The surface of Rigtor was a desolate, arid expanse, the air thick with oppressive heat. Sweat beaded and trickled down our faces the moment we breached the planet's atmosphere and powered down our ship's shields. "By the cosmos, this place is hotter than the seven suns," Opol muttered, wiping his forehead with a purple star-patterned bandana. I nodded, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where two suns blazed relentlessly, ensuring that daylight lingered while nightfall was fleeting.
The landscape was dotted with strange cactus-like plants that stood sentinel in the vast desert. Life was scarce, save for the few grawktures soaring above. These blackened, bird-like creatures had insect wings and a singular eye on their foreheads. Their sharp beaks and predatory nature meant they traveled in packs, scouring the desert for any unfortunate souls who hadn't made it out.
"Gentlemen, are you ready? We will be arriving soon," Darby said, curling his mustache with a flourish.
"Yes, captain," Zig replied, slinging a black backpack over his shoulder. The three of us donned our black cloaks, their heavy fabric shielding us from the worst of the sun's glare.
From a distance, we could see the towering walls of the settlement, stretching for miles across the barren landscape. We maneuvered the ship to the outskirts, away from the bustling paths where merchants traveled in their jet wagons. These wagons, propelled by jets hovering above the ground, glided slowly across the sand, laden with cargo.
The twin suns cast long shadows as we approached, their relentless heat warping the air above the dunes. The tall walls of the settlement loomed closer, their surfaces scarred and weathered by the harsh elements of Rigtor. The air buzzed with the sound of distant engines and the calls of traders, a cacophony that hinted at the bustling life hidden behind the fortified barriers.
As we prepared to disembark, the atmosphere grew tense. The weight of our mission pressed down on us like the oppressive heat of Rigtor's suns. We were here to rescue Deaira, the red-haired priestess of the God of Light, Mesmir. Kidnapped and brought to this forsaken planet, her fate now rested in our hands.
Darby's voice broke the silence, "Remember, this place is a den of thieves and cutthroats. Keep your wits about you and your weapons close. We're not just here for a stroll in the sand."
Opol tightened his cloak, his eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of caution and determination. Zig checked his gear one last time, his expression unreadable behind the dark lenses of his goggles. As for me, I felt the familiar weight of the ruby ring and the curved hook dagger at my belt, a reminder of the power I wielded and the darkness I harbored within.
The ship touched down gently on the outskirts, and I led the way as Opol and Zig followed. We approached the side of the deck, stepping onto the side ramp that extended towards the scorching sands of Rigtor. The heat hit us like a wall as we descended, the relentless sun glaring down. At the base of the ramp, Rad awaited us, a look of concern etched across his face. Beside him were three Rocketski vehicles, each a mechanical marvel.
These machines were formidable, with three massive, spiked tires designed to grip the shifting sands. The massive exhausts protruding from the back hummed and roared, their engines growling through the vast desert like a pack of feral beasts ready for the hunt.
"Here you go, fellas. This is how you'll get to Morda, the city of merchants," Rad said, his voice tinged with both pride and regret. "We just fixed these three puppies up. I wish I could come with you guys, but I can barely lift my arms." The hint of sorrow in his tone was unmistakable.
"Say no more, Rad. You've done enough. Rest, we will take care of this," Opol said, patting Rad on the back. Rad, used to this climate, showed not a drop of sweat on his crimson skin despite the intense heat.
Opol and Zig mounted their bikes, their faces set with determination. As I approached my Rocketski, Rad walked up to me, his concern evident. "Leon, please do be careful," he urged.
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Tread lightly, my friend," Rad called out as I settled onto the Rocketski. The machine roared to life beneath me, vibrating with raw power.
We tore away from the ship, the Rocketskis kicking up clouds of sand as we sped towards the great walls of Morda. The engines roared like mythical beasts, their exhausts spitting flames as we raced across the desert. The landscape blurred around us, the twin suns casting long shadows as we approached our destination.
The walls of Morda loomed ahead, towering structures that seemed to stretch endlessly across the horizon. The city was a haven for merchants and mercenaries, a bustling hub of commerce and danger. As we drew closer, the noise of the marketplace began to filter through, a chaotic symphony of haggling voices, clinking coins, and the distant roar of engines.
We skidded to a halt at the gates, the Rocketskis rumbling beneath us. The gatekeepers eyed us warily, their faces obscured by dusty scarves and goggles. Opol dismounted first, his cloak billowing in the hot wind. He approached the guards with a calm, authoritative demeanor.
"We seek entry to Morda," Opol stated, his voice carrying the weight of command.
The guards exchanged glances, then nodded. The gates creaked open, revealing the sprawling city beyond. "Getting in seemed easy enough," I remarked, taking in the myriad of strange people bustling through the streets. "This place is a dump. How hard did you think it was going to be? Look at it—dirty and filled with vile, terrible beings, just like yourself," Zig said sarcastically, a grin spreading across his face.
"Stay calm. We must navigate carefully and watch for pickpockets. Don't be fooled; even the most innocent-looking may deceive you," Opol reminded us, his eyes scanning the surroundings. This place reminded me of my own home—a shithole in the middle of the galaxy. The only difference was that Mordo was hotter than the seven hells. The two suns alone could drive people mad.
We marched forward, shuffling through crowds of merchants and buyers. Strange beasts locked in cages, mythical powders and herbs—the stalls were filled, and the lineups stretched as far as the eye could see. "Where are we heading?" I asked, feeling my impatience grow.
"There is an inn nearby. Darby sent me the location. Apparently, he knows the owner and has already made arrangements for our stay," Opol said, scanning our surroundings.
