Treygor, Elda and Morstor trudged over the sands. They were tired, hungry and Treygor ever the canny barbarian feared that his companions were beginning to suffer adversely the effects of the journey thorough the never ending desert. Elda in particular was still shaky after the fight with the blasphemous giant thing that had ambushed them at the oasis a couple of hours ago.  This journey had taken the thief well beyond her comfort zone of lifting purses and threatening shop keepers in the nearby city of Arestor.  Morstor, the magician, remained cold and unreadable. Certainly the worm hadn’t fazed him. After Treygor and Elda had slain the beast, he had calmly stepped forward and harvested various body parts for his “magical researches”. The stench had been terrible and Treygor hoped that the sorcerer would be more use when they reached their destination.
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