“You called me here to do what,” yelled a black-haired man with icy blue eyes, “You expect me to traipse out across the desert for some overindulgent, full-of-themself, greedy aristocrat? Forget it.” the young man began to stalk off, stopping at the mention of extra pay. “We’ll give you double what we offered,” the stranger said, “If you can pull this off without hurting anyone.” The blue-eyed man thought for a moment before agreeing. “Good,” said the man’s new employer, “Meet here tomorrow morning before the sun rises. And wear something that can breathe; you’ve got one Hell of a walk ahead of you.”
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Sand blew across the desert, the sun scorching the earth below even at such an early hour. Gods this place was miserable; how had it come to this, thought the one-armed man as he shielded his eyes from the passing breeze. Kale Grenich stood upon the precipice of a tall dune that stretched out for quite a ways, his right sleeve at the mercy of the winds. "How did it come to this," he asked himself with a heavy sigh. The once fearsome sky pirate lord had fallen far since being pulled to these lands; every twist seemed to bring more sorrow than joy and brought him ultimately to drown himself in drink and flesh. That was the 'Old Kale,' though… That is, that was the 'New Old Kale.' The man had relatively recently begun to pull himself together. Sadly, this meant taking on agonizingly dull jobs such as escorting carriages across gods-forsaken lands.
Kale glanced behind and below him, jerking his head to signal the small caravan and get them moving. It was bad enough that he had to resort to protecting some rich snob who probably didn't deserve their opulence, but when he was instructed to remain outside it was too much. "Who do they think they are," he grumbled to himself as he stepped deep into shifting sands, "I was once dreaded by people like them. I used to be loved by the very people this bastard likely treads upon with every step! But now what am I left to? Guarding the very people I should be stealing from. One of the people on the outside of the carriage was now glaring at him, likely having overheard at least part of his monologue. Let them hear, he thought, it would change nothing; even with only one arm Kale was confident he could take on any of the others with ease, especially the snob riding within.
The sound of laughter caught him off guard; the driver, an aging elf with a heavy tan from years traveling through the desert, had begun laughing. "You think you're some big and bad pirate, eh son," he asked mockingly, "I've seen your like come through here thinking they can't be touched only to get swallowed up by the desert. Why, you probably won't even make it to the oasis, I bet." The driver guffawed, looking as though he might fall from the carriage's seat with one wrong shift. "Ya wanna go, ya old bastard," Kale answered inelegantly, "I'll rip ya apart with my one arm behind my back!" The driver roared even louder. Kale glared as he muttered, “Careful ya don’t give yerself a heart attack ya old coot.”
