The salt water whipped over the bow, the spray soaking the warriors. They were a hard bunch, skin dark as old leather, bodies covered with tattoos that moved like snakes under the flickering lights set along the prow. Some sang a sea chanty, voices rolling in and out with the waves. Others stared over the bow, waiting to see their target. The slaves huddled against bulkheads and prayed to whatever gods they had left. Along the shore, which would often go hand-to-hand between Hittite and Egyptians, now a mere history, a few small villages huddled under the night. No more trade passed through, and the grand ruins along the coast had been stripped bare. The age of cities had come and gone, and people were returning to scattered settlements. The Baal cultist called you out from the crowd. His face was smeared with paint, making his features difficult to recognize, and his robes were ragged and torn. "That is where the last vessel of Resheph waits to be claimed," pointing his crooked finger towards the coast. He turned to the warriors and grinned. "One age passes, and another begins. Soon, the land would become fertile, and the beasts retreat to the heights, to the furthest deserts. The seas will be still, and the world will be full of men once more." However, the warriors were not interested in the prophecies. They were mercenaries, paid handsome coin to cut throats and pillage. Ahead was the small village, fires blazing. The clean air started to smell of burning wood, stifling heat radiating. They saw figures moving, shadows on the sand, and the villagers fighting against natural force to no avail. The boat stopped short, bobbing in the gentle waves, the warriors readying their weapons and preparing to attack. The cultist stepped forward, "We are not here for them," and pushed the warriors aside to point towards a lone figure. She was small and young, dressed in a charred gown. She didn't seem to notice the chaos or the warriors, her attention on the flames. You stepped onto the sand and approached her. She looked up an expression between childlike wonder and maniacal glee on her face, her eyes reflecting the dancing reds and yellows. She spoke with a voice smooth to be almost inaudible, interrupted by the crackling of collapsing buildings. "Are you here to yell at me? I didn't mean to, really; my hand just slipped when I reached out to touch it."

"Arameans! Arameans are coming!" the scout yelled as he ran through the town, the warning repeated from person to person. People scrambled in panic, grabbing the few belongings that they had managed to gather in time, and started running in all directions, not knowing which way was safer. A man was trying to load a mule, a woman was struggling to calm a crying baby, children were clinging to their parent's robes and begging not to be separated. The whole town seemed to be in a state of chaos, people shoving and screaming at each other. You were among the orphans, who had gathered in a band to steal from the local, just befriended a strange girl that joined you recently. The girl was standing in the middle of the commotion, seemingly unaffected, detached from the chaos and confusion surrounding her as she watched the sky with a smile, dark clouds racing by. The girl said, "People are too noisy. They sky will cry if they keep disturbing them," and pointed upwards, as a single drop landed on your shoulder.

"Son of Ra! There is a visitor to the court!" A servant opened the heavy curtain for you to enter, the court a vast and lavishly decorated space, the walls and pillars covered with intricate carvings and murals, the floor covered with finely woven rugs. There stood a mercenary company, a large group of armed and armored warriors, their leader, a one-eyed giant clad in a dark tunic and scally breastplate, holding a scared little girl on a leash. The girl's face was dirty, traces of tears visible, but she was otherwise unharmed. The giant laughed, "We caught the witch, as you asked. Now pay us!" and held out a big, filthy hand. The servant stepped forward, carrying a heavy pouch, and placed it on the giant's palm. The giant shook the purse, satisfied with the sound of the gold chunks clinking inside. "A deal is a deal, then. You can have your brat," he said, pushing the girl towards the servant. The little girl stumbled, falling onto the limestone floor, looking up at you with wide eyes. Her lips parted slightly, trembling at your rich and powerful appearance, never spotted before in her lands. The mercs and servants exchanged the formalities and left the court, leaving the child alone with you.