"Great, because I'm sick of this place already," Zig complained. An inn seemed like a pleasant change. Between being on a ship or in a ruthless jungle, an inn seemed like a sanctuary, even on this godforsaken planet.
"So, where is this inn?" Zig asked.
"Not sure, I just know the name. Maybe we can ask around for its whereabouts," Opol replied. We walked along and stopped at one of the vendors.
"Hallo, fellas! How may I, the great Seso, assist you today?" a short, gingerly man with a white beard and piercings on his eyebrow called out, his excitement palpable. "A sword, a gun, how about some potions for your journey?" he continued, not letting anyone get a word in. "I've got the finest items in all the cosmos. If it's not items you seek, I've got plenty more. Are you looking for love? Maybe hate? How about something you all can bake?" Seso's tone was rich and confident.
"No, sir, we are not looking for anything in particular. But would you happen to know where Dingo's Inn is?" Opol cut Seso off mid-sentence.
Seso seemed disappointed. "Dingo's Inn? I know the place you seek, but nothing is free, my friend," he replied, a sinister grin forming on his face.
"A price?" I finally spoke, the words slicing through the air with a cold edge. My eyes, as frigid as a winter's night, locked onto the small man behind his stall. I noticed two figures lurking behind the beige, ripped curtains. "Y-yes, good sir, I meant no ill intent, but nothing on this planet is free," Seso replied, his voice trembling.
"Leon, relax. Let me handle this," Opol advised, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. Annoyed, I took a step back, glaring at the merchant.
"My apologies on behalf of my colleague. He is young and has been a bit on edge lately," Opol said, his tone calm and authoritative, a stark contrast to my own.
"No harm done, so what will it be?" Seso's eyes widened, his earlier confidence returning as he sensed an opportunity.
Opol stepped forward, pulling a small pouch of currency from his cloak. "We seek Dingo's Inn. Will this suffice?" he asked, holding out the pouch.
Seso's eyes gleamed with interest. "Ah, currency from beyond the stars! Yes, that will do nicely," he said, snatching the pouch and weighing it in his hand.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You must head towards the center of the city. Once you've reached it, you will see five pathways at the center roundabout. Take the third path. You will see a stable of Chroaks, strange horse-like creatures with big, solid black eyes and covered in hardened scales. That is how you will know the path to take. From there, walk further for about ten minutes. It should lead you to two paths; take the left, and you will be by the inn."
As Seso spoke, a devious grin formed on his face, hinting at some hidden knowledge or danger we might face. We thanked him and made our way through the bustling market, weaving between stalls and avoiding the pickpockets that roamed the area.
The market square was a cacophony of sounds and smells, from the calls of merchants hawking their wares to the scent of exotic spices and unwashed bodies. We kept our hoods up and our hands close to our weapons, ever wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows.
As we reached the center of the city, the roundabout came into view, with five pathways branching off in different directions. Following Seso's instructions, we took the third path, our eyes scanning the area for the stables.
The Chroaks were hard to miss. They were unlike any creature I had ever seen, their bodies covered in iridescent scales that glinted in the sunlight. Their eyes were large and black, reflecting nothing but an abyssal void. They moved with a fluid grace, their scaled legs almost gliding over the ground.
"Those must be the Chroaks," Opol murmured, his eyes narrowing as he studied the creatures. We continued down the path, the oppressive heat and the constant stares of the locals making the journey all the more uncomfortable.
We got to the split pathways and proceeded to go left, but something felt off. Maybe it was the unforgiving heat or the endless throngs of people floating about, but as we walked down the left path, it began to get quiet. Fewer people lingered, their curious gazes replaced by averted eyes and hurried steps. As we ventured further, the path split into three more.
"God damn it," Zig yelled in frustration. "Did that merchant give us false information? I don't see any inn, just more pathways." He continued, his voice echoing through the narrowing alley.
Opol sighed, his brow furrowing as he studied the paths ahead. "Let's take the left," he guessed. "Not much else we can do from here." With a resigned shrug, Opol proceeded, and we followed.
The pathway began to narrow, transforming into an alleyway littered with trash and refuse. The walls grew taller, casting long shadows that swallowed the light. It felt as though the city itself was closing in on us, a maze designed to confuse and trap.
At the end of the alley, a rusted gate with broken locks and a sign spray-painted with the ominous words "STAY OUT" loomed before us. The letters dripped with red paint, as if the very walls bled a warning. "Now what?" Zig asked, his voice tinged with unease as we scanned our surroundings, every shadow a potential threat.
"Well, the lock is broken, but the sign doesn't seem too welcoming," Zig noted.
"We'll proceed, but let's be careful," Opol advised, his voice steady but his eyes alert. He opened the gate with a creak, and we slipped inside. Despite the two suns blazing above, this path seemed to block most of the light, perhaps from the towering walls that hemmed us in.
"What is this place?" I asked, my voice low, echoing my confusion at the twisted architecture and oppressive atmosphere of this hidden quarter of the city.
"I'm not sure," Opol replied. "I've heard of cities that had secret slums built within their walls, places where the poor and the vile linger in these deep shadows. We must tread carefully."
As we walked, small rat-like critters with large fangs and claws scattered through the trash. Their eyes glinted in the dim light, watching us with a predatory interest. The stench of rot grew stronger, and soon we came upon dead corpses, their bodies left to decay in the open. The sight was ghastly, their flesh gnawed by the rats and the air thick with the smell of death.
"Fuck sakes," Zig shouted, holding his nose against the putrid odor as we marched forward, our steps squelching in the muck.
"The dead stay unknown in these parts, it seems," Opol said, his tone filled with grim empathy. "No one even notices they're gone in these streets." His words hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the world we navigated, where life was cheap and death even cheaper.