctant to relinquish, even in my advancing age. A man is often defined by his flaws, and the weaknesses of the flesh have been mine. Unlike my former brother-in-law and others, I won't conceal them. Life it is to be lived," he explained, his grin supporting his unapologetic disposition.

Then you have heard only the truth, though I know not why I have been gifted so by the Goddess. Perhaps, it is all part of Her great and divine plan? I returned, deciding to answer him directly rather than to toy with him and play games.

He smiled at me, an expression that one would usually associate with snakes and other cold-blooded creatures. The desperate beggar hid himself in the background, while the merchant moved to the fore and center of the stage.

But perhaps it is that you know of only the minor blessings, the magics that can do little more than heal the most minor of afflictions? he left his sentence hanging, both as a question and challenge. No doubt he wished to goad me into a demonstration.

As you say, Master Gelgor, perhaps it is so. I myself have never witnessed the magic that you speak. I know only that I have some gift in the healing arts, if you do not require my services, then I must thank you for your hospi I goaded in turn with a smile, making as if to get up.

Come, come now. Forgive me if I have caused offense, and please stay a while. I am not a man completely without faith, he smiled, looking flustered and holding out his hands in protestation.

I had no reason to refuse him as this was simply a negotiation tactic on my part. I had enjoyed the meal, light as it was, and to be honest, was warming to him a lot more than I did with Laes, who had never done me the service of even offering me simple tea. It was a stark contrast indeed.

So I remained sitting, taking a moment to appreciate his ingratiating smile. Zariyah, sitting next to him, did not move a muscle, looking to the world like an exquisite frozen statue.

I have an ailment that has no known name, but nonetheless hangs about me like the most unwanted of friends. It is a condition that I feel eating away at me from within, robbing me of my once virile strength, he declared, before pausing dramatically as if allowing the words to settle before his eyes roved over, looking for something. Perplexed at my utter lack of reaction he continued. Most would be buried at least, fearing an infection spread about from the bad humors. I would have been cast out, had not my father suffered from the very same illness. It is something that is passed down through the blood, not the air or waters of the body. Yet, I could not help but notice that you did not bat an eyelid at the mention of my affliction. Either you are one of the bravest of men, have the constitution of the ogre, or even, hopefully, a truly skilled user of the god-gift of healing. All of course as rare as a dragons smile, he observed with a chortle.

Mine is no common malady. A miracle, they say it would take, to cure me of my ills. And no alchemics have worked, nor minor blessings. Some of my people have even said that it is caused by an affliction of the soul, not of the body, and that I have been cursed because I have not welcomed Her into my heart. Nonsense. What need has a merchant for the scales of false justice? Gold, and gold alone, have been my swords of judgment and vengeance, he scoffed, temporarily losing himself to an anger well worn with the passage of time.

The pipe is the only thing that provides me with some relief, and I find myself at times wondering if it is time to surrender myself to a Dust dream. A temptation that grows stronger as the seasons pass.

I mulled over my options as I formulated a response. After all, with the latest debacle with the Ravens, the whole song and dance over the Catalina problem, it would do me no harm to have more friends in a different camp. I pondered over what to do. I had Gelgor where I wanted him, but I did not know how hard I could squeeze. I knew nothing of how the great temples conducted their healing, or what they even charged, only that it was an exorbitant fee. To name a price outside an expected amount would make me look a fool and I would lose face.

Therefore, I decided not to name a price at all. The value of my healing abilities would be determined by Gelgor, the beneficiary. Judging by the opulence before me, it seemed likely that he was not as frugal as Laes.

Very well, I can but try, Master Gelgor. May the gods look upon us favorably on this day. It is not in my nature to bargain for the price of a miracle, for that is only a thing that the scales of the soul may weigh and judge, I said ,playing the part of the holy man.

The man wanted a miracle, and I could deliver.