In a foreign land made of sand, the hourglass tipped over as the new pharaoh stood on a chrome doned hood over a throne made of gold. His advisor told him through a whisper, about the prince afar and the desert's realm's Paladin that had come to his aid. The Pharaoh gave his people warning that in the first light of morning, a caravan would be set out onto the tundra plains. It would carry all it could muster with the wheels turning through the dust or whatever crossed it's path. It would carry a load of precious artifacts foretold to pay praise to the God of the Son. His name was Ra, transcending Allah , a diety construed in constant motion. Apprehending a villian, on the tail of a killing, a hundred men for a hundred pence. The advisor disguiser was really a slave to a king of a foreign affair's order. He sought to decieve and sent orders to the Nomad thieves to assault the caravan's vagabonds. If the wares made it to England's Island, the penninsula of pain, to the Paladin's bane, for he needed the stone of light...
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