Khariss Sevrath
02-05-07, 11:50 PM
((Closed to The Glassmaker))
Why the hell had he come to this God-forsaken place?
Well, he knew the answer to that question: money. Wasn’t it always the answer to questions like that? Some glorious, easy, get-rich-quick scheme would formulate in his head, and the merchant would rush off at the break of dawn. Every single time, there was something that he would overlook. It could simply be that he didn’t have the money or the influence to pull it off. Or, he might make too many enemies in the process: such had definitely been the case of the doomed plan he had called the Illicit Entrepreneurs. The third possibility was that the venture seemed downright impossible.
It was this third possibility that found Khariss where he was at that very moment. In this case, it was Fallien. He had made a beeline straight for the capital. Getting his Exit Pass had even been a somewhat brief ordeal: while none in the Irrakam authorities could speak his language, it was easy enough to convey his wish to trade.
If only he himself had really known where he was going.
The place was dubbed “The Blight,” and for a very good reason. The livid Fallien sun beat down on the merchant’s exposed flesh with an unrelenting fervor, slowly but surely cooking his skin. His feet sank into the endless sand at each step, and it was becoming more and more grueling to keep his legs churning. The glass-speckled sand seemed to reflect every last bit on light straight back into his face, rendering his eyes all but useless.
The entrepreneur felt his strength finally begin to fade, to give in to the indomitable desert. His shoulders slumped forward, and his head drooped toward the ground. A dry tongue brushed across parched, cracked lips, searching for the last vestiges of moisture. It truly was hopeless. Khariss missed a step and tumbled to the ground, searing-hot sand burning his flesh. The world in front of his eyes wavered and grew hazy before finally disappearing.
In the end, it was no warrior that defeated him. His foe didn’t wield a sword or carry a badge of law. It wasn’t even truly alive. After all of the people he’d killed, all the laws he had broken, it was nature that held him at its mercy.
Why the hell had he come to this God-forsaken place?
Well, he knew the answer to that question: money. Wasn’t it always the answer to questions like that? Some glorious, easy, get-rich-quick scheme would formulate in his head, and the merchant would rush off at the break of dawn. Every single time, there was something that he would overlook. It could simply be that he didn’t have the money or the influence to pull it off. Or, he might make too many enemies in the process: such had definitely been the case of the doomed plan he had called the Illicit Entrepreneurs. The third possibility was that the venture seemed downright impossible.
It was this third possibility that found Khariss where he was at that very moment. In this case, it was Fallien. He had made a beeline straight for the capital. Getting his Exit Pass had even been a somewhat brief ordeal: while none in the Irrakam authorities could speak his language, it was easy enough to convey his wish to trade.
If only he himself had really known where he was going.
The place was dubbed “The Blight,” and for a very good reason. The livid Fallien sun beat down on the merchant’s exposed flesh with an unrelenting fervor, slowly but surely cooking his skin. His feet sank into the endless sand at each step, and it was becoming more and more grueling to keep his legs churning. The glass-speckled sand seemed to reflect every last bit on light straight back into his face, rendering his eyes all but useless.
The entrepreneur felt his strength finally begin to fade, to give in to the indomitable desert. His shoulders slumped forward, and his head drooped toward the ground. A dry tongue brushed across parched, cracked lips, searching for the last vestiges of moisture. It truly was hopeless. Khariss missed a step and tumbled to the ground, searing-hot sand burning his flesh. The world in front of his eyes wavered and grew hazy before finally disappearing.
In the end, it was no warrior that defeated him. His foe didn’t wield a sword or carry a badge of law. It wasn’t even truly alive. After all of the people he’d killed, all the laws he had broken, it was nature that held him at its mercy.