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The sun truely must be working its mind altering insanity on him. The situation was something he would hear from a gaunty soldier or mercinary in any number of taverns. From the lips of someone embellishing a possible kernal of truth to sound like some well treated hero of old. In the Land of the Dead the living weren't welcome. Yet here Falderan and the barely breathing Mokte were. Before one of the many long dead Nehekaran royals who spoke in flawed yet eligable Reikspiel. Not just this but he and his fellow miss match compatriots were being thanked and offered passage by this one. If this was a halluciation in his last moments then he could relate to the most crazed delirium from stranded sailers. But if it where real. Well then he'd owe many men apologies and a drink for such tales.

"Our business here is merely passing through. We're leaving the ports of Araby and trying to push our way past your lands towards the Southern Jungles. We have no desire or urge to touch much less steal your precious possessions." He liced parched lips. "But passage down river would heed us well. And be more than enough repayment for whatever dishonor you believe inflicted. The three of us are wary and would be willing to spread the tale of this slaughter and your grand victory back to our own lands should you wish such things spread." Fal got kept his stance. Though his feet grew weary. Heat and exhaustion hitting him hard and this was their only hope. Either they would be betrayed and killed, left to die or taken down river as he requested. Eitherway there was little he could do to change the next few moments.