The scorching midday sun heated the sand and gravel, as five old-fashioned steam trucks powered by Burning Stone chugged along the Scale Earth Rift, with the black smoke from their exhaust pipes twisting into strange shapes amid the heat waves.
The Scale Earth Rift—a branch road of the Thousand Snake Mark.
It was named for the snake-scale-like patterns covering the ground.
Nick sat atop the cab of the lead truck, legs crossed and shaking a bottle of cheap ale in his hand, the liquid reflecting a murky gold in the sunlight.
He was a middle-aged man approaching forty.
Slender in build, his face and head wrapped in white cloth to fend off the sun, leaving only his eyes visible, his brown pupils occasionally flashing with a cunning sharper than that of a goblin.
"See that? That protruding rock wall there."
