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Traveling through into the next morning, Sarainy saw not a single soul after leaving the bandit camp behind. Other than the sound of sands blowing in the wind there was just silence. Few ever visited this remote part of the desert. After all, why would they? There was nothing out here of value to them.
They were of course, entirely wrong. You simply had to know exactly where to look.
Standing atop a large sand dune, in the distance Sarainy could see a collection of small desert tents right next to the sea. The home of the Tenti nomads, who held a valuable secret.
As she arrived near the tents she called out to a group who had gathered, their weapons at the ready.
“I mean you no harm, in fact I come to talk peace – if you will listen?”
The relief on their faces was only slight and a single figure stepped forward from among them.
“I am Al Shabim, of the Bedabin Nomads. If it is peace you seek then come, join us and speak plainly. However, if you have come to take our fruit from us then we will give you no quarter,”
his eyes were narrow and he clearly was not quick to trust the words of a stranger.
“No, the Tenti pineapple is yours to keep and trade, although it is…”
Sarainy started.
“Tenti!? You come here and throw racial insults at us?”
Al Shabim glowered,
“We should have your head outsider!”
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Praetor Sarainy of Zaros
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Loremaster of the Wushunko Empire
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