While Dry Dry Desert was aptly named--the desert wind doing its best to absorb even the sweat off a wanderer's brow in its unquenchable thirst--it wasn't short of more physical threats for the unwary and ill-prepared. From bad-tempered Pokeys skulking about loving to stick travelers, deceptively-cute Buzzy Beetles that packed a mean bite and the spiky Cleffas whose rocky hides were just as insensitive as their personalities, even seasoned adventurers could find themselves having a bad time. To thrive in the desert, one had to be tougher than week-old Mushroom Steak. It almost made the roving Bandits a relief.

 

Such as the one currently watching the group atop a large boulder, trusting in the midafternoon shadow and overhead sun to shield his physical presence. There weren't too many large groups that came this way. His porcelain-white face noted how slowly the group moved, how the blazing desert sun was doing more damage than a dozen Pokeys. And with the outpost so tantalizing close, like the oasis, they'd let their guard down.

 

And a slow body meant light pockets.

 

"They're comin'!" Skillfully shimmying down the crag, the young Bandit reunited down to his identically-dressed gang, squealing in total excitement. "Group o' ten down the path!"

 

A great deal of elbow-nudging, gleeful handrubbing and snickering filled the air, their almost-plastered smiles twisting as he padded down, lest their marks hear them on the way.

 

"So whadda think?" another Bandit questioned. "They look like toughies?"

 

"Nah." The question made the scout snort. "Ten Toads or somethin', but they're about to peg out. Serves 'em right for walking through the desert at noon, buncha idjits."

 

"And do they look loaded?"

 

"Well, they're all dressed in fancy duds o' white and gold, so they've gotta have plenty of coins! And boyos lookin' like that ain't guardin' nothin'!"

 

"You mean they ain't guarding anythin'!"

 

"That's what I said!" the younger crook snapped, that constant smirk twisting in anger. "They ain't guardin' nothin!"

 

"It's nothin', like dis argument." Despairing at his cohort's ignorance, the elder Bandit jumped up, peering ahead to where the unsuspecting targets were approaching. "Get yer tackle together. We'll be rich men this day!"

 

**************************************

 

Five minutes later...

With half of their gang had already gone off to circle behind the approaching group. As one burrowed in an abandoned Monty Mole tunnel, two more painted themselves as boulders, while yet another--clearly dedicated to the art of thievery--scuttled on all fours with an oversized Buzzy Beetle shell concealing his body. All in all, the scene seemed all the norm in the scorching Dry Dry Desert.

 

"Somethin' off," the scout whispered, fiddling with his pair of Sticky Gloves.

 

"Don't worry," his partner snickered, standing nearby on the well-worn path to Dry Dry Outpost. They had chosen the ambush location well: Close enough so that the protective stone walls were in sight, allowing their marks to let down their guard, but not so close that some of the locals could see what they were up to or get involved. The locals were as tough as the wildlife, and they had been warned about plying their trade in the outpost by Sheek. Even their leader wasn't brassy enough to piss off the mysterious Moustafa. "They'll be off soon enough, and we'll be swimmin' in loot!"

 

The first Bandit still felt pensive, his gut twisting in the same familiar way when they tried ganging up on that Nomadmouse a month ago. All that earned them was several powerful headaches for their trouble. But that could happen to anyone; how were they to know the rat had a 3rd-degree Black Belt from the Toad Town Dojo? "I'm serious, mate. My tum's flippin'. Supposen' they are toughies?"

 

"Your tum's flippin' causa you eating all that Star Crunch candy yesterday before goin' to sleep." Grinning at his nervousness, the elder Bandit laughed. "You don't think we can rob a coupla Toads? Stop gettin' all scarrrred and bite into your inner Chomp."

 

His voice reflected the confusion he felt. "...My inner wha?"

 

"Yeah." The Bandit shrugged casually, ignoring. "Been readin' this book by Frogfucius about how the greatest enemy is ourselves and that fear comes from obsessin' over what-ifs. We bite through 'em and...eh, I'll show you the book later. Now straighten yourself up! They're comin' this way!"

 

Sure enough, one could see the ivory polish of the Toad's Mushroom helms. The older thief felt that chilly surge of excitement despite the harsh desert wind; they may be dressed in nice duds, but a Toad was still a Toad. Hoping to bolster his crony's confidence, he waited until the full crew--both the newcomers and the other Bandits--were in place before hailing them with a swaggering pose.

 

"There's a toll here now. You wanna get to Dry Dry Outpost, make with the coins. You all look heavy,"--the Bandit slang for rich--"so 150 coins each seems right fair ta me."