Name: Erasmus Ames
Wanted: Alive
Crimes: Conspiracy, Nighthawking, Disturbing the Peace
Reward: 5000 gp
Notes: Suspect was last seen fleeing north into the Mana Wastes following the Urstradi River. Considered to be armed and dangerous.
Erasmus Ames was never bothered by the corruption in the Shieldmarshalls. He took his bribes the same as anybody else, looked the other way for the right people the same as anybody else, neglected unimportant details the same as anybody else. It was just an ugly word for the grease on the cogs that kept the Clockwork City running smoothly, and his polished badge and oiled six-guns didn't shine any less for it. After all, the hours were long, the Wastes were brutal, and justice doesn't come cheap in the City of Smog. Greasy palms and greasy guns are what kept the mutants at bay and everybody knew it, so it didn't bother 'ol Raz one bit. That is, until the day he found himself on the wrong side of it.
Maybe it was political, maybe it was personal, but Erasmus Ames didn't stick around long enough to find out. He high-tailed it out of the Grand Duchy out into the Spellscar just as fast as his horse could take him. The snipers on the wall didn't even waste their ammo trying to pick him off; everybody knew that a lone rider, ill-equipped and unprotected, was as good as dead out in the Wastes - if they were lucky. If not - well, the life of a mutant is never very long anyway.
At least, that's what they thought. For his part, that's what Raz thought too, until he stumbled across one of the ruins. The Wastes were littered with them, the last remains of thousand-year-old cities blasted off the face of the planet during Nex and Geb's pissing contest of magical holocaust. Teams of outriders came through every so often and cleared the mutants out of them ahead of trade caravans traveling through the desert. Raz was familiar with the ruins, having cleared some of them out himself (and finding some trinkets to line his pockets with beside). But off the main highways you were taking your chances. It was a lucky break for Mr. Ames; there was no better time for taking chances. He rode that luck all the way through the desert, escaping on the other side into Nex. He worked his way north, guarding caravans all the way through Nex and Katapesh. He took a liking to Katapesh; a man like him could find a lot of work and make a lot of coin. He took a liking to the pesh, too, and found many ways to spend a lot of coin. Too many ways and too much coin. Plagued by debt and pesh nightmares, he took a desperate job, signing on to guard some whackjob scholarly expedition following some phony map out to some secret forgotten ruin in Osirion.
Sometimes looks can be deceiving. That was only the first lesson Raz learned on that expedition. He also learned that 'guard' translates roughly as 'expendable trap fodder' in Osiriani, to always bring a mirror into the tomb with you, that his shiny badge makes a surprisingly good mirror, and to never take an artifact without leaving a sandbag in its place. But the most important lesson of all, the one rule to hold to above all others, is that, when it comes to mummies, shoot first and ask questions never. Aim for the head, always make sure to double-tap, and burn the remains for good measure.
It didn't take long to become disillusioned with the treasure-hunting scene in Osirion. The thing about 'scholarly expeditions' is that the most dangerous jobs always seem to pay the least. Mr. Ames was used to putting his life in danger for petty monetary compensation, but the only thing worse than mutants are mummies. One close call too many and he finally decided he was done with 'guard' work. He was ready to get out of Osirion, with the 'scholars' and the 'collectors' ruining things for solid, honest adventure capitalists like himself. But he'd need a partner if he was ever going to strike it rich. Foreign lands and foreign tombs call for good friends to have your back. There was only one man that Erasmus Ames knew he could trust, and he'd always given Raz a frosty welcome.
From the moment they met, Baqir Iskandar and Erasmus Ames were doomed to make history. It would be the history of desperate fools, bad ideas, and success that comes at too high a price. Geb was a bad idea, possibly the worst ever, and it had been his. He escaped with his life, but he would live with the scars. There aren't many terrors worse than pesh nightmares, but forbidden knowledge is one helluva drug.
