The road was a ribbon of dust, unspooling under a sky that seemed perpetually bleached of color. Ahead of me, Kannon's shadow stretched long and imposing, a great, broad column of a man that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. He moved with a lumbering grace that belied his size, each heavy footstep a declaration of permanence on a path where everything else felt ephemeral. He was my muscle, my shield, the brute force that made my silver tongue and golden wares worth anything at all. In my mind, I called him the Wall, because that's what he was: an unmovable, unbreakable barrier between me and the harsh realities of a world that didn't care for men like me. From his back, the massive, double-headed axe he carried was a silent promise of violence, its gleaming edge a stark contrast to the drab landscape.
I, of course, was Neer. A salesman, a merchant, a purveyor of solutions to problems you didn't even know you had. Some called me a scoundrel. Others, a swindler. The most generous called me a snake-oil salesman, which was a kind of a compliment, given that my products, unlike theirs, actually worked. They just… worked in a way that justified their frankly criminal price tags.
The sun was a searing white coin overhead, and the heat was a tangible weight on my shoulders. We'd been traveling for three days since the last town, and my pockets, which had been so delightfully full, were now a tragic testament to the cost of living on the road. The last of my "Sun-Forged Elixirs of Vitality"—glorified citrus tea, if we're being honest, but with a surprising kick of mainck-joule-infused herbs—had been sold to a group of weary caravan guards for a handful of silver nitche and a half-eaten loaf of stale bread.
"We are nearing Ashfall," Kannon said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to come from his very core. He didn't look back. He never did. His gaze was always forward, as if he was searching for the next obstacle to crush.
I sighed dramatically, pulling a handkerchief from my sleeve to wipe the non-existent sweat from my brow. "Ashfall. A grand and glorious metropolis, I'm sure. Another jewel in the crown of a land that's mostly just… dirt and rocks."
He grunted, which I had learned was his way of saying either "I agree" or "I heard you." The lack of specific feedback was both frustrating and wonderfully freeing. It meant I could monologue to my heart's content without interruption.
Ashfall, when it finally appeared, was exactly as grand as I had predicted. A pathetic little village huddled in the shade of a few sickly-looking trees. The ground was cracked and dry, and a thick film of dust covered everything. Even the air tasted like sand. My heart, a greedy little parasite living in my chest, skipped a beat. A desperate town was a fertile ground for a man like me. When people are at their lowest, they are most willing to believe in a miracle. And I was, if nothing else, a master of miracles.
We set up our little booth on the edge of the town square, a pathetic, tattered canvas stretched between two wobbly wooden poles. Kannon stood guard, his massive arms crossed over his chest, a silent monument of intimidation that kept the riff-raff at a respectable distance. I, meanwhile, arranged my current prize. A small, intricately carved wooden amulet, no bigger than my thumb. It was painted a brilliant sky-blue and dangled from a frayed leather cord. It had cost me five copper nitche at a flea market. I planned to sell it for a hundred silver nitche.
I held it up, letting it catch the meager sunlight. "Behold!" I cried out, my voice booming, carefully modulated to sound both authoritative and compassionate. "The Celestial Tear! An artifact touched by the very greats of the sky! One drop of water, a single tear from the heavens, has been infused into this sacred vessel to bring the rains back to a parched land!"
A few curious onlookers shuffled closer. Their clothes were threadbare, their faces gaunt. They were the perfect audience. Hope was a powerful currency, and theirs was running on fumes. I launched into my practiced patter, a grand narrative of divine intervention and a journey of a thousand leagues to bring this artifact to them, to save them from the unending drought. A part of me—the honest, cynical part that rarely spoke up—felt a flicker of guilt. But I quickly silenced it. I wasn't robbing them. I was selling them something they needed more than water: a story. A reason to believe.
Just as I was about to close the first deal, a strange thing happened. A woman in the crowd pointed a trembling finger toward the sky. I followed her gaze, ready to see a dramatic cloud formation or some other natural phenomenon I could take credit for.
What I saw wasn't a cloud.
It was a shimmer, a ripple of blue light, descending from the sky like an inverted teardrop. It wasn't rain. It was a mist, a fine, ethereal vapor that swirled with the scent of fresh soil and the promise of life. It settled over the town, clinging to the parched earth and the withering crops. I watched, my mouth agape, as a patch of withered grass near my feet suddenly turned a vibrant, impossible green. I felt the mist on my skin—it was cool, refreshing, and it felt like it was humming with an energy that I could almost taste.
The crowd erupted. They weren't cheering for rain. They were shouting my name. "The Celestial Tear! It worked! The Celestial Tear brought the blessings!"
I clutched the tiny amulet in my hand, my mind racing. This was no scam. This was real. My worthless trinket had somehow become a magnet for a genuine, magical phenomenon. My first thought was a purely mercenary one: if this happened every time, I could charge a king's ransom. My second thought, a far more chilling one, was: what in Limbo's domain was that?
The town elder, a wizened old man with a face like a dried apple, pushed through the crowd. His eyes, full of tears, fixed on me with a look of reverence that made my skin crawl.
"Thank you, traveler," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You have saved our town. The last of our grain, the only harvest that survived the drought, is waiting for a chance to be planted in the fertile ground of the capital. We… we have no one brave enough to take it. But with your amulet, your power… surely you could escort our caravan?"
My heart, the same greedy little organ that had been leaping with joy moments ago, now felt like a stone. An escort mission. A caravan. That meant more than just walking down the road; it meant danger. And the reason for this "miracle" was a mystery I didn't want to solve. I glanced at Kannon. He was still standing there, motionless, his face a perfect blank slate. He would follow me wherever I led him.
