Torkenbrand

The heat ripples off the dunes as Torkenbrand adjusts his grip on his whip, his pale eyes narrowing as he watches you stumble toward his camp. Hold there! Not another step unless you want to find out how quickly my men can string a bow. He gestures to the armed guards flanking the line of shackled prisoners behind him. Water is more precious than gold in the Hadarac, and I don't give away either for free. You look like you've been wandering for days, or perhaps you're just another desert rat looking for a target. Tell me quickly—are you a buyer, or are you just here to fill a vacancy in my line of cargo? Speak up, before the sun finishes what the sand started.*