#1 The Road to Hell is paved in good intent they say...

Heat. Oppressive heat. It had been like this for some time now. Sweat. The roll of the caravan where you currently reside. Well, as far as you could tell. The soiled linen sacks that even now obscure your vision have kept you from seeing for the better part of a month. They only moved the damned things from your mouth to ladle dirty water and something that resembled gruel into your gullet a few times a day. Most likely you were headed to the salt mines of Manaxis. That was the usual place traitors of the Crown were sent. And even now, you found yourself grinning at the glorious, glorious treason it was.

Maybe burning down a Warlock's Tower in the city wasn't the best idea. Like you were supposed to know that it would cause his lab to explode violently turning a half city block into a smoldering crater and thus causing a a string of small fires to run rampant through the Merchant Quarter. And throughout the royal stables. Poor horses. But that wizard *deserved* it. Collateral damage aside, the black magic, human trafficking, and general malaise that was Silren the Black finally ended after five long years of hunting. It was worth it. Hell, they'd be picking pieces of his rotten corpse from the city walls for the next decade.

The trial was a sham. Lasted all but six minutes. Their old friend, the Master of the Watch, personally took care of their imprisonment and beatings. They could have been worse. Curtus was definitely pulling his punches, but there was little he could do to change the inevitable.

That was then. This is now. Bags were removed. Bright, excruciating light blinded our poor party. Someone spit.

It was Curtus.

"You're here."

He motioned to a desolate landscape of empty desert. He and a troop of horsemen stood at the base of a craggy, dry mountain range. The red light of a dying day, was still strong enough to hurt. A parched wind, still hot with the desert heat, rustled Curtus and his compatriot's capes. They had formed a ring around our intrepid heroes. Curtus' steel blue eyes, framed by his wrinkled brown face cut quite an image as he spoke.

"I did all I could to keep you from the salt mines. Can't say I expect you to thank me though. See, we've been havin' a problem with the Lord's complainin' about a raider troop comin' from this desert. Officially, you're "proof" that the Queen sent someone to deal with it. Unofficially, you're expected to die out here. However, if you were to come back with proof of the problem bein' dealt with, a pardon would be in order. Have a writ here with a seal and everything."

He gestured to the great expanse as he lightly chuckled.

"I can leave you with about seven days of water, some food, a coupla three tents and some camels. I also took the liberty of grabbing your belongings and even your pets before we left. Don't worry, they've been fed better than you. I also want you to realize you ain't gonna find any water for about two weeks goin' over these mountains and the hills beyond are full of cutthroat barbarians and orc-kin. Without this escort, you wouldn't stand a chance. If we catch you following us, just remember I saved your ass this much and my boys won't hesitate to pepper you with arrows. I suggest you camp during the day and travel by night. Oh, one last thing. The Queen thought it'd be amusing to give you this."

He tossed a scroll case on top of a bundle of supplies.

"Some map of a pyramid some sap brought outta this hellhole. Probably useless, but it's not like you wanta wipe yer cheeks with sand while yer out here. Give you something to ponder on while you're dying."

And with that the troop saluted and rode off. Leaving our intrepid heroes with a slight chance at redeeming themselves.