Where's John Carter When You Really Need Him, Anyway?

As you stare in wonder at the fanciful city, a shadow falls across you, blocking out the faint light of the stars and moons. Looking up, you see a gigantic propeller-driven aircraft drifting by overhead. It is easily the size of a battleship, but it has no wings, and the way it appears to float so effortlessly brings to mind a dirigible. Yet you can see that it is heavily armored, and the barrels of countless gun emplacements glint in the moonlight. This is clearly not a lighter-than-air craft.

"You there, slave!"

You are startled by the voice calling out so nearby, and lower your gaze to behold a warrior staring back at you suspiciously. And a warrior he clearly is; he wears a needle-like long sword on one hip, and a peculiar pistol on the other. Yet for a fighting man he is curiously under-armored; he wears nothing more than a few ornaments and a simple breechclout sort of affair.

"Uh, are you talking to me?" you ask nervously as the man draws near.

"Do you see any other slave girls about?" he counters, his tone amused but professional. You get the impression that this fellow is some sort of policeman.

"I am not a slave," you tell him, but even as the words leave your mouth you realize that you cannot be sure that is in fact the truth.

"No?" he replies, his eyes hardening again. "You wear the anklets of a slave - the slave of a wealthy household, but a slave nonetheless. Where is your master, and what are you doing outside the city gates after curfew?"

You stare at him mutely, unable to come up with a suitable reply.

"I thought as much," he says, as he reaches for your arm. "I'm afraid I must ask you to come with me..."

1. You go with him, hoping for a free meal and a place to sleep.
2. You evade his grasp and run back out into the desert.

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