(Open)
The weather in Salvar was not pleasant at all. It wasn’t just that it was cold, but it was the kind of cold that sapped energy from a person. Djakara could feel his interest in his plan declining with every step along the way, not because his greed was abated as much as he just wanted to wrap himself in his blanket for warmth. He looked out of his wagon at the permafrost expanse only grudgingly, wishing that for all the technology that Alerar had invented, they had given a higher priority to heating devices.
However, the Freiherr knew that he could only wait in the warmth of his blanket for so long. There was a caravan to manage, weapons that were supposed to go to the King of Salvar to help him with his Civil War. Djakara had other plans. It wasn’t that he objected to the King’s political stance. For that matter, he didn’t really know what the King’s politics were, or what the politics were of the people the King was fighting. He didn’t pay much attention to the news, except for casualty figures and the kinds of weapons people were buying. Those were the things that he paid attention to.
Now, being asked to deliver an important convoy to Salvar, a high risk transport of weapons badly needed, was a boon. When the Alerar government had dispatched him, he could tell that the rest of the nobles had limited expectations for his success. They had suggested that he do his best, and that the government of Alerar would be grateful for any successes that he might have. The moment they said that, Djakara had decided to loot the convoy for his own profit. Normally when he was involved in weapons shipments, he was told that anything lost would be coming out of his hide. When the expectations were this low, he knew there was more profit in failure.
A failure, that was to turn and resell the weapons in Corone, of course. Djakara knew that Salvar wasn’t the only place on Althanas with a civil war going now, and with the amount of weapons he had on him, he knew that he would be able to start building that luxury villa he had been dreaming about in Istraloth. Djakara smiled when he thought of the villa, of the warm tropical breezes and the private swimming pool he’d have. With his money, he’d get a couple of attractive women and invest in the kind of technology that would return him to the life of luxury he was used to on his planet.
However, dreaming of the villa and owning the villa were unfortunately, two very separate matters. The caravan was moving along slowly, and Djakara knew that it would be a matter of time before they had to act. His plan was to recruit as many people as possible that he saw displaced by the violence, and then convince them to join his insurrection as soon as possible. Now that his caravan was within a few hours of the reaching the banks of the Holgalov lake, he knew he was going to have to act fast. It would only be so much longer until they reached Knife’s Edge.
Fortunately, the areas that Djaraka had passed through were the city strongholds, the places where the king was still loved and respected. There was now nothing between him and Knife’s Edge but countryside. Still, the Freiherr did not like to leave things to chance. He hated guessing games, and the only plan he’d come up with now was essentially that.
“If only there was snow,” he thought wishfully. “That’d slow the caravan down…”