The Samsara

[boinged]

So here we are, traipsing down the walkway with fear and excitement in our hearts, weapons at the ready. It's strange really, there are several entrances to Scorched Corridor, the deadliest place in the home of the Fyros - the Burning Desert, but this one seems different. Most entrances are more natural, gradual slopes amongst the sheer cliffs of bark on either side. This one though, this one seems carved from the wood itself.

The few of us that try to forge an existence in the most inhospitable place on green Atys are hardened to the harsh landscape of this place. The heat of our sun has long since reduced the canyon to a dried and cracked groove in the crust. We have very little knowledge of the history of the area - how was it formed, did homins once live here and what valuable resources can be found down here in the long shadows of the walls?

Many other inhabitants of the planet would have turned back long ago - there are no whistling trees to fill the hearts of the Matis with joy, no cool water to refresh the spirits of the tired Tryker and the magical influence of the Kami that the Zorai are at one with does not reach as far as this parched corner of our world. To be honest though, we Fyros like things this way - we find beauty in the brutal simplicity of these surroundings: you kill or are killed. This is the only rule between you and the carnivorous creatures of the corridor, standing in the way of our destination.

So what are we, a band of mercenary soldiers, doing so far from the easy pickings of tried and tested escort routes between the capitals of each of the four homin lands? It may not surprise you to find that the answer is Dapper - the living currency we crave. Let me explain.

From the Dunes of Exile in the West to the Sawdust Mines in the East, there can be found the scattered remnants of a primitive tribe known as the Frahar. Some say these malnourished, simplistic beings are the ancestors of the Fyros. However, very little is known about our history after all established knowledge was lost in the Kitin Wars. Scholars are constantly searching for the secrets of our once great civilisations using the missing pieces of the puzzle that we explorers uncover. This is all well and good but I don't care if a Frahar somewhere is the forefather of Emperor Dexton himself! What me and my rogueish comrades are really interested in are the shiny jewels that the Frahar wear.

Now life would be a lot simpler if these long-faced folk didn't hold such an obsession with the shiny rings, necklaces and anklets they have somehow acquired. Rather than sell them for food they prey on innocent homins that cross their path, looking to make them their next meal. Like most of my race I've dispatched a fair few of the Frahar, but as I looted their still warm corpses my mind would always wander to the question of where they got this fantastic jewelry.

A whisper from a beggar on Arispotle Avenue, a backhander to a patrol guard on the beat in Dexton Street, a few drinks bought for a wizened old drunk in the bar on Fountain Square - each of these encounters revealed information pointing to the existence of a Frahar tribe well fed and patient enough to speak to homins without trying to crack open their skulls. A nod here, a wink there and we had soon tracked their location down to the Scorched Corridor - it was surprising how much people knew once we convinced them of the value of our plight.

So here we are, traipsing down the walkway with fear and excitement in our hearts, weapons at the ready. We know the Fraider tribe are down here somewhere, we're confident they'll be happy to share their knowledge of hidden stashes of riches once we reassure them we're on their side and we hope, like the homins in Pyr, they'll believe our lies...