Rook hurried out of his tent, ready to strike a death blow. Both his axe and warhammer were in their holsters, and he had grabbed his bow on the way out. The pre-dawn haze blanketed the desert in a dull sheen. The cages could be seen not far away jostling and rocking as they bounced their way through the desert sand that had clumped together and would give when weight was applied, and the sandstone that did not yield. The two mediums were a patchwork and never could be anticipated how deep or how wide.

He watched a moment, sizing up the situation.

[color=8888aa]“Wait here... and arm yourselves,”[/color] he ordered. Then he walked forward with arrow ready to fly. The crunch of the desert beneath his boots gave way one puff of dust for every footfall, that was rapidly swallowed by the stagnant air. Occasionally there was the hiss and rattle of dry grass and shrub as he made a straight line to the caravan. Everyone drew to a halt, well outside of ear and bow range. However, rather than conflict, it became apparent that Rook was talking to them. Only a couple of syllables could be picked up when the invisible billows of the night air rolled in.

At first it seemed tense, Rook standing as ready as he could appear. A few of the caravan rode up to flank him. There was some hand gestures from another man that rode up, glancing back and forth. However, the forerunner and the front guards lowered their weapons.

More talking, this time with the man who spoke with his hands. Pointing, and waving, and then there was tossed down something from the back of the horses at Rook’s feet. With that, he nodded, and the caravan diverted their course and began traveling a different direction, this time away, this time heading somewhere else.

Once well outside of charging range, Rook broke his stoic stance, and snatched up the items left for him, and he returned to camp.

By the time he had approached close enough to make out faces, he could clearly see the disapproval, and knew that his usual indifference and silence would not do. [color=8888aa]“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I am in league with none of them, nor do I approve of any of their depraved labors. But it must be understood, slavers are cowards, not some sort of mighty army perfectly accustomed to the desert. They are men, and nothing more. They prey on the week. This leaves them two points of attack, the villages on the edges of the badlands, and desperate fools who stumble into an oasis they have set up as a lure. Their open desert pickings are rather slim since... well since it’s just as costly for them to be out here as us.

That group claimed to be cage builders, delivering goods probably to the slavers. It might have been true. It isn’t uncommon out here for people to climb in bed with the devil to prevent from being raided. Doesn’t mean that they don’t want them gone though. 

Most slavers are small warring tribes that snatch up whoever they begrudge. It isn’t like they laugh themselves to sleep when they enslave an entire village. I’m sure most of you wouldn’t give a second thought enslaving any of the Bone Dry’s if it meant survival. You view them as criminals, they often view their victims as the same. It is petty squabbling, factions that feed off of hate and belief in the superiority of their blood or ideals. They are a symptom of the problem. Not the cause.

If this place were to become lush again, with wet-lips and full bellies.  I am sure you would find them kings and knights that most would find highly agreeable, and be working overtime to sell themselves and their children into a different (more civilized) form of slavery to them. But there are far more important reasons why we are out here, than simply exterminating the indigenous population because of their heartlessness.

Fortunately for us, these factions are so fractured, that many of them feel justified. So they view the Warde guild as a necessary evil for when other slavers seek them as their prey. When I explained that I was a Warde, they were more than happy to pay their taxes.”[/color]

Rook handed three full waterskins to the group. 1 to Floure for medical purposes, 1 to Othen, and 1 to Grace. He explained, [color=8888aa]“Ration them carefully. We have 2 more days by foot (if all goes well) before we hopefully find our final cashe. Assuming it wasn’t pillaged like the others.”[/color]