SAWAHIL MARKET - Act 1, Long Version

SAWAHIL MARKET: The Heart of the Desert's Chaos

In the vast expanse of the Forgotten Lands, where survival is measured in dust and silence, lies Sawahil, the desert’s lawless nexus. A city of trade and treachery, where fortunes are made and lost in the span of a breath.

Gharib arrives after a grueling three-day journey, navigating past the heavy traffic of traders, smugglers, and outlaws. The sky above and the ground below are alive with movement—massive freight haulers anchor at the city’s outskirts while smaller vessels weave through the chaos, unloading their cargo into the arteries of the marketplace. Towering refinery stacks belch out thick clouds, the mark of Sawahil’s lifeblood: grey dust fuel, the most abundant—if inefficient—energy source beyond the Empire’s grip.

Copyright 2022 - Steve Iskenderian - All Rights Reserved

🔗 Follow GHARIB’s journey. The fight for the Forgotten Lands is only beginning.

Slipping through the Southwest Arch, Gharib keeps to the shadows, wary of the many eyes that linger too long on unfamiliar faces. The streets throb with restless energy—android laborers maneuver heavy loads, floating barges drift overhead, and lurking figures size up easy prey. This is a place where everything has a price, and no one walks without a purpose.

Gharib makes his way to King Kymia, a dealer in raw materials, known for his ruthless pricing and shrewd eye for value. He presents the strange rock he unearthed from the depths of the UnderWorld. But the verdict is swift and dismissive: worthless. Frustration grips him, but beneath it, something colder—shock. Gharib knew what he had seen. He knew what the stone had done. He takes it elsewhere, only to be met with the same response. Doubt creeps into his mind, had the glow he witnessed been real, or was it merely the hallucination of the UnderWorld’s eerie depths?

With little hope left, Gharib made his way toward another labshop for one final attempt. As he walks through the market, a child’s laughter pierces the air—a rare sound in the city of thieves. A boy, barefoot and dressed in tattered robes, chases after a small feline, oblivious to the oncoming Imperial crawler bearing down on him.

Time slows.

Gharib moves.

Dust erupts as he dives, seizing the boy and rolling out of harm’s way just as the massive vehicle grinds past. When the world settles, the boy’s wide eyes shine with exhilaration.

Gharib exhaled, setting him down. “Be careful,” he muttered.

The boy bounced back to his feet, eyes gleaming with admiration. "Are you a superhero?"

Gharib had no answer.

The boy grinned. "I know you are! Only superheroes do things like that!"

For the briefest of moments, the cold, bitter weight Gharib carried—his past, his loss, his endless struggle—lifted. A warmth settled in its place, a rare smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth.

Gharib moves through the narrow street, his path blocked as two masked men turn toward him in unison. Their rusted metal masks bear the same sigil as King Kymia’s—a mark of the Forcers, Abaja’s enforcers. Two more emerge behind him, sealing the trap.

"New around here?" one sneers. Another eyes his hair. "That natural? Illegal, you know."

They close in, demanding payment. Gharib scans them, unmoving. The silence stretches. Then—his head dips, eyes locked, muscles coiled.

A fist explodes upward. The first thug is airborne, crashing to the ground in a heap. The others freeze, then attack. One lands a blow to Gharib’s head—his vision wavers, knees buckle, but he plants a hand in the dust, pivots, and sweeps two men off their feet. In a blur of motion, he flips back onto his feet, battle-ready, his glare smoldering.

Only one remains standing.

Then, a voice breaks the tension.

"GHAAZ! GHAAZ! Best gas in the city, fifty percent natural!"

A lively merchant pushes a levitating cart stacked with gas canisters, his enthusiasm a stark contrast to the unfolding violence. Taking advantage of the distraction, Gharib seizes a metal pipe from a scrap pile, raising it like a blade just before the fight erupts. Blows are exchanged, bodies crash into the dirt, and the air crackles with raw energy as the young merchant watches with awe.

As the dust settles, only Gharib and the merchant remain standing.

"WOOOW!! You gotta teach me that!" the merchant exclaims, mimicking Gharib’s stance with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Gharib studies him—his golden-brown skin, his mechanic’s vest, his miner’s trousers. He’s young, perhaps too young for a place like this.

"Name’s Souuhl."

The two lock eyes. Suspicion meets unwavering optimism.

"Welcome to Sawahil," Souuhl grins. "And welcome to Sawahil! Not the best welcome, huh?"

Gharib sighed. "You talk too much."

"And you need a friend," Souuhl smirked. "Now let’s go—reinforcements will be here in 46 seconds. Give or take."

Gharib glared.

Shouts rose behind them.

"Actually… make that 5.75 meters."

"Move!!"

Souuhl bolted. Gharib followed.

A reluctant alliance is born in the heart of the desert’s chaos.

But just as quickly, the Empire arrives.

An Imperial assault craft descends, its engines humming with quiet menace. Seven gray carriers streak across the sky, heading toward the city’s heart. Gharib and Souuhl exchange a glance—this is no routine patrol.

Gharib steps forward, eyes fixed on the approaching storm.

Souuhl watches him go, torn between curiosity and caution. "Wait! Where are you g…"

The words trail off as Gharib disappears into the market’s shifting tide, swallowed by the ever-present dust of Sawahil.

From the shadows, a lone figure watches. His cloak, heavy with dust, drapes over broad shoulders. A war hammer, lined with four spikes, rests at his side. Beneath the deep hood, unseen eyes follow the Stranger’s every move.

The hunt has begun.

“LOVED THIS?

DOWNLOAD the FREE illustrated SAWAHIL MARKET Act 1 PDF & dive deeper into GHARIB’s world!”