"A noble task, Elder," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But my services… are not without their price."
The elder waved a hand. "We will pay you a hundred gold nitche. More, if you wish. We cannot risk losing our last hope."
A hundred gold nitche. The number was like a song. A siren's call to my worst instincts. It was enough to buy a small manor. Enough to retire. All I had to do was say yes and figure out what in the hell had just happened. My sense of self-preservation, which was considerable, warred with my greed, which was boundless. Greed, as always, won.
I sighed, a long, weary sigh of a man burdened with great power. "Very well. We will escort your caravan. But a word of warning. This amulet… its power comes with certain… risks." I was already laying the groundwork for my eventual escape, a back-up plan for when this grand charade inevitably fell apart.
The caravan was a single, rickety cart pulled by two equally rickety oxen. The cargo was not grain, but a large, sealed crate. The elder explained it was an experimental seed, a new breed of plant engineered to survive the harsh climate. He insisted it was the town's last hope. My instincts screamed that this was a terrible idea, but a hundred gold nitche had a wonderful way of drowning out all rational thought.
We set off. Kannon walked ahead of the cart, his presence alone a deterrent to most highwaymen. I walked beside it, holding the "Celestial Tear" aloft, as if its power was what truly guided us. In my free hand, I clutched one of my genuine wares: a small vial of crimson liquid I called "Essence of the Inferno." It was nothing more than highly concentrated mainck joules with a volatile affinity for fire. I usually sold it to fire mages for a small fortune.
As we neared the foothills, the air grew colder. The dry, dusty landscape began to give way to strange, twisted foliage, all unnatural shades of purple and black. My stomach twisted. This was the territory of the Verdant Veil, a place whispered about in taverns. It was a place where life and death were tangled together, a place where reality was a little… soft.
"What is that?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"The source of the mist," Kannon rumbled. "A Wisp of the Verdant Veil. I have heard they are rare. And deadly."
My blood ran cold. The creature that had brought the miracle was a Wisp. I'd heard about them. Ethereal, beautiful, and utterly lethal. They were said to be creatures of pure mainck joules, draining the life from the land to sustain themselves, leaving behind a verdant trail. The one in Ashfall must have been weakened, leaking its life-giving energy without control. My worthless amulet must have just been in the right place at the right time, a tiny bit of mainck joules that attracted a much larger source.
I was no hero. I was a man who sold overpriced cough syrup. But a hundred gold nitche was a hundred gold nitche.
Just then, the cart's driver let out a cry. From the twisted branches of a gnarled tree, a cluster of smaller, malevolent-looking wisps emerged. They were sickly, pale green things, crackling with dark energy. They weren't like the benign one that had saved Ashfall; these were predators, drawn by the scent of the living.
"Stay close to the cart!" I shouted, my bravado gone.
Kannon was already moving. He unslung the massive double-headed battle axe from his back. It was a brutal, no-nonsense piece of forged steel, and it seemed to hum with a quiet menace. One wisp zipped towards him, and Kannon swung the axe in a wide, horizontal arc. The blade cut through the air with a brutal hiss, and as it connected with the wisp, the creature burst like a soap bubble, a spray of dark mainck joules evaporating into the air.
"They are not strong," Kannon said, as if commenting on the weather. "But they are many."
I didn't need his analysis. More and more wisps were appearing. One of them zipped past Kannon and headed straight for me. It was too fast, a blur of sickening green light. I scrambled, fumbling for my pouch. This was it. This was the moment my overconfidence was going to get me killed. My fingers closed around the vial of Essence of the Inferno. I didn't hesitate. I uncorked the vial and hurled it at the wisp with all my might.
The vial struck the creature dead-on. The glass shattered, and the crimson liquid exploded. It wasn't a fireball. It was an inferno. A roaring pillar of orange and red that consumed the wisp instantly. The heat was immense, a cleansing fire that seemed to scorch the air itself. The other wisps recoiled, their forms flickering in the face of such pure, chaotic energy.
Kannon, ever pragmatic, used the moment of their hesitation to grab a large boulder from the side of the road and hurl it at another cluster of the creatures, crushing them into non-existence. The remaining wisps, having lost their appetite for battle, retreated, disappearing back into the gnarled forest.
I stood there, panting, the smell of ozone and burnt magic thick in the air. My hands were shaking. I had a product that was a goddamn firebomb, and all I could think about was how close I had come to dying.
We finished the journey in silence. The town elder met us at the capital's gates, his face beaming. He saw a man who had brought a miracle and another who had crushed a legion of monsters. He paid us our hundred gold nitche, and then, as an added bonus for my "bravery" against the wisps, he gave us another twenty gold nitche.
As we walked away, the gold nitche jingling in my pouch, I felt a kind of hollow victory. I had scammed my way into a small fortune, but in the process, I'd come face to face with a terror that a man like me had no business seeing. The feeling was not exhilarating. It was terrifying.
Back on the open road, I took out the "Celestial Tear" amulet. Its blue paint was chipped, its cord still frayed. It was worthless. I flung it into a ditch, watching it disappear in a puff of dust. I still had the rest of my wares, and the lesson I'd learned was simple: a good snake-oil salesman sells products that give hope. A great one sells products that give hope, but he's careful to make sure they don't actually do anything. And if they do, well, you better have a giant bodyguard and a firebomb ready.
I glanced at Kannon. He was still walking, a solid, dependable wall against the world. He was the reason I was alive, and I knew it. But still, my mind was already racing, plotting my next grand scheme. I just had to make sure the next miracle I sold was a little less… miraculous. After all, the best cons are the ones where no one gets hurt. Especially not me.